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IRVING'S TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 RIVERSIDE EDITION. 
 
 WITH VIGNETTE TITLE-PAGE. 
 
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 '7 P. Putnam; HurcL 8^. Houghtor.. 
 
TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 
 
 AUTHOR OP "the SKETCH-BOOK," " BRACEBRIDGE HALL," "KNICK- 
 ERBOCKER'S NEW YORK," ETC. 
 
 I am neither your minotaure, nor your centatire, nor your satyr, 
 nor your hyaena, nor your babion, but your meer traveller believe 
 me. — Ben Jonson. 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 G. P. PUTNAM; KURD AND HOUGHTON. 
 
 401 BROADWAY, COR. WALKER ST. 
 1865. 
 
T 
 
 
 
 X^'^' 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 
 
 George P. Putnam, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 
 
 of New York. 
 
 RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE : 
 
 STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BT 
 
 H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Great Unknown . . . . . . 13 
 
 The Hunting-Dinner 15 
 
 The Adventure of my Uncle .... 22 
 
 The Adventure of my Aunt 40 
 
 The Bold Dragoon, or the Adventure of my 
 
 Grandfather 47 
 
 The Adventure of the German Student . . 60 
 
 The Adventure of the Mysterious Picture . 69 
 
 The Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger . 81 
 The Story of the Young Italian . . . .93 
 
 PART n. 
 
 BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Literary Life 135 
 
 A Literary Dinner 139 
 
 The Club of Queer Fellows .... 144 
 
 The Poor-Devil Author 152 
 
 N"otoriety 180 
 
 A Practical Philosopher 184 
 
 BuCKTHORNE, OR THE YoUNG MAN OF GrEAT EX- 
 pectations 187 
 
 Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man . 262 
 
 The Booby Squire 270 
 
 The Strolling Manager 278 
 
^1 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Inn at Terracina 303 
 
 The Adventure of the Little Antiquary . 321 
 
 The Belated Travellers 333 
 
 The Adventure of the Popkins Family . . 356 
 
 The Painter's Adventure 364 
 
 The Story of the Bandit Chieftain . . . 376 
 The Story of the Young Robber . . . .393 
 The Adventure of the Englishman . . .410 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 THE MONEY-DIGGERS. 
 
 Hell-Gate 
 
 KiDD THE Pirate 
 
 The Devil and Tom Walker .... 
 Wolfert Webber, or Golden Dreams . . 455 
 The Adventure of the Black Fisherman . . 487 
 
 421 
 426 
 435 
 
TO THE READEE. 
 
 ilOE-THY AND Dear Reader ! — Hast thou 
 ever been waylaid in the midst of a 
 pleasant tour by some treacherous malady : 
 thy heels tripped up, and thou left to count 
 the tedious minutes as they passed, in the solitude of 
 an inn-chamber ? If thou hast, thou wilt be able to 
 pity me. Behold me, interrupted in the course of 
 my journeying up the fair banks of the Rhine, and 
 laid up by indisposition in this old frontier town of 
 Mentz. I have worn out every source of amusement. 
 I know the sound of every clock that strikes, and 
 bell that rings, in the place. I know to a second 
 when to listen for the first tap of the Prussian drum, 
 as it summons the garrison to parade, or at what 
 hour to expect the distant sound of the Austrian 
 mihtary band. All these have grown wearisome to 
 me ; and even the well-known step of my doctor, as 
 he slowly paces the corridor, with healing in the 
 creak of his shoes, no longer affords an agreeable 
 interruption to the monotony of my apartment. 
 
 For a time I attempted to beguile the weary 
 hours by studying German under the tuition of 
 mine host's pretty little daughter, Katrine ; but I 
 soon found even German had not power to charm 
 a languid ear, and that the conjugating of ich Hebe 
 might be powerless, however rosy the lips which 
 uttered it. 
 
8 TO THE READER. 
 
 I tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. 
 I turned over volume after volume, but threw them 
 by with distaste : " Well, then," said I at length, in 
 despair, " if I cannot read a book, I will write one." 
 Never was there a more lucky idea ; it at once gave 
 me occupation and amusement. The writing of a 
 book was considered in old times as an enterprise of 
 toil and difficulty, insomuch that the most trifling 
 lucubration was denominated a "^ work," and the 
 world talked with awe and reverence of '' the labors 
 of the learned." These matters are better under- 
 stood nowadays. 
 
 Thanks to the improvements in all kind of manu- 
 factures, the art of book-making has been made 
 familiar to the meanest capacity. Everybody is an 
 author. The scribbling of a quarto is the mere pas- 
 time of the idle ; the young gentleman throws off his 
 brace of duodecimos in the intervals of the sporting- 
 season, and the young lady produces her set of vol- 
 umes with the same facility that her great-grand- 
 mother worked a set of chair-bottoms. 
 
 The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a 
 book, the reader will easily perceive that the execu- 
 tion of it was no difficult matter. I rummaged my 
 portfolio, and cast about, in my recollection, for those 
 floating materials which a man naturally collects in 
 travelling ; and here I have arranged them in this 
 little work. 
 
 As I know this to be a story-telling and a story- 
 reading age, and that the world is fond of being 
 taught by apologue, I have digested the instruction I 
 would convey into a number of tales. They may 
 not possess the power of amusement which the 
 tales told by many of my contemporaries possess ; 
 but then I value myself on the sound moral which 
 each of them contains. This may not be apparent 
 
TO THE READER, 9 
 
 at first, but the reader will be sure to find it out in 
 the end. I am for curing the world by gentle altera- 
 tives, not by violent doses ; indeed, the patient should 
 never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I have 
 learnt this much fi^om experience under the hands of 
 the worthy Hippocrates of Mentz. 
 
 I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which 
 carry their moral on the surface, staring one in the 
 face ; they are enough to deter the squeamish reader. 
 On the contrary, I have often hid my moral from 
 sight, and disguised it as much as possible by sweets 
 and spices, so that while the simple reader is listen- 
 ing with open mouth to a ghost or a love story, he 
 may have a bolus of sound morality popped down 
 his throat, and be never the wiser for the fraud. 
 
 As the public is apt to be curious about the 
 sources whence an author draws his stories, doubtless 
 that it may know how far to put faith in them, I 
 would observe, that the Adventure of the German 
 Student, or rather the latter part of it, is founded on 
 an anecdote related to me as existing somewhere in 
 French ; and, indeed, I have been told, since writ- 
 ing it, that an ingenious tale has been founded on it 
 by an English writer ; but I have never met with 
 either the former or the latter in print. Some of 
 the circumstances in the Adventure of the Myste- 
 rious Picture, and in the Story of the Young Italian, 
 are vague recollections of anecdotes related to me 
 some years since ; but from what source derived, I 
 do not know. The Adventure of the Young Painter 
 among the banditti is taken almost entirely from an 
 authentic narrative in manuscript. 
 
 As to the other tales contained in this work, and 
 indeed to my tales generally, I can make but one ob- 
 servation : I am an old traveller ; I have read some- 
 what, heard and seen more, and dreamt more than 
 
10 TO THE READER, 
 
 all. My brain is filled, therefore, with all kinds of 
 odds and ends. In travelling, these heterogeneous 
 matters have become shaken up in my mind, as the 
 articles are apt to be in an ill-packed travelling- 
 trunk ; so that when I attempt to draw forth a fact, 
 I cannot determine whether I have read, heard, or 
 dreamt it ; and I am always at a loss to know how 
 much to believe of my own stories. 
 
 These matters being premised, fall to, worthy 
 reader, with good appetite ; and, above all, with good- 
 humor, to what is here set before thee. K the tales 
 I have furnished should prove to be bad, they will at 
 least be found short ; so that no one will be wearied 
 long on the same theme. " Variety is charming," as 
 some poet observes. 
 
 There is a certain relief in change, even though 
 
 it be from bad to worse*! As I have often found in 
 
 travelling in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort 
 
 to shift one's position, and be bruised in a new place. 
 
 Ever thine, 
 
 Geoffrey Crayon. 
 
 Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, 
 ci-devant Hotel de Paris, 
 
 Mentz, otherwise called Mayence. 
 
PART FIRST. 
 
 STEANGE STOEIES 
 
 BY 
 A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 
 
 I '11 tell you more, there was a fish taken, 
 
 A monstrous fish, with a sword by 's side, a long sword, 
 
 A pike in 's neck, and a gun in 's nose, a huge gun, 
 
 And letters of mart in 's mouth from the Duke of Florence. 
 
 Cleanthes. — This is a monstrous lie. 
 
 Tony. — I do confess it. 
 
 Do you think I 'd tell you truths ? 
 
 •^ Fletcher's Wife for a Month. 
 
THE GEEAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 I HE following adventures were related to 
 me by the same nervous gentleman who 
 told me the romantic tale of the Stout 
 Gentleman, published in " Bracebridge Hall." It 
 is very singular, that, although I expressly stated 
 that story to have been told to me, and described 
 the very person who told it, still it has been re- 
 ceived as an adventure that happened to myself. 
 Now I protest I never met with any adventure 
 of the kind. I should not have grieved at this, 
 had it not been intimated by the author of " Wa- 
 verley," in an introduction to his novel of " Pev- 
 eril of the Peak," that he was himself the stout 
 gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been 
 importuned by questions and letters from gen- 
 tlemen, and particularly from ladies without num- 
 ber, touching what I ha,d seen of the Great Un- 
 known. 
 
 Now all this is extremely tantalizing. It is 
 like being congratulated on the high prize when 
 one has drawn a blank ; for I have just as great 
 a desire as any one of the public to penetrate the 
 mystery of that very singular personage, whose 
 voice fills every corner of the world, without any 
 one being able to tell whence it comes. 
 
14 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is 
 a man of very shy, retired habits, complains that 
 he has been excessively annoyed in consequence 
 of its getting about in his neighborhood that he is 
 the fortunate personage. Insomuch, that he has 
 become a character of considerable notoriety in 
 two or three country-towns, and has been repeat- 
 edly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stocking 
 parties, for no other reason than that of being 
 " the gentleman who has had a glimpse of the 
 author of ' Waverley.' " 
 
 Indeed the poor man has grown ten times as 
 nervous as ever since he has discovered, on such 
 good authority, who the stout gentleman was ; 
 and will never forgive himself for not having 
 made a more resolute effort to get a full sight of 
 him. He has anxiously endeavored to call up a 
 recollection of what he saw of that portly person- 
 age ; and has ever since kept a curious oye on all 
 gentlemen of more than ordinary dimensions, 
 whom he has seen getting into stage-coaches. All 
 in vain ! The features he had caught a glimpse 
 of seem common to the whole race of stout gentle- 
 men, and the Great Unknown remains as great 
 an unknown as ever. 
 
 Having premised these circumstances, I will 
 now let the nervous gentleman proceed with his . 
 stories. 
 
THE HUNTING-DINNEE. 
 
 WAS once at a hunting-dinner, given by 
 a worthy fox-hunting old Baronet, who 
 kept bachelor's hall in jovial style in an 
 ancient rook-haunted family-mansion, in one of 
 the middle counties. He had been a devoted 
 admirer of the fair sex in his younger days ; 
 but, having travelled much, studied the sex in 
 various countries with distinguished success, and 
 returned home profoundly instructed, as he sup- 
 posed, in the ways of woman, and a perfect mas- 
 ter of the art of pleasing, had the mortification 
 of being jilted by a little boarding-school girl, 
 who was scarcely versed in the accidence of love. 
 The Baronet was completely overcome by such 
 an incredible defeat ; retired from the world in 
 disgust ; put himself under the government of his 
 housekeeper ; and took to fox-hunting like a per- 
 fect Nimrod. Whatever poets may say to the 
 contrary, a man will grow out of love as he grows 
 old ; and a pack of fox-hounds may chase out of 
 his heart even the memory of a boarding-school 
 goddess. The Baronet was, when I saw him, as 
 merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever fol- 
 lowed a hound ; and the love he had once felt for 
 one woman had spread itself over the whole sex ; 
 
16 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 SO that there was not a pretty face in the whole 
 country round but came in for a share. 
 
 The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for 
 our host having no ladies in his household to 
 summon us to the drawing-room, the bottle main- 
 tained its true bachelor sway, unrivalled by its 
 potent enemy, the tea-kettle. The old hall in 
 which we dined echoed to bursts of robustious 
 fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient 
 antlers shake on the walls. By degrees, how- 
 ever, the wine and the wassail of mine host began 
 to operate upon bodies already a little jaded by 
 the chase. The choice spirits which flashed up 
 at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled for a 
 time, then gradually went out one after another, 
 or only emitted now and then a faint gleam from 
 the socket. Some of the briskest talkers, who 
 had given tongue so bravely at the first burst, fell 
 fast asleep ; and none kept on their way but cer- 
 tain of those long-winded prosers, who, like short- 
 legged hounds, worry on unnoticed at the bottom 
 of conversation, but are sure to be in at the 
 death. Even these at length subsided into si- 
 lence ; and scarcely anything was heard but the 
 nasal communications of two or three veteran 
 masticators, who having been silent while awake, 
 were indemnifying the company in their sleep. 
 
 At length the announcement of tea and coffee 
 in the cedar-parlor roused all hands from this 
 temporary torpor. Every one awoke marvel- 
 . lously renovated, and while sipping the refreshing 
 beverage out of the Bai'onet's old-fashioned he- 
 reditary china, began to think of departing for 
 
THE HUNTING-DINNER. 17 
 
 their several homes. But here a sudden difficulty 
 arose. While we had been prolonging our re- 
 past, a heavy winter storm had set in, with snow, 
 rain, and sleet, driven by such bitter blasts of 
 wind, that they threatened to penetrate to the 
 very bone. 
 
 " It 's all in vain," said our hospitable host, " to 
 think of putting one's head out of doors in such 
 weather. So, gentlemen, I hold you my guests 
 for this night at least, and will have your quar- 
 ters prepared accordingly." 
 
 The unruly weather, which became more and 
 more tempestuous, rendered the hospitable sug- 
 gestion unanswerable. The only question was, 
 whether such an unexpected accession of com- 
 pany to an already crowded house would not put 
 the housekeeper to her trumps to accommodate 
 them. 
 
 " Pshaw," cried mine host ; " did you ever 
 know a bachelor's hall that was not elastic, and 
 able to accommodate twice as many as it could 
 hold ? " So, out of a good-humored pique, the 
 housekeeper was summoned to a consultation be- 
 fore us all. The old lady appeared in her gala 
 suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry 
 and agitation ; for, in spite of our host's bravado, 
 she was a little perplexed. But in a bachelor's 
 house, and with bachelor guests, these matters 
 are readily managed. There is no lady of the 
 house to stand upon squeamish points about lodg- 
 ing gentlemen in odd holes and corners, and ex- 
 posing the shabby parts of the establishment. 
 A bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and 
 2 
 
18 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 emergencies ; so, after much worrying to and fro, 
 and divers consultations about the red-room, and 
 the blue-room, and the chintz-room, and the dam- 
 ask-room, and the little room with the bow-win- 
 dow, the matter was finally arranged. 
 
 When all this was done, we were once more 
 summoned to the standing rural amusement of 
 eating. The time that had been consumed in 
 dozing after dinner, and in the refreshment and 
 consultation of the cedar-parlor, was sufficient, in 
 the opinion of the rosy -faced butler, to engender 
 a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast 
 had, therefore, been tricked up from the residue 
 of dinner, consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, 
 hashed venison, a devilled leg of a turkey or so, 
 and a few other of those light articles taken by 
 country gentlemen to ensure sound sleep and 
 heavy snoring. 
 
 The nap after dinner had brightened up every 
 one's wit; and a great deal of excellent humor 
 was expended upon the perplexities of mine host 
 and his housekeeper, by certain married gentle- 
 men of the company, who considered themselves 
 privileged in joking with a bachelor's establish- 
 ment. From this the banter turned as to what 
 quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly 
 billeted in so antiquated a mansion. 
 
 " By my soul," said an Irish captain of dra- 
 goons, one of the most merry and boisterous of 
 the party, " by my soul, but I should not be sur- 
 prised if some of those good-looking gentlefolks 
 that hang along the walls should walk about the 
 rooms of this stormy night ; or if I should find_ 
 
THE HUNTING-DINNER, 19 
 
 the ghosts of one of those long-waisted ladies 
 turning into my bed in mistake for her grave in 
 the churchyard.'' 
 
 " Do you believe in ghosts, then ? " said a thin, 
 hatchet-faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like 
 a lobster. 
 
 I had remarked this last personage during din- 
 ner-time for one of those incessant questioners, 
 who have a craving, unhealthy appetite in con- 
 versation. He never seemed satisfied with the 
 whole of a story ; never laughed when others 
 laughed; but always put the joke to the ques- 
 tion. He never could enjoy the kernel of the 
 nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the 
 shell. " Do you believe in ghosts, then ? " said 
 the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " Faith, but I do," rephed the jovial Irishman. 
 "I was brought up in the fear and belief of 
 them. We had a Benshee in our own family, 
 honey." 
 
 " A Benshee, and what 's that ? " cried the ques- 
 tioner. 
 
 " Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon your 
 real Milesian families, and waits at their window 
 to let them know when some of them are to die." 
 
 " A mighty pleasant piece of information ! " 
 cried an elderly gentleman with a knowing look, 
 and with a flexible nose, to which he could give 
 a whimsical twist when he wished to be waggish. 
 
 " By my soul, but I 'd have you to know it 's a 
 piece of distinction to be waited on by a Benshee. 
 It 's a proof that one has pure blood in one's veins. 
 But r faith, now we are talking of ghosts, there 
 
20 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 never was a house or a night better fitted than 
 the present for a ghost adventure. Pray, Sir 
 John, have n't you such a thing as a haunted 
 chamber to put a guest in ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiUng, " I might 
 accommodate you even on that point." 
 
 " Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. 
 Some dark oaken room, with ugly woe-begone 
 portraits, that stare dismally at one ; and about 
 which the housekeeper has a power of delightful 
 stories of love and murder. And then a dim 
 lamp, a table with a rusty sword across it, and a 
 spectre all in white, to draw aside one's curtains 
 at midnight " — 
 
 " In truth," said an old gentleman at one end 
 of the table, " you put me in mind of an anec- 
 dote"— 
 
 " Oh, a ghost-story ! a ghost-story ! " was vo- 
 ciferated round the board, every one edging his 
 chair a little nearer. 
 
 The attention of the whole company was now 
 turned upon the speaker. He was an old gentle- 
 man, one side of whose face was no match for the 
 other. The eye-lid drooped and hung down like 
 an unhinged window-shutter. Indeed, the whole 
 side of his head was dilapidated, and seemed like 
 the wing of a house shut up and haunted. I '11 
 warrant that side was well stuffed with ghost- 
 stories. 
 
 There was a universal demand for the tale. 
 
 " Nay," said the old gentleman, " it 's a mere 
 anecdote, and a very commonplace one ; but such 
 as it is you shall have it. It is a story that I 
 
THE HUNTING-DINNER. 21 
 
 once heard ray uncle tell as having happened to 
 himself. He was a man very apt to meet with 
 strange adventures. I have heard him tell of 
 others much more singular." 
 
 " What kind of a man was your uncle ? " said 
 the questioning gentleman. 
 
 " Why, he w^as rather a dry, shrewd kind of 
 body ; a great traveller, and fond of telling his 
 adventures." 
 
 " Pray, how old might he have been when that 
 happened ? " 
 
 " When what happened ? " cried the gentleman 
 with the flexible nose, impatiently. " Egad, you 
 have not given anything a chance to happen. 
 Come, never mind our uncle's ao^e ; let us have his 
 adventures." 
 
 The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment 
 silenced, the old gentleman with the haunted head 
 proceeded. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 
 
 I ANY years since, some time before the 
 French Revolution, my uncle passed sev- 
 eral months at Paris. The English and 
 French were on better terms in those days than 
 at present, and mingled cordially in society. The 
 English went abroad to spend money then, and the 
 French were always ready to help them : they go 
 abroad to save money at present, and that they 
 can do without French assistance. Perhaps the 
 travelling English were fewer and choicer than at 
 present, when the whole nation has broke loose 
 and inundated the continent. At any rate, they 
 circulated more readily and currently in foreign 
 society, and my uncle, during his residence in 
 Paris, made many very intimate acquaintances 
 among the French noblesse. 
 
 Some time afterwards, he was making a jour- 
 ney in the winter-time in that part of Normandy 
 called the Pays de Caux, when, as evening was 
 closing in, he perceived the turrets of an ancient 
 chateau rising out of the trees of its walled park ; 
 each turret with its high conical roof of gray slate, 
 like a candle with an extinguisher on it. 
 
 " To whom does that chateau belong, friend ? " 
 cried my uncle to a meagre but fiery postilion, 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 23 
 
 who, with tremendous jack-boots and cocked hat, 
 was floundering on before him. 
 
 " To Monseigneur the Marquis de ^5" said 
 
 the postilion, touching his hat, partly out of 
 respect to my uncle, and partly out of reverence 
 to the noble name pronounced. . 
 
 My uncle recollected the Marquis for a partic- 
 ular friend in Paris, who had often expressed a 
 wish to see him at his paternal chateau. My 
 uncle was an old traveller, one who knew well 
 how to turn things to account. He revolved for 
 a few moments in his mind, how agreeable it 
 would be to his friend the Marquis to be sur- 
 prised in this sociable way by a pop visit ; and 
 how much more agreeable to himself to get into 
 snug quarters in a chateau, and have a relish of 
 the Marquis's well-known kitchen, and a smack 
 of his superior Champagne and Burgundy, rather 
 than put up with the miserable lodgment and mis- 
 erable fare of a provincial inn. In a few min- 
 utes, therefore, the meagre postilion was cracking 
 his whip like a very devil, or like a true French- 
 man, up the long, straight avenue that led to the 
 chateau. 
 
 You have no doubt all seen French chateaus, 
 as everybody travels in France nowadays. This 
 was one of the oldest ; standing naked and alone 
 in the midst of a desert of gravel walks and cold 
 stone terraces ; with a cold-looking, formal garden, 
 cut into angles and rhomboids ; and a cold, leaf- 
 less park, divided geometrically by straight alleys ; 
 and two or three cold-looking noseless statues ; 
 and fountains spouting cold water enough to make 
 
24 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 one's teeth chatter. At least such was the feel- 
 ing they imparted on the wintry day of my uncle's 
 visit ; though, in hot summer weather, I '11 warrant 
 there was glare enough to scorch one's eyes out. 
 
 The smacking of the postilion's whip, which 
 grew more and more intense the nearer they ap- 
 proached, frightened a flight of pigeons out of a 
 dove-cot, and rooks out of the roofs, and finally a 
 crew of servants out of the chateau, with the 
 Marquis at their head. He was enchanted to see 
 my uncle, for his chateau, like the house of our 
 worthy host, had not many more guests at the 
 time than it could accommodate. So he kissed my 
 uncle on each cheek, after the French fashion, and 
 ushered him into the castle. 
 
 The Marquis did the honors of the house with 
 the urbanity of his country. In fact, he was proud 
 of his old family chateau, for part of it was 
 extremely old. There was a tower and chapel 
 which had been built almost before the memory 
 of man ; but the rest was more modern, the castle , 
 having been nearly demolished during the wars 
 of the league. The Marquis dwelt upon this 
 event with great satisfaction, and seemed really to 
 entertain a grateful feeling towards Henry the 
 Fourth, for having thought his paternal mansion 
 worth battering down. He had many stories to 
 tell of the prowess of his ancestors ; and several 
 skull-caps, helmets, and cross-bows, and divers 
 huge boots and buff jerkins, to show, which had 
 been Avorn by the leaguers. Above all, there was 
 a two-handed sword, which he could hardly wield, 
 but which he displayed, as a proof that there had 
 been giants in his family. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 25 
 
 In truth, he was but a small descendant from 
 such great warriors. When you looked at their 
 bluff visages and brawny limbs, as depicted in 
 their portraits, and then at the little Marquis, with 
 liis spindle shanks, and his sallow lantern visage, 
 flanked with a pair of powdered ear-locks, or ailes 
 de pigeon, that seemed ready to fly away with it, 
 you could hardly believe him to be of the same 
 race. But when you looked at the eyes that 
 sparkled out like a beetle's from each side of his 
 hooked nose, you saw at once that he inherited 
 all the fiery spirit^ of his forefathers. In fact, a 
 Frenchman's spirit never exhales, however his 
 body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows 
 more inflammable, as the earthly particles dimin- 
 ish ; and I have seen valor enough in a little fiery- 
 hearted French dwarf to have furnished out a 
 tolerable giant. 
 
 When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put 
 on one of the old helmets stuck up in his hall, 
 though his head no more filled it than a dry pea 
 its peascod, yet his eyes flashed from the bottom 
 of the iron cavern with the brilliancy of car- 
 buncles ; and when he poised the ponderous two- 
 handed sword of his ancestors, you would have 
 thought you saw the doughty little David wield- 
 ing the sword of Goliath, which was unto him 
 like a weaver's beam. 
 
 However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on 
 this description of the Marquis and his chateau, 
 but you must excuse me ; he was an old friend of 
 my uncle ; and whenever my uncle told the story, 
 he was always fond of talking a great deal about 
 
26 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 his host. — Poor little Marquis ! He was one of 
 that handful of gallant courtiers who made such 
 a devoted but hopeless stand in the cause of their 
 sovereign, in the chateau of the Tuileries, against 
 the irruption of the mob on the sad tenth of 
 August. He displayed the valor of a preux 
 French chevalier to the last ; flourishing feebly 
 his little court-sword with a ga-ga ! in face of 
 a whole legion of sans-culottes ; but was pinned to 
 the wall like a butterfly, by the pike of a poissarde^ 
 and his heroic soul was borne up to heaven on his 
 ailes de pigeon. 
 
 But all this has nothing to do with my story. 
 To the point, then. When the hour arrived for 
 retiring for the night, my uncle was shown to his 
 room in a venerable old tower. It was the oldest 
 part of the chateau, and had in ancient times been 
 the donjon or strong-hold ; of course the chamber 
 was none of the best. The Marquis had put him 
 there, however, because he knew him to be a 
 traveller of taste, and fond of antiquities ; and also 
 because the better apartments were already occu- 
 pied. Indeed, he perfectly reconciled my uncle 
 to his quarters by mentioning the great personages 
 who had once inhabited them, all of whom were, 
 in some way or other, connected with the family. 
 If you would take his word for it, John Baliol, 
 or as he called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of 
 chagrin in this very chamber, on hearing of the 
 success of his rival, Robert de Bruce, at the battle 
 of Bannockburn. And when he added that the 
 Duke de Guise had slept in it, my uncle was fain 
 to felicitate himself on being honored with such 
 distinguished quarters. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 27 
 
 The night was shrewd and windy, and the 
 chamber none of the warmest. An old lono;- 
 faced, long-bodied servant, in quaint livery, who 
 attended upon my uncle, threw" down an armful 
 of wood beside the fireplace, gave a queer look 
 about the room, and then wished him hon repos 
 with a grimace and a shrug that would have been 
 suspicious from any other than an old French 
 servant. 
 
 The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, 
 enough to strike any one who had read romances 
 with apprehension and foreboding. The windows 
 were high and narrow, and had once been loop- 
 holes, but had been rudely enlarged, as well as 
 the extreme thickness of the walls would permit ; 
 and the ill-fitted casements rattled to every breeze. 
 You would have thought, on a windy night, some 
 of the old leaguers were tramping and clanking 
 about the apartment in their huge boots and rat- 
 tling spurs. A door which stood ajar, and, like a 
 true French door, would stand ajar in spite of 
 every reason and effort to the contrary, opened 
 upon a long dark corridor, that led the Lord 
 knows whither, and seemed just made for ghosts 
 to air themselves in, when they turned out of 
 their graves at midnight. The wind would spring 
 iip into a hoarse murmur through this passage, 
 and creak the door to and fro, as if some dubious 
 ghost were balancing in its mind whether to come 
 in or not. In a word, it was precisely the kind 
 of comfortless apartment that a ghost, if ghost 
 there were in the chateau, would single out for 
 its favorite lounge. 
 
28 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 , My uncle, however, though a man accustomed 
 to meet with strange adventures, apprehended 
 none at the time. He made several attempts to 
 shut the door, but in vain. Not that he appre- 
 hended anything, for he was too old a traveller 
 to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment ; but 
 the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, and 
 the wind howled about the ©Id turret pretty much 
 as it does round this old mansion at this moment ; 
 and the breeze from the long dark corridor came 
 in as damp and as chilly as if from a dungeon. My 
 uncle, therefore, since he could not close the door, 
 threw a quantity of wood on the fire, which soon 
 sent up a flame in the great wide-mouthed chim- 
 ney that illumined the whole chamber ; and made 
 the shadow of the tongs on the opposite wall look 
 like a long-legged giant. My uncle now clam- 
 bered on the top of the half-score of mattresses 
 which form a French bed, and which stood in a 
 deep recess ; then tucking himself snugly in, and 
 burying himself up to the chin in the bedclothes, 
 he lay looking at the fire, and listening to the 
 wind, and thinking how knowingly he had come 
 over his friend the Marquis for a night's lodging 
 — and so he fell asleep. 
 
 He had not taken above half of his first nap 
 when he was awakened by the clock of the 
 chateau, in the turret over his chamber, which 
 struck midnight. It was just such an old clock 
 as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep, dismal 
 tone, and struck so slowly and tediously that my 
 uncle thought it would never have done. He 
 counted and counted till he was confident he 
 counted thirteen, and then it stopped. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 29 
 
 The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the 
 last fagot was almost expiring, burning in small 
 blue flames, which now and then lengthened up 
 into little white gleams. My uncle lay with his 
 eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn almost 
 down to his nose. His fancy was already wan- 
 dering, and began to mingle up the present scene 
 with the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, 
 the Coliseum at Rome, Dolly's chop-house in 
 London, and all the farrago of noted places with 
 which the brain of a traveller is crammed, — in 
 a word, he was just falling asleep. 
 
 Suddenly he was roused by the sound of foot- 
 steps, slowly pacing along the corridor. My 
 uncle, as I have often heard him say himself, was 
 a man not easily frightened. So he lay quiet, 
 supposing this some other guest, or some servant 
 on his way to bed. The footsteps, however, 
 approached the door ; the door gently opened ; 
 whether of its own accord, or whether pushed 
 open, my uncle could not distinguish : a figure all 
 in white glided in. It was a female, tall and 
 stately, and of a commanding air. Her dress 
 was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume, and 
 sweeping the floor. She walked up to the fire- 
 place, without regarding my uncle, who raised his 
 nightcap with one hand, and stared earnestly at 
 her. She remained for some time standing by 
 the fire, which, flashing up at intervals, cast blue 
 and white gleams of light, that enabled my uncle 
 to remark her appearance minutely. 
 
 Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps ren- 
 dered still more so by the bluish light of the fire. 
 
80 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 It possessed beauty, but its beauty was saddened 
 by care and anxiety. There was the look of one 
 accustomed to trouble, but of one whom trouble 
 could not cast down nor subdue ; for there was 
 sCU the predominating air of proud, unconquera- 
 ble resolution. Such at least was the opinion 
 formed by my uncle, and he considered himself a 
 great physiognomist. 
 
 The figure remained, as I said, for some time 
 by the fire, putting out first one hand, then the 
 other ; then each foot alternately, as if warming 
 itself ; for your ghosts, if ghost it really was, are 
 apt to be cold. My uncle, furthermore, re- 
 marked that it wore high-heeled shoes, after an 
 ancient fashion, with paste or diamond buckles, 
 that sparkled as though they were alive. At 
 length the figure turned gently round, casting a 
 glassy look about the apartment, which, as it passed 
 over my uncle, made his blood run cold, and 
 chilled the very marrow in his bones. It then 
 stretched its arms towards heaven, clasped its 
 hands, and wringing them in a supplicating man- 
 ner, glided slowly out of the room. 
 
 My uncle lay for some time meditating on this 
 visitation, for (as he remarked when he told me 
 the story) though a man of firmness, he was also 
 a man of reflection, and did not reject a thing 
 because it was out of the regular course of events. 
 However, being, as I have before said, a great 
 traveller, and accustomed to strange adventures, 
 he drew his nightcap resolutely over his eyes, 
 turned his back to the door, hoisted the bedclothes 
 high over his shoulders, and gradually fell asleep. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 31 
 
 How long he slept he could not say, when he 
 was awakened by the voice of some one at his 
 bedside. He turned round, and beheld the old 
 French servant, with his ear-locks in tight buckles 
 on each side of a long lantern face, on which 
 habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile. 
 He made a thousand grimaces, and asked a thou- 
 sand pardons for disturbing Monsieur, but the 
 morning was considerably advanced. While my 
 uncle was dressing, he called vaguely to mind 
 the visitor of the preceding night. He asked the 
 ancient domestic what lady was in the habit of 
 rambling about this part of the chateau at night. 
 The old valet shrugged his shoulders as high as 
 his head, laid one hand on his bosom, threw open 
 the other with every finger extended, made a 
 most whimsical grimace which he meant to be 
 complimentary, and replied, that it was not for 
 him to know anything of les bonnes fortunes of 
 Monsieur. 
 
 My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory 
 to be learned in this quarter. After breakfast, 
 he was walking with the Marquis through the 
 modern apartments of the chateau, sliding over 
 the well- waxed floors of silken saloons, amidst 
 furniture rich in gilding and brocade, until they 
 came to a long picture-gallery, containing many 
 portraits, some in oil and some in chalks. 
 
 Here was an ample field for the eloquence of 
 his host, who had all the pride of a nobleman of 
 the ancien regime. There was not a grand name 
 in Normandy, and hardly one in France, which 
 was not, in some way or other, connected with 
 
32 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 his house. My uncle stood h'stening with inward 
 impatience, resting sometimes on one leg, some- 
 times on the other, as the little Marquis descanted, 
 with his usual fire and vivacity, on the achieve- 
 ments of his ancestors, whose portraits hung 
 along the wall ; from the martial deeds of the 
 stern warriors in steel, to the gallantries and in- 
 trigues of the blue - eyed gentlemen, with fair 
 smiling faces, powdered ear-locks, laced ruffles, 
 and pink and blue silk coats and breeches ; — 
 not forgetting the conquests of the lovely shep- 
 herdesses, with hooped petticoats, and waists no 
 thicker than an hour-glass, who appeared ruling 
 over their sheep and their swains, with dainty 
 crooks decorated with fluttering ribbons. 
 
 In the midst of his friend's discourse, my uncle 
 was startled on beholding a full-length portrait, 
 the very counterpart of his visitor of the preced- 
 ing night. 
 
 " Methinks," said he, pointing to it, " I have 
 seen the original of this portrait." 
 
 " Pardonnez moi," replied the Marquis politely, 
 " that can hardly be, as the lady has been dead 
 more than a hundred years. That was the beau- 
 tiful Duchess de Longueville, who figured dur- 
 ing the minority of Louis the Fourteenth." 
 
 " And was there anythuig remarkable in her 
 history ? " 
 
 Never was question more unlucky. The little 
 Marquis immediately threw himself into the at- 
 titude of a man about to tell a long story. In 
 fact, my uncle had pulled upon himself the whole 
 history of the civil war of the Fronde, in which 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 33 
 
 the beautiful Duchess had played so distinguished 
 a part. Turenne, Coligni, Mazarin, were called 
 up from their graves to grace his narration ; nor 
 were the affairs of the Barricadoes, nor the chiv- 
 alry of the Port Cocheres forgotten. My uncle 
 began to wish himself a thousand leagues off 
 from the Marquis and his merciless memory, 
 when suddenly the little man's recollections took 
 a more interesting turn. He was relating the 
 imprisonment of the Duke de Longueville with 
 the Princes Conde and Conti in the chateau 
 of Vincennes, and the ineffectual efforts of the 
 Duchess to rouse the sturdy Normans to their 
 rescue. He had come to that part where she 
 was invested by the royal forces in the Castle of 
 Dieppe. 
 
 "The spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the 
 Marquis, " rose from her trials. It was astonish- 
 ing to see so delicate and beautiful a being buffet 
 so resolutely with hardships. She determined on 
 a desperate means of escape. You may have 
 seen the chateau in which she was mewed up, — 
 an old ragged wart of an edifice, standing on the 
 knuckle of a hill, just above the rusty little town 
 of Dieppe. One dark unruly night she issued 
 secretly out of a small postern gate of the castle, 
 which the enemy had neglected to guard. The 
 postern gate is there to this very day ; opening 
 upon a narrow bridge over a deep fosse between 
 the castle and the brow of the hill. She was 
 followed by her female attendants, a few domes- 
 tics, and some gallant cavaliers, who still re- 
 mained faithful to her fortunes. Her object was 
 3 
 
34 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 to gain a small port about two leagues distant, 
 where she had privately provided a vessel for her 
 escape in case of emergency. 
 
 " The little band of fugitives were obliged to 
 perform the distance on foot. When they arrived 
 at the port the wind was high and stormy, the 
 tide contrary, the vessel anchored far off in the 
 road, and no means of getting on board but by a 
 fishing-shallop which lay tossing like a cockle- 
 shell on the edge of the surf. The Duchess de- 
 termined to risk the attempt. The seamen en- 
 deavored to dissuade her, but the imminence of 
 her danger on shore, and the magnanimity of her 
 spirit, urged her on. She had to be borne to the 
 shallop in the arms of a mariner. Such was the 
 violence of the wind and waves that he faltered, 
 lost his foothold, and let his precious burden fall 
 into the sea. 
 
 "The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly 
 through her own struggles, partly by the exer- 
 tions of the seamen, she got to land. As soon 
 as she had a little recovered strength, she insisted 
 on renewing the attempt. The storm, however, 
 had by this time become so violent as to set all 
 efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be discov- 
 ered and taken prisoner. As the only resource 
 left, she procured horses, mounted with her female 
 attendants, en croupe, behind the gallant gentle- 
 men who accompanied her, and scoured the coun- 
 try to seek some temporary asylum. 
 
 "While the Duchess," continued the Mar- 
 quis, laying his forefinger on my uncle's breast 
 to arouse his flagging attention, — " while the 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 35 
 
 Duchess, poor lady, was wandering amid the 
 tempest in this disconsolate manner, she arrived 
 at this chateau. Her approach caused some un- 
 easiness ; for the clattering of a troop of horse 
 at dead of night up the avenue of a lonely- 
 chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a 
 troubled part of the country, was enough to 
 occasion alarm. 
 
 " A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to 
 the teeth, galloped ahead, and announced the 
 name of the visitor. All uneasiness was dispelled. 
 The household turned out with flambeaux to re- 
 ceive her, and never did torches gleam on a more 
 weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came 
 tramping into the court. Such pale, careworn 
 faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duch- 
 ess and her females presented, each seated behind 
 her cavalier : while the half-drenched, half-drowsy 
 pages and attendants seemed ready to fall from 
 their horses with sleep and fatigue. 
 
 " The Duchess was received with a hearty 
 welcome by my ancestor. She was ushered into 
 the hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled 
 and blazed, to cheer herself and her train ; and 
 every spit and stew-pan was put in requisition to 
 prepare ample refreshment for the wayfarers. 
 
 " She had a right to our hospitalities," con- 
 tinued the Marquis, drawing himself up with a 
 slight degree of stateliness, " for she was related 
 to our family. I '11 tell you how it was. Her fa- 
 ther, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde " 
 
 " But did the Duchess pass the night in the 
 chateau ? " said my uncle rather abruptly, terri- 
 
36 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 fied at the idea of getting involved in one of the 
 Marquis's genealogical discussions. 
 
 " Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the 
 very apartment you occupied last night, which at 
 that time was a kind of state-apartment. Her 
 followers were quartered in the chambers open- 
 ing upon the neighboring corridor, and her favo- 
 rite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up and 
 down the corridor walked the great chasseur who 
 had announced her arrival, and who acted as a 
 kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, 
 powerful-looking fellow ; and as the light of a 
 lamp in the corridor fell upon his deeply marked 
 face and sinewy form, he seemed capable of de- 
 fending the castle with his single arm. 
 
 " It was a rough, rude night ; about this time 
 of the year — apropos ! — now I think of it, last 
 night was the anniversary of her visit. I may 
 well remember the precise date, for it was a night 
 not to be forgotten by our house. There is a 
 singular tradition concerning it in our family." 
 Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed 
 to gather about his bushy eyebrows. " There is 
 a tradition — that a strange occurrence took place 
 that night. — A strange, mysterious, inexplicable 
 occurrence" — Here he checked himself, and 
 paused. 
 
 " Did it relate to that lady ? " inquired my 
 uncle, eagerly. 
 
 " It was past the hour of midnight," resumed 
 
 th^ Marquis, — " when the whole chateau " 
 
 Here he paused again. My uncle made a move- 
 ment of anxious curiosity. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 37 
 
 " Excuse me," said the Marquis, a slight blush 
 streaking his sallow visage. " There are some 
 circumstances connected with our family history 
 which I do not like to relate. That was a rude 
 period. A time of great crimes among great 
 men : for you know high blood, when it runs 
 wrong, will not run tamely, like blood of the 
 canaille — poor lady ! — But I have a little fam- 
 ily pride, that — excuse me — we will change 
 the subject, if you please " — 
 
 My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pom- 
 pous and magnificent introduction had led him to 
 expect something wonderful in the story to which 
 it served as a kind of avenue. He had no idea 
 of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of 
 unreasonable squeamishness. Besides, being a 
 traveller in quest of information, he considered it 
 his duty to inquire into everything. 
 
 The Marquis, however, evaded every question. 
 
 "Well," said my uncle, a little petulantly, 
 " whatever you may think of it, I saw that lady 
 last night." 
 
 The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him 
 with surprise. 
 
 " She paid me a visit in my bedchamber." 
 
 The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a 
 shrug and a smile ; taking this no doubt for an 
 awkward piece of English pleasantry, which 
 politeness required him to be charmed with. 
 
 My uncle went on gravely, however, and re- 
 lated the whole circumstance. The Marquis 
 heard him through with profound attention, hold- 
 ing his snuff-box unopened in his hand. When 
 
38 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 the story was finished, he tapped on the lid of 
 his box dehberately, took a long, sonorous pinch 
 
 of snuff 
 
 " Bah ! " said the Marquis, and walked to- 
 wards the other end of the gallery. 
 
 Here the narrator paused. The company 
 waited for some time for him to resume his nar- 
 ration ; but he continued silent. 
 
 " Well," said the inquisitive gentleman, — 
 " and what did your uncle say then ? " 
 
 "Nothing," replied the other. 
 
 " And what did the Marquis say farther ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 « And is that all ? " 
 
 " That is all," said the narrator, filling a glass 
 of wine. 
 
 " I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman 
 with the waggish nose, — "I surmise the ghost 
 must have been the old housekeeper, walking her 
 rounds to see that all was right." 
 
 " Bah ! " said the narrator. " My uncle was 
 too much accustomed to strange sights not to 
 know a ghost from a housekeeper." 
 
 There was a murmur round the table, half of 
 merriment, half of disappointment. 1 was inclined 
 to think the old gentleman had really an after- 
 part of his story in reserve ; but he sipped his 
 wine and said nothing more ; and there was an 
 odd expression about his dilapidated countenance 
 which left me in doubt whether he were in 
 drollery or earnest. 
 
 " Egad," said the knowing gentleman, with the 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 
 
 39 
 
 flexible nose, " this story of your uncle puts me 
 in mind of one that used to be told of an aunt 
 of mine, by the mother's side ; though I don't 
 know that it will bear a comparison, as the good 
 lady was not so prone to meet with strange ad- 
 ventures. But any rate you shall have it." 
 
THE ADYENTUKE OF MY AUNT. 
 
 Y aunt was a lady of large frame, strong 
 mind, and great resolution : she was 
 what might be termed a very manly 
 woman. My uncle was a thin, puny little man, 
 very meek and acquiescent, and no match for my 
 aunt. It was observed that he dwindled and 
 dwindled gradually away, from the day of his 
 marriage. His wife's powerful mind was too 
 much for him ; it wore him out. My aunt, how- 
 ever, took all possible care of him ; had half the 
 doctors in town to prescribe for him ; made him 
 take all their prescriptions, and dosed him with 
 physic enough to cure a whole hospital. All 
 was in vain. My uncle grew worse and worse 
 the more dosing and nursing he underwent, until 
 in the end he added another to the long list of 
 matrimonial victims who have been killed with 
 kindness. 
 
 " And was it his ghost that appeared to her ? " 
 asked the inquisitive gentleman, who had ques- 
 tioned the former story-teller. 
 
 " You shall hear," replied the narrator. — My 
 aunt took on mightily for the death of her poor 
 dear husband. Perhaps she felt some compunc- 
 tion at having given him so much physic, and 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 41 
 
 nursed him into the grave. At any rate, she 
 did all that a widow could do to honor his mem- 
 ory. She spared no expense in either the quan- 
 tity or quality of her mourning weeds ; wore a 
 miniature of him about her neck as large as a lit- 
 tle sun-dial, and had a full-length portrait of him 
 always hanging in her bed-chamber. All the 
 world extolled her conduct to the skies ; and it 
 was determined that a woman who behaved so 
 well to the memory of one husband deserved 
 soon to get another. 
 
 It was not long after this that she went to take 
 up her residence in an old country-seat in Derby- 
 shire, which had long been in the care of merely 
 a steward and housekeeper. She took most of 
 her servants with her, intending to make it her 
 principal abode. The house stood in a lonely, 
 wild part of the country, among the gray Derby- 
 shire hills, with a murderer hanging in chains on 
 a bleak height in full view. 
 
 The servants from town were half frightened 
 out of their wits at the idea of living in such a 
 dismal, pagan-looking place ; especially when they 
 got together in the servants' hall in the evening, 
 and compared notes on all the hobgoblin stories 
 picked up in the course of the day. They were 
 afraid to venture alone about the gloomy, black- 
 looking chambers. My lady's maid, who was 
 troubled with nerves, declared she could never 
 sleep alone in such a " gashly rummaging old 
 building ";( and the footman, who was a kind- 
 hearted young fellow, did all in his power to 
 cheer her u|\ 
 
42 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 My aunt was struck with the lonely appear- 
 ance of the house. Before going to bed, there- 
 fore, she examined well the fastnesses of the 
 doors and windows ; locked up the plate with her 
 own hands, and carried the keys, together with 
 a little box of money and jewels, to her own 
 room ; for she was a notable woman, and always 
 saw to all things herself. 'Having put the keys 
 under her pillow, and dismissed her maid, she sat 
 by her toilet arranging her hair ; for being, in 
 spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a buxom 
 widow, she was somewhat particular about her 
 person. She sat for a little while looking at her 
 face in the glass, first on one side, then on the 
 other, as ladies are apt to do when they would as- 
 certain whether they have been in good looks ; for 
 a roistering country squire of the neighborhood, 
 with whom she had flirted when a girl, had called 
 that day to welcome her to the country. 
 
 All of a sudden she thought she heard some- 
 thing move behind her. She looked hastily 
 round, but there was nothing to be seen. Noth- 
 ing but the grimly painted portrait of her poor 
 dear man, hanging against the wall. 
 
 She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she 
 was accustomed to do whenever she spoke of 
 him in company, and then went on adjusting her 
 night-dress, and thinking of the squire. Her 
 sigh was reechoed, or answered by a long-drawn 
 breath. She looked round again, but no one was 
 to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the 
 wind oozing through the rat-holes of the old man- 
 sion, and proceeded leisurely to put her hair ui 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT, 43 
 
 papers, when, all at once, she thought she per- 
 ceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. 
 
 " The back of her head being towards it ! " 
 said the story-teller with the ruined head, — 
 " good ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " replied dryly the narrator, " her 
 back being towards the portrait, but her eyes fixed 
 on its reflection in the glass." — Well, as I was 
 saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the por- 
 trait move. So strange a circumstance, as you 
 may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock. To 
 assure herself of the fact, she put one hand to her 
 forehead as if rubbing it ; peeped through her fin- 
 gers, and moved the candle with the other hand. 
 The light of the taper gleamed on the eye, and 
 was reflected from it. She was sure it moved. 
 Nay, more, it seemed to give her a wink, as she 
 had sometimes known her husband to do when 
 living ! It struck a momentary chill to her heart ; 
 for she was a lone woman, and felt herself fear- 
 fully situated. 
 
 The chill was but transient. My aunt, who 
 was almost as resolute a personage as your un- 
 cle, sir, (turning to the old story-teller,) became 
 instantly calm and collected. She went on ad- 
 justing her dress. She even hummed an air, and 
 did not make even a single false note. She cas- 
 ually overturned a dressing-box ; took a candle 
 and picked up the articles one by one from the 
 floor ; pursued a rolling pin - cushion that was 
 making the best of its way under the bed ; then 
 opened the door ; looked for an instant into the 
 corridor, as if in doubt whether to go ; and then 
 walked quietly out. 
 
44 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 She hastened down-stairs, ordered the servants 
 to arm themselves with the weapons first at 
 hand, placed herself at their head, and returned 
 almost immediately. 
 
 Her hastily levied army presented a formida- 
 ble force. The steward had a rusty blunderbuss, 
 the coachman a loaded whip, the footman a pair 
 of horse-pistols, the cook a huge chopping-knife, 
 and the butler a bottle in each hand. My aunt 
 led the van with a red-hot poker, and in my 
 opinion she was the most formidable of the 
 party. The waiting-maid, who dreaded to stay 
 alone in the servants' hall, brought up the rear, 
 smelling to a broken bottle of volatile salts, 
 and expressing her terror of the ghostesses. 
 " Ghosts ! " said my aunt, resolutely. " I '11 
 singe their whiskers for them ! " 
 
 They entered the chamber. All was still and 
 undisturbed as when she had left it. They ap- 
 proached the portrait of my uncle. 
 
 " Pull down that picture ! " cried my aunt 
 A heavy groan, and a sound like the chattering of 
 teeth, issued from the portrait. The servants 
 shrunk back ; the maid uttered a faint shriek, and 
 clung to the footman for support. 
 
 " Instantly ! " added my aunt, with a stamp of 
 the foot. 
 
 The picture was pulled down, and from a re- 
 cess behind it, in which had formerly stood a 
 clock, they hauled forth a round-shouldered, 
 black-bearded varlet, with a knife as long as my 
 arm, but trembling all over like an aspen- leaf. 
 
 " Well, and who was he ? No ghost, I suppose," 
 said the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 45 
 
 " A Knight of the Post," replied the narrator, 
 " who had been smitten with the worth of the 
 wealthy widow ; or rather a marauding Tar- 
 quin, who had stolen into her chamber to violate 
 her purse, and rifle her strong box, when all the 
 house should be asleep. In plain terms," contin- 
 ued he, " the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of 
 the neighborhood, who had once been a servant 
 in the house, and had been employed to assist in 
 arranging it for the reception of its mistress. 
 He confessed that he had contrived this hiding- 
 place for his nefarious purpose, and had borrowed 
 an eye from the portrait by way of a reconnoi- 
 trmg-hole." 
 
 " And what did they do with him ? — did they 
 hang him ? " resumed the questioner. 
 
 " Hang him ! — how could they ? " exclaimed 
 a beetle-browed barrister, with a hawk's nose. 
 " The offence was not capital. No robbery, no 
 assault had been committed. No forcible entry 
 or breaking into the premises " — 
 
 " My aunt," said the narrator, " was a woman 
 of spirit, and apt to take the law in her own hands. 
 She had her own notioTis of cleanliness also. 
 She ordered the fellow to be drawn through the 
 horse-pond, to cleanse away all offences, and then 
 to be well rubbed down with an oaken towel." 
 
 " And what became of him afterwards ? " said 
 the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " I do not exactly know. I believe he was 
 sent on a voyage of improvement to Botany 
 Bay." 
 
 " And your aunt," said the inquisitive gentle- 
 
46 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 man ; " I '11 warrant she took care to make her 
 maid sleep in the room with her after that." 
 
 "■ No, sir, she did better ; she gave her hand 
 shortly after to the roistering squire ; for she 
 used to observe, that it was a dismal thing for a 
 woman to sleep alone in the country." 
 
 " She was right," observed the inquisitive gen- 
 tleman, nodding sagaciously ; '' but I am sorry 
 they did not hang that fellow." 
 
 It was agreed on all hands that the last narra- 
 tor had brought his tale to the most satisfactory 
 conclusion, though a country clergyman present 
 regretted that the uncle and aunt, who figured in 
 the different stories, had not been married to- 
 gether ; they certainly would have been well 
 matched. 
 
 " But I don't see, after all," said the inquisi- 
 tive gentleman, " that there was any ghost in this 
 last story." 
 
 " Oh ! If it 's ghosts you want, honey," cried 
 the Irish Captain of Dragoons, " if it 's ghosts 
 you want, you shall have a whole regiment of 
 them. And since these gentlemen have given 
 the adventures of their uncles and aunts, faith, 
 and I '11 even give you a chapter out of my own 
 family-history." 
 
THE BOLD DEAGOON; 
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER. 
 
 lY grandfather was a bold dragoon, for 
 it 's a profession, d' ye see, that has run 
 in the family. All my forefathers have 
 been dragoons, and died on the field of honor, 
 except myself, and I hope my posterity may be 
 able to say the same ; however, I don't mean to 
 be vainglorious. Well, my grandfather, as I said, 
 was a bold dragoon, and had served in the Low 
 Countries. In fact, he was one of that very army, 
 which, according to my uncle Toby, swore so ter- 
 ribly in Flanders. He could swear a good stick 
 himself; and moreover was the very man that 
 introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim mentions 
 of radical heat and radical moisture, or, in other 
 words, the mode of keeping out the damps of ditch- 
 water by burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it 's 
 nothing to the purport of my story. I only tell 
 it to show you that my grandfather was a man 
 not easily to be humbugged. He had seen ser- 
 vice, or, according to his own phrase, he had seen 
 the devil — and that 's saying everything. 
 
 Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way 
 
48 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 to England, for which he intended to embark from 
 Ostend — bad luck to the place ! for one where T 
 was kept by storms and head-winds for three long 
 days, and the devil of a jolly companion or pretty 
 girl to comfort me. Well, as I was saying, my 
 grandfather was on his way to England, or rather 
 to Ostend — no matter which, it's all the same. 
 So one evening, towards nightfall, he rode joUily 
 into Bruges. — Very like you all know Bruges, 
 gentlemen ; a queer^ old-fashioned Flemish town, 
 once, they say, a great place for trade and money- 
 making in old times, when the Mynheers were in 
 their glory ; but almost as large and as empty as 
 an Irishman's pocket at the present day. — Well, 
 gentlemen, it was at the time of the annual fair. 
 All Bruges was crowded ; and the canals swarmed 
 with Dutch boats, aijd the streets swarmed with 
 Dutch merchants ; and there was hardly any get- 
 ting along for goods, wares, and merchandises, and 
 peasants in big breeches, and women in half a 
 score of petticoats. 
 
 My grandfather rode jolHly along, in his easy, 
 slashing way, for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow 
 — staring about him at the motley crowd, and 
 the old houses with gable ends to the street, and 
 storks' nests in the chimneys ; winking at the 
 yafrows who showed their faces at the windows, 
 and joking the women right and left in the street ; 
 all of whom laughed, and took it in amazing good 
 part ; for though he did not know a word of the 
 language, yet he had always a knack of making 
 himself understood among the women. 
 
 Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the an- 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON, 49 
 
 nual fair, ail the town was crowded, every inn 
 and tavern full, and my grandfather applied in 
 vain from one to the other for admittance. At 
 length he rode up to an old rickety inn, that 
 looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the 
 rats would have run away from, if they could have 
 found room in any other house to put their heads. 
 It was just such a queer building as you see in 
 Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that reached up 
 into the clouds, and as many garrets, one over the 
 other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. Noth- 
 ing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's 
 nest on the chimney, which always brings good 
 luck to a house in the Low Countries ; and at the 
 very time of my grandfather's arrival, there were 
 two of these long-legged birds of grace standing 
 like ghosts on the chimney-top. Faith, but they 've 
 kept the house on its legs to this very day, for 
 you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, 
 as it stands there yet, only it is turned into a 
 brewery of strong Flemish Beer, — at least it was 
 so when I came that way after the battle of 
 "Waterloo. 
 
 My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he 
 approached. It might not have altogether struck 
 his fancy, had he not seen in large letters over 
 the door, 
 
 HEER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN" DRANK. 
 
 My grandfather had learnt enough of the lan- 
 guage to know that the sign promised good liquor. 
 "This is the house for me," said he, stopping 
 short before the door. 
 4 
 
50 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 The sudden appearance of a dasliing dragoon 
 was an event in an old inn frequented only by the 
 peaceful sons of traffic. A rich burgher of Ant- 
 werp, a stately ample man in a broad Flemish 
 hat, and who was the great man and great patron 
 of the establishment, sat smoking a clean long 
 pipe on one side of the door ; a fat little distiller 
 of Geneva, from Schiedam, sat smoking on the 
 other ; and the bottle-nosed host stood in the 
 door, and the comely hostess, in crimped cap, 
 beside him ; and the hostess's daughter, a plump 
 Flanders lass, with . long gold pendants in her 
 ears, was at a side-window. 
 
 " Humph ! " said the rich burgher of Antwerp, 
 with a sulky glance at the stranger. 
 
 "De duyvel!" said the fat little distiller of 
 Schiedam. 
 
 The landlord saw, with the quick glance of a 
 publican, that the new guest was not at all to the 
 taste of the old ones ; and, to tell the truth, he 
 did not like my grandfather's saucy eye. He 
 shook his head. " Not a garret in the house but 
 was full." 
 
 " Not a garret ! " echoed the landlady. 
 
 " Not a garret ! " echoed the daughter. 
 
 The burgher of Antwerp, and the little distiller 
 of Schiedam, continued to smoke their pipes sul- 
 lenly, eying the enemy askance from under their 
 broad hats, but said nothing. 
 
 My grandfather was not a man to be brow- 
 beaten. He threw the reins on his liorse's neck, 
 cocked his head on one side, stuck one arm akim- 
 bo, — " Faith and troth ! " said he, -' but I '11 sleep 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 61 
 
 in this house this very night." — As he said this 
 he gave a slap on his thigh, by way of empha- 
 sis — the slap went to the landlady's heart. 
 
 He followed up the vow by jumping off his 
 horse, and making his way past the staring Myn- 
 heers into the public room. — Maybe you 've 
 been in the bar-room of an old Flemish inn — 
 faith, but a handsome chamber it was as you 'd 
 wish to see ; with a brick floor, and a great fire- 
 place, with the whole Bible history in glazed tiles ; 
 and then the mantelpiece, pitching itself head 
 foremost out of the wall, with a whole regiment 
 of cracked tea-pots and earthen jugs paraded on 
 it ; not to mention half a dozen great Delft plat- 
 ters, hung about the room by way of pictures ; 
 and the little bar in one corner, and the bouncing 
 bar-maid inside of it, with a red calico cap, and 
 yellow ear-drops. 
 
 My grandfather snapped his fingers over his 
 head, as he cast an eye round the room, — " Faith, 
 this is the very house I've been looking after," 
 said he. 
 
 There was some further show of resistance on 
 the part of the garrison ; but my grandfather was 
 an old soldier, and an Irishman to boot, and not 
 easily repulsed, especially after he had got into 
 the fortress. So he blarneyed the landlord, kissed 
 the landlord's wife, tickled the landlord's daughter, 
 chucked the bar-maid under the chin ; and it was 
 agreed on all hands that it would be a thousand 
 pities, and a burning shame into the bargain, to 
 turn such a bold dragoon into the streets. So 
 they laid their heads together, that is to say, my 
 
52 ' TALES OF A TEA VELLER, 
 
 grandfather and the landlady, and it was at length 
 agreed to accommodate him with an old chamber, 
 that had been for some time shut up. 
 
 " Some say it 's haunted," whispered the land- 
 lord's daughter ; " but you are a bold dragoon, 
 and I dare say don't fear ghosts." 
 
 " The devil a bit ! " said my grandfather, pinch- 
 ing her plump cheek. " But if I should be 
 troubled by ghosts, I 've been to the Red Sea 
 in my time, and have a pleasant way of laying 
 them, my darling." 
 
 And then he whispered something to the girl 
 which made her laugh, and give him a good-hu- 
 mored box on the ear. In short, there was no- 
 body knew better how to make his way among 
 the petticoats than my grandfather. 
 
 In a little while, as was his usual way, he took 
 complete possession of the house, swaggering all 
 over it ; into the stable to look after his horse, 
 into the kitchen to look after his supper. He had 
 something to say or do with every one; smoked 
 with the Dutchmen, drank with the Germans, 
 slapped the landlord on the shoulder, romped with 
 his daughter and the bar-maid : — never, since the 
 days of Alley Croaker, had such a rattHng blade 
 been seen. The landlord stared at him with aston- 
 ishment ; the landlord's daughter hung her head 
 and giggled whenever he came near ; and as he 
 swaggered along the corridor, with his sword 
 trailing by his side, the maids looked after him, 
 and whispered to one another, " What a proper 
 
 man 
 
 !" 
 
 At supper, my grandfather took command of 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 53 
 
 the table-d'hote as though he had been at home ; 
 helped everybody, not forgetting himself; talked 
 with every one, whether he understood their lan- 
 guage or not ; and made his way into the inti- 
 macy of the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had 
 never been known to be sociable Avith any one 
 during his life. In fact, he revolutionized the 
 whole establishment, and gave it such a rouse, 
 that the very house reeled with it. He outsat 
 every one at table, excepting the little fat dis- 
 tiller of Schiedam, who sat soaking a long time 
 before he broke forth ; but when he did, he was 
 a very devil incarnate. He took a violent affec- 
 tion for my grandfather ; so they sat drinking and 
 smoking, and telling stories, and singing Dutch 
 and Irish songs, without understanding a word 
 each other said, until the little Hollander was 
 fairly swamped with his own gin and water, and 
 carried off to bed, whooping and hickuping, and 
 trolling the burden of a Low Dutch love-song. 
 
 Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown 
 to his quarters up a large staircase, composed of 
 loads of hewn timber ; and through long rigma- 
 role passages, hung with blackened paintings of 
 fish, and fruit, and game, and country frolics, and 
 huge kitchens, and portly burgomasters, such as 
 you see about old-fashioned Flemish inns, till at 
 length he arrived at his room. 
 
 An old-times chamber it was, sure enough, 
 and crowded with all kinds of trumpery. It 
 looked like an infirmary for decayed and super- 
 annuated furniture, where everything diseased 
 or disabled was sent to nurse or to be forgotten. 
 
64 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Or rather it might be taken for a general con- 
 gress of old legitimate movables, where every 
 kind and country had a representative. No two 
 chairs were alike. Such high backs and low 
 backs, and leather bottoms, and worsted bottoms, 
 and straw bottoms, and no bottoms ; and cracked 
 marble tables with curiously carved legs, holding 
 balls in their claws, as though they were going 
 to play at- ninepins. 
 
 My grandfather made a bow to the motley as- 
 semblage as he entered, and, having undressed 
 himself, placed his light in the fireplace, asking 
 pardon of the tongs, which seemed to be making 
 love to the shovel in the chimney-corner, and 
 whispering soft nonsense in its ear. 
 
 The rest of the guests were by this time sound 
 asleep, for your Mynheers are huge sleepers. 
 The housemaids, one by one, crept up yawning 
 to their attics ; aitd not a female head in the inn 
 was laid on a pillow that night without dreaming 
 of the bold dragoon. 
 
 My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and 
 drew over him one of those great bags of down, 
 under which they smother a man in the Low 
 Countries ; and there he lay, melting between 
 two feather beds, like an anchovy sandwich be- 
 tween two slices of toast and butter. He was 
 a warm-complexioned man, and this smothering 
 played the very deuce with him. So, sure 
 enough, in a little time it seemed as if a legion 
 of imps were twitching at him, and all the blood 
 in his veins was in a fever-heat. 
 
 He lay still, however, until all the house was 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON, 55 
 
 quiet, excepting the snoring of the Mynheers 
 from the different chambers ; who answered one 
 another in all kinds of tones and cadences, like 
 so many bull-frogs in a swamp. The quieter 
 the house became, the more unquiet became my 
 grandfather. He waxed warmer and warmer, 
 imtil at length the bed became too hot to hold 
 him. 
 
 " Maybe the maid had warmed it too much ? " 
 said the curious gentleman, inquiringly. 
 
 " I rather think the contrary," replied the 
 Irishman. " But, be that as it may, it grew too 
 hot for my grandfather." 
 
 " Faith, there 's no standing this any longer," 
 says he. So he jumped out of bed, and went 
 strolling about the house. 
 
 " What for ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " Why, to cool himself, to be sure — or per- 
 haps to find a more comfortable bed — or per- 
 haps — But no matter what he went for — he 
 never mentioned — and there 's no use in taking 
 up our time in conjecturing." 
 
 Well, my grandfather had been for some time 
 absent from his room, and was returning, per- 
 fectly cool, when just as he reached the door, he 
 heard a strange noise within. He paused and 
 listened. It seemed as if some one were trying 
 to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma. He 
 recollected the report of the room being haunted ; 
 but he was no believer in ghosts, so he pushed 
 the door gently open and peeped in. 
 
 Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying 
 on within enough to have astonished St. Anthony 
 
56 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 himself. By the light of the fire he saw a pale 
 weazen-faced fellow, in a long flannel gown and 
 a tall white night-cap with a tassel to it, who sat 
 by the fire with a bellows under his arm by way 
 of bagpipe, from which he forced the asthmatical 
 music that had bothered my grandfather. As 
 he played, too, he kept twitching about with a 
 thousand queer contortions, nodding his head, and 
 bobbing about his tasselled night-cap. 
 
 My grandfather thought this very odd and 
 mighty presumptuous, and was about to demand 
 what business he had to play his wind-instru- 
 ment in another gentleman's quarters, when a 
 new cause of astonishment met his eye. From 
 the opposite side of the room a long-backed, 
 bandy-legged chair, covered with leather, and 
 studded all over in a coxcombical fashion with 
 little brass nails, got suddenly into motion, thrust 
 out first a claw-foot, then a crooked arm, and at 
 length, making a leg, slided gracefully up to an 
 easy-chair of tarnished brocade, with a hole in its 
 bottom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly min- 
 uet about the floor. 
 
 The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, 
 and bobbed his head and his night-cap about like 
 mad. By degrees the dancing mania seemed to 
 seize upon all the- other pieces of furniture. The 
 antique, long-bodied chairs paired off" in couples 
 and led down a country-dance ; a three-legged 
 stool danced a hornpipe, though horribly puzzled 
 by its supernumerary limb ; while the amorous 
 tongs seized the shovel round the waist, and 
 whirled it about the room in a German waltz. 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 57 
 
 In short, all the movables got in motion : pirou- 
 etting hands across, right and left, like so many 
 devils ; all except a great clothes-press, which 
 kept courtesy ing and courtesy ing in a corner, 
 Hke a dowager, in exquisite time to the music ; 
 being rather too corpulent to dance, or perhaps 
 at a loss for a partner. 
 
 My grandfather concluded the latter to be the 
 reason ; so being, like a true Irishman, devoted to 
 the sex, and at all times ready for a frolic, he 
 bounced into the room, called to the musician to 
 strike up Paddy O'RaiFerty, capered up to the 
 clothes-press, and seized upon the two handles to 
 
 lead her out : when — whirr ! the whole 
 
 revel was at an end. The chairs, tables, tongs 
 and shovel, slunk in an instant as quietly into 
 their places as if nothing had happened, and the 
 musician vanished up the chimney, leaving the 
 bellows behind him in his hurry. My grand- 
 father found himself seated in the middle of the 
 floor with the clothes-press sprawling before him, 
 and the two handles jerked off, and in his hands. 
 
 " Then, after all, this was a mere dream 1 '" 
 said the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " The divil a bit of a dream ! " replied the 
 Irishman. "There never was a truer fact in 
 this world. Faith, I should have liked to see 
 any man tell my grandfather it was a dream." 
 
 Well, gentlemen, as the clothes-press was a 
 mighty heavy body, and my grandfather like- 
 wiscj particularly in rear, you may easily sup- 
 pose that two such heavy bodies coming to the 
 ground would make a bit of a noise. Faith, the 
 
58 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 old mansion shook as though it had mistaken it 
 for an earthquake. The whole garrison was 
 alarmed. The landlord, who slept below, hurried 
 up with a candle to inquire the cause, but with 
 all his haste his daughter had arrived at the 
 scene of uproar before him. The landlord was fol- 
 lowed by the landlady, who was followed by the 
 bouncing bar-maid, who was followed by the sim- 
 pering chambermaids, all holding together, as 
 well as they could, such garments as they first 
 laid hands on ; but all in a terrible hurry to see 
 what the deuce was to pay in the chamber of the 
 bold dragoon. 
 
 My grandfather related the marvellous scene 
 he had witnessed, and the broken handles of the 
 prostrate clothes-press bore testimony to the fact. 
 There was no contesting such evidence ; particu- 
 larly with a lad of my grandfather's complexion, 
 who seemed able to make good every word either 
 with sword or shillelah. So the landlord scratched 
 his head and looked silly, as he was apt to do 
 when puzzled. The landlady scratched — no, she 
 did not scratch her head, but she knit her brow, 
 and did not seem half pleased with the explana- 
 tion. But the landlady's daughter corroborated 
 it by recollecting that the last person who had 
 dwelt in that chamber was a famous juggler who 
 died of St. Vitus's dance, and had no doubt in- 
 fected all the furniture. 
 
 This set all things to rights, particularly when 
 the chambermaids declared that they had all wit- 
 nessed strange carryings on in that room ; and as 
 they declared this " upon their honors," there 
 could not remain a doubt upon this subject. 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 59 
 
 " And did your grandfather go to bed again in 
 that room ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " That 's more than I can tell. Where he 
 passed the rest of the night was a secret he never 
 disclosed. In fact, though he had seen much 
 service, he was but indifferently acquainted with 
 geography, and apt to make blunders in his trav- 
 els about inns at night, which it would have puz- 
 zled him sadly to account for in the morning." 
 
 " Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep ? " said 
 the knowing old gentleman. 
 
 " Never that I heard of." 
 
 There was a little pause after this rigmarole 
 Irish romance, when the old gentleman with the 
 haunted head observed, that the stories hitherto 
 related had rather a burlesque tendency. " I 
 recollect an adventure, however," added he, " which 
 I heard of during a residence at Paris, for the 
 truth of which I can undertake to vouch, and 
 which is of a very grave and singular nature." 
 
ADVENTURE OF THE GEEMAN STUDENT. 
 
 a stormy night, in the tempestuous 
 times of the French revolution, a young 
 German was returning to his lodgings, 
 at a late hour, across the old part of Paris. The 
 lightning gleamed, and the loud claps of thunder 
 rattled through the lofty narrow streets — but I 
 should first tell you something about this young 
 German. 
 
 Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good 
 family. He had studied for some time at Got- 
 tingen, but being of a visionary and enthusiastic 
 character, he had wandered into those wild and 
 speculative doctrines which have so often bewil- 
 dered German students. His secluded life, his 
 intense application, and the singular nature of his 
 studies, had an effect on both mind and body. 
 His health was impaired ; his imagination dis- 
 eased. He had been indulging in fanciful spec- 
 ulations on spiritual ejisences, until, like Sweden- 
 borg, he had an ideal world of his own around 
 him. He took up a notion, I do not know from 
 what cause, that there was an evil influence hang- 
 ing over him ; an evil genius or spirit seeking to 
 ensnare him and ensure his perdition. Such an 
 idea working on his melancholy temperament, 
 
THE GERMAN STUDENT, 61 
 
 produced the most gloomy effects. He became 
 haggard and desponding. His friends discovered 
 the mental malady preying upon him, and deter- 
 mined that the best cure was a change of scene ; 
 he was sent, therefore, to finish his studies amidst 
 the splendors and gayeties of Paris. 
 
 Wolfojano^ arrived at Paris at the breakino; out 
 of the revolution. The popular delirium at first 
 caught his enthusiastic mind, and he was capti- 
 vated by the political and philosophical theories 
 of the day : but the scenes of blood which fol- 
 lowed shocked his sensitive nature, disgusted him 
 with society and the world, and made him more 
 than ever a recluse. He shut himself up in a 
 solitary apartment in the Pays Latin ^ the quarter 
 of students. There, in a gloomy street not far 
 from the monastic walls of the Sorbonne, he pur- 
 sued his favorite speculations. Sometimes he 
 spent hours together in the great libraries of 
 Paris, those catacombs of departed authors, rum- 
 maging among their hoards of dusty and obsolete 
 works in quest of food for his unhealthy appetite. 
 He was, in a manner, a literary ghoul, feeding in 
 the charnel-house of decayed literature. 
 
 "Wolfgang, though solitary and recluse, was of 
 an ardent temperament, but for a time it operated 
 merely upon his imagination. He was too shy 
 and ignorant of the world to make any advances 
 to the fair, but he was a passionate admu^er of 
 female beauty, and in his lonely chamber would 
 often lose himself in reveries on forms and faces 
 which he had seen, and his fancy would deck out 
 images of loveliness far surpassing the reality. 
 
62 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 While his mind was in this excited and subli- 
 mated state, a dream produced an extraordinary 
 effect upon him. It was of a female face of tran- 
 scendent beauty. So strong was the impression 
 made, that he dreamt of it again and again. It 
 haunted his thoughts by day, his slumbers by 
 night ; in fine, he became passionately enamoured 
 of this shadow of a dream. This lasted so long 
 that it became one of those fixed ideas which 
 haunt the minds of melancholy men, and are at 
 times mistaken for madness. 
 
 Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such liis 
 situation at the time I mentioned. He was re- 
 turning home late one stormy night, through some 
 of the old and gloomy streets of the Marais^ the 
 ancient part of Paris. The loud claps of thunder 
 rattled among the high houses of the narrow 
 streets. He came to the Place de Greve, the 
 square where public executions are performed^ 
 The lightning quivered about the pinnacles of the 
 ancient Hotel de Ville, and shed flickering gleams 
 over the open space in front. As Wolfgang was 
 crossing the square, he shrank back with horror 
 at finding himself close by the guillotine. It was 
 the height of the reign of terror, when this dread- 
 ful instrument of death stood ever ready, and its 
 scaffold was continually running with the blood 
 of the virtuous and the brave. It had that very 
 day been actively employed in the work of car- 
 nage, and there it stood in grim array, amidst a 
 silent and sleeping city, waiting for fresh victims. 
 
 Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he 
 was turning shuddering from the horrible engine, 
 
THE GERMAN STUDENT, 63 
 
 when he beheld a shadowy form, cowering as it 
 were at the foot of the steps which led up to the 
 scaffold. A succession of vivid flashes of light- 
 ning revealed it more distinctly. It was a female 
 figure, dressed in black. She was seated on one 
 of the lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, 
 her face hid in her lap ; and her long dishevelled 
 tresses hanging to the ground, streaming with the 
 rain which fell in torrents. Wolfgang paused. 
 There was something awful in this solitary monu- 
 ment of woe. The female had the appearance 
 of being above the common order. He knew the 
 times to be full of vicissitude, and that many a 
 fair head, which had once been pillowed on down, 
 now wandered houseless. Perhaps this was some 
 poor mourner whom the dreadful axe had ren- 
 dered desolate, and who sat here heart-broken on 
 the strand of existence, from which all that was 
 dear to her had been launched into eternity. 
 
 He approached, and addressed her in the ac- 
 cents of sympathy. She raised her head and 
 gazed wildly at him. What was his astonishment 
 at beholding, by the bright glare of the light- 
 ning, the very face which had haunted him in his 
 dreams. It was pale and disconsolate, but rav- 
 ishingly beautiful. 
 
 Trembling with violent and conflicting emo- 
 tions, Wolfgang again accosted her. He spoke 
 something of her being exposed at such an hour 
 of the night, and to the fury of such a storm, 
 and offered to conduct her to her friends. She 
 pointed to the guillotine with a gesture of dread- 
 ful signification. 
 
64 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 " I have no friend on earth ! " said she. 
 
 " But you have a home," said Wolfgang. 
 
 " Yes — in the grave ! " 
 
 The heart of the student melted at the words. 
 
 " If a stranger dare make an offer/' said he, 
 " without danger of being misunderstood, I would 
 offer my humble dwelling as a shelter ; myself 
 as a devoted friend. I am friendless myself in 
 Paris, and a stranger in the land ; but if my life 
 could be of service, it is at your disposal, and 
 should be sacrificed before harm or indignity 
 should come to you." 
 
 There was an honest earnestness in the young 
 man's manner that had its effect. His foreign 
 accent, too, was in his favor; it showed him not 
 to be a hackneyed inhabitant of Paris. Indeed, 
 there is an eloquence in true enthusiasm that is 
 not to be doubted. The homeless stranger con- 
 fided herself implicitly to the protection of the stu* 
 dent. 
 
 He supported her faltering steps across the 
 Pont Neuf, and by the place where the statue 
 of Henry the Fourth had been overthrown by the 
 populace. The storm had abated, and the thun- 
 der rumbled at a distance. All Paris was quiet ; 
 that great volcano of human passion slumbered 
 for a while, to gather fresh strength for the next 
 day's eruption. The student conducted his charge 
 through the ancient streets of the Pays Latin^ 
 and by the dusky walls of the Sorbonne, to the 
 great dingy hotel which he inhabited. The old 
 portress who admitted them stared with surprise 
 at the unusual sight of the melancholy Wolfgang 
 with a female companion. 
 
THE GERMAN STUDENT. 65 
 
 On entering his apartment, the student, for the 
 first time, blushed at the scantiness and indiffer- 
 . ence of his dwelling. He had but one chamber 
 — an old-fashioned saloon — heavily carved, and 
 fantastically furnished with the remains of former 
 magnificence, for it was one of those hotels in 
 the quarter of the Luxembourg palace, which 
 had once belonged to nobility. It was lumbered 
 with books and papers, and all the usual appara- 
 tus of a student, and his bed stood in a recess at 
 one end. 
 
 When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had 
 a better opportunity of contemplating the stran- 
 ger, he was more than ever intoxicated by her 
 beauty. Her face was pale, but of a dazzling 
 fairness, set off by a profusion of raven hair that 
 hung clustering about it. Her eyes were large 
 and brilliant, with a singular expression ap- 
 proaching almost to wildness. As far as her 
 black dress permitted her shape to be seen, it was 
 of perfect symmetry. Her whole appearance was 
 highly striking, though she was dressed in the 
 simplest style. The only thing approaching to an 
 ornament w^hich she wore, was a broad black 
 band round her neck, clasped by diamonds. 
 
 The perplexity now commenced with the stu- 
 dent how to dispose of the helpless being thus 
 thrown upon his protection. He thought of aban- 
 doning his chamber to her, and seeking shelter 
 for himself elsewhere. Still he was so fascinated 
 by her charms, there seemed to be such a spell 
 upon his thoughts and senses, that he could not 
 tear himself from lier presence. Her manner, 
 5 
 
66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 too, was singular and unaccountable. She spoke 
 no more of the guillotine. Her grief had abated. 
 The attentions of the student had first won hei 
 confidence, and then, apparently, her heart. She 
 was evidently an enthusiast like himself, and en- 
 thusiasts soon understand each other. 
 
 In the infatuation of the moment, Wolfgang 
 avowed his passion for her. He told her the 
 story of his mysterious dream, and how she had 
 possessed his heart before he had even seen her. 
 She was strangely affected by his recital, and 
 acknowledged to have felt an impulse towards 
 him equally unaccountable. It was the time for 
 wild theory and wild actions. Old prejudices 
 and superstitions were done away ; everything 
 was under the sway of the " Goddess of Reason." 
 Among other rubbish of the old times, the forms 
 and ceremonies of marriage began to be consid- 
 ered superfluous bonds for honorable minds. 
 Social compacts were the vogue. Wolfgang was 
 too much of a theorist not to be tainted by the 
 liberal doctrines of the day. 
 
 " Why should we separate ? " said he : " our 
 hearts are united ; in the eye of reason and honor 
 we are as one. What need is there of sordid 
 forms to bind high souls together ? " 
 
 The stranger listened with emotion : she had 
 evidently received illumination at the same 
 school. 
 
 " You have no home nor family," continued he ; 
 " let me be everything to you, or rather let us 
 be everything to one another. If form is neces- 
 sary, form shall be observed — there is my hand. 
 I pledge myself to you forever." 
 
THE GERMAN STUDENT. 67 
 
 " Forever ? " said the stranger, solemnly. 
 
 '• Forever ! " repeated Wolfgang. 
 
 The stranger clasped the hand extended to 
 her : " Then I am yours/' murmured she, and 
 sank upon his bosom. 
 
 The next morning the student left his bride 
 sleeping, and sallied forth at an early hour to 
 seek more spacious apartments suitable to the 
 change in his situation. When he returned, he 
 found the stranger lying with her head hanging 
 over the bed, and one arm thrown over it. He 
 spoke to her, but received no reply. He ad- 
 vanced to awaken her from her uneasy posture. 
 On taking her hand, it was cold — there was no 
 pulsation — her face was pallid and ghastly. In 
 a word, she was a corpse. 
 
 Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. 
 A scene of confusion ensued. The police was 
 summoned. As the ofiicer of police entered 
 the room, he started back on beholding the 
 corpse. 
 
 " Great heaven ! " cried he, " how did this 
 woman come here ? " 
 
 " Do you know anything about her ? " said 
 Wolfgang eagerly. 
 
 "Do I ? " exclaimed the officer : " she was 
 guillotined yesterday." 
 
 He stepped forward; undid the black collar 
 round the neck of the corpse, and the head rolled 
 on the floor ! 
 
 The student burst into a frenzy. " The fiend ! 
 the fiend has gained possession of me ! " shrieked 
 he : ''' I am lost forever." 
 
68 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He 
 was possessed with the frightful belief that an 
 evil spirit had reanimated the dead body to en- 
 snare him. He went distracted, and died in a 
 mad-house. 
 
 Here the old gentleman with the haunted 
 head finished his narrative. 
 
 " And is this really a fact ? " said the inquisi- 
 tive gentleman. 
 
 " A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. 
 '^ I had it from the best authority. The student 
 told it me himself. I saw him in a mad-house 
 in Paris." 
 
 J 
 
ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS 
 PICTURE. 
 
 ! S one story of the kind produces another, 
 and as all the company seemed fully 
 engrossed with the subject, and disposed 
 to bring their relatives and ancestors upon the 
 scene, there is no knowing how many more 
 strange adventures we might have heard^ had not 
 a corpulent old fox-hunter, who had slept soundly 
 through the whole, now suddenly awakened, with 
 a loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound broke 
 the charm : the ghosts took to flight, as though it 
 had been cock-crowing, and there was a univer- 
 sal move for bed. 
 
 " And now for the haunted chamber," said the 
 Irish Captain, taking his candle. 
 
 " Ay, who 's to be the hero of the night ? " said 
 the gentleman with the ruined head. 
 
 " That Ave shall see in the morning," said the 
 old gentleman with the nose : " whoever looks 
 pale and grizzly will have seen the ghost." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, " there's 
 many a true thing said in jest — in fact, one of 
 you will sleep in the room to-night " 
 
 " What — a haunted room ? — a haunted room ? 
 — I claim the adventure — and I — and I — 
 
70 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 and I," said a dozen guests, talking and laughing 
 at the same time. 
 
 " No, no," said mine host, " there is a secret 
 about one of my rooms on which I feel disposed 
 to try an experiment : so, gentlemen, none of you 
 shall know who has the haunted chamber until 
 circumstances reveal it. I will not even know it 
 myself, but will leave it to chance and the allot- 
 ment of the housekeeper. At the same time, if 
 it will be any satisfaction to you, I will observe, 
 for the honor of my paternal mansion, that there 's 
 scarcely a chamber in it but is well worthy of be- 
 ing haunted.'* 
 
 We now separated for the night, and each 
 went to his allotted room. Mine was in one 
 wing of the building, and I could not but smile 
 at its resemblance in style to those eventful apart- 
 ments described in the tales of the supper-table. 
 It was spacious and gloomy, decorated with lamp- 
 black portraits ; a bed of ancient damask, with a 
 tester sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, 
 and a number of massive pieces of old-fashioned 
 furniture. I drew a great claw-footed arm-chair 
 before the wide fireplace ; stirred up the fire ; sat 
 looking into it, and musing upon the odd stories 
 I had heard, until, partly overcome by the fatigue 
 of the day's hunting, and partly by the wine and 
 wassail of mine host, I fell asleep in my chair. 
 
 The uneasiness of my position made my slum- 
 ber troubled, and laid me at the mercy of all 
 kinds of wild and fearful dreams. Now it was that 
 my perfidious dinner and supper rose in rebellion 
 against my peace. I was hag-ridden by a fat 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 71 
 
 saddle of mutton ; a plum-pudding weighed like 
 lead upon my conscience ; the merry-thought of 
 a capon filled me with horrible suggestions ; and 
 a devilled leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of 
 diabolical shapes through my imagination. In 
 short, I had a violent fit of the nightmare. Some 
 strange, indefinite evil seemed hanging over me 
 which I could not avert ; something terrible and 
 loathsome oppressed me which I could not shake 
 off. I was conscious of being asleep, and strove to 
 rouse myself, but every effort redoubled the evil ; 
 until gasping, struggling, almost strangling, I sud- 
 denly sprang bolt upright in my chair, and awoke. 
 The light on the mantel-piece had burnt low, 
 and the wick was divided ; there was a great 
 winding-sheet made by the dripping wax on the 
 side towards me. The disordered taper emitted 
 a broad flaring flame, and threw a strong light 
 on a painting over the fireplace which I had not 
 hitherto observed. It consisted merely of a head, 
 or rather a face, staring full upon me, with an ex- 
 pression that was startling. It was without a 
 frame, and at the first glance I could hardly per- 
 suade myself that it was not a real face thrusting 
 itself out of the dark oaken panel. I sat in my 
 chair gazing at it, and the more I gazed, the 
 more it disquieted me. I had never before been 
 affected in the same way by any painting. The 
 emotions it caused were strange and indefinite. 
 They were something like what I have heard 
 ascribed to the eyes of the basilisk, or like that 
 mysterious influence in reptiles termed fascina- 
 tion. I passed my hand over my eyes several 
 
72 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 times, as if seeking instinctively to brush away the 
 illusion — in vain. They instantly reverted to the 
 picture, and its chilling, creeping influence over my 
 flesh and blood was redoubled. I looked round the 
 room on other pictures, either to divert my atten- 
 tion, or to see whether the same effect would be 
 produced by them. Some of them were grim 
 enough to produce the effect, if the mere grimness 
 of the painting produced it. — No such thing — 
 my eye passed over them all with perfect indif- 
 ference, but the moment it reverted to this visage 
 over the fireplace, it was as if an electric shock 
 darted through me. The other pictures were dim 
 and faded, but this one protruded from a plain 
 background in the strongest relief, and with won- 
 derful truth of coloring. The expression was 
 that of agony — the agony of intense bodily pain ; 
 but a menace scowled upon the brow, and a few 
 sprinklings of blood added to its ghastliness. 
 Yet it was not all these characteristics ; it was 
 some horror of the mind, some inscrutable antip- 
 athy awakened by this picture, which harrowed 
 up my feelings. 
 
 I tried to persuade myself that this was chimer- 
 ical, that my brain was confused by the fumes of 
 mine host's good cheer, and in some measure by 
 the odd stories about paintings which had been 
 told at supper. I determined to shake off these 
 vapors of the mind ; rose from my chair ; walked 
 about the room ; snapped my fingers ; rallied 
 myself ; laughed aloud. — It was a forced laugh, 
 and the echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon 
 my ear. — I walked to the window, and tried to 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 73 
 
 discern the landscape through the glass. It was 
 pitch darkness, and a howling storm without ; 
 and as I heard the wind moan among the trees, I 
 caught a reflection of this accursed visage in the 
 pane of glass, as though it were staring through 
 the window at me. Even the reflection of it 
 was thrilling. 
 
 How was this vile nervous fit, for such I now 
 persuaded myself it was, to be conquered ? I de- 
 termined to force myself not to look at the paint- 
 ing, but to undress quickly and get into bed. — 
 I began to undress, but in spite of every effort I 
 could not keep myself from stealing a glance 
 every now and then at the picture ; and a glance 
 was sufficient to distress me. Even when my 
 back was turned to it, the idea of this strange face 
 behind me, peeping over my shoulder, was insup- 
 portable. I threw off my clothes and hurried into 
 bed, but still this visage gazed upon me. I had a 
 full view of it in my bed, and for some time could 
 not take my eyes from it. I had grown nervous 
 to a dismal degree. I put out the light, and 
 tried to force myself to sleep — all in vain. The 
 fire gleaming up a little, threw an uncertain light 
 about the room, leaving, however, the region of 
 the picture in deep shadow. What, thought I, if 
 this be the chamber about which mine host spoke 
 as having a mystery reigning over it ? I had 
 taken his words merely as spoken in jest ; might 
 they have a real import ? I looked around. The 
 faintly lighted apartment had all the qualifica- 
 tions requisite for a haunted chamber. It began 
 in my infected imagination to assume strange 
 
74 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 appearances — the old portraits turned paler and 
 paler, and blacker and blacker ; the streaks of light 
 and shadow thrown among the quaint articles of 
 furniture gave them more singular shapes and char- 
 acters. — There was a huge dark clothes-press of 
 antique form, gorgeous in brass and lustrous with 
 wax, that began to grow oppressive to me. 
 
 " Am I then," thought I, " indeed the hero of 
 the haunted room? Is there really a spell laid 
 upon me, or is this all some contrivance of mine 
 host to raise a laugh at my expense ? " The idea 
 of being hag-ridden by my own fancy all night, 
 and then bantered on my haggard looks the next 
 day, was intolerable ; but the very idea was suf- 
 ficient to produce the effect, and to render me 
 still more nervous. — " Pish," said I, " it can be 
 no such thing. How could my worthy host im- 
 agine that I, or any man, would be so worried by 
 a mere picture ? It is my own diseased imagina- 
 tion that torments me." 
 
 I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side, 
 to try to fall asleep ; but all in vain ; when one 
 cannot get asleep by lying quiet, it is seldom that 
 tossing about will effect the purpose. The fire 
 gradually went out, and left the room in tx)tal 
 darkness. Still I had the idea of that inexplica- 
 ble countenance gazing and keeping watch upon 
 me through the gloom — nay, what was worse, 
 the very darkness seemed to magnify its terrors. 
 It was like having an unseen enemy hanging 
 about one in the night. Instead of having one 
 picture now to worry me, I had a hundred. I 
 fancied it in every direction — " There it is," 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE, 75 
 
 thought I, " and there ! and there ! with its hor- 
 rible and mysterious expression still gazing and 
 gazing on me ! No — if I must suffer the strange 
 and dismal influence, it were better face a single 
 foe than thus be haunted by a thousand images 
 of it." 
 
 Whoever has been in a state of nervous agita- 
 tion, must know that the longer it continues the 
 more uncontrollable it grows. The very air of 
 the chamber seemed at length infected by the 
 baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it 
 hovering over me. I almost felt the fearful vis- 
 age from the wall approaching my face — it 
 seemed breathing upon me. " This is not to be 
 borne," said I, at length, springing out of bed : 
 " I can stand this no longer — I shall only tum- 
 ble and toss about here all night ; make a very 
 spectre of myself, and become the hero of the 
 haunted chamber in good earnest. Whatever be 
 the ill consequences, I '11 quit this cursed room 
 and seek a night's rest elsewhere — they can but 
 laugh at me, at all events, and they '11 be sure to 
 have the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless 
 night, and show them a haggard and woe-begone 
 visage in the morning." 
 
 All this was half-muttered to myself as I has- 
 tily slipped on my clothes, which having done, I 
 groped my way out of the room and down-stairs 
 to the drawing-room. Here, after tumbling over 
 two or three pieces of furniture, I made out to 
 reach a sofa, and stretching myself upon it, de- 
 termined to bivouac there for the night. The 
 moment I found myself out of the neighborhood 
 
76 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm 
 were broken. All its influence was at an end. 
 I felt assured that it was confined to its own 
 dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinc- 
 tive caution, turned the key when I closed the 
 door. I soon calmed down, therefore, into a state 
 of tranquillity ; from that into a drowsiness, and 
 finally into a deep sleep ; out of which I did not 
 awake until the housemaid, with her besom and 
 her matin-song, came to put the room in order. 
 She stared at finding me stretched upon the sofa, 
 but I presume circumstances of the kind were not 
 uncommon after hunting-dinners in her master's 
 bachelor establishment, for she went on with her 
 song and her work, and took no further heed 
 of me. 
 
 I had an unconquerable repugnance to return 
 to^ my chamber ; so I found my way to the but- 
 ler's quarters, made my toilet in the best way 
 circumstances would permit, and was among the 
 first to appear at the breakfast-table. Our break- 
 fast was a substantial fox-hunter's repast, and the 
 company generally assembled at it. When am- 
 ple justice had been done to the tea, coffee, cold 
 meats, and humming ale, for all these were fur- 
 nished in abundance, according to the tastes of 
 the different guests, the conversation began to 
 break out with all the liveliness and freshness of 
 morning mirth. 
 
 " But who is the hero of the haunted chamber 
 — who has seen the ghost last night ? " said the 
 inquisitive gentleman, rolling his lobster - eyes 
 about the table. 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE, 77 
 
 The question set every tongue in motion ; a 
 vast deal of bantering, criticizing of countenances, 
 of mutual accusation and retort took place. Some 
 had drunk deep, and some were unshaven, so that 
 there were suspicious faces enough in the assem- 
 bly. I alone could not enter with ease and vi- 
 vacity into the joke — I felt tongue-tied, embar- 
 rassed. A recollection of what I had seen and 
 felt the preceding night still haunted my mind. 
 It seemed as if the mysterious picture still held a 
 thrall upon me. I thought also that our host's 
 eye was turned on me with an air of curiosity. 
 In short, I was conscious that I was the hero of 
 the night, and felt as if every one might read it 
 in my looks. The joke, however, passed over, 
 and no suspicion seemed to attach to me. I was 
 just congratulating myself on my escape, when a 
 servant came in saying, that the gentleman who 
 had slept on the sofa in the drawing-room had 
 left his watch under one of the pillows. My re- 
 peater was in his hand. 
 
 " What ! '' said the inquisitive gentleman, " did 
 any gentleman sleep on the sofa ? " 
 
 " Soho ! soho ! a hare — a hare ! " cried the old 
 gentleman with the flexible nose. 
 
 I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, 
 and was rising in great confusion^ when a boister- 
 ous old squire who sat beside me exclaimed, slap- 
 ping me on the shoulder, " 'Sblood, lad, thou art 
 the man as has seen the ghost ! " 
 
 The attention of the company was immediately 
 turned on me : if my face had been pale the 
 moment before, it now glowed almost to burning. 
 
78 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I tried to laugh, but could only make a grimace, 
 and found the muscles of my face twitching at 
 sixes and sevens, and totally out of all control. 
 
 It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set 
 of fox-hunters ; there was a world of merriment 
 and joking on the subject, and as I never relished 
 a joke overmuch when it was at my own expense, 
 I began to feel a little nettled. I tried to look 
 cool and calm, and to restrain my pique ; but the 
 coolness and calmness of a man in a passion are 
 confounded treacherous. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said I, with a slight cocking of 
 the chin and a bad attempt at a smile, " this is all 
 very pleasant — ha ! ha ! — very pleasant — but 
 I 'd have you know, I am as little superstitious as 
 any of you — ha ! ha I — and as to anything like 
 timidity — you may smile, gentlemen, but I trust 
 there 's no one here means to insinuate, that — as 
 to a room's being haunted — I repeat, gentlemen, 
 (growing a little warm at seeing a cursed grin 
 breaking out round me,) as to a room's being 
 haunted, I have as little faith in such silly stories 
 as any one. But, since you put the matter home 
 to me, I will say that I have met with something 
 in my room strange and inexplicable to me. (A 
 shout of laughter.) Gentlemen, I am serious ; I 
 know well whaj; I am saying ; I am calm, gentle- 
 men, (striking my fist upon the table,) by Heaven, 
 I am calm. I am neither trifling, nor do I wish 
 to be trifled with. (The laughter of the com- 
 pany suppressed, and with ludicrous attempts at 
 gravity.) There is a picture in the room in 
 which I was put last night, that has had an effect 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 79 
 
 upon me the most singular and incomprehensi- 
 ble." 
 
 " A picture ? " said the old gentleman with the 
 haunted head. " A picture ! " cried the narrator 
 with the nose. " A picture ! a picture ! " echoed 
 several voices. Here there was an ungovernable 
 peal of laughter. I could not contain myself. 
 I started up from my seat ; looked round on the 
 company with fiery indignation ; thrust both of 
 my hands into my pockets, and strode up to one 
 of the windows as though I would have walked 
 through it. I stopped short, looked out upon the 
 landscape without distinguishing a feature of it, 
 and felt my gorge rising almost to suffocation. 
 
 Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He 
 had maintained an air of gravity through the 
 whole of the scene ; and now stepped forth, as 
 if to shelter me from the overwhelming merri- 
 ment of my companions. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, 
 but you have had your laugh, and the joke of the 
 haunted chamber has been enjoyed. I must now 
 take the part of my guest. I must not only vin- 
 dicate him from your pleasantries, but I must rec- 
 oncile him to himself, for I suspect he is a little 
 out of humor with his own feelings ; and, above 
 all, I must crave his pardon for having made him 
 the subject of a kind of experiment. Yes, gen- 
 tlemen, there is something strange and peculiar 
 in the chamber to which our friend was shown 
 last night ; there is a picture in my house which 
 possesses a singular and mysterious influence, and 
 with which there is connected a very curious 
 
80 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 story. It is a picture to which I attach a value 
 from a variety of circumstances ; and though 1 
 have often been tempted to destroy it, from the 
 odd and uncomfortable sensations which it pro- 
 duces in every one that beholds it, yet I have 
 never been able to prevail upon myself to make 
 the sacrifice. It is a picture I never like to look 
 upon myself, and which is held in awe by all my 
 servants. I have therefore banished it to a room 
 but rarely used, and should have had it covered 
 last night, had not the nature of our conversation, 
 and the whimsical talk about a haunted cham- 
 ber, tempted me to let it remain, by way of ex- 
 periment, to see whether a stranger, totally unac- 
 quainted with its story, would be affected by it." 
 The words of the Baronet had turned every 
 thought into a different channel. All were anx- 
 ious to hear the story of the mysterious picture ; 
 and, for myself, so strangely were my feelings 
 interested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the 
 experiment my host had made upon my nerves, 
 and joined eagerly in the general entreaty. As 
 the morning was stormy, and denied all egress, 
 my host was glad of any means of entertaining his 
 company ; so, drawing his arm-chair towards the 
 fire, he began. 
 
ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS 
 STRANGER. 
 
 ANY years since, when I was a young 
 man, and had just left Oxford, I was 
 sent on the grand tour to finish my edu- 
 cation. I believe my parents had tried in vain 
 to inoculate me with wisdom ; so they sent me to 
 mingle with society, in hopes that I might take it 
 the natural way. Such, at least, appears the rea- 
 son for which nine-tenths of our youngsters are 
 sent abroad. In the course of my tour I remained 
 some time at Venice. The romantic character 
 of that place delighted me ; I was very much 
 amused by the air of adventure and intrigue prev- 
 alent in this region of masks and gondolas ; and 
 I was exceedingly smitten by a pair of languish- 
 ing black eyes, that played upon my heart from 
 under an Italian mantle ; so I persuaded myself 
 that I was lingering at Venice to study men and 
 manners ; at least I persuaded my friends so, and 
 that answered all my purposes. 
 
 I was a little prone to be struck by peculiari- 
 ties in character and conduct, and my imagina- 
 tion was so full of romantic associations with 
 Italy that I was always on. the look-out for 
 adventure. Everything chimed in with such a 
 
82 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 humor in this old mermaid of a city. My suite of 
 apartments were in a proud, melancholy palace on 
 the grand canal, formerly the residence of a mag- 
 nifico, and sumptuous with the traces of decayed 
 grandeur. My gondolier was one of the shrewd- 
 est of his class, active, merry, intelligent, and, like 
 his brethren, secret as the grave ; that is to say, 
 secret to all the world except his master. I had 
 not had him a week before he put me behind all 
 the curtains in Venice. I liked the silence and 
 mystery of the place, and when I sometimes saw 
 from my window a black gondola gliding myste- 
 riously ^along in the dusk of the evening, with 
 nothing visible but its little glimmering lantern, I 
 would jump into my own zendeletta, and give a 
 signal for pursuit — " But I am running away 
 from my subject with the recollection of youthful 
 follies," said the Baronet, checking himself. " Let 
 us come to the point." 
 
 Among my familiar resorts was a cassino under 
 the arcades on one side of the grand square of St. 
 Mark. Here I used frequently to lounge and 
 take my ice, on those warm summer-nights, when 
 in Italy everybody lives abroad until morning. 
 I was seated here one evening, when a group of 
 Italians took their seat at a table on the oppo- 
 site side of the saloon. Their conversation was 
 gay and animated, and carried on with Italian 
 vivacity and gesticulation. I remarked among 
 them one young man, however, who appeared to 
 take no share, and find no enjoyment in the con- 
 versation, though he seemed to force himself to 
 attend to it. He was tall and slender, and of 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER, 83 
 
 extremely prepossessing appearance. His features 
 were fine, though emaciated. He had a profusion 
 of black glossy hair, that curled lightly about his 
 head, and contrasted with the extreme paleness 
 of his countenance. His brow was haggard ; deep 
 furrows seemed to have been ploughed into his 
 visage by care, not by age, for he was evidently 
 in the prime of youth. His eye was full of ex- 
 pression and fire, but wild and unsteady. He 
 seemed to be tormented by some strange fancy or 
 apprehension. In spite of every effort to ^^ his 
 attention on the conversation of his companions, 
 I noticed that every now and then he would turn 
 his head slowly round, give a glance over his 
 shoulder, and then withdraw it with a sudden 
 jerk, as if something painful met his eye. This 
 was repeated at intervals of about a minute, and 
 he appeared hardly to have recovered from one 
 shock, before I saw him slowly preparing to 
 encounter another. 
 
 After sitting some time in the cassino, the party 
 paid for the refreshment they had taken, and 
 departed. The young man was the last to leave 
 the saloon, and I remarked him glancing behind 
 him in the same way, just as he passed out of the 
 door. I could not resist the impulse to rise and 
 follow him ; for I was at an age when a romantic 
 feeling of curiosity is easily awakened. The party 
 walked slowly down the arcades, talking and 
 laughing as they went. They crossed the Pia- 
 zetta, but paused in the middle of it to enjoy the 
 scene. It was one of those moonlight nights, so 
 brilliant and clear in the pure atmosphere of Italy. 
 
84 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 The moonbeams streamed on the tall tower of St. 
 Mark, and lighted up the magnificent front and 
 swelling domes of the cathedral. The party 
 expressed their delight in animated terms. I 
 kept my eye upon the young man. He alone 
 seemed abstracted and self-occupied. I noticed 
 the same singular and, as it were, furtive glance 
 over the shoulder, which had attracted my atten- 
 tion in the cassino. The party moved on, and 
 I followed ; they passed along the walk called 
 the Broglio, turned the corner of the Ducal Pal- 
 ace, and getting into the gondola, glided swiftly 
 away. 
 
 The countenance and conduct of this young 
 man dwelt upon my mind, and interested me 
 exceedingly. I met him a day or two afterwards 
 in a gallery of paintings. He was evidently a 
 coimoisseur, for he always singled out the most 
 masterly productions, and a few remarks drawn 
 from him by his companions showed an intimate 
 acquaintance with the art. His own taste, how- 
 ever, ran on singular extremes. On Salvator 
 Rosa, in his most savage and solitary scenes ; on 
 Raphael, Titian, and Correggio, in their softest 
 delineations of female beauty ; on these he would 
 occasionally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But 
 this seemed only a momentary forgetfulness. Still 
 would recur that cautious glance behind, and al- 
 ways quickly witlldra^vn, as though something 
 terrible met his view. 
 
 I encountered him frequently afterwards at 
 the theatre, at balls, at concerts ; at promenades 
 in the gardens of San Georgia ; at the grotesque 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 85 
 
 exhibitions in the square of St. Mark ; among 
 the throng of merchants on the exchange by the 
 Rialto. He seemed, in fact, to seek crowds ; to 
 hunt after bustle and amusement ; yet never to take 
 any interest in either the business or the gayety 
 of the scene. Ever an air of painful thought, of 
 wretched abstraction ; and ever that strange and 
 recurring movement of glancing fearfully over the 
 shoulder. I did not know at first but this might 
 be caused by apprehension of arrest ; or, perhaps, 
 from dread of assassination. But if so, why 
 should he go thus continually abroad ? why expose 
 himself at all times and in all places ? 
 
 I became anxious to know this stranger. I was 
 drawn to him by that romantic sympathy which 
 sometimes draws young men towards each other. 
 His melancholy threw a charm about him, no 
 doubt heightened by the touching expression of his 
 countenance, and the manly graces of his person ; 
 for manly beauty has its effect even upon men. 
 I had an Englishman's habitual diffidence and 
 awkwardness to contend with ; but from frequently 
 meeting him in the cassinos, I gradually edged 
 myself into his acquaintance. I had no reserve 
 on his part to contend mth. He seemed, on the 
 contrary, to court society ; and, in fact, to seek 
 anything rather than be alone. 
 
 When he found that I really took an interest 
 in him, he threw himself entirely on my friend- 
 ship. He clung to me like a- drowning man. 
 He would walk with me for hours up and down 
 the place of St. Mark — or would sit, until night 
 was far advanced, in my apartments. He took 
 
86 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 rooms under the same roof with me ; and his con- 
 stant request was that I would permit him, when 
 it did not incommode me, to sit by me in my 
 saloon. It was not that he seemed to take a par- 
 ticular delight in my conversation, but rather that 
 he craved the vicinity of a human being ; and, 
 above all, of a being that sympathized with him. 
 " I have often heard," said he, " of the sincerity 
 of Englishmen — thank God I have one at length 
 for a friend ! " 
 
 Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself 
 of my sympathy other than by mere companion- 
 ship. He never sought to unbosom himself to 
 me : there appeared to be a sci .led corroding 
 anguish in his bosom that neither could be soothed 
 " by silence nor by speaking." 
 
 A devouring melancholy preyed upon his heart, 
 and seemed to be drying up the very blood in his 
 veins. It was not a soft melancholy, the disease 
 of the affections, but a parching, withering agony. 
 I could see at times that his mouth was dry and 
 feverish ; he panted rather than breathed ; his 
 eyes were bloodshot ; his cheeks pale and livid ; 
 with now and then faint streaks of red athwart 
 them, baleful gleams of the fire that was consuming 
 his heart. As my arm was within his, I felt him 
 press it at times with a convulsive motion to his 
 side ; his hands would clinch themselves involun- 
 tarily, and a kind of shudder would run through 
 his frame. 
 
 I reasoned with him about his melancholy, 
 sought to draw from him the cause ; he shrunk 
 from all confiding : " Do not seek to know it," 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 87 
 
 said he, " you could not relieve it if you knew it ; 
 you would not even seek to relieve it. On the 
 contrary, I should lose your sympathy, and that," 
 said he, pressing my hand convulsively, " that I 
 feel has become too dear to me to risk." 
 
 I endeavored to awaken hope within him. He 
 was young ; life had a thousand pleasures in store 
 for him ; there was a healthy reaction in the 
 youthful heart ; it medicines all its own wounds ; 
 " Come, come," said I, " there is no grief so 
 great that youth cannot outgrow it." — " No ! 
 no ! " said he, clinching his teeth, and striking 
 repeatedly, with the energy of despair, on his bos- 
 om, — " it is here ! here ! deep-rooted ; draining 
 my heart's blood. It grows and grows, while my 
 heart withers and withers. I have a dreadful 
 monitor that gives me no repose — that follows 
 me step by step — and will follow me step by 
 step, until it pushes me into my grave ! " 
 
 As he said this he involuntarily gave one of 
 those fearful glances over his shoulder, and shrunk 
 back with more than usual horror. I could not 
 resist the temptation to allude to this movement, 
 which I supposed to be some mere malady of the 
 nerves. The moment I mentioned it, his face 
 became crimsoned and convulsed ; he grasped me 
 by both hands — 
 
 " For God's sake," exclaimed he, with a pier- 
 cing voice, " never allude to that again. — Let us 
 avoid this subject, my friend ; you cannot relieve 
 me, indeed you cannot relieve me, but you may 
 add to the torments I suffer. — At some future 
 day you shall know all." 
 
88 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I never resumed the subject ; for however 
 much my curiosity might be roused, I felt too true 
 a compassion for his sufferings to increase them 
 by my intrusion. I sought various ways to di- 
 vert his mind, and to arouse him from the con- 
 stant meditations in which he was plunged. He 
 saw my efforts, and seconded them as far as in his 
 power, for there was nothing moody or wayward 
 in his nature. On the contrary, there was some- 
 thing frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole 
 deportment. All the sentiments he uttered were 
 noble and lofty. He claimed no indulgence, asked 
 no toleration, but seemed content to carry his load 
 of misery in silence, and only sought to carry it 
 by my side. There was a mute beseeching man- 
 ner about him, as if he craved companionship as 
 a charitable boon ; and a tacit thankfulness in his 
 looks, as if he felt grateful to me for not repuls- 
 ing him. 
 
 I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It 
 stole over my spirits ; interfered with all my gay 
 pursuits, and gradually saddened my life ; yet I 
 could not prevail upon myself to shake off a be- 
 ing who seemed to hang upon me for support. 
 In truth, the generous traits of character which 
 beamed through all his gloom penetrated to my 
 heart. His bounty was lavish and open-handed ; 
 his charity melting and spontaneous ; not confined 
 to mere donations, which humiliate as much as 
 they relieve. The tone of his voice, the beam 
 of his eye, enhanced every gift, and surprised the 
 poor supphant with that rarest and sweetest of 
 charities, the cliarity not merely of the hand, but 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER, 89 
 
 of the heart. Indeed his liberality seemed to 
 have something in it of self-abasement and ex- 
 piation. He, in a manner, humbled liimself 
 before the mendicant. " What right have I to 
 ease and affluence " — would he murmur to him- 
 self — " vt^hen innocence wanders in misery and 
 rags ? " 
 
 The carnival-time arrived. I hoped the gay 
 scenes then presented might have some cheering 
 effect. I mingled with him in the motley throng 
 that crowded the place of St. Mark. We fre- 
 quented operas, masquerades, balls — all in vain. 
 The evil kept growing on him. He became 
 more and more haggard and agitated. Often, af- 
 ter we had returned from one of these scenes of 
 revelry, I have entered his room and found him 
 lying on his face on the sofa ; his hands clinched 
 in his fine hair, and his whole countenance bear- 
 ing traces of the convulsions of his mind. 
 
 The carnival passed away ; the time of Lent 
 succeeded ; passion-week arrived ; we attended 
 one evening a solemn service in one of the 
 churches, in the course of which a grand piece 
 of vocal and instrumental music was performed 
 relating to the death of our Saviour. 
 
 I had remarked that he was always powerfully 
 affected by music ; on this occasion he was so 
 in an extraordinary degree. As the pealing 
 notes swelled through the lofty aisles, he seemed 
 to kindle with fervor ; his eyes rolled upwards, 
 until nothing but the whites were visible ; his 
 hands were clasped together, until the fingers 
 were deeply imprinted in the fiesh. AYhen the 
 
90 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 music expressed the dying agony, his face gradu- 
 ally sank upon his knees ; and at the touching 
 words resounding through the church, " Jesu 
 mori^'' sobs burst from him uncontrolled — I 
 had never seen him weep before. His had al- 
 ways been agony rather than sorrow. I augured 
 well from the circumstance, and let him weep on 
 uninterrupted. When the service was ended, we 
 left the church. He hung on my arm as we 
 walked homewards with something of a softer 
 and more subdued manner, instead of that ner- 
 vous agitation I had been accustomed to witness. 
 He alluded to the service we had heard. " Mu- 
 sic," said he, " is indeed the voice of heaven ; 
 never before have I felt more impressed by the 
 story of the atonement of our Saviour. — Yes, 
 my friend," said he, clasping h*«i hands with a 
 kind of transport, " I know that my Redeemer 
 liveth ! " 
 
 We parted for the night. His room was not 
 far from mine, and I heard him for some time 
 busied in it. I fell asleep, but was awakened be- 
 fore daylight. The young man stood by my bed- 
 side, dressed for travelling. He held a sealed 
 packet and a large parcel in his hand, which he 
 laid on the table. 
 
 " Farewell, my friend," said he, " I am about 
 to set forth on a long journey ; but, before I go, 
 I leave with you these remembrances. In this 
 packet you will find the particulars of my story. 
 When you read them I shall be far away ; do 
 not remember me with aversion. — You have 
 been indeed a friend to me. — You have poured 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER, 91 
 
 oil into a broken heart, but you could not heal it. 
 Farewell ! let me kiss your hand — I am un- 
 worthy to embrace you." He sank on his knees, 
 seized my hand in despite of my efforts to the 
 contrary, and covered it with kisses. I was so 
 surprised by all the scene, that I had not been 
 able to say a word. — " But we shall meet 
 again," said I, hastily, as I saw him hurrying to- 
 wards the door. " Never, never, in this world ! " 
 said he, solemnly. — He sprang once more to my 
 bedside — seized my hand, pressed it to his heart 
 and to his lips, and rushed out of the room. 
 
 Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in 
 thought, and sat looking upon the floor, and 
 drumming with his fingers on the arm of his 
 chair. 
 
 " And did th's mysterious personage return ? " 
 said the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " Never ! " replied the Baronet, with a pensive 
 shake of the head, — "I never saw him again." 
 
 " And pray what has all this to do with the 
 picture ? " inquired the old gentleman with the 
 nose. 
 
 " True," said the questioner ; " is it the por- 
 trait of that crack-brained Italian ? " 
 
 " No," said the Baronet, dryly, not half liking 
 the appellation given to his hero ; " but this pic- 
 ture was enclosed in the parcel he left with me. 
 The sealed packet contained its explanation. 
 There was a request on the outside that I would 
 not open it until six months had elapsed. I kept 
 my promise in spit^ of my curiosity. I have 
 a translation of it by me, and had meant to read 
 
92 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the 
 chamber ; but I fear I have already detained the 
 company too long." 
 
 Here there was a general wish expressed to 
 have the manuscript read, particularly on the part 
 of the inquisitive gentleman ; so the worthy Bar- 
 onet drew out a fairly-written manuscript, and, 
 wiping his spectacles, read aloud the following 
 story. — 
 
THE STOEY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 
 
 WAS born at Naples. My parents, 
 though of noble rank, were limited in 
 fortune, or rather, my father was osten- 
 tatious beyond his means, and expended so much 
 on his palace, his equipage, and his retinue, that 
 he was continually straitened in his pecuniary 
 circumstances. I was a younger son, and looked 
 upon with indifference by my father, who, from a 
 principle of family-pride, wished to leave all his 
 property to my elder brother. I showed, when 
 quite a child, an extreme sensibility. Every- 
 thing affected me violently. While yet an infant 
 in my mother's arms, and before I had learned to 
 talk, I could be wrought upon to a wonderful de- 
 gree of anguish or delight by the power of music. 
 As I grew older, my feelings remained equally 
 acute, and I was easily transported into parox- 
 ysms of pleasure or rage. It was the amusement 
 of my relations and of the domestics to play upon 
 this irritable temperament. I was moved to tears, 
 tickled to laughter, provoked to fury, for the en- 
 tertainment of company, who were amused by 
 such a tempest of mighty passion in a pigmy 
 frame ; — they little thought, or perhaps little 
 heeded the dangerous sensibilities they were fos- 
 
94 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 tering. I thus became a little creature of pas- 
 sion before reason was developed. In a short 
 time I grew too old to be a plaything, and then 
 I became a torment. The tricks and passions I 
 had been teased into became irksome, and I was 
 disliked by my teachers for the very lessons they 
 had taught me. My mother died ; and my 
 power as a spoiled child was at an end. There 
 was no longer any necessity to humor or tolerate 
 me, for there was nothing to be gained by it, as I 
 was no favorite of my father. I therefore expe- 
 rienced the fate of a spoiled child in such a situ- 
 ation, and was neglected, or noticed only to be 
 crossed and contradicted. Such was the early 
 treatment of a heart, which, if T can judge of it 
 at all, was naturally disposed to the extremes of 
 tenderness and affection. 
 
 My father, as I have already said, never liked 
 me — in fact, he never understood me ; he looked 
 upon me as wilful and wayward, as deficient in 
 natural affection. It was the stateliness of his 
 own manner, the loftiness and grandeur of his 
 own look, which had repelled me from his arms. 
 I always pictured him to myself as I had seen 
 him, clad in his senatorial robes, rustling with 
 pomp and pride. The magnificence of his person 
 daunted my young imagination. I could never 
 approach him with the confiding affection of a 
 child. 
 
 My father's feelings were wrapt up in my 
 elder brother. He was to be the inheritor of the 
 family-title and the family-dignity, and every- 
 thing was sacrificed to him — I, as well as every- 
 
TEE YOUNG ITALIAN, 95 
 
 thing else. It was determined to devote me to 
 the Church, that so my humors and myself might 
 be removed out of the way, either of tasking my 
 father's time and trouble, or interfering with the 
 interests of my brother. At an early age, there- 
 fore, before my mind had dawned upon the world 
 and its delights, or known anything of it beyond 
 the precincts of my father's palace, I was sent to 
 a convent, the superior of which was my uncle, 
 and was confided entirely to his care. 
 
 My uncle was a man totally estranged from the 
 world : he had never relished, for he had never 
 tasted its pleasures ; and he regarded rigid self- 
 denial as the great basis of Christian virtue. 
 He considered every one's temperament like his 
 own ; or at least he made them conform to it. 
 His character and habits had an influence over 
 the fraternity of which he was superior : a more 
 gloomy, saturnine set of beings wei'e never assem- 
 bled together. The convent, too, was calculated 
 to awaken sad and solitary thoughts. It was 
 situated in a gloomy gorge of those mountains 
 away south of Vesuvius. All distant views were 
 shut out by sterile volcanic heights. A moun- 
 tain-stream raved beneath its walls, and eagles 
 screamed about its turrets. 
 
 I had been sent to this place at so tender an 
 age as soon to lose all distinct recollection of the 
 scenes I had left behind. As my mind expanded, 
 therefore, it formed its idea of the world from the 
 convent and its vicinity, and a dreary world it 
 appeared to me. An early tinge of melancholy 
 was thus infused into my character ; and the dis- 
 
96 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 mal stories of the monks, about devils and evil 
 spirits, with which they affrighted my young im- 
 agination, gave me a tendency to superstition 
 which I could never effectually shake off. They 
 took the same delight to work upon my ardent 
 feelings, that had been so mischievously executed 
 by my father's household. I can recollect the 
 horrors with which they fed my heated fancy 
 during an eruption of Vesuvius. We were dis- 
 tant from that volcano, with mountains between 
 us ; but its convulsive throes shook the solid foun- 
 dations of nature. Earthquakes threatened to 
 topple down our convent-towers. A lurid, bale- 
 ful light hung in the heavens at night, and show- 
 ers of ashes, borne by the wind, fell in our nar- 
 row valley. The monks talked of the earth being 
 honey-combed beneath us ; of streams of molten 
 lava raging through its veins ; of caverns of sul- 
 phurous flames roaring in the centre, the abodes 
 of demons and the damned ; of fiery gulfs ready 
 to yawn beneath our feet. All these tales were 
 told to the doleful accompaniment of the moun- 
 tain's thunders, whose low bellowing made the 
 walls of our convent vibrate. 
 
 One of the monks had been a painter, but had 
 retired from the world, and embraced this dismal 
 life in expiation of some crime. He was a mel- 
 ancholy man, who pursued his art in the solitude 
 of his cell, but made it a source of penance to 
 him. His employment was to portray, either on 
 canvas or in waxen models, the human face and 
 human form, in the agonies of death, and in all 
 the stages of dissolution and decay. The fearful 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 97 
 
 mysteries of the charnel-house were unfolded in 
 his labors ; the loathsome banquet of the beetle 
 and the worm. I turn with shuddering even 
 from the recollection of his works ; yet, at the 
 time, my strong but ill-directed imagination seized 
 with ardor upon his instructions in his art. Any- 
 thing was a variety from the dry studies and 
 monotonous duties of the cloister. In a little 
 while I became expert with my pencil, and my 
 gloomy productions were thought worthy of dec- 
 orating some of th6 altars of the chapel. 
 
 In this dismal way was a creature of feeling 
 and fancy brought up. Everything genial and 
 amiable in my nature was repressed, and nothing 
 brought out but what was unprofitable and ungra- 
 cious. I was ardent in my temperament ; quick, 
 mercurial, impetuous, formed to be a creature all 
 love and adoration ; but a leaden hand was laid 
 on all my finer qualities. I was taught nothing 
 but fear and hatred. I hated my uncle. I hated 
 the monks. I hated the convent in which I was 
 immured. I hated the world ; and I almost 
 hated myself for being, as I supposed, so hating 
 and hateful an animal. 
 
 When I had nearly attained the age of six- 
 teen, I was sufiered, on one occasion, to accom- 
 pany one of the brethren on a mission to a dis- 
 tant part of the country. We soon left behind 
 us the gloomy valley in which I had been pent 
 up for so many years, and after a short journey 
 among the mountains, emerged upon the volup- 
 tuous landscape that spreads itself about the Bay 
 of Naples. Heavens ! how transported was I, 
 
98 . TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 when I stretched my gaze over a vast reach of 
 delicious sunny country, gay with groves and 
 vineyards : with Vesuvius rearing its forked 
 summit to my right ; the blue Mediterranean 
 to my left, with its enchanting coast, studded 
 with shining towns and sumptuous villas ; and 
 Naples, my native Naples, gleaming far, far in 
 the distance. 
 
 Good God ! was this the lovely world from 
 which I had been excluded ! I had rea(;hed that 
 age when the sensibilities are in all their bloom 
 and freshness. Mine had been checked and 
 chilled. They now burst forth with the sudden- 
 ness of a retarded spring-time. My heart, hith- 
 erto unnaturally shrunk up, expanded into a riot 
 of vague but delicious emotions. The beauty of 
 nature intoxicated — bewildered me. The song 
 of the peasants ; their cheerful looks ; their hap- 
 py avocations ; the picturesque gayety of their 
 dresses ; their rustic music ; their dances ; all 
 broke upon me like witchcraft. My soul re- 
 sponded to the music, my heart danced in my 
 bosom. All the men appeared amiable, all the 
 women lovely. 
 
 I returned to the convent ; that is to say, my 
 body returned, but my heart and soul never en- 
 tered there again. I could not forget this glimpse 
 of a beautiful and a happy world — a world so 
 suited to my natural character. I had felt so 
 happy while in it ; so different a being from what 
 I felt myself when in the convent — that tomb 
 of the living. I contrasted the countenances of 
 the beings I had seen, full of fire and freshness , 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 99 
 
 and enjoyment, with the pallid, leaden, lack-lustre 
 visages of the monks : the dance with the dron- 
 ing chant of the chapel. I had before found the 
 exercises of the cloister wearisome, they now be- 
 came intolerable. The dull round of duties wore 
 away my spirit ; my nerves became irritated by 
 the fretful tinkling of the convent-bell, evermore 
 dinging among the mountain-echoes, evermore 
 calling me from my repose at night, my pencil by 
 day, to attend to some tedious and mechanical 
 ceremony of devotion. 
 
 I was not of a nature to meditate long without 
 putting my thoughts into action. My spirit had 
 been suddenly aroused, and was now all awake 
 within me. I watched an opportunity, fled from 
 the convent, and made my way on foot to Na- 
 ples. As I entered its gay and crowded streets, 
 and beheld the variety and stir of life around me, 
 the luxury of palaces, the splendor of equipages, 
 and the pantomimic animation of the motley pop- 
 ulace, I seemed as if awakened to a world of en- 
 chantment, and solemnly vowed that nothing 
 should force me back to the monotony of the 
 cloister. 
 
 I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, 
 for I had been so young on leaving it that I 
 knew not its situation. I found some difficulty 
 in getting admitted to my father's presence ; for 
 the domestics scarcely knew that there was such 
 a being as myself in existence, and my monastic 
 dress did not operate in my favor. Even my 
 father entertained no recollection of my person. 
 I told him my name, threw myself at his feet, 
 
100 ' TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 implored his forgiveness, and entreated that T 
 might not be sent back to the convent. 
 
 He received me with the condescension of a 
 patron, rather than the fondness of a parent ; lis- 
 tened patiently, but coldly, to my tale of monastic 
 grievances and disgusts, and promised to think 
 what else could be done for me. This coldness 
 blioiited and drove back all the frank affection of 
 my nature, that was ready to spring forth at the 
 least warmth of parental kindness. All my early 
 feelings towards my father revived. I again 
 looked up to him as the stately magnificent be- 
 ing that had daunted my childish imagination, 
 and felt as if I had no pretensions to his sym- 
 pathies. My brother engrossed all his care and 
 love ; he inherited his nature, and carried him- 
 self towards me with a protecting rather than a 
 fraternal air. It wounded my pride, which was 
 great. I could brook condescension from my 
 father, for I looked up to him with awe, as a 
 superior being ; but I coidd not brook patronage 
 from a brother, who I felt was intellectually my 
 inferior. The servants perceived that I was an 
 unwelcome intruder in the paternal mansion, and, 
 menial-like, they treated me with neglect. Thus 
 baffled at every point, my affections outraged 
 wherever they would attach themselves, I be- 
 came sullen, silent, and desponding. My feel- 
 ings, driven back upon myself, entered and preyed 
 upon my own heart. I remained for some days 
 an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son 
 in my father's house. I was doomed never to 
 be properly known there. I was made, by wrong 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 101 
 
 treatment, strange even to myself, and they judged 
 of me from my strangeness. 
 
 I was startled one day at the sight of one of 
 the monks of my convent gliding out of my fa- 
 ther's room. He saw me, but pretended not to 
 notice me, and this very hypocrisy made me sus- 
 pect something. I had become sore and sus- 
 ceptible in my feelings, everything inflicted a 
 wound on them. In this state of mind, I was 
 treated with marked disrespect by a pampered 
 minion, the favorite servant of my father. All 
 the pride and passion of my nature rose in an 
 instant, and I struck him to the earth. My fa- 
 ther was passing by ; he stopped not to inquire 
 the reason, nor indeed could he read the long 
 course of mental sufferings which were the real 
 cause. He rebuked me with anger and scorn ; 
 summoning all the haughtiness of his nature and 
 grandeur of his look to give weight to the con- 
 tumely with which he treated me. I felt that I 
 had not deserved it. I felt that I was not ap- 
 preciated. I felt that I had that within me 
 which merited better treatment. My heart 
 swelled against a father's injustice. I broke 
 through my habitual awe of him — I replied to 
 him with impatience. My hot spirit flushed in 
 my cheek and kindled in my eye ; but my sensi- 
 tive heart swelled as quickly, and before I had 
 half vented my passion, I felt it suffocated and 
 quenched in my tears. My father was astonished 
 and incensed at this turning of the worm, and 
 ordered me to my chamber. I retired in silence, 
 choking with contending emotions. 
 
102 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I had not been long there when I overheard 
 voices in an adjoining apartment. It was a con- 
 sultation between my father and the monk, about 
 the means of getting me back quietly to the 
 convent. My resolution was taken. I had no 
 longer a home nor a father. That very night I 
 left the paternal roof I got on board a vessel 
 about making sail from the harbor, and abandoned 
 myself to the wide world. No matter to what port 
 she steered ; any part of so beautiful a world was 
 better than my convent. No matter where I was 
 cast by fortune ; any place would be more a 
 home to me than the home I had left behind. 
 The vessel was bound to Genoa. We arrived 
 there after a voyage of a few days. 
 
 As I entered the harbor between the moles 
 which embrace it, and beheld the amphitheatre 
 of palaces, and churches, and splendid gardens, 
 rising one above another, I felt at once its title 
 to the appellation of Genoa the Superb. I landed 
 on the mole an utter stranger, without knowing 
 what to do, or whither to direct my steps. No 
 matter : I was released from the thraldom of the 
 convent and the humiliations of home. When I 
 traversed the Strada Balbi and the Strada Nuova, 
 those streets of palaces, and gazed at the wonders 
 of architecture around me ; when I wandered at 
 close of day amid a gay throng of the brilliant 
 and the beautiful, through the green alleys of the 
 Aqua Yerde, or among the colormades and ter- 
 races of the magnificent Doria gardens ; I thought 
 it impossible to be ever otherwise than happy in 
 Genoa. A few days sufficed to show me my 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 103 
 
 mistake. My scanty purse was exhausted, and 
 for the first time in my life I experienced the 
 sordid distress of penury. I had never known 
 the want of money, and had never adverted to 
 the possibility of such an evil. I was ignorant 
 of the world and all its ways ; and when first the 
 idea of destitution came over my mind, its effect 
 was withering. I was wandering penniless 
 through the streets which no longer delighted my 
 eyes, when chance led my steps into the magnifi- 
 cent church of the Annunciata. 
 
 A celebrated painter of the day was at that 
 moment superintending the placing of one of his 
 pictures over an altar. The proficiency which I 
 liad acquired in his art during my residence in 
 the convent, had made me an enthusiastic ama- 
 teur. I was struck, at the first glance, with the 
 painting. It was the face of a Madonna. So in- 
 nocent, so lovely, such a divine expression of 
 maternal tenderness ! I lost, for the moment, all 
 recollection of myself in the enthusiasm of my 
 art. I clasped my hands together, and uttered 
 an ejaculation of delight. The painter perceived 
 my emotion. He was flattered and gratified by 
 it. My air and manner pleased him, and he ac- 
 costed me. I felt too much the want of friendship 
 to repel the advances of a stranger; and there 
 was something in this one so benevolent and win- 
 ning, that in a moment he gained my confidence. 
 
 I told him my story and my situation, conceal- 
 ing only my name and rank. He appeared strong- 
 ly interested by my recital, invited me to his house, 
 and from that time I became his favorite pupil. 
 
104 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 He thought he perceived in me extraordinary 
 talents for the art, and his encomiums awakened 
 all my ardor. What a blissful period of my ex- 
 istence was it that I passed beneath his roof! 
 Another being seemed created within me ; or 
 rather, all that was amiable and excellent was 
 drawn out. I was as recluse as ever I had been at 
 the convent, but how different was my seclusion ! 
 My time was spent in storing my mind with lofty 
 and poetical ideas ; in meditating on all that was 
 striking and noble in history and fiction ; in study- 
 ing and tracing all that was sublime and beauti- 
 ful in nature. I was always a visionary, imagi- 
 native being, but now my reveries and imaginings 
 all elevated^ me to rapture. I looked up to my 
 master as to a benevolent genius that had opened 
 to me a region of enchantment. He was not a 
 native of Genoa, but had been drawn thither by 
 the solicitations of several of the nobility, and had 
 resided there but a few years, for the completion 
 of certain works. His health was delicate, and 
 he had to confide much of the filling up of his de- 
 signs to the pencils of his scliolars. He considered 
 me as particularly happy in delineating the hu- 
 man countenance ; in seizing upon characteristic 
 though fleeting expressions, and fixing them pow- 
 erfully upon my canvas. I was employed con- 
 tinually, therefore, in sketching faces, and often, 
 when some particular grace or beauty of expres- 
 sion was wanted in a countenance, it was intrusted 
 to my pencil. My benefactor was fond of bring- 
 ing me forward ; and partly, perhaps, through my 
 actual skill, and partly through his partial praises, 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 105 
 
 I began to be noted for the expressions of my 
 countenances. 
 
 \ Among the various works which he had under- 
 taken, was an historical piece for one of the pal- 
 aces of Genoa, in which were to be introduced 
 the likenesses of several of the family. Among 
 these was one intrusted to my pencil. It was 
 that of a young girl, as yet in a convent for her 
 education. She came out for the purpose of sit- 
 ting for the picture. I first saw her in an apart- 
 ment of one of the sumptuous palaces of Genoa. 
 She stood before a casement that looked out upon 
 the bay ; a stream of vernal sunshine fell upon 
 her, and shed a kind of glory round her, as it lit 
 up the rich crimson chamber. She was but six- 
 teen years of age — and oh, how lovely 1 The 
 scene broke upon me like a mere vision of spring 
 and youth and beauty. I could have fallen down 
 and worshipped her. She was like one of those 
 fictions of poets and painters, when they would 
 express the heau ideal that haunts their minds 
 with shapes of indescribable perfection. I was 
 permitted to watch her countenance in various 
 positions, and I fondly protracted the study that 
 was undoing me. The more I gazed on her, the 
 more I became enamoured ; there was something 
 almost painful in my intense admiration. I was 
 but nineteen years of age, shy, diffident, and in- 
 experienced. I was treated with attention by 
 her mother ; for my youth and my enthusiasm in 
 my art had won favor for me ; and I am inclined 
 to think something in my air and manner inspired 
 interest and respect. Still the kindness with 
 
106 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 which I was treated could not dispel the embar- 
 rassment into which my own imagination threw 
 me when in presence of this lovely being. It el- 
 evated her into something almost more than mor- 
 tal. She seemed too exquisite for earthly use ; too 
 delicate and exalted for human attainment. As 
 I sat tracing her charms on my canvas, with my 
 eyes occasionally riveted on her features, I drank 
 in delicious poison that made me giddy. My 
 heart alternately gushed Avith tenderness, and 
 ached with despair. Now I became more than 
 ever sensible of the violent fires that liad lain dor- 
 mant at the bottom of my soul. You who were 
 born in a more temperate climate, and under a 
 cooler sky, have little idea of the violence of pas- 
 sion in our southern bosoms. 
 
 A few days finished my task. Bianca returned 
 to her convent, but her image remained indelibly 
 impressed upon my heart. It dwelt in my im- 
 agination ; it became my pervading idea of 
 beauty. It had an effect even upon my pencil. 
 I became noted for my felicity in depicting feniale 
 loveliness : it was but because I multiplied the im- 
 age of Bianca. I soothed and yet fed my fancy 
 by introducing her in all the productions of my 
 master. I have stood, with delight, in one of the 
 chapels of the Annunciata, and heard the crowd 
 extol the seraphic beauty of a saint which I had 
 painted. I have seen them bow down in adora- 
 tion before the painting ; they were bowing be- 
 fore the loveliness of Bianca. 
 
 I existed in this kind of dream, I might almost 
 say delirium, for upwards of a year. Such is the 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 107 
 
 tenacity of my imagination, that the image formed 
 in it continued in all its power and freshness. 
 Indeed, I was a solitary, meditative being, much 
 given to reverie, and apt to foster ideas which 
 had once taken strong possession of me. I was 
 roused from this fond, melancholy, delicious dream 
 by the death of my worthy benefactor. I cannot 
 describe the pangs his death occasioned me. It 
 left me alone, and almost broken-hearted. He 
 bequeathed to me his little property, which, from 
 the liberality of his disposition, and his expensive 
 style of living, was indeed but small ; and he most 
 particularly recommended me, in dying, to the 
 protection of a nobleman who had been his patron. 
 
 The latter was a man who passed for munifi- 
 cent. He was a lover and an encourager of the 
 arts, and evidently wished to be thought so. He 
 fancied he saw in me indications of future excel- 
 lence ; my pencil had already attracted attention ; 
 he took me at once under his protection. Seeing 
 that I was overwhelmed with grief, and incapable 
 of exerting myself in the mansion of my late ben- 
 efactor, he invited me to sojourn for a time at a 
 villa which he possessed on the border of the sea, 
 in the picturesque neighborhood of Sestri di Po- 
 ne nte. 
 
 I found at the villa the count's only son, Fi- 
 lippo. He was nearly of my age ; prepossessing 
 in his appearance, and fascinating in his manners, 
 he attached himself to me, and seemed to court 
 my good opinion. I thought there was some- 
 thing of profession in his kindness, and of caprice 
 in his disposition ; but I had nothing else near 
 
108 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 me to attach myself to, and my heart felt the 
 need of something to repose upon. His educa- 
 tion had been neglected ; he looked upon me as ; 
 his superior in mental powers and acquirements, , 
 and tacitly acknowledged my superiority. I felt 
 that I was his equal in birth, and that gave inde- 
 pendence to my manners, which had its effect. 
 The caprice and tyranny I saw sometimes exer-- 
 cised on others, over whom he had power, were 
 never manifested towards me. We became inti- 
 mate friends and frequent companions. Still I 
 loved to be alone, and to indulge in the reveries ^ 
 of my own imagination among the scenery by I 
 which I was surrounded. The villa commanded 1| 
 a wide view of the Mediterranean, and of the \ 
 picturesque Ligurian coast. It stood alone in the j 
 midst of ornamented grounds, finely decorated | 
 with statues and fountains, and laid out in groves 
 and alleys and shady lawns. Everything was 
 assembled here that could gratify the taste, or 
 agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the , 
 tranquillity of this elegant retreat, the turbulence | 
 of my feelings gradually subsided, and blending 
 with the romantic spell which still reigned over 
 my imagination, produced a soft, voluptuous mel- 
 ancholy. 
 
 I had not been long under the roof of the 
 count, when our solitude was enlivened by another 
 inhabitant. It was a daughter of a relative of 
 the count, who had lately died in reduced eircum- i 
 stances, bequeathing this only child to his protec- 
 tion. I had heard much of her beauty from 
 Filippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed 
 
 I 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 109 
 
 by one idea of beauty, as not to admit of any 
 other. We were in the central saloon of the 
 villa when she arrived. She was still in mourn- 
 ing, and approached, leaning on the count's arm. 
 As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck 
 by the elegance of her figure and movement, by 
 the grace with which the mezzaro, the bewitching 
 veil of Genoa, was folded about her slender form. 
 They entered. Heavens ! what was my surprise 
 when I beheld Bianca before me ! It was her- 
 self ; pale with grief, but still more matured in 
 loveliness than when I had last beheld her. The 
 time that had elapsed had developed the graces 
 of her person, and the sorrow she had undergone 
 had diffused over her countenance an irresistible 
 tenderness. 
 
 She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and 
 tears rushed into her eyes, for she remembered in 
 whose company she had been accustomed to be- 
 hold me. For my part, I cannot express what 
 were my emotions. By degrees I overcame the 
 extreme shyness that had formerly paralyzed me 
 in her presence. We were drawn together by 
 sympathy of situation. We had each lost our 
 best friend in the world ; we were each, in some 
 measure, thrown upon the kindness of others. 
 When I came to know her intellectually, all my 
 ideal picturings of her were confirmed. Her 
 newness to the world, her delightful susceptibility 
 to everything beautiful and agreeable in nature, 
 reminded me of my own emotions when first I 
 escaped from the convent. Her rectitude of 
 thinking delighted my judgment ; the sweetness 
 
no TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of her nature wrapped itself round my heart ; 
 and then her young, and tender, and budding 
 loveliness, sent a delicious madness to my brain. 
 
 I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as 
 something more than mortal ; and I felt humili- 
 ated at the idea of my comparative unworthiness. 
 Yet she was mortal ; and one of mortality's most 
 susceptible and lovhig compounds ; — for she 
 loved me ! 
 
 How first I discovered the transporting truth 
 I cannot recollect. I believe it stole upon me by 
 degrees as a wonder past hope or belief. We 
 were both at such a tender and loving age ; in 
 constant intercourse with each other ; mingling 
 in the same elegant pursuits, — for music, poe- 
 try, and painting were our mutual delights ; and 
 we were almost separated from society among 
 lovely and romantic scenery. Is it strange that 
 two young hearts, thus brought together, should 
 readily twine round each other ? 
 
 Oh, gods ! what a dream — a transient dream 
 of unalloyed delight, then passed over my soul ! 
 Then it was that the world around me was indeed 
 a paradise ; for I had woman — lovely, delicious 
 woman, to share it with me ! How often have I 
 rambled along the picturesque shores of Sestri, 
 or climbed its wild mountains, with the coast 
 gemmed with villas, and the blue sea far below 
 me, and the slender Faro of Genoa on its roman- 
 tic promontory in the distance ; and as I sus- 
 tained the faltering steps of Bianca, have thought 
 there could no unhappiness enter into so beautiful 
 a world ! How often have we listened together 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. Ill 
 
 to the nightingale, as it poured forth its rich 
 notes among the moonlight bowers of the garden, 
 and have wondered that poets could ever have 
 fancied anything melancholy in its song ! Why, 
 oh why is this budding season of life and tender- 
 ness so transient ! why is this rosy cloud of love, 
 that sheds such a s^low over the mornino^ of our 
 days, so prone to brew up into the whirlwind and 
 the storm ! 
 
 I was the first to awaken from this blissful 
 dehrium of the affections. I had gained Bianca's 
 heart, what was I to do with it? I had no 
 wealth nor prospect to entitle me to her hand ; was 
 I to take advantage of her ignorance of the world, 
 of her confiding affection, and draw her down to 
 my own poverty? Was this requiting the hos- 
 pitality of the count ? was this requiting the love 
 of Bianca? 
 
 Now first I began to feel that even successful 
 love may have its bitterness. A corroding care 
 gathered about my heart. I moved about the 
 palace like a guilty being. I felt as if I had 
 abused its hospitality, as if I were a thief within 
 its walls. I could no longer look with unembar- 
 rassed mien in the countenance of the count. I 
 accused myself of perfidy to him,' and I thought 
 he read it in my looks, and began to distrust and 
 despise me. His manner had always been osten- 
 tatious and condescending ; it now appeared cold 
 and haughty. Filippo, too, became reserved and 
 distant ; or at least I suspected him to be so. 
 Heavens ! was this the mere coinage of my 
 brain? Was I to become suspicious of all the 
 
112 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 world ? a poor, surmising wretch ; watching looks 
 and gestures ; and torturing myself with miscon- 
 structions ? Or, if true, was I to remain beneath 
 a roof where I was merely tolerated, and linger 
 there on sufferance ? " This is not to be en- 
 dured ! " exclaimed I : " I will tear myself from 
 this state of self-abasement — I will break through 
 this fascination, and fly — Fly ! — Whither ? from 
 the world ? for where is the world when I leave 
 Bianca behind me ? " 
 
 My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled 
 within me at the idea of being looked upon with 
 contumely. Many times I was on the point of 
 declaring my family and rank, and asserting my 
 equality in the presence of Bianca, when I 
 thought her relations assumed an air of superi- 
 ority. But the feeling was transient. I consid- 
 ered myself discarded and condemned by my 
 family ; and had solemnly vowed never to own 
 relationship to them until they themselves should 
 claim it. 
 
 The struggle of my mind preyed upon my 
 happiness and my health. It seemed as if the 
 uncertainty of being loved w^ould be less intoler- 
 able than thus to be assured of it, and yet not 
 dare to enjoy the conviction. I was no longer 
 the enraptured admirer of Bianca ; I no longer 
 hung in ecstasy on the tones of her voice, nor 
 drank in with insatiate gaze the beauty of her 
 countenance. Her very smiles ceased to delight 
 me, for I felt culpable in having won them. 
 
 She could not but be sensible of the change in 
 me, and inquired the cause with her usual frank- 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 113 
 
 ness and simplicity. I could not evade the in- 
 quiry, for my heart was full to aching. I told 
 her all the conflict of my soul ; my devouring 
 passion, my bitter self-upbraiding. "Yes," said 
 I, " I am unworthy of you. I am an offcast from 
 my family — a wanderer — a nameless, homeless 
 wanderer — with nothing but poverty for my 
 portion ; and yet I have dared to love you — 
 have dared to aspire to your love." 
 
 My agitation moved her to tears, but she saw 
 nothing in my situation so hopeless as I had de- 
 picted it. Brought up in a convent, she knew 
 nothing of the world — its wants — its cares : 
 and indeed what woman is a worldly casuist 
 in the matters of the heart ? Nay, more, she 
 kindled into sweet enthusiasm when she spoke of 
 my fortunes and myself We had dwelt together 
 on the works of the famous masters. I, related 
 to her their histories ; the high reputation, the 
 influence, the magnificence to which they had 
 attained. The companions of princes, the favor- 
 ites of kings, the pride and boast of nations. 
 All this she applied to me. Her love saw nothing 
 in all their great productions that I was not able ' 
 to achieve ; and when I beheld the lovely creat- 
 ure glow with fervor, and her whole countenance 
 radiant with visions of my glory, I was snatched 
 up for the moment into the heaven of her own 
 imagination. 
 
 I am dwelling too long upon this part of my 
 story ; yet I cannot help lingering over a period 
 of my life on which, witli all its cares and con- 
 flicts, I look back with fondness, for as yet my 
 
114 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 soul was unstained by a crime. I do not know 
 what might have been the result of this struggle 
 between pride, delicacy, and passion, had I not 
 read in a Neapolitan gazette an account of the 
 sudden death of my brother. It was accompa- 
 nied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence con- 
 cerning me, and a prayer, should this meet my 
 eye, that I would hasten to Naples to comfort an 
 infirm and afflicted father. 
 
 I was naturally of an affectionate disposition, 
 but my brother had never been as a brother to me. 
 I had long considered myself as disconnected from 
 him, and his death caused me but little emotion. 
 The thoughts of my father, infirm and suffering, 
 touched me, however, to the quick ; and when I 
 thought of him, that lofty, magnificent being, now 
 bowed down and desolate, and suing to me for 
 comfort, all my resentment for past neglect was 
 subdued, and a glow of filial affection was awak- 
 ened within me. 
 
 The predominant feeling, however, that over- 
 powered all otiiers, was transport at the sudden 
 change in my whole fortunes. A home, a name, 
 rank, wealth, awaited me ; and love painted a 
 still more rapturous prospect in the distance. I 
 hastened to Bianca, and threw myself at her feet. 
 " Oh, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " at length I can 
 claim you for my own. I am no longer a name- ! 
 less adventurer, a neglected, rejected outcast* 
 Look — read — behold the tidings that restore 
 me to my name and to myself ! " 
 
 I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. 
 Bianca rejoiced in the reverse of my situation,! 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 115 
 
 because she saw it lightened my heart of a load 
 of care ; for her own part, she had loved me for 
 myself, and had never doubted that my own 
 merits would command both fame and fortune. 
 
 I now felt all my native pride buoyant within, 
 me. I no longer walked with my eyes bent to 
 the dust ; hope elevated them to the skies — my 
 soul was lit up with fresh fires, and beamed from 
 my countenance. 
 
 I wished to impart the change in my circum- 
 stances to the count ; to let him know who and 
 what I was — and to make formal proposals for 
 the hand of Bianca ; but he was absent on a dis- 
 tant estate. I opened my whole soul to Filippo. 
 Now first I told him of my passion, of the doubts 
 and fears that had distracted me, and of the tid- 
 ings that had suddenly dispelled them. He over- 
 whelmed me with congratulations, and with the 
 warmest expressions of sympathy ; I embraced 
 him in the fulness of my heart ; — I felt com- 
 punctious for having suspected him of coldness, 
 and asked his forgiveness for ever having doubted 
 his friendship. 
 
 Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a 
 sudden expansion of the heart between young 
 men. Filippo entered into our concerns with the 
 most eager interest. He was our confidant and 
 counsellor. It was determined that I should 
 hasten at once to Naples, to reestablish myself in 
 my father's affections, and my paternal home ; and 
 the moment the reconciliation was effected, and 
 my father's consent insured, I should return and 
 demand Bianca of the count. Filippo engaged to 
 
116 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 secure his father's acquiescence ; indeed he under- 
 took to watch over our interest, and to be the 
 channel through which we might correspond. 
 
 My parting with Bianca was tender — deli- 
 cious — agonizing. It was in a little pavilion of 
 the garden which had been one of our favorite 
 resorts. How often and often did I return to 
 have one more adieu, to have her look once more 
 on me in speechless emotion ; to enjoy once 
 more the rapturous sight of those tears streaming 
 down her lovely cheeks ; to seize once more on 
 that delicate hand, the frankly accorded pledge of 
 love, and cover it with tears and kisses ? Heav- 
 ens ! there is a delight even in the parting agony 
 of two lovers, worth a thousand tame pleasures 
 of the world. I have her at this moment before 
 my eyes, at the window of the pavilion, putting 
 aside the vines which clustered about the case- 
 ment, her form beaming forth in virgin light, her 
 countenance all tears and smiles, sending a thou- 
 sand and a thousand adieus after me, as hesitating, 
 in a delirium of fondness and agitation, I faltered 
 my way down the avenue. 
 
 As the bark bore me out of the harbor of 
 Genoa, how eagerly my eye stretched along the I 
 coast of Sestri till it discovered the villa gleaming \ 
 from among the trees at the foot of the mountain. 
 As long as day lasted I gazed and gazed upon 
 it, till it lessened and lessened to a mere white 
 speck in the distance ; and still my intense and j 
 fixed gaze discerned it, when all other objects of 
 the coast had blended into indistinct confusion, or 
 were lost in the evening gloom. 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 117 
 
 On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my pater- 
 nal home. My heart yearned for the long-with- 
 held blessing of a father's love. As I entered 
 the proud portal of the ancestral palace, my 
 emotions were so great that I could not speak. 
 No one knew me, the servants gazed at me with 
 curiosity and surprise. A few years of intellec- 
 tual elevation and development had made a pro- 
 digious change in the poor fugitive stripling from 
 the convent. Still, that no one should know me 
 in my rightful home was overpowering. I felt 
 like the prodigal son returned. I was a stranger 
 in the house of my father. I burst into tears and 
 wept aloud. When I made myself known, how- 
 ever, all was changed. I, who had once been 
 almost repulsed from its walls, and forced to fly 
 as an exile, was welcomed back with acclamation, 
 with servility. One of the servants hastened to 
 prepare my father for my reception ; my eager- 
 ness to receive the paternal embrace was so great 
 that I could not await his return, but hurried after 
 him. What a spectacle met my eyes as I entered 
 the chamber ! My father, whom I had left in the 
 pride of vigorous age, whose noble and majestic 
 bearing had so awed my young imagination, was 
 bowed down and withered into decrepitude. A 
 paralysis had ravaged his stately form, and left it 
 a shaking ruin. He sat propped up in his chair, 
 with pale, relaxed visage, and glassy, wandering 
 eye. His intellects had evidently shared in the 
 ravages of his frame. The servant was endeav- 
 oring to make him comprehend that a visitor was 
 at hand. I tottered up to him, and sank at his 
 
118 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 feet. All his past coldness and neglect were for- 
 gotten in his present sufferings. I remembered 
 only that he was my parent, and that I had 
 deserted him. I clasped his knee : my voice 
 was almost filled with convulsive sobs. " Pardon 
 — pardon ! oh ! my father ! " was all that I could 
 utter. His apprehension seemed slowly to return 
 to him. He gazed at me for some moments with 
 a vague, inquiring look ; a convulsive tremor 
 quivered about his lips ; he feebly extended a 
 shaking hand ; laid it upon my head, and burst 
 into an infantine flow of tears. 
 
 From that moment he would scarcely spare me 
 from his sight. I appeared the only object that 
 his heart responded to in the world ; all else was 
 as a blank to him. He had almost lost the power 
 of speech, and the reasoning faculty seemed at an 
 end. He was mute and passive, excepting that 
 fits of childlike weeping would sometimes come 
 over him without any immediate cause. If I left 
 the room at any time, his eye was incessantly 
 fixed on the door till my return, and on my en- 
 trance there was another gush of tears. 
 
 To talk with him of all my concerns, in this 
 ruined state of mind, would have been worse than 
 useless ; to have left him for ever so short a 
 time would have been cruel, unnatural. Here 
 then was a new trial for my affections. I wrote 
 to Bianca an account of my return, and of my 
 actual situation, painting in colors vivid, for they 
 were true, the torments I suffered at our being 
 thus separated ; for the youthful lover every day , 
 of absence is an aofe of love lost. I enclosed the 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 119 
 
 letter in one to Filippo, who was the channel of 
 our correspondence. 1 received a reply from him 
 full of friendship and sympathy ; from Bianca, 
 full of assurances of affection and constancy. 
 Week after week, month after month elapsed, 
 without making any change in my circumstances. 
 The vital flame which had seemed nearly extinct 
 when first I met my father, kept fluttering on 
 without any apparent diminution. I watched him 
 constantly, faithfully, I had almost said patiently. 
 I knew that his death alone would set me free — 
 yet I never at any moment wished it. I felt 
 too glad to be able to make any atonement for 
 past disobedience ; and denied, as I had been, all 
 endearments of relationship in my early days, 
 my heart yearned towards a father, who in his 
 age and helplessness had thrown himself entirely 
 on me for comfort. 
 
 My passion for Bianca gained daily more force 
 from absence : by constant meditation it wore 
 itself a deeper and deeper channel. I made no 
 new friends nor acquaintances ; sought none of 
 the pleasures of Naples, which my rank and for- 
 tune threw open to me. Mine was a heart that 
 confined itself to few objects, but dwelt upon them 
 with the intenser passion. To sit by my father, 
 administer to his wants, and to meditate on Bian- 
 ca in the silence of his chamber, was my constant 
 habit. Sometimes I amused myself with my pen- 
 cil, in portraying the image ever present to my 
 imagination. I transferred to canvas every look 
 and smile of hers that dwelt in my heart. I showed 
 them to my father, in hopes of awakening an 
 
120 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 interest in his bosom for the mere shadow of my 
 love ; but he was too far sunk in intellect to take 
 any notice of them. When I received a letter 
 from Bianca, it was a new source of solitary lux- 
 ury. Her letters, it is true, were less and less fre- 
 quent, but they were always full of assurances of 
 unabated affection. They breathed not the frank 
 and innocent warmth with which she expressed 
 herself in conversation, but I accounted for it from 
 the embaiTassment which inexperienced minds 
 have often to express themselves upon paper. Fi- 
 Hppo assured me of her unaltered constancy. They 
 both lamented, in the strongest terms, our contin- 
 ued separation, though they did justice to the fil- 
 ial piety that kept me by my father's side. 
 
 Nearly two years elapsed in this protracted 
 exile. To me they were so many ages. Ardent 
 and impetuous by nature, I scarcely know how 
 I should have supported so long an absence, had 
 I not felt assured that the faith of Bianca was 
 equal to my own. At length my father died. 
 Life went from him almost imperceptibly. I 
 hung over him in mute affliction, and watched the 
 expiring spasms of nature. His last faltering- 
 accents whispered repeatedly a blessing on me. 
 Alas I how has it been fulfilled ! 
 
 When I had paid due honors to his remains, 
 and laid them in the tomb of our ancestors, I 
 arranged briefly my affairs, put them in a pos- 
 ture to be easily at my command from a distance, 
 and embarked once more with a bounding heart 
 for Genoa. 
 
 Our voyage was propitious, and oh ! what was 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 121 
 
 my rapture, when first, in the dawn of morning, I 
 saw the shadowy summits of the Apennines ris- 
 ing almost like clouds above the horizon ! The 
 sweet breath of summer just moved us over the 
 long wavering billows that were rolling us on 
 towards Genoa. By degrees the coast of Sestri 
 rose like a creation of enchantment from the silver 
 bosom of the deep. I beheld the line of villages 
 and palaces studding its borders. My eye re- 
 verted to a well-known point, and at length, from 
 the confusion of distant objects, it singled out the 
 villa which contained Bianca. It was a mere 
 speck in the landscape, but glimmering from afar, 
 the polar star of my heart. 
 
 Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's 
 day, but oh ! how different the emotions between 
 departure and return. It now kept growing and 
 growing, instead of lessening and lessening on 
 my sight. My heart seemed to dilate with it. I 
 looked at it through a telescope. I gradually de- 
 fined one feature after another. The balconies of 
 the central saloon where first I met Bianca be- 
 neath its roof; the terrace where we so often had 
 passed the delightful summer evenings ; the awn- 
 ing which shaded her chamber-window ; I almost 
 fancied I saw her form beneath it. Could she 
 but know her lover was in the bark whose white 
 sail now gleamed on the sunny bosom of the sea ! 
 My fond impatience increased as we neared the 
 coast ; the ship seemed to lag lazily over the 
 billows ; I could almost have sprang into the sea, 
 and swam to tlie desired shore. 
 
 The shadows of evening gradually shrouded 
 
122 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 the scene ; but the moon arose in all her fulness 
 and beauty, and shed the tender light so dear 
 to lovers, over the romantic coast of Sestri. 
 My soul was bathed in unutterable tenderness. 
 I anticipated the heavenly evenings I should pass 
 in once more wandering with Bianca by the 
 light of that blessed moon. 
 
 It was late at night before we entered the har- 
 bor. As early next morning as I could get re- 
 leased from the formalities of landing, I threw 
 myself on horseback, and hastened to the villa. 
 As I galloped round the rocky promontory on 
 which stands the Faro, and saw the coast of Ses- 
 tri opening upon me, a thousand anxieties and 
 doubts suddenly sprang up in my bosom. There 
 is something fearful in returning to those we love, 
 while yet uncertain what ills or changes absence 
 may have effected. The turbulence of my agita- 
 tion shook my very frame. I spurred my horse 
 to redoubled speed ; he was covered with foam 
 when we both arrived panting at the gateway that 
 opened to the grounds around the villa. I left 
 my horse at a cottage, and walked through the 
 grounds, that I might regain tranquillity for the 
 approaching interview. I chid myself for having 
 suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly 
 to overcome me ; but I was always prone to be 
 carried away by gusts of the feelings. 
 
 On entering the garden, everything bore the 
 same look as when 1 had left it ; and this un- 
 changed aspect of things reassured me. There 
 were the alleys in which I had so often walked 
 with Bianca, as we listened to the song of the 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 123 
 
 nightingale ; the same shades under which we 
 had so often sat during the noontide heat. There 
 were the same flowers of which she was so 
 fond ; and which appeared still to be under the 
 ministry of her hand. Everything looked and 
 breathed of Bianca ; hope and joy flushed in my 
 bosom at every step. I passed a little arbor, in 
 which we had often sat and read together ; — a 
 book and glove lay on the bench ; — it was Bian- 
 ca's glove ; it was a volume of the " Metastasio " I 
 had given her. The glove lay in my favorite 
 passage. I clasped them to my heart with rap- 
 ture. " All is safe ! " exclaimed I ; " she loves 
 me, she is still my own ! " 
 
 I bounded lightly along the avenue, down which 
 I had faltered slowly at my departure. I beheld 
 her favorite pavilion, which had witnessed our 
 parting-scene. The window was open, with the 
 same vine clambering about it, precisely as when 
 she waved and wept me an adieu. O how trans- 
 porting was the contrast in my situation ! As I 
 passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a 
 female voice : they thrilled through me with an 
 appeal to my heart not to be mistaken. Before 
 I could think, I felt they were Bianca's. For 
 an instant 1 paused, overpowered with agitation. 
 I feared to break so suddenly upon her. I softly 
 ascended the steps of the pavilion. The door 
 was open. I saw Bianca seated at a table ; her 
 back was towards me, slie was warbling a soft 
 melancholy air, and was occupied in drawing. 
 A glance sufficed to show me that she was copying 
 one of my own paintings. I gazed on her for a 
 
124 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 moment in a delicious tumult of emotions. She 
 paused in her singing : a heavy sigh, almost a 
 sob, followed. I could no longer contain myself. 
 "- Bianca ! " exclaimed I, in a half-smothered 
 voice. She started at the sound, brushed back 
 the ringlets that hung clustering about her face, 
 darted a glance at me, uttered a piercing shriek, 
 and would have fallen to the earth, had I not 
 caught her in my arms. 
 
 " Bianca ! mj own Bianca ! " exclaimed I, fold- 
 ing her to my bosom, my voice stifled in sobs of 
 convulsive joy. She lay in my arms without 
 sense or motion. Alarmed at the effects of ray 
 precipitation, I scarce knew what to do. I 
 tried by a thousand endearing words to call her 
 back to consciousness. She slowly recovered, 
 and half opened her eyes. — " Where am I ? " 
 murmured she faintly. " Here ! " exclaimed I, 
 pressing her to my bosom, " here — close to the 
 heart that adores you — in the arms of your 
 faithful Ottavio ! " " Oh no ! no ! no ! " shrieked 
 she, starting into sudden life and terror, — " away ! 
 away ! leave me ! leave me ! " 
 
 She tore herself from my arms ; rushed to a 
 corner of the saloon, and covered her face with 
 her hands, as if the very sight of me were bale- 
 ful. I was thunderstruck. I could not believe 
 my senses. I followed her, trembling — con- 
 founded. I endeavored to take her hand ; but 
 she shrunk from my very touch with horror. 
 
 " Good heavens, Bianca I " exclaimed I, " what 
 is the meaning of this ? Is this my reception 
 after so long an absence ? Is this the love you 
 professed for me ? " 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 125 
 
 At the mention of love, a shuddering ran 
 through her. She turned to me a face Avild with 
 anguish : " No more of that — no more of that ! " 
 gasped she : " talk not to me of love — I — I — 
 am married ! " 
 
 I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow — 
 a sickness struck to my very heart. I caught 
 at a window-frame for support. For a moment 
 or two everything was chaos around me. When 
 I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa, her 
 face buried in the pillow, and sobbing convul- 
 sively. Indignation for her fickleness for a mo- 
 ment overpowered every other feeling. 
 
 " Faithless ! perjured ! " cried I, striding across 
 the room. But another glance at that beau- 
 tiful being in distress checked all my wrath. 
 Anger could not dwell together with her idea in 
 my soul. 
 
 " Oh ! Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, " could 
 I have dreamt of this ? Could I have suspected 
 you would have been false to me ? " 
 
 She raised her face all streaming with tears, 
 all disordered with emotion, and gave me one ap- 
 pealing look. " False to you ? — They told me 
 you were dead ! " 
 
 " What," said I, " in spite of our constant cor- 
 respondence ? " 
 
 She gazed wildly at me : " Correspondence ? 
 what correspondence ! " 
 
 " Have you not repeatedly received and replied 
 to my letters ? " 
 
 She clasped her hands with solemnity and fer- 
 vor. " As I hope for mercy — never ! " 
 
126 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 A horrible surmise shot through my brain. 
 " Who told you I was dead ? " 
 
 " It was reported that the ship in which you 
 embarked for Naples perished at sea." 
 
 " But who told you the report ? " 
 
 She paused for an instant, and trembled ; — 
 " Filippo ! " 
 
 " May the God of heaven curse him ! " cried 
 I, extending my clinched fists aloft. 
 
 " Oh do not curse him, do not curse him ! " 
 exclaimed she, " he is — he is — my husband ! " 
 
 This was all that was wanting to unfold the 
 perfidy that had been practised upon me. My 
 blood boiled like liquid fire in my veins. I 
 gasped with rage too great for utterance — I re- 
 mained for a time bewildered by the whirl of hor- 
 rible thoughts that rushed through my mind. 
 The poor victim of deception before me thought 
 it was with her I was incensed. She faintly mur- 
 mured forth her exculpation. I will not dwell 
 upon it. I saw in it more than she meant to re- 
 veal. I saw with a glance how bolt, of us had 
 been betrayed. J^ 
 
 " 'T is well," muttered I to myseff in smothered 
 accents of concentrated fury. " He shall render 
 an account of all this." 
 
 Bianca overheard me. New terror flashed in 
 her countenance. '' For mercy's sake, do not 
 meet him I — say nothing of what has passed — 
 for my sake say nothing to him — I only shall 
 be the sufferer ! " 
 
 A new suspicion darted across my mind. — 
 " What ! " exclaimed I, " do you iYiQnfear him ? 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 127 
 
 is he unhind to you? Tell me," reiterated I, 
 grasping her hand, and looking her eagerly in the 
 face, " tell me — dares he to use you harshly ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! " cried she, faltering and em- 
 barrassed ; but the glance at her face had told vol- 
 umes. I saw in her pallid and wasted features, 
 in the prompt terror and subdued agony of her 
 eye, a whole history of a mind broken down by 
 tyranny. Great God ! and was this beauteous 
 flower snatched from me to be thus trampled 
 upon ? The idea roused me to madness. I 
 clinched my teeth and hands ; I foamed at the 
 mouth ; every passion seemed to have resolved 
 itself 'into the fury that like a lava boiled within 
 my heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speechless 
 affright. As I strode by the window, my eye 
 dcirtoct ikhM^Y, the allev/ Fatal moment ! I beheld 
 Filippo at a distance my brain was in delirium 
 — I sprang from the pavilion, and was before him 
 with the quickness of lightning. He saw me as 
 I came rushing upon him — he turned pale, 
 looked wildly to right and left, as if he would 
 have fled, and trembling, drew his sword. 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried I, " well may you draw your 
 weapon ! " 
 
 I spoke not another word — I snatched forth 
 a stiletto, put by the sword which trembled in 
 his hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom. 
 He fell with the blow, but my rage was unsated. 
 I sprang upon him with the blood-thirsting feel- 
 ing of a tiger ; redoubled my blows ; mangled 
 him in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, 
 until, with reiterated wounds and strangling con- 
 
128 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 vulsions, he expired in my grasp. I remained 
 glaring on the countenance, horrible in death, 
 that seemed to stare back with its protruded eyes 
 upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from my 
 delirium. I looked round and beheld Bianca fly- 
 ing distractedly towards us. My brain whirled 
 — I waited not to meet her ; but fled from the 
 scene of horror. I fled forth from the garden 
 like another Cain, — a hell within my bosom, 
 and a curse upon my head. I fled without know- 
 ing whither, almost without Imowing why. My 
 only idea was to get farther and farther from the 
 horrors I had left behind ; as if I could throw 
 space between myself and my conscience. I fled 
 to the Apennines, and wandered for days and 
 days among their savage heights. How I existed, 
 I cannot teli ; what rocks aiid precipices T hrPN-ccl, 
 and how I braved them, I know not. I kept on 
 and on, trying to out-travel the curse that clung 
 to me. Alas ! the shrieks of Bianca rung forever 
 in my ears. The horrible countenance of my 
 victim was forever before my eyes. The blood 
 of Filippo cried to me from the ground. Rocks, 
 trees, and torrents, all resounded with my crime. 
 Then it was I felt how much more insupportable 
 is the anguish of remorse than every other men- 
 tal pang. Oh ! could I but have cast off this 
 crime that festered in my heart — could I but 
 have regained the innocence that reigned in my 
 breast as I entered the garden at Sestri — could I 
 have but restored my victim to life, I felt as if I 
 could look on with transport, even though Bianca 
 were in his arms. 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 129 
 
 By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse set- 
 tled into a permanent malady of the mind — into 
 one of the most horrible that ever poor wretch 
 was cursed with. Wherever I went, the coun- 
 tenance of him I had slain appeared to follow 
 me. Whenever I turned my head, I beheld it 
 behind me, hideous with the contortions of the 
 dying moment. I have tried in every way to 
 escape from this horrible phantom, but in vain. 
 I know not whether it be an illusion of the mind, 
 the consequence of my dismal education at the 
 convent, or whether a phantom really sent by 
 Heaven to punish me, but there it ever is — at 
 all times — in all places. Nor has time nor habit 
 had any effect in familiarizing me with its ter- 
 rors. I have travelled from place to place — 
 plunged into amusements — tried dissipation and 
 distraction of every kind — all — all in vain. I 
 once had recourse to my pencil, as a desperate 
 experiment. I painted an exact resemblance of 
 this phantom - face. I placed it before me, in 
 hopes that by constantly contemplating the copy, 
 I might diminish the effect of the original. But 
 I only doubled instead of diminishing the misery. 
 Such is the curse that has clung to my foot- 
 steps — that has made my life a burden, but the 
 thought of death terrible. God knows what I 
 have suffered — what days and days, and nights 
 and nights of sleepless torment — what a never- 
 dying worm has preyed upon my heart — what an 
 unquenchable fire has burned within my brain ! 
 He knows the wrongs that wrought upon my 
 poor weak nature ; that converted the tenderest 
 9 
 
180 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of affections into the deadliest of fury. He knows 
 best whether a frail erring creature has expiated 
 by long-enduring torture and measureless remorse 
 the crime of a moment of madness. Often, often 
 have I prostrated myself in the dust, and im- 
 plored that he would give me a sign of his for- 
 giveness, and let me die 
 
 Thus far had I written some time since. I 
 had meant to leave this record of misery and 
 crime with you, to be read when I should be no 
 more. 
 
 My prayer to Heaven has at length been 
 heard. You were witness to my emotions last 
 evening at the church, when the vaulted temple 
 resounded with the words of atonement and re- 
 demption. I heard a voice speaking to me from 
 the midst of the music ; I heard it rising above the 
 pealing of the organ and the voices of the choir 
 — it spoke to me in tones of celestial melody — 
 it promised mercy and forgiveness, but demanded 
 from me full expiation. I go to make it. To- 
 morrow I shall be on my way to Genoa, to sur- 
 render myself to justice. You who have pitied 
 my sufferings, who have poured the balm of sym- 
 pathy into my wounds, do not shrink from my^ 
 memory with abhorrence nov/ that you know my 
 story. Recollect, that when you read of my 
 crime I shall have atoned for it with my blood ! 
 
 When the Baronet had finished, there was a 
 universal desire expressed to see the painting of 
 this frightful visage. After much entreaty the 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 131 
 
 Baronet consented, on condition that they should 
 only visit it one by one. He called his house- 
 keeper, and gave her charge to conduct the gen- 
 tlemen, singly, to the chamber. They all re- 
 turned varying in their stories : some affected 
 in one way, some in another; some more, some 
 less ; but all agreeing that there was a certain 
 something about the painting that had a very 
 odd effect upon the feelings. 
 
 I stood in a deep bow- window with the Bar- 
 onet, and could not help expressing my wonder, 
 " After all," said I, " there are certain mysteries 
 in our nature, certain inscrutable impulses and in- 
 fluences, which warrant one in being superstitious. 
 Who can account for so many persons of different 
 characters being thus strangely affected by a mere 
 painting ? " 
 
 "And especially when not one of them has 
 seen it ? " said the Baronet, with a smile. 
 
 " How ! " exclaimed I, " not seen it ? " 
 
 " Not one of them ! " replied he, laying his 
 finger on his lips, in sign of secrecy. " I saw 
 that some of them were in a bantering vein, and 
 did not choose that the memento of the poor 
 Italian should be made a jest of. So I gave the 
 housekeeper a hint to show them all to a differ- 
 ent chamber ! " 
 
 Thus end the stories of the Nervous Gentle- 
 man. 
 
PART SECOND. 
 
 BUCKTHOENE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 This world is the best that we live in, 
 
 To lend, or to spend, or to giye in ; 
 
 But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 
 
 'T is the very worst world, sir, that ever was known. 
 
 Lines from an Inn Window, 
 
LITEEARY LIFE. 
 
 MONG other subjects of a traveller's 
 curiosity, I had at one time a great crav- 
 ing after anecdotes of literary life ; and 
 being at London, one of the most noted places 
 for the production of books, I was excessively 
 anxious to know something of the animals which 
 produced them. Chance fortunately threw me 
 in the way of a literary man by the name of 
 Buckthorne, an eccentric personage, who had 
 lived much in the metropolis, and could give me 
 the natural history of every odd animal to be met 
 with in that wilderness of men. He readily im- 
 parted to me some useful hints upon the subject 
 of my inquiry. 
 
 " The literary world," said he, " is made up of 
 little confederacies, each looking i;ipon its own 
 members as the lights of the universe ; and con- 
 sidering all others as mere transient meteors, 
 doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, while its 
 own luminaries are to shine steadily on to immor- 
 tality." 
 
 " And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a 
 peep into those confederacies you speak of? I 
 presume an intercourse with authors is a kind of 
 intellectual exchange, where one must bring his 
 
136 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 commodities to barter, and always give a quid 
 pro quoP 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! how you mistake," said Buck- 
 thorne, smiling ; " you must never think to be- 
 come popular among wits by shining. They go 
 into society to shine themselves, not to admire the 
 brilliancy of others. I once thought as you do, 
 and never went into literary society without 
 studying my part beforehand ; the consequence 
 was, that I soon got the name of an intolerable 
 proser, and should in a little while have been com- 
 pletely excommunicated, had I not changed my 
 plan of operations. No, sir, no character succeeds 
 so well among wits as that of a good listener ; or 
 if ever you are eloquent, let it be when tete-a-tete 
 vrith an author, and then in praise of his own 
 works, or, what is nearly as acceptable, in dis- 
 paragement of the works of his contemporaries. 
 If ever he speaks favorably of the productions 
 of a particular friend, dissent boldly from him ; 
 pronounce his friend to be a blockhead ; never 
 fear his being vexed. Much as people speak of 
 the irritability of authors, I never found one to 
 take offence at such contradictions. No, no, sir, 
 authors are particularly candid in admitting the 
 faults of their friends. 
 
 " Indeed, I would advise you to be exceed- 
 ingly sparing of remarks on all modern works, 
 except to make sarcastic observations on the 
 most distinguished writers of the day." 
 
 " Faith," said I, " I '11 praise none that have 
 not been dead for at least half a century." 
 
 "Even then," observed Mr. Buckthome, "I 
 
LITERARY LIFE. 137 
 
 would advise you to be rather cautious ; for you 
 must know that many old writers have been en- 
 listed under the banners of different sects, and 
 their merits have become as completely topics of 
 party discussion as the merits of living statesmen 
 and politicians. Nay, there have been whole 
 periods of literature absolutely taboo'd, to use a 
 South Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much 
 as a man's critical reputation is worth in some 
 circles, to say a word in praise of any of the 
 writers of the reign of Charles the Second, or 
 even of Queen Anne, they being all declared 
 Frenchmen in disguise." 
 
 " And pray," said I, " when am I then to 
 know that I am on safe grounds, being totally 
 unacquainted with the literary landmarks, and 
 the boundary-line of fashionable taste." 
 
 " Oh ! " replied he, " there is fortunately one 
 tract of literature which forms a kind of neutral 
 ground, on which all the literary meet amicably, 
 and run riot in the excess of their good-humor ; 
 and this is in the reigns of Elizabeth and James. 
 Here you may praise away at random. Here it 
 is ' cut and come again ' ; and the more obscure 
 the author, and the more quaint and crabbed his 
 style, the more your admiration will smack of the 
 real relish of the connoissei:^r ; whose taste, like 
 that of an epicure, is always for game that has 
 an antiquated flavor. 
 
 " But," continued he, " as you seem anxious 
 to know something of literary society, I will take 
 an opportunity to introduce you to some coterie, 
 where the talents of the day are assembled. I 
 
138 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 cannot promise you, however, that they will all 
 be of the first order. Somehow or other, our 
 great geniuses are not gregarious ; they do not go 
 in flocks, but fly singly in general society. They 
 prefer mingling like common men w4th the multi- 
 tude, and are apt to carry nothing of the author 
 about them but the reputation. It is only the 
 inferior orders that herd together, acquire strength 
 and importance by their confederacies, and bear 
 all the distinctive characteristics of their species." 
 
A LITEEAEY DINNER. 
 
 FEW days after this conversation with 
 Mr. Buckthorne, he called upon me, and 
 took me with him to a regular literary 
 dinner. It was given by a great bookseller, or 
 rather a company of booksellers, whose firm sur- 
 passed in length that of Shadrach, Meshech, and 
 Abednego. 
 
 I was surprised to find between twenty and 
 thirty guests assembled, most of whom I had 
 never seen before. Mr. Buckthorne explained 
 this to me, by informing me that this was a busi- 
 ness-dinner, or kind of field-day which the house 
 gave about twice a year to its authors. It is 
 true they did occasionally give snug dinners to 
 three or four literary men at a time ; but then 
 these were generally select authors, favorites of 
 the public, such as had arrived at their sixth or 
 seventh editions. " There are," said he, " certain 
 geographical boundaries in the land of literature, 
 and you may judge tolerably well of an author's 
 popularity by the wine his bookseller gives him. 
 An author crosses the port line about the third 
 edition, and gets into claret ; and when he has 
 reached the sixth or seventh, he may revel in 
 champagne and burgundy." 
 
140 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " And pray," said I, " how far may these gen- 
 tlemen have reached that I see around me ? are 
 any of these claret-drinkers ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these 
 great dinners the common steady run of authors, 
 one or two edition men ; or if any others are in- 
 vited, they are aware that it is a kind of republi- 
 can meeting, — you understand me — a meeting 
 of the republic of letters; and that they must 
 expect nothing but plain, substantial fare." 
 
 These hints enabled me to comprehend more 
 fully the arrangement of the table. The two ends 
 were occupied by two partners of the house ; and 
 the host seemed to have adopted Addison's idea 
 as to the literary precedence of his guests. A 
 popular poet had the post of honor ; opposite to 
 whom was a hot-pressed traveller in quarto with 
 plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, who had 
 produced several solid works, that were much 
 quoted and little read, was treated with great re- 
 spect, and seated next to a neat, dressy gentleman 
 in black, who had written a thin, genteel, hot- 
 pressed octavo on political economy, that was get- 
 ting into fashion. Several three-volumed duodec- 
 imo men, of fair currency, were placed about the 
 centre of the table ; while the lower end was 
 taken up with small poets, translators, and au- 
 thors who had not as yet risen into much noto- 
 riety. 
 
 The conversation during dinner was by fits and 
 starts ; breaking out here and there in various 
 parts of the table in small flashes, and ending in 
 smoke. The poet, who had the confidence of a 
 
A LITERARY DINNER. 141 
 
 man on good terms with the world, and indepen- 
 dent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, 
 and said many clever things which set the partner 
 next him in a roar, and delighted all the com- 
 pany. The other partner, however, maintained 
 his sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air 
 of a thorough man of business, intent upon the 
 occupation of the moment. His gravity was 
 explained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He 
 informed me that the concerns of the house were 
 admirably distributed among the partners. " Thus, 
 for instance," said he, " the grave gentleman is 
 the carving partner, who attends to the joints ; 
 and the other is the laughing partner, who at- 
 tends to the jokes." 
 
 The general conversation was chiefly carried 
 on at the upper end of the table, as the authors 
 there seemed to possess the greatest courage of 
 the tongue. As to the crew at the lower end, if 
 they did not make much figure in talking, they 
 did in eating. Never was there a more deter- 
 mined, inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on 
 the trencher than by this phalanx of masticators. 
 When the cloth was removed, and the wine be- 
 gan to circulate, they grew very merry and jocose 
 among themselves. Their jokes, however, if by 
 chance any of them reached the upper end of the 
 table, seldom produced much effect. Even the 
 laughing partner did not think it necessary to 
 honor them with a smile ; which my neighbor 
 Buckthorne accounted for, by informing me that 
 there was a certain degree of popularity to be 
 obtained before a bookseller could afford to laugh 
 at an author's jokes. 
 
142 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Among this crew of questionable gentlemen 
 thus seated below the salt, my eye singled out 
 one in particular. He was rather shabbily 
 dressed ; though he had evidently made the most 
 of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt - frill 
 plaited and puffed out voluminously at the bosom. 
 His face was dusky, but florid, perhaps a little 
 too florid, particularly about the nose ; though the' 
 rosy hue gave the greater lustre to a twinkling 
 black eye. He had a little the look of a boon 
 companion, with that dash of the poor devil in it 
 which gives an inexpressible mellow tone to a 
 man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of richer 
 promise ; but never was promise so ill kept. He 
 said nothing, ate and drank with the keen appe- 
 tite of a garreteer, and scarcely stopped to laugh, 
 even at the good jokes from the upper end of 
 the table. I inquired who he was. Buckthorne 
 looked at him attentively : " Gad," said he, " I 
 have seen that face before, but where I cannot 
 recollect. He cannot be an author of any note. 
 I suppose some writer of sermons, or grinder of 
 foreign travels." 
 
 After dinner we retired to another room to take 
 tea and coffee, where we were reinforced by a 
 cloud of inferior guests, — authors of small vol- 
 umes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue pa- 
 per. These had not as yet arrived to the impor- 
 tance of a dinner-invitation, but were invited oc- 
 casionally to pass the evening in a friendly way. 
 They were very respectful to the partners, and, 
 indeed, seemed to stand a little in awe of them ; 
 but they paid devoted court to the lady of the 
 
A LITERARY DINNER. 143 
 
 house, and were extravagantly fond of the chil- 
 dren. Some few, who did not feel confidence 
 enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in 
 corners, talking to one another ; or turned over 
 the portfolios of prints which they had not seen 
 above five thousand times, or moused over the 
 music on the forte-piano. 
 
 The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were 
 the persons most current and at their ease in the 
 drawing-room ; being men evidently of circulation 
 in the West End. They got on each side of the 
 lady of the house, and paid her a thousand com- 
 pliments and civilities, at some of which I thought 
 she would have expired with delight. Every- 
 thing they said and did had the odor of fashion- 
 able life. I looked round in vain for the poor- 
 devil author in the rusty black coat ; he had 
 disappeared immediately after leaving the table, 
 having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring light of 
 a drawing-room. Finding nothing further to 
 interest my attention, I took my departure soon 
 after coffee had been served, leaving the poet, 
 and the thin, genteel, hot-pressed octavo gentle- 
 man, masters of the field. 
 
THE CLUB OF QUEEE FELLOWS. 
 
 THINK it was the very next evening 
 that, in coming out of Covent Garden 
 Theatre with my eccentric friend Buck- 
 thorne, he proposed to give me another peep at 
 life and character. Finding me willing for any 
 research of the kind, he took me through a vari- 
 ety of the narrow courts and lanes about Coveni 
 Garden, until we stopped before a tavern, from 
 which we heard the bursts of merriment of a 
 jovial party. There would be a loud peal of 
 laughter, then an interval, then another peal, as 
 if a prime wag were telling a story. After a lit- 
 tle while there was a song, and at the close of 
 each stanza a hearty roar, and a vehement thump- 
 ing on the table. 
 
 '^This is the place," whispered Buckthorne; 
 " it is the club of queer fellows, a great resort of 
 the small wits, third-rate actors, and newspaper 
 critics of the theatres. Any one can go in on 
 paying a sixpence at the bar for the use of the 
 club." 
 
 We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and 
 took our seats at a lone table, in a dusky corner 
 of the room. The club was assembled round a 
 
THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 145 
 
 table, on which stood beverages of various kinds, 
 according to the tastes of the individuals. The 
 members were a set of queer fellows indeed ; but 
 what was my surprise on recognizing, in the 
 prime wit of the meeting, the poor-devil author 
 w:hom I had remarked at the booksellers' dinner 
 for his promising face and his complete taciturn- 
 ity. Matters, however, were entirely changed 
 with him. There he was a mere cipher ; here he 
 was lord of the ascendant, the choice spirit, the 
 dominant genius. He sat at the head of the table 
 with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more 
 luminously than his nose. He had a quip and a 
 fillip for every one, and a good thing on every 
 occasion. JSTothing could be said or done without 
 eliciting a spark from him : and I solemnly de- 
 clare I have heard much worse wit even from no- 
 blemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, were 
 rather wet, but they suited the circle over which 
 he presided. The company were in that maud- 
 lin mood, when a little wit goes a great way. 
 Every time he opened his lips there was sure to 
 -be a roar ; and even sometimes before he had 
 time to speak. 
 
 We were fortunate enough to enter in time 
 for a glee composed by him expressly for the 
 club, and which he sung with two boon compan- 
 ions, who would have been worthy subjects for 
 Hogarth's pencil. As they were each provided 
 with a written copy, I was enabled to procure 
 the reading of it. 
 
 " Men-ily, merrily push round the glass, 
 And merrily troll the glee, 
 10 
 
146 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 For he who won't drink till he wink, is an ass, 
 So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 
 
 " Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose. 
 
 Until it right rosy shall be ; 
 For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, 
 
 Is a sign of good company." 
 
 We waited until the party broke up, and no 
 one but the wit remained. He sat at the table 
 with his legs stretched under it, and wide apart ; 
 his hands in his breeches - pockets ; his head 
 drooped upon his breast ; and gazing with lack- 
 lustre countenance on an empty tankard. Hi.' 
 gayety was gone, his fire completely quenched. 
 
 My companion approached, and startled him 
 from his fit of brown study, introducing himself 
 on the strength of their having dined together at 
 the booksellers'. 
 
 " By the way," said he, " it seems to me I 
 have seen you before ; your face is surely that of 
 an old acquaintance, though for the life of me I 
 cannot tell where I have known you." 
 
 " Very likely," replied he, with a smile ; 
 " many of my old friends have forgotten me. 
 Though, to tell the truth, my memory in this in- 
 stance is as bad as your own. If, however, it 
 will assist your recollection in any way, my name 
 is Thomas Dribble, at your service." 
 
 " What ! Tom Dribble, who was at old Birch- 
 elFs school in Warwickshire ? " 
 
 " The same," said the other, coolly. 
 
 " Why, then, we are old schoolmates, though 
 it 's no wonder you don't recollect me. I was 
 
THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 147 
 
 your junior by several years ; don't you recol- 
 lect little Jack Buckthorne ? " 
 
 Here there ensued a scene of school-fellow rec- 
 ognition, and a world of talk about old school- 
 times and school-pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by 
 observing, with a heavy sigh, '' that times were 
 sadly changed since those days." 
 
 "- Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, " you seem quite 
 a different man here from what you were at din- 
 ner. I had no idea that you had so much stuff 
 in you. There you were all silence, but here 
 you absolutely keep the table in a roar." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake 
 of the head, and a shrug of the shoulder, " I am 
 a mere glow-worm. I never shine by daylight. 
 Besides, it 's a hard thing for a poor devil of an 
 author to shine at the table of a rich bookseller. 
 Who do you think would laugh at anything I 
 could say, when I had some of the current wits 
 of the day about me ? But here, though a poor 
 devil, I am among still poorer devils than myself ; 
 men who look up to me as a man of letters, and 
 a belle-esprit, and all my jokes pass as sterling 
 gold from the mint." 
 
 ^' You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I ; 
 " I have certainly heard more good things from 
 you this evening, than from any of those beaux- 
 esprits by whom you appear to have been so 
 daunted." 
 
 " Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side : 
 they are in the fashion — there 's nothing like be- 
 ing in fashion. A man that has once got his 
 character up for a wit is always sure of a laugh, 
 
148 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 say what he may. He may utter as much non- 
 sense as he pleases, and all will pass current. 
 No one stops to question the coin of a rich man ; ' 
 but a poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or 
 a guinea, without its being examined on both 
 sides. Wit and coin are always doubted with a 
 threadbare coat. 
 
 " For my part/' continued he, giving his hat 
 a twitch a little more on one side, — " for my 
 part, I hate your fine dinners ; there 's nothing, 
 sir, like the freedom of a chop-house. I 'd rath- 
 er, any time, have my steak and tankard among 
 my own set, than drink claret and eat venison 
 with your cursed civil, elegant company, who 
 never laugh at a good joke from a poor devil for 
 fear of its being vulgar. A good joke grows in 
 a wet soil ; it flourishes in low places, but withers 
 on your d — d high, dry grounds. I once kept 
 high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself; 
 I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing 
 saved me but being arrested by my landlady, 
 and thrown into prison ; where a course of catch- 
 clubs, eightpenny ale, and poor-devil company, 
 manured my mind, and brought it back to itself 
 again." 
 
 As it was now growing late, we parted for the 
 evening, though I felt anxious to know more of 
 this practical philosopher. I was glad, therefore, 
 when Buckthorne proposed to have another meet- 
 ing, to talk over old school-times, and inquired 
 his schoolmate's address. The latter seemed at 
 first a little shy of naming his lodgings ; but sud- 
 denly, assuming an air of hardihood — " Green- 
 
THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS, 149 
 
 arbor Court, sir," exclaimed he — " Number ■ 
 
 in Green-arbor Court. You must know the place. 
 Classic ground, sir, classic ground ! It was there 
 Goldsmith wrote his ' Vicar of Wakefield/ — I al- 
 ways like to live in literary haunts." 
 
 I was amused with this whimsical apology for 
 shabby quarters. On our way homeward, Buck- 
 thorne assured me that this Dribble had been the 
 prime wit and great wag of the school in their 
 boyish days, and one of those unlucky urchins de- 
 nominated bright geniuses. As he perceived me 
 curious respecting his old schoolmate, he prom- 
 ised to take me with him in his proposed visit to 
 Green-arbor Court. 
 
 A few mornings afterward he called upon me, 
 and we set forth on our expedition. He led me 
 through a variety of singular alleys, and courts, 
 and blind passages ; for he appeared to be per- 
 fectly versed in all the intricate geography of the 
 metropolis. At length we came out upon Fleet 
 Market, and traversing it, turned up a narrow 
 street to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone 
 steps, called Break-neck Stairs. These, he told 
 me, led up to Green-arbor Court, and that down 
 them poor Goldsmith might many a time have 
 risked his neck. When, we entered the court, I 
 could not but smile to think in what out-of-the- 
 way corners genius produces her bantlings ! And 
 the muses, those capricious dames, who, forsooth, 
 so often refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single 
 smile to votaries in splendid studies, and gilded 
 drawing-rooms, — what holes and burrows will 
 they frequent to lavish their favors on some rag- 
 ged disciple ! 
 
150 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 This Green-arbor Court I found to be a small 
 square, surrounded by tall and miserable houses, 
 the very intestines of which seemed turned inside 
 out, to judge from the old garments and frippery 
 fluttering from every window. It appeared to be 
 a region of washerwomen, and lines were stretched 
 about the little square, on which clothes were 
 dangling to dry. 
 
 Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took 
 place between two viragoes about a disputed right 
 to a wash-tub, and immediately the whole commu- 
 nity was in a hubbub. Heads in mob-caps popped 
 out of every window, and such a clamor of tongues 
 ensued, that I was fain to stop my ears. Every 
 amazon took part with one or other of the dis- 
 putants, and brandished her arms, dripping with 
 soap-suds, and fired away from her window as 
 from the embrazure of a fortress ; while the 
 swarms of children nestled and cradled in every 
 procreant chamber of this hive, waking with the 
 noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell the gen- 
 eral concert. 
 
 Poor Goldsmith ! what a time he must have 
 had of it, with his quiet disposition and nervous 
 habits, penned up in this den of noise and vul- 
 garity ! How strange, that, while every sight and 
 sound was sufficient to embitter the heart, and 
 fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be drop- 
 ping the honey of Plybla ! Yet it is more than 
 probable that he drew many of his inimitable 
 pictures of low life from the scenes which sur- 
 rounded him in this abode. The circumstance 
 of Mi's. Tibbs being obliged to wash her hus- 
 
THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 151 
 
 band's two shirts in a neighbor's house, who re- 
 fused to lend her wash-tub, may have been no sport 
 of fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. 
 His landlady may have sat for the picture, and 
 Beau Tibbs's scanty wardrobe have been a fac- 
 simile of his own. 
 
 It was with some difficulty that we found our 
 way to Dribble's lodgings. They were up two 
 pair of stairs, in a room that looked upon the 
 court ; and when we entered, he was seated on 
 the edo^e of his bed, writino; at a broken table. 
 He received us, however, with a free, open, poor- 
 devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did 
 at first appear slightly confused ; buttoned up his 
 waistcoat a little higher, and tucked in a stray 
 frill of linen. But he recollected himself in an 
 instant ; gave a half swagger, half leer, as he 
 stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three-legged 
 stool for Mr. Buckthorne ; pointed me to a lum- 
 bering old damask chair, that looked like a de- 
 throned monarch in exile ; and bade us welcome 
 to his garret. 
 
 We soon got engaged in conversation. Buck- 
 thorne and he had much to say about early school- 
 scenes ; and as nothing opens a man's heart more 
 than recollections of the kind, we soon drew from 
 him a brief outline of his literary career. 
 
THE POOE-DEYIL AUTHOR. 
 
 BEGAN life unluckily by being the 
 wag and bright fellow at school ; and I 
 had the further misfortune of becoming 
 the great genius of my native village. My father 
 was a country attorney, and intended I should 
 succeed him in business ; but I had too much 
 genius to study, and he was too fond of my genius 
 to force it into the traces ; so I fell into bad com- 
 pany, and took to bad habits. Do not mistake 
 me. I mean that I fell into the company of vil- 
 lage-literati, and village-blues, and took to ^vrit- 
 ing village-poetry. 
 
 It was quite the fashion in the village to be 
 literary. There was a little knot of choice spirits 
 of us, who assembled frequently together, formed 
 ourselves into a Literary, Scientific, and Philo- 
 sophical Society, and fancied ourselves the most 
 learned Philos in existence. Every one had a 
 great character assigned him, suggested by some 
 casual habit or affectation. One heavy fellow 
 drank an enormous quantity of tea, rolled in his 
 arm-chair, talked sententiously, pronounced dog- 
 matically, and was considered a second Dr. John- 
 son ; another, who happened to be a curate, 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 153 
 
 uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and 
 was the Swift of our association. Thus we had 
 also our Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Addisons ; 
 and a blue-stocking lady, whose drawing-room we 
 frequented, who corresponded about nothing with 
 all the world, and wrote letters with the stiffness 
 and formality of a printed book, was cried up as 
 another Mrs. Montagu. I was, by common con- 
 sent, the juvenile prodigy, the poetical youth, the 
 great genius, the pride and hope of the village, 
 through whom it was to become one day as cele- 
 brated as Stratford-on-Avon. 
 
 My father died, and left me his blessing and 
 his business. His blessing brought no money 
 into my pocket ; and as to his business, it soon 
 deserted me ; for I was busy writing poetry, and 
 could not attend to law, and my clients, though 
 they had great respect for my talents, had no 
 faith in a poetical attorney. 
 
 I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, 
 and finished my poem. It was the Pleasures of 
 Melancholy, and was cried up to the skies by the 
 whole circle. The Pleasures of Imagination, the 
 Pleasures of Hope, and the Pleasures of Memory, 
 though each had placed its author in the first 
 rank of poets, were blank prose in comparison. 
 Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from begin- 
 ning to end. It was pronounced by all the mem- 
 bers of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical 
 Society the greatest poem of the age, and all 
 anticipated the noise it would make in the great 
 world. There was not a doubt but the London 
 booksellers would be mad after it ; and tlie only 
 
154 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 fear of my friends was, that I would make a sac- 
 rifice by selling it too cheap. Every time they 
 talked the matter over, they increased the price. 
 They reckoned up the great sums given for the 
 poems of certain popular wiiters, and determined 
 that mine was worth more than all put together, 
 and ought to be paid for accordingly. For my 
 part, I was modest in my expectations, and deter- 
 mined that I would be satisfied with a thousand 
 guineas. So I put my poem in my pocket, and 
 set off for London. 
 
 My journey was joyous. My heart was light 
 as my purse, and my head full of anticipations of 
 fame and fortune. With what swelling pride 
 did I cast my eyes upon old London from the 
 heights of Highgate ! I was like a general, look- 
 ing down upon a place he expects to conquer. 
 The great metropoh's lay stretched before me, 
 buried under a home-made cloud of murky smoke, 
 that wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny 
 day, and formed for it a kind of artificial bad 
 weather. At the outskirts of the city, away 
 to the west, the smoke gradually decreased until 
 all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched 
 uninterrupted to the blue line of the Kentish 
 hills. 
 
 My eye turned fondly to where the mighty 
 cupola of St. Paul's swelled dimly through this 
 misty chaos, and I pictured to myself the solemn 
 realm of learning that lies about its base. How 
 soon should the Pleasures of Melancholy throw 
 <fiis world of booksellers and printers into a bus- 
 tle of business and delight I How soon should 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 155 
 
 I hear my name repeated by printers' devils 
 throughout Paternoster Row, and Angel Court, and 
 Ave-Maria Lane, until Amen Corner should echo 
 back the sound ! 
 
 Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the 
 most fashionable publisher. Every new author 
 patronizes him of course. In fact, it had been 
 determined in the village circle that he should be 
 the fortunate man. I cannot tell you how vain- 
 gloriously I walked the streets. My head was 
 in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing 
 about it, and fancied it already encircled by a 
 halo of literary glory. As I passed by the win- 
 dows of book-shops, I anticipated the time when 
 my work would be shining among the hot-pressed 
 wonders of the day ; and my face, scratched on 
 copper, or cut on wood, figuring in fellowship 
 with those of Scott, and Byron, and Moore. 
 
 When I applied at the publisher's house, there 
 was something in the loftiness of my air, and the 
 dinginess of my dress, that struck the clerks with 
 reverence. They doubtless took me for some 
 person of consequence ; probably a digger of 
 Greek roots, or a penetrater of pyramids. A 
 proud man in a dirty shirt is always an imposing • 
 character in the world of letters ; one must feel 
 intellectually secure before he can venture to 
 dress shabbily ; none but a great genius, or a 
 great scholar, dares to be dirty ; so I was ushered 
 at once to the sanctum sanctorum of this high- 
 priest of Minerva. 
 
 The publishing of books is a very different 
 affair nowadays from what it was in the time of 
 
156 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Bernard Lintot. I found the publisher a fash- 
 ionably dressed man, in an elegant drawing-room, 
 furnished with sofas, and portraits of celebrated 
 authors, and eases of splendidly bound books. 
 He was writino; letters at an eleo^ant table. This 
 was transacting business in style. The place 
 seemed suited to the magnificent publications that 
 issued from it. I rejoiced at the choice I had 
 made of a publisher, for I always liked to en- 
 courage men of taste and spirit. 
 
 I stepped up to the table with the lofty poeti- 
 cal port I had been accustomed to maintain in 
 our villao'e circle ; though I threw in it some- 
 thing of a patronizing air, such as one feels when 
 about to make a man's fortune. The publisher 
 paused Avith his pen in hand, and seemed waiting 
 in mute suspense to know what was to be an- 
 nounced by so singular an apparition. 
 
 I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt 
 that I had but to come, see, and conquer. I 
 made known my name, and the name of my poem ; 
 produced my precious roll of blotted manuscript ; 
 laid it on the table with an emphasis ; and told 
 him at once, to save time, and come directly to 
 the point, the price was one thousand guineas. 
 
 I had given him no time to speak, nor did he 
 seem so inclined. He continued looking at me 
 for a moment with an air of whimsical perplexity ; 
 scanned me from head to foot ; looked down at 
 the manuscript, then up again at me, then pointed 
 to a chair ; and whistling softly to himself, went 
 on writing his letter. 
 
 I sat for some time waiting his reply, suppos- 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 157 
 
 ing he was making up his mind ; but he only 
 paused occasionally to take a fresh dip of ink, 
 to stroke his chin, or the tip of his nose, and 
 then resumed his writing. It was evident his 
 mind was intently occupied upon some other sub- 
 ject ; but I had no idea that any other subject 
 could be attended to, and my poem lie unnoticed 
 on the table. I had supposed that everything 
 would make way for the " Pleasures of Melan- 
 choly." 
 
 My gorge at length rose within me. I took 
 up my manuscript, thrust it into my pocket, and 
 walked out of the room ; making some noise as 1 
 went out, to let my departure be heard. The 
 publisher, however, was too much buried in 
 minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered to 
 walk down-stairs without being called back. I 
 sallied forth into the street, but no clerk was sent 
 after me ; nor did the publisher call after me from 
 the drawing-room window. I have been told 
 since, that lie considered me either a madman or 
 a fool. I leave you to judge how much he was 
 in the wrong in his opinion. 
 
 When I turned the corner, my crest fell. I 
 cooled down in my pride and my expectations, 
 and reduced my terms with the next bookseller 
 to whom I applied. I had no better success ; 
 nor with a third, nor with a fourth. I then 
 desired the booksellers to make an offer them- 
 selves ; but the deuce an offer would they make. 
 They told me poetry was a mere drug ; every- 
 body wrote poetry ; the market was overstocked 
 with it. And then they said, the title of my 
 
158 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 poem was not taking ; that pleasures of all kinds 
 were worn threadbare, nothing but horrors did 
 nowadays, and even those were almost worn out. 
 Tales of Pirates, Robbers, and bloody Turks, 
 might answer tolerably well ; but then they must 
 come from some established, well-known name, 
 or the public would not look at them. 
 
 At last I offered to leave my poem ivith a 
 bookseller to read it, and judge for himself. 
 *' Why, really, my dear Mr. a — a — I for- 
 get your name," said he, casting his eye at my 
 rusty coat and shabby gaiters, " really, sir, we are 
 so pressed with business just now, and have so 
 many manuscripts on hand to read, that we have 
 not time to look at any new productions ; but if 
 you can call again in a week or two, or say the 
 middle of next month, we may be able to look over 
 your writings, and give you an answer. Don't 
 forget, the month after next ; good morning, sir ; 
 happy to see you any time you are passing 
 this way." So saying, he bowed me out in the 
 civilest way imaginable. In short, sir, instead of 
 an eager competition to secure my poem, I could 
 not even get it read 1 h\ the mean time I was 
 harassed by letters from my fi-iends, wanting to 
 know when the work was to appear; who was to 
 be my publisher ; and above all things, warning 
 me not to let it go too cheap. 
 
 There was but one alternative left. I deter- 
 mined to publisli the poem myself; and to have 
 my triumph over the booksellers when it should 
 become the fashion of the day. I accordingly 
 , published the " Pleasures of Melancholy," — and 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 159 
 
 ruined myself. Excepting the copies sent to the 
 reviews, and to my friends in the country, not one, 
 I believe, ever left the bookseller's warehouse. 
 The printer's bill drained my purse ; and the only 
 notice that was taken of my work was contained 
 in the advertisements paid for by myself. 
 
 I could have borne all this, and have attrib- 
 uted it, as usual, to the mismanagement of the 
 publisher, or the want of taste in the public ; and 
 could have made the usual appeal to posterity ; 
 but my village friends would not let me rest in 
 quiet. They were picturing me to themselves 
 feasting with the great, communing with the liter- 
 ary, and in the high career of fortune and renown. 
 Every little while, some one would call on me 
 with a letter of introduction from the village cir- 
 cle, recommending him to my attentions, and 
 requesting that I would make him known in soci- 
 ety ; with a hint, that an introduction to a cele- 
 brated literary nobleman would be extremely 
 agreeable. I determined, therefore, to change my 
 lodgings, drop my correspondence, and disappear 
 altogether from the view of my village admirers. 
 Besides, I was anxious to make one more poetic 
 attempt. I was by no means disheartened by the 
 failure of my first. My poem was evidently too 
 didactic. The public was wise enough. It no 
 longer read for instruction. " They want horrors, 
 do they ? " said I : " I'faith ! then they shall have 
 enough of them." So I looked out for some 
 quiet, retired place, where I might be out of the 
 reach of my friends, and have leisure to cook up 
 Bome delectable dish of poetical " hell-broth." 
 
160 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I had some .difficulty in finding a place to my 
 mind, when chance threw me in the way of Can- 
 onbury Castle. It is an ancient brick tower, hard 
 by " merry Islington " ; the remains of a hunting- 
 seat of Queen Elizabeth, where she took the 
 pleasure of the country when the neighborhood 
 was all woodland. What gave it particular in- 
 terest in my eyes was the circumstance that it 
 had been the residence of a poet. 
 
 It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote 
 his " Deserted Village." I was shown the very 
 apartment. It was a relic of the original style 
 of the castle, with panelled wainscots and Gothic 
 windows. I was pleased with its air of antiquity, 
 and with its having been the residence of poor 
 Goldy. 
 
 " Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to my- 
 self, " a very pretty poet, though rather of the old 
 school. He did not think and feel so strongly as 
 is the fashion nowadays ; but had he lived in 
 these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would 
 no doubt have written quite differently." 
 
 In a few days I was quietly established in my 
 new quarters ; my books all arranged ; my writ- 
 ing-desk placed by a window looking out into the 
 fields ; and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe, 
 when he had finished his bower. For several 
 days I enjoyed all the novelty of the change and 
 the charms which grace ncAv lodgings, before one 
 has found out their defects. I rambled about the 
 fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. 
 I explored merry Islington ; ate my solitary din- 
 ner at the Black Bull, which, according to tradi- 
 
THE POOR-DEVrL AUTHOR. 161 
 
 tion, was a country-seat of Sir Walter Raleigh ; 
 and would sit and sip my wine, and muse on old 
 times, in a quaint old room, where many a coun- 
 cil had been held. 
 
 All tliis did very well for a few days. I was 
 stimulated by novelty ; inspired by the associa- 
 tions awakened in my mind by these curious 
 haunts ; and began to think I felt the spirit of 
 composition stirring within me. But Sunday 
 came, and with it the whole city world, swarm- 
 ing about Canonbury Castle. I could not open 
 my window but I was stunned with shouts and 
 noises from the cricket-ground ; the late quiet road 
 beneath my window was alive with the tread 
 of feet and clack of tongues ; and, to complete 
 my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was 
 absolutely a " show-house," the tower and its con- 
 tents being shown to strangers at sixpence a 
 head. 
 
 There was a perpetual tramping up-stairs of 
 citizens and their families, to look about the coun- 
 try from the top of the tower, and to take a peep 
 at the city through the telescope, to try if they 
 could discern their own chimneys. And then, in 
 the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment of 
 inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas 
 put to flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping 
 at the door, and asking me if I would "just please 
 to let a lady and gentleman come in, to take a 
 look at Mr. Goldsmith's room." If you know any- 
 thing of what an author's study is, and what an 
 author is himself, you must know that there was 
 no standing this. I put positive interdict on my 
 11 
 
162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 room's being exhibited ; but then it was shown 
 when I Vv^as absent, and my papers put in con- 
 fusion ; and, on returning home one day, I abso- 
 lutely found a cursed tradesman and his daughters 
 gaping over my manuscripts, and my landlady in 
 a panic at my appearance. I tried to make out 
 a little longer, by taking the key in my pocket ; 
 but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess 
 one day telling some of her customers on the 
 stairs, that the room was occupied by an author, 
 who was always in a tantrum if interrupted ; and 
 I immediately perceived, by a slight noise at the 
 door, that they were peeping at me through the 
 key-hole. By the head of Apollo, but this was 
 quite too much ! With all my eagerness for 
 fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, 
 I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at 
 sixpence a head, and that through a key-hole. So 
 I bid adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry Islington, 
 and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, without hav- 
 ing advanced a single line in my labors. 
 
 My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed 
 cottage, which stands not far from Hampstead, just 
 on the brow of a hill ; looking over Chalk Farm 
 and Camden Town, remarkable for the rival 
 houses of Mother Red Cap and Mother Black 
 Cap ; and so across CrackskuU Common to the 
 distant city. 
 
 The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself; 
 but I regarded it with reverence, for it had been 
 the asylum of a persecuted author. Hither poor 
 Steele had retreated, and laid perdu, when perse- 
 cuted by creditors and bailiffs — those immemo- 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 163 
 
 rial plagues of authors and free-spirited gentle- 
 men ; and here he had written many numbers of 
 the " Spectator." It was hence, too, that he had 
 dispatched those little notes to his lady, so full of 
 affection and whimsicality, in which the fond hus- 
 band, the careless gentleman, and the shifting 
 spendthrift, were so oddly blended. I thought, as 
 I first eyed the window of his apartment, that I 
 could sit within it and write volumes. 
 
 No such thing ! It was haymaking season, and, 
 as ill luck would have it, immediately opposite 
 the cottage was a little ale-house, with the sign 
 of the Load of Hay. Whether it was there in 
 Steele's time, I cannot say ; but it set all attempts 
 at conception or inspiration at defiance. It was 
 the resort of all the Irish haymakers who mow 
 the broad fields in the neighborhood; and of 
 drovers and teamsters who travel that road. 
 Here they would gather in the endless summer 
 twilight, or by the light of the harvest moon, and 
 sit around a table at the door ; and tipple, and 
 laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy 
 songs, and dawdle away the hours, until the deep 
 solemn notes of St. PauFs clock would warn the 
 varlets home. 
 
 In the daytime I was less able to write. It 
 was broad summer. The haymakers were at 
 work in the fields, and the perfume of the new- 
 mown hay brought with it the recollection of my 
 native fields. So instead of remaining in my 
 room to write, I went wandering about Primrose 
 Hill, and Hampstead Heights, and Shepherd's 
 Fields, and all those Arcadian scenes so cele- 
 
164 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 brated bj London bards. I cannot tell you how 
 many delicious hours I have passed, lying on the 
 cocks of the new-mown hay, on the pleasant 
 slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fra- 
 grance of the fields, while the summer-fly buzzed 
 about me, or the grasshopper leaped into my bos- 
 om ; and how I have gazed with half-shut eye 
 upon the smoky mass of London, and listened to 
 the distant sound of its population, and pitied the 
 poor sons of earth, toiling in its bowels, like 
 Gnomes in the " dark gold-mines." 
 
 People may say what they please about cock- 
 ney pastorals, but, after all, there is a vast deal 
 of rural beauty about the western vicinity of 
 London ; and any one that has looked down upon 
 the valley of the West End, with its soft bosom 
 of green pasturage lying open to the south, and 
 dotted with cattle ; the steeple of Hampstead ris- 
 ing among rich groves on the brow of the hill ; 
 and the learned height of Harrow in the dis- 
 tance ; will confess that never has he seen a 
 more absolutely rural landscape in the vicinity of 
 a great metropolis. 
 
 Still, however, I found myself not a whit the 
 better off for my frequent change of lodgings ; 
 and I began to discover, that in literature, as in 
 trade, the old proverb holds good, " a rolling stone 
 gathers no moss." 
 
 The tranquil beauty of the country played the 
 very vengeance with me. I could not mount my 
 fancy into the termagant vein. I could not con- 
 ceive, amidst the smiling landscape, a scene of 
 blood and murder; and the smug citizens in 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 165 
 
 breeches and gaiters put all ideas of heroes and 
 bandits out of my brain. I could think of noth- 
 ing but dulcet subjects, " the Pleasures of Spring " 
 — " the Pleasures of Solitude " — '^ the Pleas- 
 ures of Tranquillity " — " the Pleasures of Sen- 
 timent " — nothing but pleasures ; and I had the 
 painful experience of " the Pleasures of Melan- 
 choly " too strongly in my recollection to be be- 
 guiled by them. 
 
 Chance at length befriended me. I had fre- 
 quently, in my ramblings, loitered about Hamp- 
 stead Hill, which is a kind of Parnassus of the 
 metropolis. At such times I occasionally took 
 my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. It is a coun- 
 try inn so named ; the very spot where that noto- 
 rious rebel and his followers held their council of 
 war. It is a favorite resort of citizens when ru- 
 rally inclined, as it commands fine fresh air, and a 
 good view of the city. I sat one day in the pub- 
 lic room of this inn, ruminating over a beefsteak 
 and a pint of porter, when my imagination kin- 
 dled up with ancient and heroic images. I had 
 long wanted a theme and a hero ; both suddenly 
 broke upon my mind. I determined to write a 
 poem on the history of Jack Straw. I was so 
 full of the subject, that I was fearful of being an- 
 ticipated. I wondered that none of the poets of 
 the day in their search after ruffian heroes, had 
 never thought of Jack Straw. I went to work 
 pell-mell, blotted several sheets of paper with 
 choice floatinor thouo^hts, and battles, and de- 
 scriptions, to be ready at a moment's warning. 
 In a few days' time I sketched out the skeleton 
 
166 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of mj poem, and nothing was wanting but to give 
 it flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript 
 and stroll about Caen Wood, and read aloud ; and 
 would dine at the Castle, by way of keeping up 
 the vein of thouo-ht. 
 
 I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in 
 the. public room. There was no other company 
 but one man, who sat enjoying his pint of porter 
 at the window, and noticing the passers-by. He 
 was dressed in a green shooting- coat. His coun- 
 tenance was strono;lv marked : he had a hooked 
 nose ; a romantic eye, excepting that it had some- 
 thing of a squint ; and altogether, as I thought, a 
 poetical style of head. I was quite taken with 
 the man, for you must know I am a little of a 
 physiognomist ; I set him down at once for either 
 a poet or a philosopher. 
 
 As I like to make new acquaintances, consid- 
 ering every man a volume of human nature, I 
 soon fell into conversation with the stranger, who, 
 I was pleased to find, was by no means difficult 
 of access. After I had dined, I joined him at 
 the window, and we became so sociable that I 
 proposed a bottle of wine together, to which he 
 most cheerfully assented. 
 
 I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet 
 on the subject, and began to talk about the origin 
 of the tavern, and the history of Jack Straw. I 
 found my new acquaintance to be perfectly at 
 home on the topic, and to jump exactly with my 
 humor in every respect. I became elevated by 
 the wine and the conversation. In the fulness 
 of an authors feelings, I told him of my pro- 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 167 
 
 jected poem, and repeated some passages, and he 
 was in raptures. He was evidently of a strong 
 poeticpJ turn. 
 
 " Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same 
 time, " our poets don't look at home. I don't see 
 why we need go out of old England for robbers 
 and rebels to write about. I like your Jack 
 Straw, sir, — he 's a home-made hero. I like him, 
 sir — I like him exceedingly. He 's English to 
 the backbone — • damme — Give me honest old 
 England after all ! Them 's my sentiments, sir." 
 
 " I honor your sentiment," cried I, zealously ; 
 *' it is exactly my own. An English ruffian is as 
 good a ruffian for poetry as any in Italy, or Ger- 
 many, or the Archipelago ; but it is hard to make 
 our poets think so." 
 
 " More shame for them ! " rephed the man in- 
 green. '' What a plague would they have ? 
 What have we to do with their Archipelagos of 
 Italy and Germany ? Have n't we heaths and 
 commons and highways on our own little island 
 — ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof over them 
 too ? Stick to home, I say, — them 's my senti- 
 ments. — Come, sir, my service to you — I agree 
 with you perfectly." 
 
 '• Poets, in old times, had right notions on this 
 subject," continued I ; '* witness the fine old bal- 
 lads about Robin Hood, Allan a'Dale, and other 
 stanch blades of yore." 
 
 " Right, sir, right," interrupted he ; " Robin 
 Hood I he was the lad to cry stand ! to a man, 
 and never to flinch." 
 
 " Ah, sir," said I, " thev had famous bands of 
 
168 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 robbers in the good old times ; those were glori- 
 ous poetical days. The merry crew of Sherwood 
 Forest, who led such a roving picturesque life, 
 ' under the greenwood tree.' I have often wished 
 to visit their haunts, and tread the scenes of the 
 exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clymm of the 
 Clough, and Sir Wilham of Cloudeslie." 
 
 " Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, " we 
 have had several very pretty gangs since that 
 day. Those gallant dogs that kept about the 
 great heaths in the neighborhood of London, 
 about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and Blackheath, 
 for instance. Come, sir, my service to you. 
 You don't drink." 
 
 " I suppose," cried I, emptying my glass, " I 
 suppose you have heard of the famous Turpin, 
 who was born in this very village of Hampstead, 
 and who used to lurk with liis gang in Epping 
 Forest about a hundred years since ? " 
 
 " Have I ? " cried he, " to be sure I have ! 
 A hearty old blade that. Sound as pitch. Old 
 Turpentine ! as* we used to call him. A famous 
 fine fellow, sir." 
 
 " Well, sir," continued I, " I have visited 
 Waltham Abbey and Chingford Church merely 
 from the stories I heard when a boy of his ex- 
 ploits there, and I have searched Epping Forest 
 for the cavern where he used to conceal himself. 
 You must know," added I, " that I am a sort of 
 amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing, 
 daring fellows : the best apologies that we had 
 for the knights-errant of yore. Ah, sir ! the 
 country has been sinking gradually into tameness 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 169 
 
 and commonplace. We are losing the old Eng- 
 lish spirit. The bold knights of the Post have 
 all dwindled down into lurking footpads, and 
 sneaking pickpockets ; there 's no such thing as 
 a dashing, gentleman-like robbery committed now- 
 adays on the King's highway : a man may roll 
 from one end of England to the other in a drowsy 
 coach, or jingling post-chaise, without any other 
 adventure than that of being occasionally over- 
 turned, sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill- 
 cooked dinner. We hear no more of public 
 coaches being stopped and robbed by a well- 
 mounted gang of resolute fellows, with pistols in 
 their hands, and crapes over their faces. What 
 a pretty poetical incident was it, for example, in 
 domestic life, for a family-carriage, on its way to 
 a country-seat, to be attacked about dark ; the old 
 gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the la- 
 dies of their necklaces and ear-rings, by a polite- 
 ly-spoken highwayman on a blood-mare, who af- 
 terwards leaped the hedge and galloped across 
 the country, to the admiration of Miss Caroline, 
 the daughter, who would write a long and roman- 
 tic account of the adventure to her friend, Miss 
 Juliana, in town. Ah, sir ! we meet with noth- 
 ing of such incidents nowadays." 
 
 " That, sir," said my companion, taking advan- 
 tage of a pause, when I stopped to recover breath, 
 and to take a glass of wine which he had just 
 poured out, '' that, sir, craving your pardon, is not 
 owing to any want of old English pluck. It is 
 the effect of this cursed system of banking. Peo- 
 ple do not travel with bags of gold as they did 
 
170 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 formerly. They have post-notes, and drafts on 
 bankers. To rob a coach is like catching a 
 crow, where you have nothing but carrion flesh 
 and feathers for your pains. But a coach in old 
 times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish galleon. It 
 turned out the yellow boys bravely. And a pri- 
 vate carriage was a cool hundred or two at 
 least." 
 
 I cannot express how much I was delighted 
 with the sallies of my new acquaintance. He 
 told me that he often frequented the Castle, and 
 would be glad to know more of me ; and I pro- 
 posed myself many a pleasant afternoon with 
 him, when I should read him my poem as it pro- 
 ceeded, and benefit by his remarks ; for it was 
 evident he had the true poetical feeling. 
 
 " Come, sir," said he, pushing the bottle : 
 " Damme, I like you ! you 're a man after my own 
 heart. I 'm cursed slow in making new acquaint- 
 ances. One must be on the reserve, you know. 
 But when I meet with a man of your kidney, 
 damme, my he#t jumps at once to him. Them 's 
 my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here 's Jack 
 Straw's health ! I presume one can drink it now- 
 adays without treason ! " 
 
 " With all tny heart," said I, gayly, " and 
 Dick Turpin's into the bargain I " 
 
 " Ah, sir," said the man in green, " those are 
 the kind of men for poetry. The Newgate Cal- 
 endar, sir ! the Newgate Calendar is your only 
 reading ! There 's the place to look for bold 
 deeds and dashing fellows." 
 
 We were so much pleased wilh each other 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 171 
 
 that we wSat until a late hour. I insisted on pay- 
 ing the bill, for both my purse and my heart 
 were full, and I agreed that he should pay the 
 score at our next meeting. As the coaches had 
 all gone that run between Hampstead and Lon- 
 don, we had to return on foot. He was so de- 
 lighted with the idea of my poem, that he could 
 talk of nothing else. He made me repeat such 
 passages as I could remember ; and though I 
 did it in a very mangled manner, having a 
 wretched memory, yet he was in raptures. 
 
 Every now and then he would break out wath 
 some scrap which he would misquote most terri- 
 bly, would rub his hands and exclaim, " By Ju- 
 piter, that 's fine, that 's noble ! Damme, sir, if I 
 can conceive how you hit upon such ideas ! " 
 
 I must confess I did not always relish his mis- 
 quotations, which sometimes made absolute non- 
 sense of the passages ; but what author stands 
 upon trifles when he is praised ? 
 
 Never had I spent a more delightful evening. 
 I did not perceive how the time^Bw. I could 
 not bear to separate, but continued walking on, 
 arm in arm, with him, past my lodgings, through 
 Camden Town, and across Crackskull Common, 
 talking the w^hole way about my poem. 
 
 When we were half-way across the common, 
 he interrupted me in the midst of a quotation, by 
 telling me that this had been a famous place for 
 footpads, and was still occasionally infested by 
 them ; and that a man had recently been shot 
 there in attempting to defend himself — " The 
 more fool he ! " cried I ; "a man is an idiot to 
 
172 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 risk life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of 
 money. It 's quite a different case from that of 
 a duel, where one's honor is concerned. For my 
 part," added I, " I should never think of making 
 resistance against one of those desperadoes." 
 
 " Say you so ? " cried my friend in green, 
 turning suddenly upon me, and putting a pistol 
 to my breast ; " why, then, have at you, my lad ! 
 — come — disburse ! empty ! unsack ! " 
 
 In a word, I found that the muse had played 
 me another of her tricks, and had betrayed me 
 into the hands of a footpad. There was no time 
 to parley ; he made me turn my pockets inside 
 out ; and hearing the sound of distant footsteps, 
 he made one fell swoop upon purse, watch, and 
 all ; gave me a thwack on my unlucky pate that 
 laid me sprawling on the ground, and scampered 
 away with his booty. 
 
 I saw no more of my friend in green until a 
 year or two afterwards ; when I caught sight of 
 his poetical cg^tenance among a crew of scape- 
 graces heavil^ftoned, who were on the way for 
 transportation. He recognized me at once, tipped 
 me an impudent wink, and asked me how I came 
 on with the history of Jack Straw's Castle. 
 
 The catastrophe at Crackskull Common put an 
 end to my summer's campaign. I was cured of 
 my poetical enthusiasm for rebels, robbers, and 
 highwaymen. I was put out of conceit of my 
 subject, and, what was worse, I was lightened of 
 my purse, in which was almost every farthing I 
 had in the world. So I abandoned Sir Richard 
 Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into less eel- 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 173 
 
 ebratedj though no less poetical and airy lodgings 
 in a garret in town. 
 
 I now determined to cultivate the society of 
 the literary, and to enroll myself in the fraternity 
 of authorship. It is by the constant collision of 
 mind, thought I, that authors strike out the 
 sparks of genius, and kindle up with glorious con- 
 ceptions. Poetry is evidently a contagious com- 
 plaint. I will keep company with poets ; who 
 knows but I may catch it as others have done ? 
 
 I found no difficulty in making a circle of liter- 
 ary acquaintances, not having the sin of success 
 lying at my door : indeed the failure of my poem 
 was a kind of recommendation to their favor. 
 It is true my new friends were not of the most 
 brilliant names in literature ; but then if you 
 would take their words for it, they were like the 
 prophets of old, men of whom the world was not 
 worthy ; and who were to live in future ages, 
 when the ephemeral favorites of the day should 
 be forgotten. 
 
 I soon discovered, however, Wm the more I 
 mingled in literary society, the less I felt capable 
 of writing ; that poetry was not so catching as I 
 imagined ; and that in familiar life there was 
 often nothing less poetical than a poet. Besides, 
 I wanted the esprit du corps to turn these liter- 
 ary fellowships to any -account. I could not 
 bring myself to enlist in any particular sect. I 
 saw something to like in them all, but found that 
 would never do, for that the tacit condition on 
 which a man enters into one of these sects is, 
 that he abuses all the rest. 
 
174 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I perceived that there were little knots of au- 
 thors who lived with, and for, and by one another. 
 They considered themselves the salt of the earth. 
 They fostered and kept up a conventional vein of 
 thinking and talking, and joking on all subjects ; 
 and they cried each other up to the skies. Each 
 sect had its particular creed ; and set up certain 
 authors as divinities, and fell down and wor- 
 shipped them ; and considered every one who did 
 not worship them, or who worshipped any other, 
 as a heretic, and an infidel. 
 
 In quoting the writers of the day, I generally 
 found them extolling names of which I had 
 scarcely heard, and talking slightingly of others 
 who were the favorites of the public. If I men- 
 tioned any recent work from the pen of a first- 
 rate author, they had not read it ; they had not 
 time to read all that was spawned from the press , 
 he wrote too much to write well ; — and then they 
 would break out into raptures about some Mr. 
 Timson, or Tpmson, or Jackson, whose works 
 were neglecSi at the present day, but who was 
 to be the wonder and delight of posterity ! Alas ! 
 what heavy debts is this neglectful world daily 
 accumulating on the shoulders of poor posterity ! 
 But, above all, it was edifying to hear with 
 what contempt they would talk of the great. 
 Ye gods ! how immeasurably the great are de- 
 spised by the small fry of literature ! It is true, 
 an exception was now and then made of some 
 nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had casually 
 shaken hands at an election, or hob or nobbed at 
 a public dinner, and was pronounced a " devilish 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 175 
 
 good fellow," and " no humbug " ; but, in general, 
 it was enough fpr a man to have a title, to be 
 the object of their sovereign disdain : you have 
 no idea how poetically and philosophically they 
 woulS talk of nobility. 
 
 For my part, this affected me but little ; for 
 though I had no bitterness against the great, and 
 did not think the worse of a man for having inno- 
 cently been born to a title, yet I did not feel my- 
 self at present called upon to resent the indigni- 
 ties poured upon them by the little. But the hos- 
 tility to the gTeat writers of the day went sore 
 against the grain with me. I could not enter into 
 such feuds, nor participate in such animosities. I 
 had not become author sufficiently to hate other 
 authors. I could still find pleasure in the novel- 
 ties of the press, and could find it in my heart 
 to praise a contemporary, even though he were 
 successful. Indeed I was miscellaneous in my 
 taste, and could not confine it to any age or 
 growth of writers. I could turix with delight 
 from the glowing pages of Byron^o the cool and 
 polished raillery of Pope ; and after wandering 
 among the sacred groves of " Paradise Lost," I 
 could give myself up to voluptuous abandonment 
 in the enchanted bowers of " Lalla Pookh." 
 
 " I would have my authors," said I, " as vari- 
 ous as my wines, and, in relishing the strong and 
 the racy, would never decry the sparkling and ex- 
 hilarating. Port and Sherry are excellent stand- 
 bys, and so is Madeira ; but Claret and Bur- 
 gundy may be drunk now and then without dis- 
 paragement to one's palate, and Champagne is a 
 beverage by no means to be despised." 
 
176 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Such was the tirade I uttered one day when 
 a little flushed with ale at a literary club. I ut- 
 tered it too, with something of a flourish, for I 
 thought my simile a clever one. Unluckily, my 
 auditors were men who drank beer and * hated 
 Pope ; so my ^gav^ about wines went for noth- 
 ing, and my critical toleration was looked upon 
 as downright heterodoxy. In a word, I soon be- 
 came like a freethinker in religion, an outlaw 
 from every sect, and fair game for all. Such are 
 the melancholy consequences of not hating in lit- 
 erature. 
 
 I see you are growing weary, so I will be 
 brief with the residue of my literary career. I 
 will not detain you with a detail of my various 
 attempts to get astride of Pegasus ; of the poems 
 I have written which were never printed, the 
 plays I have presented which were never per- 
 formed, and the tracts I have published which 
 were never purchased. It seemed as if book- 
 sellers, managers, and the very public, had en- 
 tered into a Conspiracy to starve me. Still I 
 could not prevail upon myself to give up the 
 trial, nor abandon those dreams of renown in 
 which I had indulged. How should I be able 
 to look the literary circle of my native village 
 in the face, if I were so completely to falsify 
 their predictions ? For some time longer, there- 
 fore, I continued to write for fame, and was, of 
 course, the most miserable dog in existence, be- 
 sides being in continual risk of starvation. I 
 accumulated loads of literary treasure on my 
 shelves — loads which were to be treasures to 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 177 
 
 posterity ; but, alas ! they put not a penny into 
 my purse. What was all this wealth to my 
 present necessities ? I could not patch my el- 
 bows with an ode ; nor satisfy my hunger with 
 blank verse. " Shall a man fill his belly with 
 the east wind ? " says the proverb. He may as 
 well do so as v\nth poetry. 
 
 I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, 
 with a sad heart and an empty stomach, about 
 fiYQ o'clock, and looked wistfully down the areas 
 in the west end of the town, and seen through the 
 kitchen-windows the tires gleaming, and the joints 
 of meat turning on the spits and dripping with 
 gravy, and the cook-maids beating up puddings, 
 or trussing turkeys, and felt for the moment that 
 if I could but have the run of one of those 
 kitchens, Apollo and the Muses might have the 
 hungry heights of Parnassus for me. Oh, sir ! 
 talk of meditations among the tombs, — they are 
 nothing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor 
 devil without penny in pouch, along a line of 
 kitchen-windows towards dinner-time. 
 
 At length, when almost reduced to famine and 
 despair, the idea all at once entered my head, 
 that perhaps I was not so clever a fellow as the 
 village and myself had supposed. It was the sal- 
 vation of me. The moment the idea popped into 
 my brain it brought conviction and comfort with 
 it. I awoke as from a dream : I gave up immor- 
 tal fame to those who could live on air ; took to 
 writing for mere bread ; and have ever since had 
 a very tolerable life of it. There is no man of 
 letters so much at his ease, sir, as he who has no 
 12 
 
178 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 character to gain or lose. I had to train myself 
 to it a little, and to clip my wings short at first, 
 or they would have carried me up into poetry in 
 spite of myself. So I determined to begin by the 
 opposite extreme, and abandoning the higher 
 regions of the craft, I came plump down to the 
 lowest, and turned creeper. 
 
 " Creeper ! and pray what is that ? " said I. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the lan- 
 guage of the craft ; a creeper is one who furnishes 
 the newspapers with paragraphs at so much a 
 line ; and who goes about in quest of misfortunes ; 
 attends the Bow Street Office ; the Courts of Jus- 
 tice, and every other den of mischief and iniquity. 
 We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and as 
 we can sell the same paragraph to almost every 
 paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's 
 work. Now and then the Muse is unkind, or the 
 day uncommonly quiet, and then we rather starve ; 
 and sometimes the unconscionable editors will clip 
 our paragraphs when they are a little too rhetor- 
 ical, and snip off twopence or threepence at a go. 
 I have many a time had my pot of porter snipped 
 off my dinner in this way, and have had to dine 
 with dry lips. However, I cannot complain. I 
 rose gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and 
 am now, I think, in the most comfortable region 
 of literature." 
 
 " And pray," said I, " what may you be at 
 present ? " 
 
 " At present," said he, " I am a regular job- 
 writer, and turn my hand to anything. I work 
 up the writings of others at so much a sheet; 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 179 
 
 turn off translations ; write second-rate articles 
 to fill up reviews and magazines ; compile travels 
 and voyages, and furnish theatrical criticisms for 
 the newspapers. All this authorship, you per- 
 ceive, is anonymous ; it gives me no reputation 
 except among the trade ; where I am consid- 
 ered an author of all work, and am always sure 
 of employ. That 's the only reputation I want. 
 I sleep soundly, without dread of duns or critics, 
 and leave immortal fame to those that choose to 
 fret and fight about it. Take my word for it, the 
 only happy author in this world is he who is 
 below the care of reputation." 
 
NOTOEIETY. 
 
 I HEN we had emerged from the literary 
 nest of honest Dribble, and had passed 
 safely through the dangers of Break- 
 neck Stairs, and the labyrinths of Fleet Market, 
 Buckthorne indulged in many comments upon the 
 peep into literary life which he had furnisiied me. 
 
 I expressed my surprise at finding it so differ- 
 ent a world from what I had imagined. " It is 
 always so," said he, " with strangers. The land 
 of literature is a fairy land to those who view it 
 at a distance, but, like all other landscapes, the 
 charm fades on a nearer approach, and the thorns 
 and briars become visible. The republic of let- 
 ters is the most factious and discordant of all 
 republics, ancient or modern." 
 
 " Yet," said I, smiling, " you would not have 
 me take honest Dribble's experience as a view of 
 the land. He is but a mousing owl ; a mere 
 groundling. We should have quite a different 
 strain from one of those fortunate authors whom 
 we see sporting about the empyreal heights of 
 fashion, like swallows in the bhie sky of a sum- 
 mer's day." 
 
 " Perhaps we might," replied he, " but I doubt 
 it. I doubt whether, if any one, even of the most 
 
NOTORIETY. 181 
 
 successful, were to tell his actual feelings, you 
 would not find the truth of friend Dribble's phi- 
 losophy with respect to reputation. One you 
 would find carrying a gay face to the world, 
 while some vulture critic was preying upon his 
 very liver. Another, who was simple enough to 
 mistake fashion for fame, you would find watch- 
 ing countenances, and cultivating invitations, more 
 ambitious to figure in the heau monde than the 
 world of letters, and apt to be rendered wretched 
 by the neglect of an illiterate peer, or a dissipated 
 duchess. Those who were rising to fame, you 
 would find tormented with anxiety to get higher ; 
 and those who had gained the summit, in constant 
 apprehension of a decline. 
 
 " Even those who are indifferent to the buzz 
 of notoriety, and the farce of fashion, are not 
 much better off, being incessantly harassed by 
 intrusions on their leisure, and interruptions of 
 their pursuits ; for, whatever may be his feelings, 
 when once an author is launched into notoriety, 
 he must go the rounds until the idle curiosity of 
 the day is satisfied, and he is thrown aside to 
 make way for some new caprice. Upon the 
 whole, I do not know but he is most fortunate 
 who engages in the whirl through ambition, 
 however tormenting ; as it is doubly irksome to 
 be obliged to join in the game without being inter- 
 ested in the stake. 
 
 " There is a constant demand in the fashionable 
 world for novelty ; every nine days must have its 
 wonder, no matter of what kind. At one time it 
 is an author ; at another, a fire-eater ; at another, 
 
182 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 a composer, an Indian juggler, or an Indian 
 chief; a man from the North Pole or the Pyra- 
 mids ; each figures through his brief term of 
 notoriety, and then makes way for the succeeding 
 wonder. You must know that we have oddity 
 fanciers among our ladies of rank, who collect 
 about them all kinds of remarkable beings ; fid- 
 dlers, statesmen, singers, warriors, artists, philoso- 
 phers, actors, and poets ; every kind of personage, 
 in short, who is noted for something peculiar ; so 
 that their routs are like fancy-balls, where every 
 one comes ' in character.' 
 
 " I have had infinite amusement at these par- 
 ties in noticing how industriously every one. was 
 playing a part, and acting out of his natural line. 
 There is not a more complete game at cross pur- 
 poses than the intercourse of the literary and the 
 great. The fine gentleman is always anxious to 
 be thought a wit, and the wit a fine gentleman. 
 
 " I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look 
 wise and talk learnedly with a man of letters, who 
 was aiming at a fashionable air, and the tone of a 
 man who had lived about town. The peer quoted 
 a score or two learned authors, with whom he 
 would fain be thought intimate, while the author 
 talked of Sir John this, and Sir Harry that, and 
 extolled the Burgundy he had drunk at Lord 
 Such-a-one's. Each seemed to forget that he 
 could only be interesting to the other in his 
 proper character. Had the peer been merely a 
 man of erudition, the author would never have 
 listened to his prosing ; and had the author known 
 all the nobility in the Court Calendar, it would 
 
NOTORIETY, 183 
 
 have given him no interest in the eyes of the 
 peer. 
 
 " In the same way I have seen a fine lady, 
 remarkable for beauty, weary .a philosopher with 
 flimsy metaphysics, while the philosopher put on 
 an awkward air of gallantry, played with her fan, 
 and prattled about the Opera. I have heard a 
 sentimental poet talk very stupidly with a states- 
 man about the national debt; and on joining a 
 knot of scientific old gentlemen conversing in a 
 corner, expecting to hear the discussion of some 
 valuable discovery, I found they were only amus- 
 ing themselves with a fat story." 
 
A PEACTICAL PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 HE anecdotes I had heard of Buckthorne's 
 early schoolmate, together with a vari- 
 ety of peculiarities which I had remarked 
 in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know 
 something of his own history. I am a traveller of 
 the good old school, and am fond of the custom 
 laid down in books, according to which, whenever 
 travellers met, they sat down forthwith, and gave 
 a history of themselves and their adventures. 
 This Buckthorne, too, was a man much to my 
 taste ; he had seen the world, and mingled with 
 society, yet retained the strong eccentricities of a 
 man who had lived much alone. There was a care- 
 less dash of good-humor about him, which pleased 
 me exceedingly ; and at times an odd tinge of 
 melancholy mingled with his humor, and gave it 
 an additional zest. He was apt to run into long 
 speculations upon society and manners, and to 
 indulge in whimsical views of human nature ; 
 yet there was nothing ill-tempered in his satire. 
 It ran more upon the follies than the vices of 
 mankind ; and even the follies of his fellow-man 
 were treated with the leniency of one who felt 
 himself to be but fi-ail. He had evidently been 
 a little chilled and buffeted by fortune, without 
 
A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER, 185 
 
 being soured thereby: as some fruits become 
 mellower and more generous in their flavor from 
 having been bruised and frost-bitten. 
 
 I have always had a great relish for the con- 
 versation of practical philosophers of this stamp, 
 who have profited by the " sweet uses " of adver- 
 sity without imbibing its bitterness ; who have 
 learnt to estimate the world rightly, yet good-hu- 
 moredly ; and who, while they perceive the truth 
 of the saying, that " all is vanity," are yet able to 
 do so without vexation of spirit. 
 
 Such a man was Buckthorne. In general a 
 laughing philosopher ; and if at any time a shade 
 of sadness stole across his brow, it was but tran- 
 sient ; like a summer cloud, which soon goes by, 
 and freshens and revives the fields over which it 
 passes. 
 
 I was walking with him one day in Kensing- 
 ton Gardens, — for he was a knowing epicure in all 
 the cheap pleasures and rural haunts within reach 
 of the metropolis. It was a delightful warm 
 morning in spring ; and he was in the happy 
 mood of a pastoral citizen, when just turned loose 
 into grass and sunshine. He had been watching 
 a lark which, rising from a bed of daisies and 
 yellow-cups, had sung his w^ay up to a bright 
 snowy cloud floating in the deep blue sky. 
 
 " Of all birds," said he, " I should like to be a 
 lark. He revels in the brightest time of the day, 
 in the happiest season of the year, among fresh 
 meadows and opening flowers ; and when he has 
 sated himself with the sweetness of earth, he 
 wings his flight up to heaven as if he would drink 
 
186 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 in the melody of the morning stars. Hark to 
 that note ! How it comes thrilling down upon 
 the ear ! What a stream of music, note fall- 
 ing over note in delicious cadence ! Who would 
 trouble his head about operas and concerts when 
 he could walk in the fields and hear such music 
 for nothing ? These are the enjoyments which 
 set riches at scorn, and make even a poor man 
 independent : 
 
 " ' I care not, Fortune, what you do deny : 
 
 You cannot rob me of free nature's grace; 
 
 You cannot shut the windows of the sky. 
 Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning face; 
 You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
 
 The woods and lawns by living streams at eve ' 
 
 " Sir, there are homilies in nature's works worth 
 all the wisdom of the schools, if we could but read 
 them rightly, and one of the pleasantest lessons 
 I ever received in time of trouble, was from hear- 
 ing the notes of the lark." 
 
 I profited by this communicative vein to inti- 
 mate to Buckthorne a wish to know somethinsf of 
 the events of his life, which I fancied must have 
 been an eventful one. 
 
 He smiled when I expressed my desire. " I 
 have no great story," said he, '' to relate. A 
 mere tissue of errors and follies. But, such as it 
 is, you shall have one epoch of it, by which you 
 may judge of the rest." And so, without any 
 further prelude, he gave me the following anec- 
 dotes of his early adventures. 
 
BUCKTHORNE : 
 
 OR, 
 
 THElTOUNa MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 
 
 WAS born to very little property, but to 
 great expectations — which is, perhaps, 
 one of the most unlucky fortunes a man 
 can be born to. My father was a country gen- 
 tleman, the last of a very ancient and honorable, 
 but decayed family, and resided in an old hunting- 
 lodge in Warwickshire. He was a keen sports- 
 man, and lived to the extent of his moderate in- 
 come, so that I had little to expect from that 
 quarter ; but then I had a rich uncle by the 
 mother's side, a penurious, accumulating curmud- 
 geon, who it was confidently expected would 
 make me his heir, because he was an old bach- 
 elor, because I was named after him, and because 
 he hated ail the world except myself. 
 
 He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser 
 even in misanthropy, and hoarded up a grudge 
 as he did a guinea. Thus, though my mother 
 was an only sister, he had never forgiven her 
 marriage with my father, against whom he had a 
 cold, still, immovable pique, which had lain at 
 the bottom of his heart, like a stone in a well, 
 ever since they had been school-boys together. 
 
188 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 My mother, however, considered me as the inter- 
 mediate being that was to bring everything again 
 into harmony, for she looked upon me as a prod- 
 igy — God bless her ! my heart overflows when- 
 ever I recall her tenderness. She was the most 
 excellent, the most indulgent of mothers. I was 
 her only child : it was a pity she had no more, 
 for she had fondness of heart enough to have 
 spoiled a dozen ! 
 
 I was sent at an early age to a public school, 
 sorely against my mother's wishes ; but my father 
 insisted that it was the only way to make boys 
 hardy. The school was kept by a conscientious 
 prig of the ancient system, wdio did his duty by 
 the boys intrusted to his care, — that is to say, 
 we were flogged soundly when we did not get 
 our lessons. We were put in classes, and thus 
 flogged on in droves along the highway of knowl- 
 edge, in much the same manner as cattle are 
 driven to market ; where those that are heavy in 
 gait, or short in leg, have to suffer for the supe- 
 rior alertness or longer limbs of their compan- 
 ions. 
 
 For my part, I confess it with shame, I was 
 an incorrigible laggard. I have always had the 
 poetical feeling, that is to say, I have always been 
 an idle fellow, and prone to play the vagabond. 
 I used to get away from my books and school 
 whenever I could, and ramble about the fields. 
 I was surrounded by seductions for such a tem- 
 perament. The school-house was an old-fashioned 
 whitewashed mansion, of wood and plaster, stand- 
 ing on the skirts of a beautiful village : close by 
 
BUCKTHORN E. 189 
 
 it was the venerable church, with a tall Gothic 
 spire ; before it spread a lovely green valley, with 
 a little stream glistening along through willow 
 groves ; while a line of blue hills bounding the 
 landscape gave rise to many a summer-day-dream 
 as to the fairy land that lay beyond. 
 
 In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that 
 school to make me love my book, I cannot but 
 look back upon the place with fondness. Indeed, 
 I considered this frequent flagellation as the com- 
 mon lot of humanity, and the regular mode in 
 which scholars were made. 
 
 My kind mother used to lament over my de- 
 tails of the sore trials I underwent in the cause 
 of learning ; but my father turned a deaf ear to 
 her expostulations. He had been flogged through 
 school himself, and he swore there was no other 
 way of making a man of parts ; though, let me 
 speak it with all due reverence, my father was 
 but an indifferent illustration of his theory, for 
 he was considered a grievous blockhead. 
 
 My poetical temperament evinced itself at a 
 very early period. The village church was at- 
 tended every Sunday by a neighboring squire, the 
 lord of the manor, whose park stretched quite to 
 the village, and whose spacious country-seat 
 seemed to take the church under its protection. 
 Indeed, you would have thought the church had 
 been consecrated to him instead of to the Deity. 
 The parish clerk bowed low before him, and the 
 vergers humbled themselves unto the dust in his 
 presence. He always entered a little late, and 
 with some stir ; striking his cane emphatically on 
 
190 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 the ground, swaying his hat in his hand, and 
 looking loftily to the right and left as he walked 
 slowly up the aisle ; and the parson, who always 
 ate his Sunday dinner with him, never commenced 
 service until he appeared. He sat with his fam- 
 ily in a large pew, gorgeously lined, humbling 
 himself devoutly on velvet cushions, and reading 
 lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit out of 
 splendid gold and morocco prayer-books. When- 
 ever the parson spoke of the difficulty of a rich 
 man's entering the kingdom of heaven, the eyes 
 of the cono-reo^ation would turn towards the 
 "grand pew," and I thought the squire seemed 
 pleased with the application. 
 
 The pomp of this pew, and the aristocratical 
 air of the family struck my imagination wonder- 
 fully ; and I fell desperately in love with a little 
 daughter of the squire's, about twelve years of 
 age. This freak of fancy made me more truant 
 from my studies than ever. I used to stroll 
 about the squire's park, and lurk near the house, 
 to catch glimpses of this damsel at the windows, 
 or playing about the lawn, or walking out with 
 her governess. 
 
 I had not enterprise nor impudence enough to 
 venture from my concealment. Indeed I felt like 
 an arrant poacher, until I read one or two of 
 Ovid's Metamorphoses, when I pictured myself 
 as some sylvan deity, and she a eoy wood-nymph 
 of whom I was in pursuit. There is something 
 extremely delicious in these early awakenings of the 
 tender passion. I can feel even at this moment 
 the throbbing in my boyish bosom, whenever by 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 191 
 
 chance I caught a ghmpse of her white frock 
 fluttering among the shrubbery. I carried about 
 in my bosom a volume of Waller, which I had 
 purloined from my mother's library ; and I ap- 
 plied to my little fair one all the compliments lav- 
 ished upon Sacharissa. - 
 
 At length I danced with her at a school-ball. 
 I was so awkward a booby, that I dared scarce- 
 ly speak to her ; . I was filled with awe and em- 
 barrassment in her presence ; but I was so in- 
 spired, that my poetical temperament for the first 
 time broke out in verse, and I fabricated some 
 glowing rhymes, 'in which I berhymed the little 
 lady under the favorite name of Sacharissa. I 
 slipped the verses, trembling and blushing, into 
 her hand the next Sunday as she came out of 
 church. The little prude handed them to her 
 mamma ; the mamma handed them to the squire ; 
 the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them 
 in dudgeon to the schoolmaster ; and the school- 
 master, with a barbarity worthy of the dark ages, 
 gave me a sound and peculiarly humiliating flog- 
 ging for thus trespassing upon Parnassus. This 
 was a sad outset for a votary of the Muse ; it 
 ought to have cured me of my passion for poetry ; 
 but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a 
 martyr rising within me. What was as well, 
 perhaps, it cured me of my passion for the young 
 lady ; for I felt so indignant at the ignominious 
 horsing I had incurred in celebrating her charms, 
 that I could not hold up my head in church. 
 Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the Mid- 
 summer holidays came on, and I returned home. 
 
192 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 My mother, as usual, inquired into all my school 
 concerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sor- 
 rows ; for boyhood has its share of the one as 
 well as of the other. I told her all, and she was 
 indignant at the treatment I had experienced. 
 She fired up at the arrogance of the squire, and 
 the prudery of the daughter ; and as to the school- 
 master, she wondered where was the use of hav- 
 ing schoolmasters, and why boys could not remain 
 at home, and be educated by tutors, under the 
 eye of their mothers. She asked to see the 
 verses I had written, and she was delighted 
 with them ; for, to confess the truth, she had a 
 pretty taste for poetry. She even showed them 
 to the parson's wife, who protested they were 
 charming ; and the parson's three daughters in- 
 sisted on each having a copy of them. 
 
 All this was exceedingly balsamic ; and I was 
 still more consoled and encouraged when the 
 young ladies, who were the bluestockings of the 
 neighborhood, and had read Dr. Johnson's Lives 
 quite through, assured my mother that great gen- 
 iuses never studied, but were always idle ; upon 
 which I began to surmise that I was myself some- 
 thing out of the common run. My father, how- 
 ever, was of a very different opinion ; for w^hen 
 my mother, in the pride of her heart, showed 
 him my copy of verses, he threw them out of the 
 w^indow, asking her " if she meant to make a 
 ballad-monger of the boy ? " But he was a care- 
 less, common-tliinking man, and I cannot say that 
 I ever loved him much ; my mother absorbed all 
 my filial affection. | 
 
BUCKTHORNE, 193 
 
 I used occasionally, on holidays, to be sent on 
 short visits to the uncle who was to make me his 
 heir ; they thought it would keep me in his mind, 
 and render him fond of me. He was a withered, 
 anxious-looking, old fellow, and lived in a deso- 
 late old country-seat, which lie suffered to go to 
 ruin from absolute niggardliness. He kept but 
 one man-servant, who had lived, or rather starved 
 with him for years. No woman was allowed to 
 sleep in the house. A daughter of the old ser- 
 vant lived by the gate, in what had been a por- 
 ter's lodge, and was permitted to come into the 
 house about an hour each day, to make the beds, 
 and cook a morsel of provisions. The park that 
 surrounded the house was all run wild : the trees 
 were grown out of shape ; the fish-ponds stag- 
 nant ; the urns and statues fallen from their ped- 
 estals, and buried among the rank grass. The 
 hares and pheasants were so little molested, ex- 
 cept by poachers, that they bred in great abun- 
 dance, and sported about the rough lawns and 
 weedy avenues. To guard the premises, and 
 frighten off robbers, of whom he was somewhat 
 apprehensive, and visitors, of whom he was in 
 almost equal awe, my uncle kept two or three 
 bloodhounds, who were always prowling round 
 the house, and were the dread of the neighboring 
 peasantry. They were gaunt and half starved, 
 seemed ready to devour one from mere hunger, 
 and were an effectual check on any stranger's 
 approach to this wizard castle. 
 
 Such was my uncle's house, which I used to 
 visit now and then during the holidays. I was 
 13 
 
194 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 as I before said, the old man's favorite ; that is to 
 say, he did not hate me so much as he did the 
 rest of the world. I had been apprised of his 
 character, and cautioned to cultivate his good 
 will ; but I was too young and careless to be a 
 courtier, and, indeed, have never been sufficiently 
 studious of my interests to let them govern my 
 feelings. However, we jogged on very well to- 
 gether, and as my visits cost him almost nothing, 
 they did not seem to be very unwelcome. I 
 brought with me my fishing-rod, and half sup- 
 plied the table from the fish-ponds. 
 
 Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My 
 uncle rarely spoke ; he pointed to whatever he 
 wanted, and the servant perfectly understood him. 
 Indeed, his man John, or Iron John, as he was 
 called in the neighborhood, was a counterpart of 
 his master. He was a tall, bony old fellow, with 
 a dry wig, that seemed made of cow's-tail, and a 
 face as tough as though it had been made of cow's- 
 hide. He was generally clad in a long, patched 
 livery coat, taken out of the wardrobe of the 
 house, and which bagged loosely about him, hav- 
 ing evidently belonged to some corpulent prede- 
 cessor, in the more plenteous days of the mansion. 
 From long habits of taciturnity the hinges of his 
 jaws seemed to have grown absolutely rusty, and 
 it cost him as much efibrt to set them ajar, and 
 to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have 
 done to set open the iron gates of the park, and 
 let out the old family carriage, that was dropping 
 to pieces in the coach-house. 
 
 I cannot say, however, but that I was for 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 195 
 
 some time amused with my uncle's peculiarities. 
 Even the very desolateness of the establishment 
 had something in it that hit my fancy. When 
 the weather was fine, I used to amuse myself in 
 a solitary way, by rambling about the park, and 
 coursing like a colt across its lawns. The hares 
 and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise to see 
 a human being walking these forbidden grounds 
 by daylight. Sometimes I amused myself by 
 jerking stones, or shooting at birds with a bow 
 and arrows ; for to have used a gun would have 
 been treason. Now and then my path was 
 crossed by a little red-headed, ragged-tailed ur- 
 chin, the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran 
 wild about the premises, I tried to draw him 
 into familiarity, and to make a companion of him, 
 but he seemed to have imbibed the strange un- 
 sociable character of everything around him, 
 and always kept aloof; so I considered him as 
 another Orson, and amused myself with shooting 
 at him with my bow and arrows, and he would 
 hold up his breeches with one hand, and scamper 
 away like a deer. 
 
 There was something in all this loneliness and 
 wildness strangely pleasing to me. The great 
 stables, empty and weather-broken, with the names 
 of favorite horses over the vacant stalls ; the 
 windows bricked and boarded up ; the broken 
 roofs, garrisoned by rooks and jackdaws, all had 
 a singularly forlorn appearance. One would 
 have concluded the house to be totally uninhab- 
 ited, were it not for the little thread of blue smoke 
 which now and then curled up, like a corkscrew, 
 
196 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 from the centre of one of the wide chimneys 
 where my uncle's starveHng meal was cooking. 
 
 My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the 
 building, strongly secured, and generally locked. 
 I was never admitted into this strong-hold, where 
 the old man would remain for the greater part of 
 the time, drawn up, like a veteran spider, in the 
 citadel of his web. The rest of the mansion, 
 however, was open to me, and I wandered about 
 it unconstrained. The damp and rain which 
 beat in through the broken windows, crumbled 
 the paper from the walls, mouldered the pictures, 
 and gradually destroyed the furniture. I loved 
 to roam about the wide waste chambers in bad 
 weather, and listen to the howling of the wind, 
 and the banging about of the doors and window- 
 shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how 
 completely, when I came to the estate, I would 
 renovate all things, and make the old building 
 ring with merriment, till it was astonished at its 
 own jocundity. 
 
 The chamber which I occupied on these visits, 
 had been my mother's when a girl. There was 
 still the toilet-table of her own adorning, the 
 landscapes of her own drawing. She had never 
 seen it since her marriage, but would often ask 
 me, if everything was still the same. All was 
 just the same, for I loved that chamber on her 
 account, and had taken pains to put everything 
 in order, and to mend all the flaws in the win- 
 dows with my own hands. I anticipated the 
 time when I should once more welcome her to 
 the house of her fathers, and restore her to this 
 little nestling-place of her childhood. 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 197 
 
 At length my evil genius, or what, perhaps, is 
 the same thing, the Muse, inspired me with the 
 notion of rhyming again. My uncle, who never 
 went to church, used on Sundays to read chapters 
 out of the Bible ; and Iron John, the woman 
 from the lodge, and myself, were his congrega- 
 tion. It seemed to be all one to him what he 
 read, so long as it was something from the Bible. 
 Sometimes, therefore, it would be the Song of 
 Solomon, and this withered anatomy would read 
 about bemg " stayed with flagons, and com- 
 forted with apples, for he was sick of love." 
 Sometimes he would hobble, with spectacles on 
 nose, through whole chapters of hard Hebrew 
 names in Deuteronomy, at which the poor woman 
 would sigh and groan, as if wonderfully moved. 
 His favorite book, however, was " The Pilgrim^s 
 Progress " ; and when he came to that part which 
 treats of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I 
 thought invariably of him and his desolate old 
 country-seat. So much did the idea amuse me, 
 that I took to scribbling about it under the trees 
 in the park ; and in a few days had made some 
 progress in a poem, in which I had given a de- 
 scription of the place, under the name of Doubting 
 Castle, and personified my uncle as Giant Despair. 
 
 I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and 
 I soon suspected that my uncle had found it, as he 
 harshly intimated to me that I could return home, 
 and that I need not come and see him again till 
 he should send lor me. 
 
 Just about this time my mother died. I can- 
 not dwell upon the circumstance. My heart, 
 
198 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 careless and wayward as it is, gushes with the 
 recollection. Her death was an event that per- 
 haps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. With 
 her died all that made home attractive. I had 
 no longer anybody whom I was ambitious to 
 please, or fearful to offend. My father was a 
 good kind of a man in his way, but he had bad 
 maxims in education, and we differed in material 
 points. It makes a vast difference in opinion 
 about the utiHty of the rod, which end happens to 
 fall to one's share. I never could be brought into 
 my father's way of thinking on the subject. 
 
 I now, therefore, began to grow very impatient 
 of remaining at school, to be flogged for things 
 that I did not Uke. I longed for variety, espe- 
 cially now that I had not my uncle's house to 
 resort to, by way of diversifying the dulness of 
 school with the dreariness of his country-seat. 
 
 I was now almost seventeen, tall for my age, 
 and full of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextin- 
 guishable desire to see different kinds of life, and 
 different orders of society ; and this vagrant 
 humor had been fostered in me by Tom Dribble, 
 the prime wag and great genius of the school, 
 who had all the rambling propensities of a poet. 
 
 I used to sit at my desk in the school, on a fine 
 summer's day, and instead of studying the book 
 which lay open before me, my eye was gazing 
 through the windows on the green fields and blue 
 hills. How I envied the happy groups on the tops 
 of stage-coaches, chatting, and joking, and laugh- 
 ing, as they were whirled by the school-liouse on 
 their way to the metropolis. Even the wagon- 
 
BUCKTEORNE. 199 
 
 ers, trudging along beside their ponderous teams, 
 and traversing the kingdom from one end to the 
 other, were objects of envy to me : I fancied to 
 myself what adventures they must experience, 
 and what odd scenes of life they must witness. 
 All this was, doubtless, the poetical temperament 
 working within me, and tempting me forth into a 
 world of its own creation, which I mistook for the 
 world of real life. 
 
 While my mother lived, this strong propensity 
 to rove was counteracted by the stronger attrac- 
 tions of home, and by the powerful ties of affection 
 which drew me to her side ; but now that she 
 was gone, the attraction had ceased ; the ties 
 were severed. I had no longer an anchorage- 
 ground for my heart, but was at the mercy of 
 every vagrant impulse. Nothing but the narrow 
 allowance on which my father kept me, and the 
 consequent penury of my purse, prevented me 
 from mounting to the top of a stage-coach, and 
 launching myself adrift on the great ocean of life. 
 
 Just about this time the village was agitated 
 for a day or two, by the passing through of sev- 
 eral caravans, containing wild beasts, and other 
 spectacles, for a great fair annually held at a 
 neighboring town. 
 
 I had never seen a fair of any consequence, 
 and my curiosity was powerfully awakened by 
 this bustle of preparation. I gazed with respect 
 and wonder at the vagrant personages who accom- 
 panied these caravans. I loitered about the vil- 
 lage inn, listening with curiosity and delight to 
 the slang talk and cant jokes of the showmen and 
 
200 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 their followers ; and I felt an eager desire to wit- 
 ness this fair, which my fancy decked out as 
 something wonderfully fine. 
 
 A holiday afternoon presented, when I could be 
 absent from noon until evening. A wagon was 
 groingfrom the village to the fair ; 1 could not 
 resist the temptation, nor the eloquence of Tom 
 Dribble, who was a truant to the very heart's 
 core. We hired seats, and set off full of boyish 
 expectation. I promised myself that I would but 
 take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten 
 back again before my absence should be noticed. 
 
 Heavens ! how happy I was on arriving at the 
 fair ! How I was enchanted with the world of 
 fun and pageantry around me ! The humors of 
 Punch, the feats of the equestrians, the magical 
 tricks of the conjurors ! But what principally 
 caught my attention was an itinerant theatre, 
 where a tragedy, pantomime, and farce were all 
 acted in the course of half an hour, and more of 
 the dramatis personse murdered than at either 
 Drury Lane or Covent Garden in the course of a 
 whole evening. I have since seen many a play 
 performed by the best actors in the world, but 
 never have I derived half the delight from any 
 that I did from this first representation. 
 
 There was a ferocious tyrant in a skullcap like 
 an inverted porringer, and a dress of red baize, 
 magnificently embroidered with gilt leather ; with 
 hislface so bewhiskered, and his eyebrows so knit 
 and expanded with burnt cork, that he made my 
 heart quake within me, as he stamped about the 
 little stage. I was enraptured too with the surpass- 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 201 
 
 ing beauty of a distressed damsel in a faded pink 
 silk, and dirty white muslin, whom he held in cruel 
 captivity by way of gaining her affections, and 
 who wept, and wrung her hands, and flourished a 
 ragged white handkerchief, from the top of an 
 impregnable tower of the size of a bandbox. 
 
 Even after I had come out from the play, I 
 could not tear myself from the vicinity of the the- 
 atre, but lingered, gazing and wondering, and 
 laughing at the dramatis personge as they per- 
 formed their antics, or danced upon a stage in 
 front of the booth, to decoy a new set of specta- 
 tors. 
 
 I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost 
 in the crowd of sensations that kept swarming 
 upon me, that I was like one entranced. I lost 
 my companion, Tom Dribble, in a tumult and 
 scuffle that took place near one of the shows ; but 
 T was too much occupied in mind to think long 
 about him. I strolled about until dark, when the 
 fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic 
 opened upon me. The illumination of the tents 
 and booths, the brilliant effect of the stages deco- 
 rated with lamps, with dramatic groups flaunting 
 about them in gaudy dresses, contrasted splendidly 
 with the surrounding darkness ; while the uproar 
 of drums, trumpets, fiddles, hautboys, and cymbals, 
 mingled with the harangues of the showmen, the 
 squeaking of Punch, and the shouts and laughter 
 of the crowd, all united to complete my giddy 
 distraction. 
 
 Time flew witliout my perceiving it. When I 
 came to myself and thought of the school, I hast- 
 
202 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 ened to return. I inquired for the wagon in 
 which I had come : it had been gone for hours ! 
 I asked the time : it was ahuost midnight ! A 
 sudden quaking seized me. How was I to get 
 back to school ? I was too weary to make the 
 journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply 
 for a conveyance. Even if I should find one, 
 could I venture to disturb the school-house long 
 after midnight — to arouse that sleeping lion the 
 usher in the very midst of his night's rest ? — the 
 idea was too dreadful for a delinquent school-boy. 
 All the horrors of return rushed upon me. My 
 absence must long before this have been re- 
 marked ; — and absent for a whole night! — a 
 deed of darkness not easily to be expiated. The 
 rod of the pedagogue budded forth into tenfold 
 terrors before my affrighted fancy. I pictured to 
 myself punishment and humiliation in every vari- 
 ety of form, and my heart sickened at the picture. 
 Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boyhood as 
 painful to our tender natures as are the sterner 
 evils of manhood to our robuster minds. 
 
 I wandered about among the booths, and I might 
 have derived a lesson from my actual feelings, 
 how much the charms of this world depend upon 
 ourselves ; for I no longer saw anything gay or 
 delightful in the revelry around me. At length 
 I lay down, wearied and perplexed, behind one 
 of the large tents, and, covering myself with the 
 margin of the tent-cloth, to keep off the night 
 chill, I soon fell asleep. 
 
 I had not slept long, when I was awakened by 
 the noise of merriment within an adjoining booth. 
 
BVCKTHORNE, 203 
 
 It was the itinerant theatre, rudely constructed 
 of boards and canvas. I peeped through an aper- 
 ture, and saw the whole dramatis personse, trag- 
 edy, comedy, and pantomime, all refreshing them- 
 selves after the final dismissal of their auditors. 
 They were merry and gamesome, and made the 
 flimsy theatre ring with their laughter. I was 
 astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize 
 and fierce whiskers, who had made my heart 
 quake as he strutted about the boards, now trans- 
 formed into a fat, good-humored fellow ; the beam- 
 ing porringer laid aside from his brow, and his 
 jolly face washed from all the terrors of burnt 
 cork. I was delighted, too, to see the distressed 
 damsel, in faded silk and dirty muslin, who had 
 trembled under his tyranny, and afilicted me so 
 much by her sorrows, now seated familiarly on 
 his knee, and quaffing from the same tankard. 
 Harlequin lay asleep on one of the benches ; and 
 monks, satyrs, and vestal virgins were grouped 
 together, laughing outrageously at a broad story 
 told by an unhappy count, who had been barbar- 
 ously murdered in the tragedy. 
 
 This was indeed novelty to me. It was a 
 peep into another planet. I gazed and listened 
 with intense curiosity and enjoyment. They had 
 a thousand odd stories and jokes about the events 
 of the day, and burlesque descriptions and mim- 
 ickings of the spectators who had been admiring 
 them. Their conversation was full of allusions 
 to their adventures at different places where they 
 had exhibited ; the characters they had met with 
 in different villages ; and the ludicrous difficulties 
 
204 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 in which they had occasionally been involved. 
 All past cares and troubles were now turned, by 
 these thoughtless beings, into matters of merri- 
 ment, and made to contribute to the gayety of the 
 moment. They had been moving from fair to 
 fair about the kingdom, and were the next morn- 
 ing to set out on their way to London. My reso- 
 lution was taken. I stole from my nest, and crept 
 through a hedge into a neighboring field, where I 
 went to work to make a tatterdemalion of myself. 
 I tore my clothes ; soiled them with dirt ; be- 
 grimed my face and hands, and crawling near 
 one of the booths, purloined an old hat, and left 
 my new one in its place. It was an honest theft, 
 and I hope may not hereafter rise up in judgment 
 against me. 
 
 I now ventured to the scene of merry-making, 
 and presenting myself before the dramatic corps, 
 offered myself as a volunteer. I felt terribly 
 agitated and abashed, for never before " stood I 
 in such a presence." I had addressed myself to 
 the manager of the company. He was a fat 
 man, dressed in dirty white, with a red sash 
 fringed with tinsel swathed round his body ; his 
 face was smeared with paint, and a majestic 
 plume towered from an old spangled black bon- 
 net. He was the Jupiter Tonans of this Olym- 
 pus, and Avas surrounded by the inferior gods 
 and goddesses of his court. He sat on the end 
 of a bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo, and 
 the other extended to the handle of a tankard, 
 which he had slowly set down from his lips, as 
 he surveyed me from head to foot. It was a 
 
B UCK THORN E. 205 
 
 moment of awful scrutiny ; and I fancied the 
 groups around J all watching as in silent suspense, 
 and waiting for the imperial nod. 
 
 He questioned me as to who I was ; what 
 were my qualifications ; and what terms I ex- 
 pected. I passed myself off for a discharged 
 servant from a gentleman's family ; and as, hap- 
 pily, one does not require a special recommenda- 
 tion to get admitted into bad company, the ques- 
 tions on that head were easily satisfied. As to 
 my accomplishments, I could spout a little poetry, 
 and knew several scenes of plays, which I had 
 
 learnt at school exhibitions ; I could dance . 
 
 That was enough. No further questions were 
 asked me as to accomplishments ; it was the very 
 thing they wanted ; and as I asked no wages but 
 merely meat and drink, and safe conduct about 
 the world, a bargain was struck in a moment. 
 
 Behold me, therefore, transformed in a sudden 
 from a gentleman student to a dancing buffoon ; 
 for such, in fact, was the character in which 
 I made my debut. I was one of those who 
 formed the groups in the dramas, and was prin- 
 cipally employed on the stage in front of the 
 booth to attract company. I was equipped as a 
 satyr, in a dress of drab frieze that fitted to my 
 shape, with a great laughing mask, ornamented 
 with huge ears and short horns. I was pleased 
 with the disguise, because it kept me from the 
 danger of being discovered, whilst we were in 
 that part of the country ; and as I had merely to 
 dance and make antics, the character was favor- 
 able to a debutant — being almost on a par with 
 
206 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 Simon Smug's part of the lion, which required 
 nothing but roaring. 
 
 I cannot tell you how happy I was at this 
 sudden change in my situation. I felt no degra- 
 dation, for I had seen too little of society to be 
 thoughtful about the difference of rank ; and a 
 boy of sixteen is seldom aristocratical. I had 
 given up no friend, for there seemed to be no 
 one in the world that cared for me, now that my 
 poor mother was dead ; I had given up no pleas- 
 ure, for my pleasure was to ramble about and 
 indulge the flow of a poetical imagination, and I 
 now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life 
 so truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon. 
 
 It may be said that all this argued grovelling 
 inclinations. I do not think so. Not that I 
 mean to vindicate myself in any great degree : 
 I know too well what a whimsical compound I 
 am. But in this instance I was seduced by no 
 love of low company, nor disposition to indulge 
 in low vices. I have always despised the bru- 
 tally vulgar, and had a disgust at vice, whether 
 in high or low life. I was governed merely by 
 a sudden and thoughtless impulse. I had no 
 idea of resorting to this profession as a mode of 
 life, or of attaching myself to these people, as my 
 future class of society. I thought merely of a 
 temporary gratification to my curiosity, and an 
 indulgence of my humors. I had already a 
 strong relish for the peculiarities of character and 
 the varieties of situation, and I have always been 
 fond of the comedy of life, and desirous of seeing 
 it through all its shifting scenes. 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 207 
 
 In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks 
 and biiflfoons, I was protected by the very vivaci- 
 ty of imagination which had led me among them ; 
 I moved about, enveloped, as it were, in a pro- 
 tecting delusion, which my fancy spread around 
 me. I assimilated to these people only as they 
 struck me poetically ; their whimsical ways and 
 a certain picturesqueness in their mode of life 
 entertained me ; but I was neither amused nor 
 corrupted by their vices. In short, I mingled 
 among them, as Prince Hal did among his grace- 
 less associates, merely to gratify my humor. 
 
 I did not investigate my motives in this man- 
 ner, at the time, for I was too careless and 
 thoughtless to reason about the matter ; but I do 
 so now, when I look back with trembling to 
 think of the ordeal to which I unthinkingly ex- 
 posed myself, and the manner in which I passed 
 through it. Nothing, I am convinced, but the 
 poetical temperament, that hurried me into the 
 scrape, brought me out of it without my becom- 
 ing an arrant vagabond. 
 
 Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy 
 with the wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous 
 in a boy, I capered, I danced, I played a thou- 
 sand fantastic tricks about the stage, in the vil- 
 lages in which we exhibited ; and I was univer- 
 sally pronounced the most agreeable monster that 
 had ever been seen in those parts. My disap- 
 pearance from school had awakened my father's 
 anxiety ; for I one day heard a description of 
 myself cried before the very booth in which I 
 was exhibiting, with the offer of a reward for 
 
208 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 any intelligence of me. I had no great scruple 
 about letting my father suffer a little uneasiness 
 on my account ; it would punish him for past in- 
 difference, and would make him value me the 
 more when he found me again. 
 
 I have wondered that some of my comrades 
 did not recognize me in the stray sheep that was 
 cried ; but they were all, no doubt, occupied by 
 their own concerns. They were all laboring 
 seriously in their aixcic vocation ; for folly was a 
 mere trade with most of them, and they often 
 grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With 
 me, on the contrary, it was all real. I acted con 
 amore^ and rattled and laughed from the irrepres- 
 sible gayety of my spirits. It is true that, now 
 and then, I started and looked grave on receiv- 
 ing a sudden thwack from the wooden sword of 
 Harlequin in the course of my gambols, as it 
 brought to mind the birch of my schoolmaster. 
 But I soon got accustomed to it, and bore all the 
 cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling about, which 
 form the practical wit of your itinerant panto- 
 mime, with a good-humor that made me a prodig- 
 ious favorite. 
 
 The country campaign of the troop was soon 
 at an end, and we set off for the metropolis, to 
 perform at the fairs which are held in its vicin- 
 ity. The greater part of our theatrical property 
 was sent on direct, to be in a state of preparation 
 for the opening of the fairs ; while a detachment 
 of the company travelled slowly on, foraging 
 among the villages. I was amused with the de- 
 sultory, hap-hazard kind of life we led ; here to- 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 209 
 
 day and gone to-morrow. Sometimes revelling in 
 ale-houses, sometimes feasting under hedges in the 
 green fields. When audiences were crowded, and 
 business profitable, we fared well ; and when 
 otherwise, we fared scantily, consoled ourselves, 
 and made up with anticipations of the next day's 
 success. 
 
 At length the increasing frequency of coaches 
 hurrying past us, covered with passengers; the 
 increasing number of carriages, carts, wagons, 
 gigs, droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, all 
 thronging the road ; the snug country boxes with 
 trim flower-gardens, twelve feet square, and their 
 trees twelve feet high, all powdered with dust, 
 and the innumerable seminaries for young ladies 
 and gentlemen situated along the road for the 
 benefit of country air and rural retirement ; all 
 these insignia announced that the mighty London 
 was at hand. The hurry, and the crowd, and the 
 bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as 
 we proceeded, until I saw the great cloud of 
 smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy of state, 
 over this queen of cities. 
 
 In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis, 
 a strolling vagabond, on the top of a caravan, 
 with a crew of vagabonds about me ; bat I was 
 as happy as a prince ; for, like Prince Hal, I felt 
 myself superior to my situation, and knew that I 
 could at any time cast it off, and emerge into my 
 proper sphere. 
 
 How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde 
 Park Corner, and I saw splendid equipages roll- 
 ing by ; with powdered footmen behind, in rich 
 14 
 
210 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 liveries, with fine nosegays, and gold-headed canes ; 
 and with lovely women within, so sumptuously 
 dressed, and so surpassingly fair ! I was always 
 extremely sensible to female beauty, and here I 
 saw it in all its powers of fascination : for what- 
 ever may be said of " beauty unadorned," there 
 is something almost awful in female loveliness 
 decked out in jewelled state. The swanlike neck 
 encircled with diamonds ; the raven locks clus- 
 tered with pearls ; the ruby glowing on the 
 snowy bosom, are objects which I could never 
 contemplate without emotion ; and a dazzling 
 white arm clasped with bracelets, and taper, 
 transparent fingers, laden with sparkling rings, 
 are to me irresistible. 
 
 My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high 
 and courtly beauty before me. It surpassed all 
 that my imagination had conceived of the sex. 
 I shrank, for a moment, into shame at the com- 
 pany in which I was placed, and repined at the 
 vast distance that seemed to intervene between 
 me and these magnificent beings. 
 
 I forbear to give a detail of the happy life I 
 led about the skirts of the metropolis, playing at 
 the various fairs held there during the latter part 
 of spring, and the beginning of summer. This 
 continued change from place to place, and scene 
 to scene, fed my imagination with novelties, and 
 kept my spirits in a perpetual state of excitement. 
 As I was tall of my age, I aspired, at one time, 
 to play heroes in tragedy ; but, after two or three 
 trials, I was pronounced by the manager totally 
 unfit for the line ; and our first tragic actress, 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 211 
 
 who was a large woman, and held a small hero 
 in abhorrence, confirmed his decision. 
 
 The fact is, I had attempted to give point to 
 language which had no point, and nature to scenes 
 which had no nature. They said I did not fill 
 out my characters ; and they were right. The 
 characters had all been prepared for a different 
 sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round, 
 robustious fellow, with an amazing voice ; who 
 stamped and slapped his breast until his wig 
 shook again ; and who roared and bellowed out 
 his bombast until every phrase swelled upon the 
 ear like the sound of a kettle-drum. I might as 
 well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his 
 characters. When we had a dialogue together, I 
 was nothing before him, with my slender voice 
 and discriminating manner. I might as well have 
 attempted to parry a cudgel with a small-sword. 
 If he found me in any way gaining ground upon 
 him, he would take refuge in his mighty voice, 
 and throw his tones like peals of thunder at me, 
 until they were drowned in the still louder thun- 
 ders of applause from the audience. 
 
 To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not 
 shown fair play, and that there was management 
 at the bottom ; for without vanity I think I was 
 a better actor than he. As I had not embarked 
 in the vagabond line through ambition, I did not 
 repine at lack of preferment ; but I was grieved 
 to find that a vagrant life was not without its 
 cares and anxieties ; and that jealousies, in- 
 trigues, and mad ambition, were to be found 
 even amonoj vao^abonds. 
 
212 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 Indeed, as I became more familiar with my 
 situation, and the delusions of fancy gradually 
 faded away, I began to find that my associates 
 were not the happy careless creatures I had at 
 first imagined them. They were jealous of each 
 other's talents ; they quarrelled about parts, the 
 same as the actors on the grand theatres ; they 
 quarrelled about dresses ; and there was one robe 
 of yellow silk, trimmed with red, and a head- 
 dress of three rumpled ostrich-feathers, which 
 were continually setting the ladies of the company 
 by the ears. Even those who had attained the 
 highest honors were not more happy than the 
 rest ; for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tragedian, 
 and apparently a jovial good-humored fellow, con- 
 fessed to me one day, in the fulness of his heart, 
 that he was a miserable man. He had a brother- 
 in-law, a relative by marriage, though not by 
 blood, who was manager of a theatre in a small 
 country town. And this same brother (" a little 
 more than kin but less than kind") looked down 
 upon him, and treated him with contumely, be- 
 cause, forsooth, he was but a strolling player. I 
 tried to console him with the thoughts of the vast 
 applause he daily received, but it was all in vain. 
 He declared that it gave him no delight, and that 
 he should never be a happy man, until the name 
 of Flimsey rivalled the name of Crimp. 
 
 How little do those before the scenes know of 
 what passes behind ! how little can they judge, 
 from the countenances of actors, of what is pass- 
 ing in their hearts ! I have known two lovers 
 quarrel like cats behind the scenes, who were, 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 213 
 
 the moment after, to fly into each other's em- 
 braces. And I have dreaded, when our Belvidera 
 was to take her farewell kiss of her Jaffier, lest 
 she should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our 
 tragedian was a rough joker off the stage ; our 
 prime clown the most peevish mortal living. The 
 latter used to go about snapping and snarling, 
 with a broad laugh painted on his countenance ; 
 and I can assure you, that, whatever may be said 
 of the gravity of a monkey, or the melancholy of 
 a gibed cat, there is no more melancholy creature 
 in existence than a mountebank off duty. 
 
 The only thing in which all parties agreed, was 
 to backbite the manager, and cabal against his 
 regulations. This, however, I have since discov- 
 ered to be a common trait of human nature, and 
 to take place in all communities. It would seem 
 to be the main business of man to repine at gov- 
 ernment. In all situations of life, into which I 
 have looked, I have found mankind divided into 
 two grand parties : those who ride, and those who 
 are ridden. The great struggle of life seems to 
 be which shall keep in the saddle. This, it 
 appears to me, is the fundamental principle of 
 politics, whether in great or little life. However, 
 I do not mean to moralize — but one cannot 
 always sink the philosopher. 
 
 Well, then, to return to myself, it was deter- 
 mined, as I said, that I was not fit for tragedy, 
 and, unluckily, as my study was bad, having a 
 very poor memory, I was pronounced unfit for 
 comedy also ; besides, the line of young gentle- 
 men was already engrossed by an actor with 
 
214 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 whom I could not pretend to enter into competi- 
 tion, he having filled it for almost half a century. 
 I came down again, therefore, to pantomime. In 
 consequence, however, of the good offices of the 
 manager's lady, who had taken a liking to me, I 
 was promoted from the part of the satyr to that 
 of the lover ; and with my face patched and 
 painted, a huge cravat of paper, a steeple-crowned 
 hat, and dangling long-skirted sky-blue coat, was 
 metamorphosed into the lover of Columbine. 
 My part did not call for much of the tender and 
 sentimental. I had merely to pursue the fugitive 
 fair one ; to have a door now and then slammed 
 in my face ; to run my head occasionally against 
 a post ; to tumble and roll about with Pantaloon 
 and the Clown ; and to endure the hearty thwacks 
 of Harlequin's wooden sword. 
 
 As ill luck would have it, my poetical temper- 
 ament began to ferment within me, and to work 
 out new troubles. The inflammatory air of a 
 great metropolis, added to the rural scenes in 
 which the fairs were held, such as Greenwich 
 Park, Epping Forest, and the lovely valley of 
 the West End, had a powerful effect upon me. 
 While in Greenwich Park, I was witness to the 
 old holiday games of running down - hill, and 
 kissing in the ring ; and then the firmament of 
 blooming faces and blue eyes that would be turned 
 towards me, as I was playing antics on the stage ; 
 all these set my young blood and my poetical vein 
 in full flow. In short, I played the character to 
 the life, and became desperately enamored of ; 
 Columbine. She was a trim, well-made, tempt- I 
 
BUCKTEORNE. 215 
 
 ing girl, with a roguish dimpling face, and fine 
 chestnut hair clustering all about it. The moment 
 I got fairly smitten, there was an end to all play- 
 ing. I was such a creature of fancy and feeling, 
 that I could not put on a pretended, when I was 
 powerfully affected by a real emotion, I could 
 not sport with a fiction that came so near to the 
 fact. I became too natural in my acting to suc- 
 ceed. And then, what a situation for a lover ! I 
 was a mere stripling, and she played with my 
 passion ; for girls soon grow more adroit and 
 knowing in these matters than your awkward 
 youngsters. What agonies had I to suffer ! Every 
 time that she danced in front of the booth, and 
 made such liberal displays of her charms, I was 
 in torment. To complete my misery, I had a 
 real rival in Harlequin, an active, vigorous, know- 
 ing varlet, of six-and-twenty. What had a raw, 
 inexperienced youngster like me to hope from 
 such a competition ? 
 
 I had still, however, some advantages in my 
 favor. In spite of my change of life, I retained 
 that indescribable something which always distin- 
 guishes the gentleman : that something which 
 dwells in a man's air and deportment, and not in 
 his clothes ; and which is as difficult for a gen- 
 tleman to put off, as for a vulgar fellow to put 
 on. The company generally felt it, and used to 
 call me Little Gentleman Jack. The girl felt it 
 too, and, in spite of her predilection for my pow- 
 erful rival, she liked to flirt with me. This only 
 aggravated my troubles, by increasing my passion, 
 and awakening the jealousy of her party-colored 
 lover. 
 
216 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Alas ! think what I suffered at being obliged 
 to keep up an ineiFectual chase after my Colum- 
 bine through whole pantomimes ; to see her 
 carried off in the vigorous arms of the happy 
 Harlequin ; and to be obliged, instead of snatch- 
 ing her from him, to tumble sprawling with Pan- 
 taloon and the Clown, and bear the infernal and 
 degrading thwacks of my rival's weapon of lath, 
 which, may heaven confound him ! (excuse my 
 passion,) the villain laid on with a malicious good- 
 will : nay, I could absolutely hear him chuckle 
 and laugh beneath his accursed mask ; — I beg 
 pardon for growing a little warm in my narrative 
 — I wish to be cool, but these recollections will 
 sometimes agitate me. I have heard and read 
 of many desperate and deplorable situations of 
 lovers, but none, I think, in which true love was 
 ever exposed to so severe and peculiar a trial. 
 
 This could not last long ; flesh and blood, at 
 least such flesh and blood as mine, could not bear 
 it. I had repeated heart-burnings and quarrels 
 with my rival, in which he treated me with the 
 mortifying forbearance of a man towards a child. 
 Had he quarrelled outright with me, I could have . 
 stomached it, at least I should have known what 
 part to take ; but to be humored and treated as a 
 child in the presence of my mistress, when I felt 
 all the bantam spirit of a little man swelling 
 within me — Gods ! it was insufferable ! 
 
 At length, we were exhibiting one day at 
 West End fair, which was at that time a very 
 fashionable resort, and often beleaguered with 
 gay equipages from town. Among the specta- 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 217 
 
 tors that filled the first row of our little canvas 
 theatre one afternoon, when I had to figure in a 
 pantomimej were a number of young ladies from 
 a boarding-school, with their governess. Guess 
 my confusion, when, in the midst of my antics, I 
 beheld among the number my quondam flame ; 
 her whom I had berhymed at school, her for 
 whose charms I had smarted so severely, the 
 cruel Sacharissa ! What was worse, I fancied 
 she recollected me, and was repeating the story 
 of my humiliating flagellation, for I saw her 
 whispering to her companions and her governess. 
 I lost all consciousness of the part I was acting, 
 and of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to 
 nothing, and could have crept into a rat-hole, — 
 unluckily, none was open to receive me. Before 
 I could recover from my confusion, I was tum- 
 bled over by Pantaloon and the Clown, and I 
 felt the sword of Harlequin making vigorous 
 assaults in a manner most degrading to my dig- 
 nity. 
 
 Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer mar- 
 tyrdom in this ignominious manner, in the knowl- 
 edge, and even before the very eyes of this most 
 beautiful, but most disdainful of fair ones ? All 
 my long-smothered wrath broke out at once ; the 
 dormant feelings of the gentleman arose within me. 
 Stung to the quick by intolerable mortification, I 
 sprang on my feet in an instant ; leaped upon 
 Harlequin like a young tiger ; tore off* his mask ; 
 buffeted him in the face ; and soon shed more 
 blood on the stage than had been spilt upon it 
 during a whole tragic campaign of battles and 
 murders. 
 
218 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 As soon as Harlequin recovered from his sur- 
 prise, he returned my assault with interest. I was 
 nothing in his hands. I was game, to be sure, 
 for I was a gentleman ; but he had the clownish 
 advantage of bone and muscle. I felt as if I 
 could have fought even unto the death ; and I 
 was likely to do so, for he was, according to the 
 boxing phrase, " putting my head into chancery," 
 when the gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. 
 God bless the women ! they are always on the 
 side of the weak and the oppressed ! 
 
 The battle now became general ; the dramatis 
 personse ranged on either side. The manager 
 interposed in vain; in vain were his spangled 
 black bonnet and towering white feathers seen 
 whisking about, and nodding, and bobbing in the 
 thickest of the fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, 
 satyrs, kings, queens, gods, and goddesses, all 
 joined pell-mell in the affray ; never, since the 
 conflict under the walls of Troy, had there been 
 such a chance-medley warfare of combatants, hu- 
 man and divine. The audience applauded, the 
 ladies shrieked, and fled from the theatre ; and a 
 scene of discord ensued that bafiles all descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 Nothing but the interference of the peace-offi- 
 cers restored some degree of order. The havoc, 
 however, among dresses and decorations, put an 
 end to all further acting for that day. The bat- 
 tle over, the next thing was to inquire why it 
 was begun : a common question among politicians 
 after a bloody and unprofl table war, and one not 
 always easy to be answered. It was soon traced 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 219 
 
 to me, and my unaccountable transport of passion, 
 which they could only attribute to my having 
 run a much. The manager was judge and jury, 
 and plaintiff into the bargain ; and in such cases 
 justice is always speedily administered. He 
 came out of the fight as sublime a wreck as the 
 Santissima Trinidada. His gallant plumes, which 
 once towered aloft, were drooping about his ears ; 
 his robe of state hung in ribbons from his back, 
 and but ill concealed the ravages he had suffered 
 in the rear. He had received kicks and cuffs 
 from all sides during the tumult ; for every one 
 took the opportunity of slyly gratifying some 
 lurking grudge on his fat carcass. He was 
 a discreet man, and did not choose to declare war 
 with all his company, so he swore all those kicks 
 and cuffs had been given by me, and I let him 
 enjoy the opinion. Some wounds he bore, how- 
 ever, which were the incontestable traces of a 
 woman's warfare : his sleek rosy cheek was scored 
 by trickling furrows, which were ascribed to the 
 nails of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. 
 The ire of the monarch was not to be appeased ; 
 he had suffered in his person, and he had suffered 
 in his purse ; his dignity, too, had been insulted, 
 and that went for something ; for dignity is always 
 more irascible, the more petty the potentate. He 
 wreaked his wrath upon the beginners of the affray, 
 and Columbine and myself were discharged, at 
 once, from the company. 
 
 Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of lit- 
 tle more than sixteen, a gentleman by birth, a 
 vagabond by trade, turned adrift upon the world, 
 
220 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 making the best of my way through the crowd 
 of West End fair ; my mountebank dress flutter- 
 ing in rags about me ; the weeping Columbine 
 hanging upon my arm, in splendid but tattered 
 finery ; the tears coursing one by one down her 
 face, carrying off the red paint in torrents, and 
 literally " preying upon her damask cheek." 
 
 The crowd made way for us as we passed, and 
 hooted in our rear. I felt the ridicule of my sit- 
 uation, but had too much gallantry to desert this 
 fair one, who had sacrificed everything for me. 
 Having wandered through the fair, we emerged, 
 like another Adam and Eve, into unknown re- 
 gions, and " had the world before us where to 
 choose." Never was a more disconsolate pair 
 seen in the soft valley of West End. The luck- 
 less Columbine cast many a lingering look at the 
 fair, which seemed to put on a more than usual 
 splendor : its tents, and booths, and party-col- 
 ored groups, all brightening in the sunshine, and 
 gleaming among the trees ; and its gay flags 
 and streamers fluttering in the light summer airs. 
 With a heavy sigh she would lean on my arm 
 and proceed. I had no hope nor consolation to 
 give her ; but she had linked herself to my for- 
 tunes, and she was too much of a woman to 
 desert me. 
 
 Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the 
 beautiful fields which lie behind Ilampstead, and 
 wandered on, until the fiddle, and the hautboy, 
 and the shout, and the laugh, were swallowed up 
 in the deep sound of the big bass-drum, and even 
 that died away into a distant rumble. We passed 
 
BUCK Til ORNE. 221 
 
 along the pleasant, sequestered walk of Nightin- 
 gale Lane. For a pair of lovers, what scene could 
 be more propitious ? — But such a pair of lovers ! 
 Not a nightingale sang to soothe us : the very 
 gypsies, who were encamped there during the fair, 
 made no offer to tell the fortunes of such an ill- 
 omened couple, whose fortunes, I suppose, they 
 thought too legibly written to need an inter- 
 preter; and the gypsy children crawled into their 
 cabins, and peeped out fearfully at us as we went 
 by. For a moment I paused, and was almost 
 tempted to turn gypsy, but the poetical feeling, 
 for the present, was fully satisfied, and 1 passed 
 on. Thus we travelled and travelled, like a 
 prince and princess in a nursery tale, until we 
 had traversed a part of Hampstead Heath, and 
 arrived in the vicinity of Jack Straw's Castle. 
 Here, wearied and dispirited, we seated ourselves 
 on the margin of the hill, hard by the very mile- 
 stone where Whittington of yore heard the Bow- 
 bells ring out the presage of his future greatness. 
 Alas ! no bell rung an invitation to us, as we 
 looked disconsolately upon the distant city. Old 
 London seemed to wrap itself unsociably in its 
 mantle of brown smoke, and to offer no encour- 
 agement to such a couple of tatterdemalions. 
 
 For once, at least, the usual course of the pan- 
 tomime was reversed, Harlequin was jilted, and 
 the lover had carried off Columbine in good ear- 
 nest. But what was I to do with her ? I could 
 not take her in my hand, return to my father, 
 throw myself on my knees, and crave his forgive- 
 ness and blessing, according to dramatic usage. 
 
222 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 The very dogs would have chased such a drag- 
 gled-tailed beauty from the grounds. 
 
 In the midst of my doleful dumps, some one 
 tapped me on the shoulder, and, looking up, I 
 saw a couple of rough sturdy fellows standing 
 behind me. Not knowing what to expect, I 
 jumped on my legs, and was preparing again to 
 make battle, but was tripped up and secured in 
 a twinkling. 
 
 " Come, come, young master," said one of the 
 fellows in a gruff but good-humored tone, " don't 
 let 's have any of your tantrums ; one would have 
 thouo^ht you had had swino- enouo:h for this bout. 
 Come ; it 's high time to leave off harlequinading, 
 and go home to your father." 
 
 In fact, I had fallen into the hands of remorse- 
 less men. The cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed 
 who I was, and that a reward had been offered 
 throughout the country for any tidings of me ; 
 and they had seen a description of me which had 
 been inserted in the public papers. Those har- 
 pies, therefore, for the mere sake of filthy lucre, 
 were resolved to deliver me over into the hands 
 of my father, and the clutches of my pedagogue. 
 
 In vain I swore I would not leave my faithful 
 and afflicted Columbine. In vain I tore myself 
 from their grasp, and flew to her, and vowed to 
 protect her ; and wiped the tears from her cheek, 
 and with them a whole blush that might have 
 vied with the carnation for brilliancy. My per- 
 secutors were inflexible ; they even seemed to 
 exult in our distress ; and to enjoy this theatrical 
 display of dirt, and finery, and tribulation. I 
 
BVCKTHORNE, 223 
 
 was carried oflP in despair, leaving my Colum- 
 bine destitute in the wide world ; but many a 
 look of agony did I cast back at her as she stood 
 gazing piteously after me from the brink of 
 Hampstead Hill ; so forlorn, so fine, so ragged, 
 so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. 
 
 Thus ended my first peep into the world. I 
 returned home, rich in good-for-nothing expe- 
 rience, and dreading the reward I was to receive 
 for my improvement. My reception, however, 
 was quite different from what I had expected. 
 My father had a spice of the devil in him, and 
 did not seem to like me the worse for my freak, 
 which he termed " sowing my wild oats." He 
 happened to have some of his sporting friends 
 to dine the very day of my return ; they made 
 me tell some of my adventures, and laughed 
 heartily at them. 
 
 One old fellow, with an outrageously red nose, 
 took to me hugely. I heard him whisper to my 
 father that I was a lad of mettle, and might 
 make something clever ; to which my father 
 replied, that *[ had good points, but was an ill- 
 broken whelp, and required a great deal of the 
 whip. Perhaps this very conversation raised me 
 a little in his esteem, for I found the red-nosed 
 old gentleman was a veteran fox-hunter of the 
 neighborhood, for whose opinion my father had 
 vast deference. Indeed, I believe he would have 
 pardoned anything in me more readily than 
 poetry, which he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, 
 housekeeping employment, the bane of all fine 
 manhood. He swore it was unworthy of a 
 
224 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 youngster of my expectations, who was one day 
 to have so great an estate, and would be able to 
 keep horses and hounds, and hire poets to write 
 sono^s for him into the baro^ain. 
 
 I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving pro- 
 pensity. I had exhausted the poetical feeling. 
 1 had been heartily buffeted out of my love for 
 theatrical display. I felt humiliated by my ex- 
 posure, and wilUng to hide my head anywhere for 
 a season, so that I might be out of the way of the 
 ridicule of the world ; for I found folks not alto- 
 gether so indulgent abroad as they were at my 
 father's table. I could not stay at home ; the 
 house was intolerably doleful now that my mother 
 was no longer there to cherish me. Everything 
 around spoke mournfully of her. The little flower- 
 garden in which she delighted, was all in disor- 
 der and overrun with weeds. I attempted for a 
 day or two to arrange it, but my heart grew 
 heavier and heavier as I labored. Every little 
 broken-down flower, that I had seen her rear so 
 tenderly, seemed to plead in mute eloquence to 
 my feelings. There was a favorite* honeysuckle 
 which I had seen her often training with assidu- 
 ity, and had heard her say it would be the pride 
 of her garden. I found it grovelling along the 
 ground, tangled and wild, and twining round 
 every worthless weed ; and it struck me as an 
 emblem of myself, a mere scatterling, running to 
 waste and uselessness. I could work no longer 
 in the garden. 
 
 My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, 
 by way of keeping the old gentleman in mind of 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 225 
 
 me. I was received, as usual, without any ex- 
 pression of discontent, which we always consid- 
 ered equivalent to a hearty welcome. Whether 
 he had ever heard of my strolling freak or not, 
 I could not discover, he and his man were both 
 so taciturn. I spent a day or two roaming 
 about the dreary mansion and neglected park, 
 and felt at one time, I believe, a touch of poetry, 
 for I was tempted to drown myself in a fish- 
 pond ; I rebuked the evil spirit, however, and it 
 left me. I found the same red-headed boy run- 
 ning wild about the park, but I felt in no humor 
 to hunt him at present. On the contrary, I tried 
 to coax him to me, and to make friends with 
 him ; but the young savage was untamable. 
 
 When I returned from my uncle's, I remained 
 at home for some time, for my father was dis- 
 posed, he said, to make a man of me. He took 
 me out hunting with him, and I became a great 
 favorite of the red-nosed squire, because I rode 
 at everything, never refused the boldest leap, and 
 was always sure to be in at the death. I used 
 often, however, to offend my father at hunting- 
 dinners, by taking the wrong side in politics. 
 My father was amazingly ignorant, so ignorant, 
 in fact, as not to know that he knew nothing. 
 He was stanch, however, to church and king, and 
 full of old-fashioned prejudices. Now I had 
 picked up a little knowledge in politics and relig- 
 ion during my rambles with the strollers, and 
 found myself capable of setting him right as to 
 many of his antiquated notions. I felt it my 
 duty to do so ; we were apt, therefore, to differ 
 15 
 
226 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 occasionally in the political discussions which 
 sometimes arose at those hunting-dinners. 
 
 I Avas at that age when a man knows least, and 
 is most vain of his knowledge, and when he is 
 extremely tenacious in defending his opinion upon 
 subjects about which he knows nothing. My 
 father was a hard man for any one to argue with, 
 for he never knew when he was refuted. I 
 sometimes posed him a little, but then he had one 
 argument that always settled the question ; he 
 would threaten to knock me down. I believe he 
 at last grew tired of me, because I both out- 
 talked and outrode him. The red-nosed squire, 
 too, got out of conceit with me, because, in the 
 heat of the chase, I rode over him one day as he 
 and his horse lay sprawling in the dirt : so I 
 found myself getting into disgrace with all the 
 world, and would have got heartily out of humor 
 with myself, had I not been kept in tolerable 
 self-conceit by the parson's three daughters. 
 
 They were the same who had admired my po- 
 etry on a former occasion, when it had brought 
 me into disgrace at school ; and I had ever since 
 retained an exalted idea of their judgment. In- 
 deed, they were young ladies not merely of taste 
 but of science. Their education had been super- 
 intended by their mother, who was a blue-stocking. 
 They knew enough of botany to tell the techni- 
 cal names of all the flowers in the garden, and 
 all their secret concerns into the bargain. They 
 knew music, too, not mere commonplace music, but 
 Rossini and Mozart, and they sang Moore's Irish 
 Melodies to perfection. They had pretty little 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 227 
 
 work-tables J covered with all kinds of objects of 
 taste : specimens of lava, and painted eggs, and 
 work-boxes, painted and varnished by themselves. 
 They excelled in knotting and netting, and painted 
 in water-colors ; and made feather fans, and fire- 
 screens, and worked in silks and worsteds ; and 
 talked French and Italian, and knew Shakspeare 
 by heart. They even knew something of geology 
 and mineralogy ; and went about the neighbor- 
 hood knocking stones to pieces, to the great ad- 
 miration and perplexity of the country folk. 
 
 I am a little too minute, perhaps, in detailing 
 their accomplishments, but I wish to let you see 
 that these were not commonplace young ladies, 
 but had pretensions quite above the ordinary run. 
 It was some consolation to me, therefore, to find 
 favor in such eyes. Indeed, they had always 
 marked me out for a genius, and considered my 
 late vagrant freak as fresh proof of the fact. 
 They observed that Shakspeare himself had been 
 a mere pickle in his youth ; that he had stolen a 
 deer, as every one knew, and kept loose company, 
 and consorted with actors : so I comforted myself 
 marvellously with the idea of having so decided 
 a Shakspearian trait in my character. 
 
 The youngest of the three, however, was my 
 grand consolation. She was a pale, sentimental 
 girl, with long " hyacinthine " ringlets hanging 
 about her face. She wrote poetry herself, and 
 we kept up a poetical correspondence. She had 
 a taste for the drama, too, and I taught her how 
 to act several of the scenes in '■' Romeo and Juliet." 
 I used to rehearse the garden-scene under her 
 
228 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 lattice, which looked out from among woodbine 
 and honeysuckles into the church-yard. I began 
 to think her amazingly pretty as well as clever, 
 and I believe I should have finished by falling in 
 love with her, had not her father discovered our 
 theatrical studies. He was a studious, abstracted 
 man, generally too much absorbed in his learned 
 and religious labors to notice the little foibles of 
 his daughters, and perhaps blinded by a father's 
 fondness ; but he unexpectedly put his head out 
 of his study-window one day in the midst of a 
 scene, and put a stop to our rehearsals. He had 
 a vast deal of that prosaic good sense which I 
 forever found a stumbling-block in my poetical 
 path. My rambling freak had not struck the 
 good man as poetically as it had his daughters. 
 He drcAV his comparison from a different manual. 
 He looked upon me as a prodigal son, and 
 doubted whether I should ever arrive at the 
 happy catastrophe of the fatted calf. 
 
 I fancy some intimation was given to my 
 father of this new breaking out of my poetical 
 temperament, for he suddenly intimated that it 
 was high time I should prepare for the univer- 
 sity. I dreaded a return to the school whence I 
 had eloped : the ridicule of my fellow-scholars, 
 and the glance from the squire's pew, would have 
 been worse than death to me. I was fortunately 
 spared the humiliation. My father sent me to 
 board with a country clergyman, who had three 
 or four boys under his care. I went to him joy- 
 fully, for I had often heard my mother mention 
 him with esteem. In fact he had been an ad- 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 229 
 
 mirer of hers in his younger days, though too hum- 
 ble in fortune and modest in pretensions to aspire 
 to her hand ; but he had ever retained a tender 
 regard for her. He was a good man ; a worthy 
 vspecimen of that valuable body of our country 
 clergy who silently and unostentatiously do a vast 
 deal of good ; who are, as it were, woven into 
 the whole system of rural life, and operate upon 
 it with the steady yet unobtrusive influence of 
 temperate piety and learned good sense. He 
 lived in a small village not far from Warwick, 
 one of those little communities where the scanty 
 flock is, in a manner, folded into the bosom of the 
 pastor. The venerable church, in its grass-grown 
 cemetery, was one of those rural temples scat- 
 tered about our country as if to sanctify the land. 
 I have the worthy pastor before my mind's eye 
 at this moment, with his mild benevolent counte- 
 nance, rendered still more venerable by his silver 
 hairs. I have him before me, as I saw him on 
 my arrival, seated in the embowered porch of his 
 small parsonage, with a flower-garden before it, 
 and his pupils gathered round him like his chil- 
 dren. I shall never forget his reception of me ; 
 for I believe he thought of my poor mother at 
 the time, and his heart yearned towards her child. 
 His eye glistened when he received me at the 
 door, and he took me into his arms as the adopted 
 child of his affections. Never had I been so for- 
 tunately placed. He was one of those excellent 
 members of our church, who help out their nar- 
 row salaries by instructing a few gentlemen's 
 sons. I am convinced those little seminaries are 
 
230 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 among the best nurseries of talent and virtue in 
 the land. Both heart and mind are cultivated 
 and improved. The preceptor is the companion 
 and the friend of his pupils. His sacred charac- 
 ter gives him dignity in their eyes, and his sol- 
 emn functions produce that elevation of mind and 
 sobriety of conduct necessary to those who are to 
 teach youth to think and act worthily. 
 
 I speak from my own random observation and 
 experience ; but I think I speak correctly. At 
 any rate, I can trace much of what is good in 
 my own heterogeneous compound to the short 
 time I was under the instruction of that good 
 man. He entered into the cares and occupations 
 and amusements of his pupils ; and won his way 
 into our confidence, and studied our hearts and 
 minds more intently than we did our books. 
 
 He soon sounded the depth of my character. 
 I had become, as I have already hinted, a little 
 liberal in my notions, and apt to philosophize on 
 both politics and religion ; having seen something 
 of men and things, and learnt, from my fellow- 
 philosophers, the strollers, to despise all vulgar 
 prejudices. He did not attempt to cast down my 
 vainglory, nor to question my right view of 
 things ; he merely instilled into my mind a little 
 information on these topics ; though in a quiet 
 unobtrusive way, that never ruffled a feather of 
 my self-conceit. I was astonished to find what 
 a chano^e a little knowledo;e makes in one's 
 mode of viewing matters ; and how different a 
 subject is when one thinks, or when one only 
 talks about it. I conceived a vast deference for 
 
BUCKTHORNE, 231 
 
 my teacher, and was ambitious of his good opin- 
 ion. In my zeal to make a favorable impression, 
 I presented him with a whole ream of my poetry. 
 He read it attentively, smiled, and pressed my 
 hand when he returned it to me, but said noth- 
 ing. The next day he set me at mathematics. 
 
 Somehow or other the process of teaching 
 seemed robbed by him of all its austerity. I was 
 not conscious that he thwarted an inclination or 
 opposed a wish ; but I felt that, for the time, my 
 inclinations were entirely changed. I became 
 fond of study, and zealous to improve myself. 
 1 made tolerable advances in studies which I had 
 before considered as unattainable, and 1 wondered 
 at my own proficiency. I thought, too, I aston- 
 ished my preceptor ; for I often caught his eyes 
 fixed upon me with a peculiar expression. I 
 suspect, since, that he was pensively tracing in 
 my countenance the early lineaments of my 
 mother. 
 
 Education was not apportioned by him into 
 tasks, and enjoined as a labor, to be abandoned 
 with joy the moment the hour of study was ex- 
 pired. We had, it is true, our allotted hours of 
 occupation, to give us habits of method, and of 
 the distribution of time ; but they were made 
 pleasant to us, and our feelings were enlisted in 
 the cause. When they were over, education still 
 went on. It pervaded all our relaxations and 
 amusements. There was a steady march of im 
 provement. Much of his instruction was given 
 during pleasant rambles, or when seated on the 
 margin of the Avon ; and information received 
 
232 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 in that way, often makes a deeper impression 
 than when acquired by poring over books. I 
 have many of the pure and eloquent precepts that 
 jBiowed from his Hps associated in my mind with 
 lovely scenes in nature, which make the recollec- 
 tion of them indescribably delightful. 
 
 I do not pretend to say that any miracle was 
 effected with me. After all said and done, I was 
 but a weak disciple. My poetical temperament 
 still wrought within me and wrestled hard with 
 wisdom, and, I fear, maintained the mastery. I 
 found mathematics an intolerable task in fine 
 weather. I would be prone to forget my prob- 
 lems, to watch the birds hopping about the win- 
 dows, or the bees humming about the honeysuc- 
 kles ; and whenever I could steal away, I would 
 wander about the grassy borders of the Avon, 
 and excuse this truant propensity to myself with 
 the idea that I was treading classic ground, over 
 which Shakspeare had wandered. What luxuri- 
 ous idleness have I indulged, as I lay under the 
 trees and watched the silver waves rippling 
 through the arches of the broken bridge, and 
 laving the rocky bases of old Warwick Castle ; 
 and how often have I thought of sweet Shaks- 
 peare, and in my boyish enthusiasm have kissed 
 the waves which had washed his native village. 
 
 My good preceptor would often accompany me 
 in these desultory rambles. He sought to get 
 hold of this vagrant mood of mind and turn it 
 to some account. He endeavored to teach me to 
 mingle thought with mere sensation ; to moralize 
 on the scenes around ; and to make the beauties 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 233 
 
 of nature administer to the understanding, of the 
 heart. He endeavored to direct my imagination 
 to high and noble objects, and to fill it with lofty 
 images. In a word, he did all he could to make 
 the best of a poetical temperament, and to coun- 
 teract the mischief which had been done to me 
 by my great expectations. 
 
 Had I been earlier put under the care of the 
 good pastor, or remained with him a longer time, 
 I really believe he would have made something 
 of me. He had already brought a great deal of 
 what had been flogged into me into tolerable or- 
 der, and had weeded out much of the unprofitable 
 wisdom which had sprung up in my vagabondiz- 
 ing. I already began to find that with all my 
 genius a little study would be no disadvantage 
 to me ; and, in spite of my vagrant freaks, I be- 
 gan to doubt my being a second Shakspeare. 
 
 Just as I was making these precious discov- 
 eries, the good parson died. It was a melancholy 
 day throughout the neighborhood. He had his 
 little flock of schohu^s, his children, as he used to 
 call us, gathered round him in his dying moments ; 
 and he gave us the parting advice of a father, 
 now that he had to leave us, and we were to be 
 separated from each other, and scattered about 
 in the world. He took me by the hand, and 
 talked with me earnestly and affectionately, and 
 called to my mind my mother, and used her 
 name to enforce his dying exhortations ; for I 
 rather think he considered me the most erring 
 and heedless of his flock. He held my hand in 
 his, long after he had done speaking, and kept 
 
234 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 his eye fixed on me tenderly and almost pite- 
 ously : his lips moved as if he were silently pray- 
 ing for me ; and he died away, still holding me 
 by the hand. 
 
 There was not a dry eye in the church when 
 the funeral service was read from the pulpit from 
 which he had so often preached. When the body 
 was committed to the earth, our little band gath- 
 ered round it, and watched the coffin as it was 
 lowered into the grave. The parishioners looked 
 at us with sympathy ; for we were mourners not 
 merely in dress but in heart. We lingered about 
 the grave, and clung to one another for a time, 
 weeping and speechless, and then parted, like a 
 band of brothers parting from the paternal 
 hearth, never to assemble there again. 
 
 How had the gentle spirit of that good man 
 sweetened our natures, and linked our young 
 hearts together by the kindest ties ! I have al- 
 ways had a throb of pleasure at meeting with an 
 old schoolmate, even though one of my truant 
 associates ; but whenever, in the course of my 
 life, I have encountered one of that little flock 
 with which I was folded on the banks of the 
 Avon, it has been with a gush of aifection, and a 
 glow of virtue, that for the moment have made 
 me a better man. 
 
 I was now sent to Oxford, and was wonder- 
 fully impressed on first entering it as a student. 
 Learning here puts on all its majesty. It is 
 lodged in palaces ; it is sanctified by the sacred 
 ceremonies of religion ; it has a pomp and cir- 
 cumstance which powerfully affect the imagina- 
 
BUCK THORNE. 235 
 
 tion. Such, at least, it had in my eyes, thought- 
 less as I was. My previous studies with the 
 worthy pastor had prepared me to regard it with 
 deference and awe. He had been educated here, 
 and always spoke of the University with filial 
 fondness and classic veneration. When I beheld 
 the clustering spires and pinnacles of this most 
 august of cities rising from the plain, I hailed 
 them in my enthusiasm as the points of a diadem, 
 which the nation had placed upon the brows of 
 science. 
 
 For a time old Oxford was full of enjoyment 
 for me. There was a charm about its monastic 
 buildings ; its great Gothic quadrangles ; its 
 solemn halls, and shadowy cloisters. I delighted, 
 in the evenings, to get in places surrounded by 
 the colleges, where all modern buildings were 
 screened from the sight ; and to see the Profess- 
 ors and students sweeping along in the dusk in 
 their antiquated caps and gowns. I seemed for 
 a time to be transported among the people and 
 edifices of the old times. I was a frequent at- 
 tendant, also, of the evening service in the New 
 College Hall ; to hear the fine organ, and the 
 choir swelling an anthem in that solemn building, 
 where painting, music, and architecture are in 
 such admirable unison. 
 
 A favorite haunt, too, was the beautiful walk 
 bordered by lofty elms along the river, behind the 
 gray walls of Magdalen College, which goes by 
 the name of Addison's Walk, from being his fa- 
 vorite resort when an Oxford student. I became 
 also a lounger in the Bodleian library, and a 
 
236 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 great clipper into books, though I cannot say that 
 I studied them ; in fact, being no longer under 
 direction or control, I was gradually relapsing 
 into mere indulgence of the fancy. Still this 
 would have been pleasant and harmless enougli, 
 and 1 might have awakened from mere literary 
 dreaming to something better. The chances 
 were in my favor, for the riotous times of the 
 University were past. The days of hard drink- 
 ing were at an end. The old feuds of " Town 
 and Gown," like the civil wars of the White and 
 Red Rose, had died away ; and student and citi- 
 zen slept in peace and whole skins, without risk 
 of being summoned in the night to bloody brawl. 
 It had become the fashion to study at the Uni- 
 versity, and the odds were always in favor of 
 my following the fashion. Unluckily, however, 
 I fell in company with a special knot of young 
 fellows, of lively parts and ready wit, who had 
 lived occasionally upon town, and become ini- 
 tiated into the Fancy. They voted study to be 
 the toil of dull minds, by which they slowly crept 
 up the hill, while genius arrived at it at a bound. 
 I felt ashamed to play the owl among such gay 
 birds ; so I threw by my books, and became a 
 man of spirit. 
 
 As my father made me a tolerable allowance, 
 notwithstanding the narrowness of his income, 
 having an eye always to my great expectations, 
 I was enabled to appear to advantage among my 
 companions. I cultivated all kinds of sport and 
 exercises. I was one of the most expert oars- 
 men that rowed on the Isis. I boxed, fenced, 
 
BUCKTHORNE, ^ 237 
 
 angled, shot, and hunted, and my rooms in college 
 were always decorated with whips of all kinds, 
 spurs, fowling-pieces, iishing-rods, foils, and boxing- 
 gloves. A pair of leather breeches would seem 
 to be throwing one leg out of the half-open 
 drawers, and empty bottles lumbered the bottom 
 of every closet. 
 
 My father came to see me at college when I 
 was in the height of my career. He asked me 
 how I came on with my studies, and what kind 
 of hunting there was in the neighborhood. He 
 examined my various sporting apparatus with a 
 curious eye ; wanted to know if any of the Pro- 
 fessors were fox-hunters, and whether they were 
 generally good shots, for he suspected their study- 
 ing so much must be hurtful to tlie sight. We 
 had a day's shooting together : I delighted him 
 with my skill, and astonished him by my learned 
 disquisitions on horse-flesh, and on Manton's 
 guns ; so, upon the whole, he departed highly 
 satisfied with my improvement at college. 
 
 I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle 
 long without getting in love. I had not been a 
 very long time a man of spirit, therefore, before 
 I became deeply enamored of a shopkeeper's 
 daughter in the High-Street, who, in fact, was the 
 admiration of many of the students. I wrote 
 several sonnets in praise of her, and spent half 
 of my pocket-money at the shop, in buying arti- 
 cles which I did not want, that I might have an 
 opportunity of speaking to her. Her father, a 
 severe-looking old gentleman, with bright silver 
 buckles, and a crisp-curled wig, kept a strict 
 
238 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 giiard on her, as the fathers generally do upon 
 their daughters in Oxford ; and well they may. 
 I tried to get into his good graces, and to be so- 
 ciable mth him, but all in vain. I said several 
 good things in his shop, but he never laughed : 
 he had no relish for wit and humor. He was 
 one of those dry old gentlemen who keep young- 
 sters at bay. He had already brought up two 
 or three daughters, and was experienced in the 
 ways of students. He was as knowing and 
 wary as a gray old badger that has often been 
 hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff and 
 starched in his demeanor, so precise in his dress, 
 "with his daughter under his arm, was enough to 
 deter all graceless youngsters from approaching. 
 I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, 
 to have several conversations with the daughter, 
 as I cheapened articles in the shop. I made 
 terrible long bargains, and examined the ai'ticles 
 over and over before I purchased. In the mean 
 time, I would convey a sonnet or an acrostic 
 under cover of a piece of cambric, or slipped into 
 a pair of stockings ; I would whisper soft nonsense 
 into her ear as I haggled about the price ; and 
 would squeeze her hand tenderly as I received 
 my half-pence of change in a bit of whity-brown 
 paper. Let this serve as a hint to all haberdash- 
 ers who have pretty daughters for shop-girls, and 
 young students for customers. I do not know 
 whether my words and looks were very eloquent, 
 but my poetry was irresistible ; for, to tell the 
 truth, the girl had some literary taste, and was sel- 
 dom without a book from the circulating library. 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 239 
 
 By the divine power of poetry, therefore, 
 which is so potent with the lovely sex, did I sub- 
 due the heart of this fair little haberdasher. We 
 carried on a sentimental correspondence for a 
 time across the counter, and I supplied her with 
 rhyme by the stocking-full. At length I prevailed 
 on her to grant an assignation. But how was 
 this to be effected? Her father kept her always 
 under his eye ; she never walked out alone ; and 
 the house was locked up the moment that the 
 shop was shut. All these difficulties served but 
 to give zest to the adventure. I proposed that 
 the assignation should be in her own . chamber, 
 into which I would climb at night. The plan 
 was irresistible. — A cruel father, a secret lover, 
 and a clandestine meeting ! All the little girl's 
 studies from the circulating library seemed about 
 to be reaHzed. 
 
 But what had I in view in making this assig- 
 nation ? Indeed, I know not. I had no evil in- 
 tentions, nor can I say that I had any good ones. 
 I liked the girl, and wanted to have an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing more of her ; and the assignation 
 was made, as I have done many things else, 
 heedlessly and without forethought. I asked my- 
 self a few questions of the kind, after all my 
 arrangements were made, but the answers were 
 very unsatisfactory. " Am I to ruin tliis poor 
 thoughtless girl ? " said I to myself. " No ! " 
 was the prompt and indignant answer. ^' Am I 
 to run away with her?" — "whither, and to 
 what purpose ? " — " Well, then, am I to marry 
 her ? " — " Poh ! a man of my expectations marry 
 
240 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 a shopkeeper's daughter ! " " What then am I 
 to do with her ? " " Hum — why — let me get 
 into the chamber first, and then consider " — 
 and so the self-examination ended. 
 
 Well, sir, " come what come might," I stole 
 under cover of the darkness to the dwelling of 
 my dulcinea. All was quiet. At the concerted 
 signal her window was gently opened. It was 
 just above the projecting bow-window of her 
 father's shop, which assisted me in mounting. 
 The house was low, and I was enabled to scale 
 the fortress with tolerable ease. I clambered 
 with a beating heart ; I reached the casement ; I 
 hoisted my body half into the chamber ; and was 
 welcomed, not by the embraces of my expecting 
 fair one, but by the grasp of the crabbed-looking 
 old father in the crisp-curled wig. 
 
 I extricated myself from his clutches, and en- 
 deavored to make my retreat ; but I was con- 
 founded by his cries of thieves ! and robbers ! 
 I was bothered too by his Sunday cane, which 
 was amazingly busy about my head as I descend- 
 ed, and against which my hat was but a poor 
 protection. Never before had I an idea of the 
 activity of an old man's arm, and the hardness of 
 the knob of an ivory-headed cane. In my hurry 
 and confusion I missed my footing, and fell 
 sprawling on the pavement. I was immediately 
 surrounded by myrmidons, who, I doubt not, 
 were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no 
 situation to escape, for I had sprained my ankle 
 in the fall, and could not stand. I was seized as 
 a house-breaker ; and to exonerate myself of a 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 241 
 
 greater crime, I had to accuse myself of a less. 
 I made known who I was, and why I came there. 
 Alas ! the varlets knew it already, and were 
 only amusing themselves at my expense. My 
 perfidious Muse had been playing me one of her 
 slippery tricks. The old curmudgeon of a father 
 had found my sonnets and acrostics hid away in 
 holes and corners of his shop ; he had no taste 
 for poetry like his daughter, and had instituted 
 a rigorous though silent observation. He had 
 moused upon our letters, detected our plans, and 
 prepared everything for my reception. Thus 
 was I ever doomed to be led into scrapes by the 
 Muse. Let no man henceforth carry on a secret 
 amour in poetry ! 
 
 The old man's ire was in some measure ap- 
 peased by the pommelling of my head and the 
 anguish of my sprain ; so he did not put me to 
 death on the spot. He was even humane enough 
 to furnish a shutter, on which I was carried back 
 to college like a wounded warrior. The porter 
 was roused to admit me. The college gate was 
 thrown open for my entry. The affair was 
 blazed about the next morning, and became the 
 joke of the college from the buttery to the hall. 
 
 I had leisure to repent during several weeks' 
 confinement by my sprain, which I passed in 
 translating Boethius's " Consolations of Philoso- 
 phy." I received a most tender and ill-spelled let- 
 ter from my mistress, who had been sent to a re- 
 lation in Coventry. She protested her innocence 
 of my misfortune, and vowed to be true to me 
 " till deth." I took no notice of the letter, for I 
 16 
 
242 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 •1 
 was cured for the present, both of love and poe- 
 try. Women, however, are more constant in 
 their attachments than men, whatever philoso- 
 phers may say to the contrary. I am assured 
 that she actually remained faithful to her vow 
 for several months ; but she had to deal with a 
 cruel father, whose heart was as hard as the 
 knob of his cane. He was not to be touched by 
 tears nor poetry, but absolutely compelled her to 
 marry a reputable young tradesman, who made 
 her a happy woman in spite of herself and of 
 all the rules of romance, and, what is more, the 
 mother of several children. They are at this 
 very day a thriving couple, and keep a snug cor- 
 ner-shop, just opposite the figure of Peeping 
 Tom, at Coventry. 
 
 I will not fatigue you by any more details of 
 my studies at Oxford ; though they were not al- 
 ways as severe as these, nor did I always pay as 
 dear for my lessons. To be brief, then, I lived on 
 in my usual miscellaneous manner, gradually get- 
 ting knowledge of good and evil, mitil I had at- 
 tained my twenty-first year. I had scarcely come 
 of age when I heard of the sudden death of my 
 father. The shock was severe, for though he 
 had never treated me with much kindness, still 
 he was my father, and at his death I felt alone in 
 the world. 
 
 I returned home, and found myself the solitary 
 master of the paternal mansion. A crowd of 
 gloomy feehngs came thronging upon me. It 
 was a place that always sobered me, and brought 
 me to reflection ; now especially ; it looked so ! 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 243 
 
 deserted and melancholy. I entered the little 
 breakfasting-room. There were my father's whip 
 and spurs, hanging by the fireplace ; the " Stud- 
 Book/' " Sporting Magazine," and " Racing Cal- 
 endar," his only reading. His favorite spaniel lay 
 on the hearth-rug. The poor animal, who had 
 never before noticed me, now came fondling about 
 me, licked my hand, then looked round the room, 
 whined, wagged his tail slightly, and gazed wist- 
 fully in my face. I felt the full force of the ap- 
 peal. " Poor Dash," said I, " we are both alone 
 in the world, with nobody to care for us, and will 
 take care of one another." — The dog never quit- 
 ted me afterwards. 
 
 I could not go into my mother's room — my 
 heart swelled when I passed within sight of the 
 door. Her portrait hung in the parlor, just over 
 the place where she used to sit. As I cast my 
 eyes on it, I thought that it looked at me with 
 tenderness, and I burst into tears. I was a care- 
 less dog, it is true, hardened a little, perhaps, by 
 living in public schools, and buffeting about among 
 strangers, who cared nothing for me ; but the 
 recollection of a mother's tenderness was over- 
 coming. 
 
 I was not of an age or a temperament to be 
 long depressed. There was a reaction in my 
 system, that always brought me up again after 
 every pressure ; and, indeed, my spirits were 
 always most buoyant after a temporary prostra- 
 tion. I settled the concerns of the estate as soon 
 as possible ; realized my property, which was 
 not very considerable, but which appeared a vast 
 
244 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 deal to me, having a poetical eye that magnified 
 ever jtl ling ; and finding myself, at the end of a 
 few months, free of all further business or re- 
 straint, I determined to go to London and enjoy 
 myself. Why should I not ? — I was young, ani- 
 mated, joyous ; had plenty of funds for present 
 pleasures, and my uncle's estate in the perspec- 
 tive. Let those mope at college, and pore over 
 books, thought I, who have their way to make in 
 the world ; it would be ridiculous drudgery in 
 a youth of my expectations. Away to London, 
 therefore, I rattled in a tandem, determined to 
 take the town gayly. I passed through several 
 of the villages where I had played the Jack Pud- 
 ding a few years before ; and I visited the scenes 
 of many of my adventures and follies merely from 
 that feeling of melancholy pleasure which we have 
 in stepping again the footprints of foregone ex- 
 istence, even when they have passed among weeds 
 and briers. I made a circuit in the latter part 
 of my journey, so as to take in West End and 
 Hampstead, the scenes of my last dramatic ex- 
 ploit, and of the battle royal of the booth. As I 
 drove along the ridge of Hampstead Hill, by Jack 
 Straw's Castle, I paused at the spot where Col- 
 umbine and I had sat down so disconsolately in 
 our ragged finery, and had looked dubiously on 
 London. I almost expected to see her again, 
 standing on the hill's brink, "like Niobe, all 
 tears ; " — mournful as Babylon in ruins ! 
 
 " Poor Columbine ! " said I, with a heavy sigh, 
 " thou wert a gallant, generous girl — a true 
 woman ; — faithful to the distressed, and ready 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 245 
 
 to sacrifice thyself in the cause of worthless 
 
 man 
 
 !" 
 
 I tried to whistle off the recollection of her, 
 for there was always something of self-reproach 
 with it. I drove gayly along the road, enjoying 
 the stare of hostlers and stable-boys, as I man- 
 aged my horses knowingly down the steep street 
 of Hampstead ; when, just at the skirts of the 
 village, one of the traces of my leader came 
 loose. I pulled up, and as the animal was res- 
 tive, and my servant a bungler, I called for as- 
 sistance to the robustious master of a snug ale- 
 house, who stood at his door with a tankard in 
 his hand. He came readily to assist me, fol- 
 lowed by his wife, with her bosom half open, a 
 child in her arms, and two more at her heels. I 
 stared for a moment, as if doubting my eyes. I 
 could not be mistaken : in the fat, beer-blown 
 landlord of the ale-house I recollected my old 
 rival Harlequin, and in his slattern spouse the 
 once trim and dimpling Columbine. 
 
 The change of my looks from youth to man- 
 hood, and the change in my circumstances, pre- 
 vented them from recognizing me. They could 
 not suspect in the dashing young buck, fashion- 
 ably dressed and driving his own equipage, the 
 painted beau, with old peaked hat, and long, 
 flimsy, sky-blue coat. My heart yearned with 
 kindness towards Columbine, and I was glad to 
 see her establishment a thriving one. As soon 
 as the harness was adjusted, I tossed a small 
 purse of gold into her ample bosom ; and then, 
 pretending to give my horses a hearty cut of the 
 
246 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 whip, I made the lash curl with a whistling 
 about the sleek sides of ancient Harlequin. The 
 horses dashed off like lightning, and I was whirled 
 out of sight before either of the parties could get 
 over their surprise at ray liberal donations. I 
 have always considered this as one of the great- 
 est proofs of my poetical genius ; it was distrib- 
 uting poetical justice in perfection. 
 
 I now entered London en cavalier, and became 
 a blood upon town. I took fashionable lodgings, 
 in the West End ; employed the first tailor ; fre- 
 quented the regular lounges; gambled a little; 
 lost my money good-humoredly ; and gained a 
 number of fashionable, good-for-nothing acquaint- 
 ances. I gained some reputation also for a man 
 of science, having become an expert boxer in the 
 course of my studies at Oxford. I was distin- 
 guished, therefore, among the gentlemen of the 
 Fancy ; became hand and glove with certain box- 
 ing noblemen, and was the admiration of the Fives 
 Court. A gentleman's science, however, is apt 
 to get him into bad scrapes ; he is too prone to 
 play the knight-errant, and to pick up quarrels 
 which less scientifical gentlemen would quietly 
 avoid. I undertook one day to punish the inso- 
 lence of a porter. He was a Hercules of a fel- 
 low, but then I was so secure in my science ! I 
 gained the victory of course. The porter pock- 
 eted his humihation, bound up his broken head, 
 and went about his business as unconcernedly as 
 though nothing had happened ; while I went to 
 bed with my victory, and did not dare to show 
 my battered face for a fortnight : by which I dis- 
 
B U CK T BORNE, 247 
 
 covered that a gentleman may have the worst of 
 the battle even when victorious. 
 
 I am naturally a philosopher, and no one can 
 moralize better after a misfortune has taken place ; 
 so I lay on my bed and moralized on this sorry 
 ambition, which levels the gentleman with the 
 clown. I know it is the opinion of many sages, 
 who have thought deeply on these matters, that 
 the noble science of boxing keeps up the bull- 
 dog courage of the nation ; and far be it from me 
 to decry the advantage of becoming a nation of 
 bull-dogs ; but I now saw clearly that it was cal- 
 culated to keep up the breed of English ruffians. 
 " What is the Fives Court," said I to myself, as 
 I turned uncomfortably in bed, " but a college of 
 scoundrelism, where every bully-ruffian in the land 
 may gain a fellowship ? What is the slang lan- 
 guage of the Fancy but a jargon by which fools 
 and knaves commune and understand each other, 
 and enjoy a kind of superiority over the unini- 
 tiated ? What is a boxing-match but an arena, 
 where the noble and the illustrious are jostled 
 into familiarity with the infamous and the vul- 
 gar ? What, in fact, is the Fancy itself, but a 
 chain of easy communication, extending from the 
 peer down to the pickpocket, through the me- 
 dium of which a man of rank may find he has 
 shaken hands, at three removes, with the mur- 
 derer on the gibbet ? — 
 
 " Enough ! " ejaculated I, thoroughly convinced 
 through the force of my philosophy, and the pain 
 of my bruises, — "I '11 have nothing more to do 
 with the Fancy." So when I had recovered from 
 
248 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 my victory, I turned my attention to softer 
 themes, and became a devoted admirer of the 
 ladies. Had I had more industry and ambition 
 in my nature, I might have worked my way to 
 the very height of fashion, as I saw many labo- 
 rious gentlemen doing around me. But it is a 
 toilsome, an anxious, and an unhappy life ; there 
 are few things so sleepless and miserable as your 
 cultivators of fashionable smiles. I was quite 
 content with that kind of society which forms the 
 frontiers of fashion, and may be easily taken pos- 
 session of. I found it a light, easy, productive 
 soil. I had but to go about and sow visiting- 
 cards, and I reaped a whole harvest of invitations. 
 Indeed, my figure and address were by no means 
 against me. It was whispered, too, among the 
 young ladies, that I was prodigiously clever, and 
 wrote poetry ; and the old ladies had ascertained 
 that I was a young gentleman of good family, 
 handsome fortune, and " great expectations." 
 
 I now was carried away by the hurry of gay 
 life, so intoxicating to a young man, and which a 
 man of poetical temperament enjoys so highly on 
 his first tasting of it ; that rapid variety of sen- 
 sations ; that whirl of brilliant objects ; that suc- 
 cession of pungent pleasures ! I had no time 
 for thought. I only felt. I never attempted to 
 write poetry ; my poetry seemed all to go off* by 
 transpiration. I lived poetry ; it was all a poet- 
 ical dream to me. A mere sensualist knows 
 nothing of the delights of a splendid metropolis. 
 He lives in a round of animal gratifications and 
 heartless habits. But to a young man of poeti- 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 249 
 
 cal feelings, it is an ideal world, a scene of en- 
 chantment and delusion ; his imagination is in 
 perpetual excitement, and gives a spiritual zest 
 to every pleasure. 
 
 A season of town life, however, somewhat so- 
 bered me of my intoxication ; or rather I was 
 rendered more serious by one of my old com- 
 plaints — I fell in love. It was with a very 
 pretty, though a very haughty fair one, who had 
 come to London under the care of an old maiden 
 aunt to enjoy the pleasures of a winter in town, 
 and to get married. There was not a doubt of 
 her commanding a choice of lovers ; for she had 
 long been the belle of a little cathedral city, and 
 one of the poets of the place had absolutely cele- 
 brated her beauty in a copy of Latin verses. 
 The most extravagant anticipations were formed 
 by her friends of the sensation she would pro- 
 duce. It was feared by some that she might be 
 precipitate in her choice, and take up with some 
 inferior title. The aunt was determined nothing 
 should gain her under a lord. 
 
 Alas ! with all her charms, the young lady 
 lacked the one thing needful — she had no money. 
 So she waited in vain for duke, marquis, or earl, 
 to throw himself at her feet. As the season 
 waned, so did the lady's expectations ; when, just 
 towards the close, I made my advances. 
 
 I was most favorably received by both the 
 young lady and her aunt. It is true, I had no 
 title ; but then such great expectations. A 
 marked preference was immediately shown me 
 over two rivals, the younger son of a needy bar- 
 
250 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 onet, and a captain of dragoons on half-pay. I did 
 not absolutely take the held in form, for I was 
 determined not to be precipitate ; but I drove 
 my equipage frequently through the street in 
 which she lived, and was always sure to see her 
 at the window, generally with a book in her 
 hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and sent 
 her a long copy of verses ; anonymously, to be 
 sure, but she knew my handwriting. Both aunt 
 and niece, however, displayed the most delightful 
 ignorance on the subject. The young lady showed 
 them to me ; wondered who they could be writ- 
 ten by ; and declared there was nothing in this 
 world she loved so much as poetry ; while the 
 maiden aunt would put her pinching spectacles 
 on her nose, and read them, with blunders in 
 sense and sound, excruciating to an author's ears ; 
 protesting there was nothing equal to them in the 
 whole Elegant Extracts. 
 
 The fashionable season closed without my ad- 
 venturing to make a declaration, though I cer- 
 tainly had encouragement. I was not perfectly 
 sure that I had effected a lodgment in the young 
 lady's heart ; and, to tell the truth, the aunt over- 
 did her part, and was a little too extravagant in 
 her liking of me. I knew that maiden aunts 
 were not to be captivated by the mere personal 
 merits of their nieces' admirers ; and I wanted 
 to ascertain how much of all this favor I owed 
 to driving an equipage, and having great expec- 
 tations. 
 
 I had received many hints how charming their 
 native place was during the summer months ; 
 
BUCKTHORN E, \ 
 
 what pleasant society they had ; and what bea 
 tiful drives about the neighborhood. They haa 
 not, therefore, returned home long, before I made 
 my appearance in dashing style, driving down 
 the principal street. The very next morning I 
 was seen at prayers, seated in the same pew with 
 the reigning belle. Questions were whispered 
 about the aisles, after- service, " Who is he ? " 
 and " What is he ? " And the replies were as 
 usual, " A young gentleman of good family and 
 fortune, and great expectations." 
 
 I was much struck with the peculiarities of 
 this reverend little place. A cathedral, with its 
 dependencies and regulations, presents a picture 
 of other times, and of a different order of things. 
 It is a rich relic of a more poetical age. There 
 still linger about it the silence and solemnity of 
 the cloister. In the present instance especially, 
 where the cathedral was large, and the town 
 small, its influence Avas the more apparent. The 
 solemn pomp of the service, performed twice a 
 day, with the grand intonations of the organ, and 
 the voices of the choir swelling through the mag- 
 nificent pile, diffused, as it were, a perpetual Sab- 
 bath over the place. This routine of solemn cer- 
 emony continually going on, independent, as it 
 wei-e, of the world ; this daily offering of melody 
 and praise, ascending like incense from the altar, 
 had a powerful effect upon my imagination. 
 
 The aunt introduced me to her coterie, formed 
 of families connected with the cathedral, and 
 others of moderate fortune, but high respectabil- 
 ity, who had nestled themselves under the wings 
 
252 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of the cathedral to enjoy good society at moder- 
 ate expense. It was a highly aristocratical little 
 circle ; scrupulous in its intercourse with others, 
 and jealously cautious about admitting anything 
 common or unclean. 
 
 It seemed as if the courtesies of the old school 
 had taken refuge here. There were continual 
 interchanges of civilities, . and of small presents 
 of fruits and delicacies, and of complimentary 
 crow-quill billets ; for in a quiet, well-bred com- 
 munity like this, living entirely at ease, little 
 duties, and little amusements, and little civilities, 
 filled up the day. I have seen, in the midst of a 
 warm day, a corpulent, poAvdered footman, issuing 
 from the iron gateway of a stately mansion, and 
 traversing the little place with an air of mighty 
 import, bearing a small tart on a large silver 
 salver. 
 
 Their evening amusements were sober and 
 primitive. They assembled at a moderate hour ; 
 the young ladies played music, and the old ladies, 
 whist ; and at an early hour they dispersed. 
 There was no parade on these social occasions. 
 Two or three old sedan cliairs were in constant 
 activity, though the greater part made their exit 
 in clogs and pattens, with a footman or waiting- 
 maid carrying a lantern in advance ; and long 
 before midnight the clank of pattens and gleam 
 of lanterns about the quiet little place told that 
 the evening party had dissolved. 
 
 Still I did not feel myself altogether so much 
 at my ease as I had anticipated considering the 
 smallness of the place. I found it very different 
 
' BUCKTBORNE. 253 
 
 from other country places, and that it was not so 
 easy to make a dash there. Sinner that I was ! 
 the very dignity and decorum of the little com- 
 munity was rebuking to me. I feared my past 
 idleness and folly would rise in judgment against 
 me. I stood in awe of the dignitaries of the cathe- 
 dral, whom I saw mingling familiarly in society. 
 I became nervous on this point. The creak of a 
 prebendary's shoes, sounding from one end of a 
 quiet street to another, was appalling to me ; and 
 the sight of a shovel hat was sufficient at any 
 time to check me in the midst of my boldest po- 
 etical soarings. 
 
 And then the good aunt could not be quiet, 
 but would cry me up for a genius, and extol my 
 poetry to every one. So long as she confined 
 this to the ladies it did well enough, because they 
 were able to feel and appreciate poetry of the 
 new romantic school. Nothing would content 
 the good lady, however, but she must read my 
 verses to a prebendary, who had long been the 
 undoubted critic of the place. He was a thin, 
 delicate old gentleman, of mild, polished manners, 
 steeped to the lips in classic lore, and not easily 
 put in a heat by any hot-blooded poetry of the 
 day. He listened to my most fervid thoughts 
 and fervid words without a glow ; shook his head 
 with a smile, and condemned them as not being 
 according to Horace, as not being legitimate 
 poetry. 
 
 Several old ladies, who had heretofore been 
 my admirers, shook their heads at hearing this : 
 they could not think of praising any poetry that 
 
254 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 was not according to Horace ; and as to anj^hing 
 illegitimate, it was not to be countenanced in 
 good society. Thanks to my stars, however, I 
 liad youth and novelty on my side : so the young 
 ladies persisted in admiring my poetry in despite 
 of Horace and illegitimacy. 
 
 I consoled myself with the good opinion of the 
 young ladies, whom I had always found to be the 
 best judges of poetry. As to these old scholars, 
 said I, they are apt to be chilled by being steeped 
 in the cold fountains of the classics. Still I felt 
 that I was losing ground, and that it was neces- 
 sary to bring matters to a point. Just at this time 
 there was a public ball, attended by the best so- 
 ciety of the place, and by the gentry of the neigh- 
 borhood : I took great pains with my toilet on 
 the occasion, and I had never looked better. I 
 had determined that night to make my grand as- 
 sault on the heart of the young lady, to battle it 
 with all my forces, and the next morning to de- 
 mand a surrender in due form. 
 
 I entered the ball-room amidst a buzz and 
 flutter, which generally took place among the 
 young ladies on my appearance. I was in fine 
 spirits ; for, to tell the truth, I had exhilarated 
 myself by a cheerful glass of wine on the occa- 
 sion. I talked, and rattled, and said a thousand 
 silly things, slap-dash, with all the confidence of 
 a man sure of his auditors, — and everything 
 had its effect. 
 
 In the midst of my triumph I observed a little 
 knot gathering together in the upper part of the 
 room. By degrees it increased. A tittering 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 255 
 
 broke out here and there, and glances were cast 
 round at me, and then there would be fresh tit- 
 tering. Some of the young ladies would hurry 
 away to distant parts of the room, and whisper 
 to their friends. Wherever they went, there 
 was still this tittering and glancing at me. I did 
 not know what to make of all this. I looked at 
 myself from head to foot, and peeped at my back 
 in a glass, to see if anything was odd about my 
 person ; any awkward exposure, any whimsical 
 tag hanging out ; — no — everything was right 
 — I was a perfect picture. I determined that it 
 must be some choice saying of mine that was 
 bandied about in this knot of merry beauties, and 
 I determined to enjoy one of my good things in 
 the rebound. I stepped gently, therefore, up the 
 room, smiling at every one as I passed, who, I 
 must say, all smiled and tittered in retiirn. I 
 approached the group, smirking and perking my 
 chin, like a man who is full of pleasant feeling, 
 and sure of being well received. The cluster of 
 little belles opened as I advanced. 
 
 Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive 
 in the midst of them but my early and torment- 
 ing flame, the everlasting Sacharissa ! She was 
 grown, it is true, into the fall beauty of woman- 
 hood ; but showed, by the provoking merriment 
 of her countenance, that she perfectly recollected 
 me, and the ridiculous flagellations of which she 
 had twice been the cause. 
 
 I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridi- 
 cule bursting over me. My crest fell. The 
 flame of love went suddenly out, or was extin- 
 
256 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 guished by overwhelming shame. How I got 
 down the room I know not ; I fancied every one 
 tittering at me. Just as I reached the door, I 
 caught a glance of my mistress and her aunt lis- 
 tening to the whispers of Sacharissa, the old lady 
 raising her hands and eyes, and the face of the 
 young one lighted up, as I imagined, with scorn 
 ineffable. I paused to see no more, but made 
 two steps from the top of the stairs to the bottom. 
 The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a re- 
 treat, and did not feel the blushes cool from my 
 tingling cheeks, until I had lost sight of the old 
 towers of the cathedral. 
 
 I now returned to town thoughtful and crest- 
 fallen. My money was nearly spent, for I had 
 lived freely and without calculation. The dream 
 of love was over, and the reign of pleasure at an 
 end. I determined to retrench while I had yet 
 a trifle left : so selling my equipage and horses 
 for half their value, I quietly put the money in 
 my pocket, and turned pedestrian. I had not a 
 doubt that, with my great expectations, I could 
 at any time raise funds, either on usury or by 
 borrowing; but I was principled against both, 
 and resolved by strict economy to make my slen- 
 der purse hold out until my uncle should give up 
 the ghost, or rather the estate. I stayed at home 
 therefore and read, Jmd would have written, but 
 I had already suffered too much from my poetical 
 productions, which had generally involved me in 
 some ridiculous scrape. I gradually acquired a 
 rusty look, and had a straitened money-borrowing 
 air, upon which the world began to shy me. I 
 
BUCKTHORNE, 257 
 
 have never felt disposed to quarrel with the 
 world for its conduct ; it has always used me 
 well. When I have been flush and gay, and 
 disposed for society, it has caressed me ; and 
 when I have been pinched and reduced, and 
 wished to be alone, why, it has left me alone ; 
 and what more could a man desire ? Take my 
 word for it, this world is a more obliging world 
 than people generally represent it. 
 
 Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my 
 retirement, and my studiousness, I received news 
 that my uncle was dangerously ill. I hastened 
 on the wings of an heir's affections to receive his 
 dying breath and his last testament. I found 
 him attended by his faithful valet, old Iron John ; 
 by the woman who occasionally worked about 
 the house, and by the foxy-headed boy, young 
 Orson, whom I had occasionally hunted about the 
 park. Iron John gasped a kind of asthmatical 
 salutation as I entered the room, and received me 
 with something almost like a smile of welcome. 
 The woman sat blubbering at the foot of the 
 bed ; and the foxy -headed Orson, who had now 
 grown up to be a lubberly lout, stood gazing in 
 stupid vacancy at a distance. 
 
 My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The 
 chamber was without fire, or any of the comforts 
 of a sick-room. The cobwebs flaunted from the 
 ceiling. The tester was covered with dust, and 
 the curtains were tattered. From underneath the 
 bed peeped out one end of his strong box. 
 Against the wainscot were suspended rusty blun- 
 derbusses, horse - pistols, and a cut - and - thrust 
 17 
 
258 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 sword, with which he had fortified his room to 
 defend his life and treasure. He had employed 
 no physician during his illness ; and from the 
 scanty relics lying on the table, seemed al- 
 most to have denied himself the assistance of 
 a cook. 
 
 When I entered the room, he was lying 
 motionless ; his eyes fixed and his mouth open : 
 at the first look I thought him a corpse. The 
 noise of my entrance made him turn his head. 
 At the sight of me a ghastly smile came over his 
 face, and his glazing eye gleamed with satisfac- 
 tion. It was the only smile he had ever given 
 me, and it went to my heart. " Poor old man ! " 
 thought I, "why should you force me to leave 
 you thus desolate, when I see that my presence 
 has the power to cheer you ? " 
 
 " Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and 
 in a low gasping voice, — "I am glad you are 
 come. I shall now die with satisfaction. Look," 
 said he, raising his withered hand, and pointing, 
 — " look in that box on the table : you will find 
 that I have not forgotten you." 
 
 I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears 
 stood in my eyes. I sat down by his bedside, 
 and watched him, but he never spoke again, 
 My presence, however, gave him evident satisfac- 
 tion ; for every now and then, as he looked to 
 me, a vague smile would come over his visage, 
 and he would feebly point to the sealed box on 
 the table. As the day wore away, his life ap- 
 peared to wear away with it. Towards sunset 
 his head sank on the bed, and lay motionless, his 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 259 
 
 eyes grew glazed, his mouth remained open, and 
 thus he gradually died. 
 
 I could not but feel shocked at this absolute 
 extinction of my kindred. I dropped a tear of 
 real sorrow over this strange old man, who had 
 thus reserved the smile of kindness to his death- 
 bed, — like an evening sun after a gloomy day, 
 just shining out to set in darkness. Leaving the 
 corpse in charge of the domestics, I retired for 
 the night. 
 
 It was a rough night. The winds seemed as 
 if singing my uncle's requiem about the mansion, 
 and the bloodhounds howled without, as if they 
 knew of the death of their old master. Iron 
 John almost grudged me the tallow candle to 
 burn in my apartment, and light up its dreariness, 
 so accustomed had he been to starveling economy. 
 I could not sleep. The recollection of my uncle's 
 dying-scene, and the dreary sounds about the 
 house, affected my mind. These, however, were 
 succeeded by plans for the future, and I lay 
 awake the greater part of the night, indulging 
 the poetical anticipation how soon I should make 
 these old walls ring with cheerful life, and restore 
 the hospitality of my mother's ancestors. 
 
 My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. 
 I knew that nobody respected his memory, and I 
 was determined none should be summoned to 
 sneer over his funeral, and make merry at his 
 grave. He was buried in the church of the 
 neighboring village, though it was not the bury- 
 ing-place of his race ; but he had expressly en- 
 joined that he should not be buried with bis 
 
260r TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 family : he had quarrelled with most of them 
 when living, and he carried his resentments even 
 into the grave. 
 
 I defrayed the expenses of his funeral out of 
 my own purse, that I might have done with the 
 undertakers at once, and clear the ill-omened 
 birds from the premises. I invited the parson 
 of the parish, and the lawyer from the village, to 
 attend at the house the next morning, and hear 
 the reading of the will. I treated them to an 
 excellent breakfast, a profusion that had not been 
 seen at the house for many a year. As soon as 
 the breakfast things were removed, I summoned 
 Iron John, the woman, and the boy, for I was 
 particular in having every one present and pro- 
 ceeding regularly. The box was placed on the 
 table — all was silence — I broke the seal — 
 raised the lid, and beheld — not the will — but 
 my accursed poem of Doubting Castle and Giant 
 Despair ! 
 
 Could any mortal have conceived that this old 
 withered man, so taciturn, and apparently so lost 
 to feeling, could have treasured up for years the 
 thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish him 
 with such cruel ingenuity ? I now could account 
 for his dying smile, the only one he had ever 
 given me. He had been a grave man all his life, 
 it was strange that he should die in the enjoy- 
 ment of a joke, and it was hard that that joke 
 should be at my expense. 
 
 The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to 
 comprehend the matter. " Here must be some 
 mistake," said the lawyer; "there is no will 
 here." 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 261 
 
 " Oh ! " said Iron John, creaking forth his 
 rusty jaws, " if it is a will you are looking for, I 
 believe I can find one." 
 
 He retired with the same singular smile with 
 which he had greeted me on my arrival, and 
 which I now apprehended boded me no good. 
 In a little while he returned with a will perfect 
 at all points, properly signed and sealed, and wit- 
 nessed and worded with horrible correctness ; in 
 which the deceased left large legacies to Iron 
 John and his daughter, and the residue of his 
 fortune to the foxy-headed boy, who, to my utter 
 astonishment, was his son by this very woman ; 
 he having married her privately, and, as I verily 
 believe, for no other purpose than to have an 
 heir, and so balk my father and his issue of the 
 inheritance. There was one little proviso, in 
 which he mentioned, that, having discovered his 
 nephew to have a pretty turn for poetry, he pre- 
 sumed he had no occasion for wealth ; he recom- 
 mended him, however, to the patronage of his 
 heir, and requested that he might have a garret, 
 rent-free, in Doubting Castle. 
 
GRAVE EEFLECTIONS OF A DISAP- 
 POINTED MAN. 
 
 ?Pv. BUCKTHORNE had paused at the 
 death of his uncle, and the downfall of 
 his great expectations, which formed, as 
 he said, an epoch in his history ; and it was not 
 until some little time afterwards, and in a very- 
 sober mood, that he resumed his party-colored 
 narrative. 
 
 After leaving the remains of my defunct uncle, 
 said he, when the gate closed between me and 
 what was once to have been mine, I felt thrust 
 out naked into the world, and completely aban- 
 doned to fortune. What was to become of me ? 
 I had been brought up to nothing but expecta- 
 tions, and they had all been disappointed. I had 
 no relations to look to for counsel or assistance. 
 The world seemed all to have died away from 
 me. Wave after wave of relationship had ebbed 
 oiF, and I was left a mere hulk upon the strand. 
 I am not apt to be greatly cast down, but at this 
 time I felt sadly disheartened. I could not real- 
 ize my situation, nor form a conjecture how I 
 was to get forward. I was now to endeavor to 
 make money. The idea was new and strange to 
 
A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 268 
 
 me. It was like being asked to discover the 
 philosopher's stone. I had never thought about 
 money otherwise than to put my hand into my 
 pocket and find it ; or if there were none there, 
 to wait until a new supply came from home. I 
 had considered life as a mere space of time to be 
 filled up with enjoyments ; but to have it por- 
 tioned out into long hours and days of toil, merely 
 that I might gain bread to give me strength to 
 toil on — to labor but for the purpose of perpetu- 
 ating a life of labor, was new and appalling to 
 me. This may appear a very simple matter to 
 some ; but it will be understood by every unlucky 
 wight in my predicament, who has had the mis- 
 fortune of being born to great expectations. 
 
 I passed several days in rambling about the 
 scenes of my boyhood ; partly because I abso- 
 lutely did not know what to do with myself, and 
 partly because I did not know that I should ever 
 see them again. I clung to them as one clings 
 to a wreck, though he knows he must eventually 
 cast himself loose and swim for his life. I sat 
 down on a little hill within sight of my paternal 
 home, but I did not venture to approach it, for I 
 felt compunction at the thoughtlessness with which 
 I had dissipated my patrimony ; yet was I to 
 blame when I had the rich possessions of my cur- 
 mudgeon of an uncle in expectation ? 
 
 The new possessor of the place was making 
 great alterations. Th^ house was almost rebuilt. 
 The trees which stood about it were cut down ; 
 my mother's flower-garden was thrown into a 
 lawn, — all was undergoing a change. I turned 
 
264 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 my back upon it with a sigh, and rambled to 
 another part of the country. 
 
 How thoughtful a little adversity makes one ! 
 As I came within sight of the schoolhouse where 
 I had so often been flogged in the cause of wis- 
 dom, you would hardly have recognized the 
 truant boy, who, but a few years since, had 
 eloped so heedlessly from its walls. I leaned 
 over the paling of the play-ground, and watched 
 the scholars at their games, and looked to see if 
 there mig-ht not be some urchin amono' them like 
 I was once, full of gay dreams about life and the 
 world. The play-ground seemed smaller than 
 when I used to sport about it. The house and 
 park, too, of the neighboring squire, the father 
 of the cruel Sacharissa, had shrunk in size ^id 
 diminished in magnificence. The distant hills no 
 longer appeared so far off, and, alas ! no longer 
 awakened ideas of a fairy land beyond. 
 
 As I was rambling pensively through a neigh- 
 boring meadow, in which I had many a time gath- 
 ered primroses, I met the very pedagogue who 
 had been the tyrant and dread of my boyhood. 
 I had sometimes vowed to myself, when suffering 
 under his rod, that I would have my revenge if, . 
 ever I met him when I had grown to be a man. 
 The time had come ; - but I had no disposition to 
 keep my vow. The few years which had matured 
 me into a vigorous man had shrunk him into 
 decrepitude. He appeared to have had a para- 
 lytic stroke. I looked at him, and wondered that 
 this poor helpless mortal could have been an ob- 
 ject of terror to me ; that I should have watched 
 
A DISAPPOINTED MAN, 265 
 
 with anxiety the glance of that faihng eye, or 
 dreaded the power of that trembling hand. He 
 tottered feebly along the path, and had some dif- 
 ficulty in getting over a stile. I ran and assisted 
 him. He looked at me with surprise, but did 
 not recognize me, and made a low bow pf hu- 
 mility and thanks. I had no disposition to make 
 myself known, for I felt that I had nothing to 
 boast of The pains he had taken, and the pains 
 he had inflicted, had been equally useless. His 
 repeated predictions were fully verified, and I felt 
 that little Jack Buckthorne, the idle boy, had 
 grown to be a very good-for-nothing man. 
 
 This is all very comfortless detail ; but as I 
 have told you of my follies, it is meet that I show 
 you how for once I was schooled for them. The 
 most tlioughtless of mortals will some time or 
 other have his day of gloom, when he will be 
 compelled to reflect. 
 
 I felt on this occasion as if I had a kind of 
 penance to perform, and I made a pilgrimage in 
 expiation of my past levity. Having passed a 
 night at Leamington, I set off by a private path, 
 which leads up a hill through a grove and across 
 quiet fields, till I came to the small village, or 
 rather hamlet, of Lenington. I sought the vil- 
 lage^ church. It is an old low edifice of gray 
 stone, on the brow of a small hill, looking over 
 fertile fields, toAvards where the proud towers of 
 Warwick castle lift themselves against the distant 
 horizon. 
 
 A part of the churchyard is shaded by large 
 trees. Under one of them my mother lay buried. 
 
266 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 You have no doubt thought me a light, heartless 
 being. I thought myself so ; but there are mo- 
 ments of adversity which let us into some feelings 
 of our nature to which we might otherwise re- 
 main perpetual strangers. 
 
 I sought my mother's grave ; the weeds were 
 already matted over it, and the tombstone was 
 half hid among nettles. I cleared them away, 
 and they stung my hands ; but I was heedless of 
 the pain, for my heart ached too severely. I sat 
 down on the grave, and red over and over again 
 the epitaph on the stone. 
 
 It was simple, — but it was true. I had writ- 
 ten it myself. I had tried to write a poetical epi- 
 taph, but in vain ; my feelings refused to utter 
 themselves in rhyme. My heart had gradually 
 been filling during my lonely wanderings ; it was 
 now charged to the brim, and overflowed. I sank 
 upon the grave, and buried my face in the tall 
 grass, and wept like a child. Yes, I wept in man- 
 hood upon the grave, as I had in infancy upon the 
 bosom of my mother. ( Alas ! how little do we ap- 
 preciate a mother's tenderness while living ! how 
 heedless are we in youth of all her anxieties and 
 kindness K SBut when she is dead and gone ; 
 when the cares and coldness of the world come 
 withering to our hearts ; when we find how hard 
 it is to meet with true sympathy ; how few love 
 us for ourselves ; how few will befriend us in 
 our misfortunes ; then it is that we think of the 
 mother we have lost./ It is true I had always 
 loved my mother,"evM in my most heedless days ; 
 but I felt how inconsiderate and ineffectual had 
 
A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 267 
 
 been my love. My heart melted as I retraced 
 the days of infancy, when I was led by a moth- 
 er's hand, and rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, 
 and was mthout care or sorrow. " O my 
 mother ! " exclaimed I, burying my face again in 
 the grass of the grave ; " oh that I were once 
 more by your side ; sleeping never to wake 
 again on the cares and troubles of this world." 
 
 I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, 
 and the violence of my emotion gradually ex- 
 hausted itself. It was a hearty, honest, natural 
 discharge of grief which had been slowly accu- 
 mulating, and gave me wonderful relief. I rose 
 from the grave as if I had been offering up a 
 sacrifice, and I felt as if that sacrifice had been 
 accepted. 
 
 I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, 
 one by one, the weeds from her grave : the tears 
 trickled more slowly down my cheeks, and ceased 
 to be bitter. It was a comfort to think that she 
 had died before sorrow and poverty came upon 
 her child and all his great expectations were 
 blasted. 
 
 I leaned my cheek upon my hand, and looked 
 upon the landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed 
 me. Tlie whistle of a peasant from an adjoin- 
 ing field came cheerily to my ear. I seemed to 
 respire hope and comfort with the free air that 
 whispered through the leaves, and played lightly 
 with my hair, and dried the tears upon my cheek. 
 A lark, rising from the field before me, and leav- 
 ing as it were a stream of song behind him as he 
 rose, lifted my fancy with him. He hovered in 
 
268 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 the air just above the place where the towers of 
 Warwick castle marked the horizon, and seemed 
 as if fluttering with delight at his own melodj. 
 " Surely," thought I, " if there was such a thing as 
 transmigration of souls, this might be taken for 
 some poet let loose from earth, but still revelling 
 in song, and carolling about fair fields and lordly 
 towers." 
 
 At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of 
 poetry rose within me. A thought sprang at 
 once into my mind. — '' I vn\[ become an au- 
 thor ! " said I. " I have hitherto indulged in 
 poetry as a pleasure, and it has brought me 
 nothing but pain ; let me try what it will do 
 when I cultivate it with devotion as a pursuit." 
 
 The resolution thus suddenly aroused within me 
 heaved a load from off ray heart. I felt a confi- 
 dence in it from the very place where it was 
 formed. It seemed as though my mother's spirit 
 whispered it to me from the grave. " I will 
 henceforth," said I, " endeavor to be all that she 
 fondly imagined me. I will endeavor to act as if 
 she were witness of my actions ; I will endeavor 
 to acquit myself in such a manner that, when I 
 revisit her grave, there may at least be no com- 
 punctious bitterness with my tears." 
 
 I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn 
 attestation of my vow. I plucked some primroses 
 that were growing there, and laid them next my 
 heart. I left the churchyard witli rny spirit once 
 more lifted up, and set out a third time for Lon- 
 don in the character of an author. 
 
 Here my companion made a pause, and I 
 
A DISAPPOINTED MAN, 269 
 
 waited in anxious suspense, hoping to have a 
 whole volume of literary life unfolded to me. 
 He seemed, however, to have sunk into a fit of 
 pensive musing, and when, after some time, I 
 gently roused him by a question or two as to his 
 literary career, 
 
 " No," said he, smiling : " over that part of my 
 story I wish to leave a cloud. Let the myste- 
 ries of the craft rest sacred for me. Let those 
 who have never ventured into the republic of 
 letters still look upon it as a fairy land. Let 
 them suppose the author the very being they pic- 
 ture him from his works — I am not the man to 
 mar their illusion. I am not the man to hint, 
 while one is admiring the silken web of Persia, 
 that it has been spun from the entrails of a mis- 
 erable worm." 
 
 " Well," said I, " if you will tell me nothing of 
 your literary history, let me know at least if you 
 have had any further intelligence from Doubting 
 Castle." 
 
 " Willingly," replied he, " though I have but 
 little to communicate." 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 
 
 LONG time elapsed, said Buckthorne, 
 without my receiving any accounts of 
 my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I 
 felt so much soreness on the subject, that I 
 wished, if possible, to shut it from my thoughts. 
 At length, chance took me to that part of the 
 country, and I could not refrain from making 
 some inquiries. 
 
 I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, 
 self-willed, and clownish. His ignorance and 
 clownishness had prevented his mingling with the 
 neighboring gentry : in spite of his great fortune, 
 he had been unsuccessful in an attempt to gain 
 the hand of the daughter of the parson, and had 
 at length shrunk into the limits of such a society 
 as a mere man of wealth can gather in a country- 
 neighborhood. 
 
 He kept horses and hounds, and a roaring 
 table, at which were collected the loose livers of 
 the country round, and the shabby gentlemen of 
 a village in the vicinity. When he could get no 
 other company, he would smoke and drink with 
 his own servants, who in turn fleeced and despised 
 him. Still, with all his apparent prodigality, he 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 271 
 
 had a leaven of the old man in him, which showed 
 that he was his trueborn son. He lived far 
 within his income, was vulgar in his expenses, 
 and penurious in many points wherein a gentle- 
 man would be extravagant. His house-servants 
 were obliged occasionally to work on his estate, 
 and part of the pleasure-grounds were ploughed 
 up and devoted to husbandry. 
 
 His table, though plentiful, was coarse ; his 
 liquors were strong and bad ; and more ale and 
 whiskey were expended in his establishment than 
 generous wine. He was loud and arrogant at 
 his own table, and exacted a rich man's homage 
 from his vulgar and obsequious guests. 
 
 As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had 
 grown impatient of the tight hand his own grand- 
 son kept over him, and quarrelled with him soon 
 after he came to the estate. The old man had 
 retired to the neighboring village, where he lived 
 on the legacy of his late master, in a small cot- 
 tage, and was as seldom seen out of it as a rat 
 out of his hole in daylight. 
 
 The cub, like Calaban, seemed to have an in- 
 stinctive attachment to his mother. She resided 
 with him, but, from long habit, she acted more as 
 a servant than as a mistress of the mansion ; for 
 she toiled in all the domestic drudgery, and was 
 oftener in the kitchen than the parlor. Such was 
 the information which I collected of my rival 
 cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed me out 
 of my expectations. 
 
 I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a 
 visit to this scene of my boyhood, and to get a 
 
272 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 peep at the odd kind of life that was passing 
 within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. 
 I determined to do so in disguise. My booby 
 cousin had never seen enough of me to be very 
 familiar with my countenance, and a few years 
 make a great difference betweeri youth and man- 
 hood. I understood he was a breeder of cattle, 
 and proud of his stock ; I dressed myself there- 
 fore as a substantial farmer, and with the assist- 
 ance of a red scratch that came low down on my 
 forehead, made a complete change in my physi- 
 ognomy. 
 
 It was past three o'clock when I arrived at 
 the gate of the park, and was admitted by an old 
 woman who was washing in a dilapidated build- 
 ing, which had once been a porter's lodge. I 
 advanced up the remains of a noble avenue, 
 many of the trees of which had been cut down 
 and sold for timber. The grounds were in 
 scarcely better keeping than during my uncle's 
 lifetime. The grass was overgrown with weeds, 
 and the trees wanted pruning and clearing of 
 dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the 
 lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the 
 fish-ponds. The road to the house bore very few 
 traces of carriage-wheels, as my cousin received 
 few visitors but such as came on foot or horse- 
 back, and never used a carriage himself. Once, 
 indeed, as I was told, he had the old family 
 carriage drawn out from among the dust and 
 cobwebs of the coach-house, and furbished up, 
 and driven, with his mother, to the village church, 
 to take formal possession of the family pew ; but 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE, 273 
 
 there was such hooting and laughing after them, 
 as they passed through the village, and such gig- 
 gling and bantering about the church-door, that 
 the pageant had never made a reappearance. 
 
 As I approached the house, a legion of whelps 
 sallied out, barking at me, accompanied by the 
 low howling, rather than barking, of two old 
 worn-out blood-hounds, which I recognized for the 
 ancient lifeguards of my uncle. The house had 
 still a neglected random appearance, though much 
 altered for the better since my last visit. Sev- 
 eral of the windows were broken and patched 
 up with boards, and others had been bricked up 
 to save taxes. I observed smoke, however, ris- 
 ing from the chimneys, a phenomenon rarely wit- 
 nessed in the ancient establishment. On passing 
 that part of the house where the dining-room was 
 situated, I heard the sound of boisterous merri- 
 ment, where three or four voices were talking at 
 once, and oaths and laughter were horribly min- 
 gled. 
 
 The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant 
 to the door, a tall hard-fisted country clown, with 
 a livery coat put over the under garments of a 
 ploughman. I requested to see the master of the 
 house, but was told that he was at dinner with 
 some " gemmen " of the neighborhood. I made 
 known my business, and sent in to know if I 
 might talk, with the master about his cattle, for I 
 felt a great desire to have a peep at him in his 
 orgies. 
 
 Word was returned that he was engaged with 
 company, and could not attend to business, but 
 18 
 
274 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 that if I would step in and take a drink of some- 
 thing, I was heartily welcome. I accordingly 
 entered the hall, where whips and hats of all 
 kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table ; 
 two or three clownish servants were lounging 
 about ; everything had a look of confusion and 
 carelessness. 
 
 The apartments through which I passed had 
 the same air of departed gentility and sluttish 
 housekeeping. The once rich curtains were faded 
 and dusty ; the furniture greased and tarnished. 
 On entering the dining-room, I found a number 
 of odd, vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen, seated 
 round a table, on which were bottles, decanters, 
 tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several dogs were 
 lying about the room, or sitj:ing and watching 
 -Jtheir masters, and one was gnawing a bone under 
 a side-table. The master of the feast sat at the 
 head of the board. He was greatly altered. 
 He had grown thickset and rather gummy, with a 
 fiery foxy head of hair. There was a singular 
 mixture of foolishness, arrogance, and conceit in 
 his countenance. He was dressed in a vulgarly 
 fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, 
 and green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, 
 a little flushed with drinking. The whole com- 
 pany stared at me with a whimsical muzzy look, 
 like men whose senses were a little obfuscated 
 by beer rather than wine. 
 
 My cousin, (God forgive me ! the appellation 
 sticks in my throat,) my cousin invited me with 
 awkward civility, or, as he intended it, condescen- 
 sion, to sit to the table and drink. We talked, as 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 275 
 
 usual, about the weather, the crops, politics, and 
 hard times. My cousin was a loud politician, 
 and evidently accustomed to talk without contra- 
 diction at his own table. He was amazingly 
 loyal, and talked of standing by the throne to the 
 last guinea, " as every gentleman of fortune 
 should do." The village exciseman, who was 
 half asleep, could just ejaculate " very true " to 
 everything he said. The conversation turned 
 upon cattle ; he boasted of his breed, his mode 
 of crossing it, and of the general management of 
 his estate. This unluckily drew out a history of 
 the place and of the family. He spoke of my 
 late uncle with the greatest irreverence, which I 
 could easily forgive. He mentioned my name, 
 and my blood began to boil. He described my 
 frequent visits to my uncle, when I was a lad, 
 and I found the varlet, even at that time, imp as 
 he was, had known that he was to inherit the 
 estate. He described the scene of my uncle's 
 death, and the opening of the will, with a degree 
 of coarse humor that I had not expected from 
 him ; and, vexed as I was, I could not help join- 
 ing in the laugh, for I have always relished a 
 joke, even though made at my own expense. 
 He went on to speak of my various pursuits, my 
 strolling freak ; and that somewhat nettled me ; at 
 length he talked of my parents. He ridiculed 
 my father ; I stomached even that, though with 
 great difficulty. He mentioned my mother with 
 a sneer, and in an instant he lay sprawling at my 
 feet. 
 
 Here a tumult succeeded : the table was 
 
276 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 nearly overturned ; bottles, glasses, and tankards 
 rolled crashing and clattering about the floor. 
 The company seized hold of both of us, to keep 
 us from doing any further mischief I struggled 
 to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My 
 cousin defied me to strip and fight him on the 
 lawn. I agreed, for I felt the strength of a giant 
 in me, and I longed to pommel him soundly. 
 
 Away then we were borne. A ring was 
 formed. I had a second assigned me in true 
 boxing style. My cousin, as he advanced to 
 fight, said something about his generosity in 
 showing me such fair play, when I had made 
 such an unprovoked attack upon him at his own 
 table. " Stop there," cried I, in a rage. " Un- 
 provoked ? know that I am John Buckthorne, and 
 you have insulted the memory of my mother." 
 
 The lout was suddenly struck by what I said : 
 he drew back, and thought for a moment. 
 
 " Nay, damn it," said he, " that 's too much — , 
 that 's clean another thing — I Ve a mother my- 
 self — and no one shall speak ill of her, bad as 
 she is." 
 
 He paused again : nature seemed to have a 
 rough struggle in his rude bosom. 
 
 " Damn it, cousin," cried he, " I 'fn sorry for 
 what I said. Thou 'st served me right in knock- 
 ing me down, and I like thee the better for it. 
 Here 's my hand : come and live with me, and 
 damn me but the best room in the house, and the | 
 best horse in the stable, shall be at thy service." 
 
 I declare to you I was strongly moved at this \ 
 instance of nature breaking her way through 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE, 
 
 277 
 
 such a lump of flesh. I forgave the fellow in a 
 moment his two heinous crimes, of having been 
 borii in wedlock, and inheriting my estate. I 
 shook the hand he offered me, to convince him 
 that I bore him no ill-will ; and then making my 
 way through the gaping crowd of toad-eaters, bade 
 adieu to my uncle's domains forever. — This is 
 the last I have seen or heard of my cousin, or of 
 the domestic concerns of Doubting Castle. 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 
 
 I S I was walking one morning with 
 Buckthorne near one of the principal 
 theatres, he directed my attention to a 
 group of those equivocal beings that may often 
 be seen hovering about the stage-doors of thea- 
 tres. They were marvellously ill-favored in 
 their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins ; 
 yet they wore their hats smartly on one side, and 
 had a certain knowing, dirty-gentlemanlike air, 
 which is common to the subalterns of the drama. 
 Buckthorne knew them well by early experience. 
 " These," said he, "• are the ghosts of departed 
 kings and heroes : fellows who sway sceptres and 
 truncheons ; command kingdoms and armies ; 
 and after giving away realms and treasures over 
 night, have scarce a shilling to pay for a break- 
 fast in the morning. Yet they have the true 
 vagabond abhorrence of all useful and industrious 
 employment ; and they have their pleasures too ; 
 one of which is to lounge in this way in the sun- 
 shine, at the stage-door, during rehearsals, and 
 make hackneyed theatrical jokes on all passers- 
 by. Nothing is more traditional and legitimate 
 than the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, old 
 sentiments old ranting, and old jokes, are handed 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER, 279 
 
 down from generation to generation ; and will 
 probably continue to be so until time shall be no 
 more. Every hanger-on of a theatre becomes a 
 wag by inheritance, and flourishes about at tap- 
 rooms and sixpenny clubs with the property jokes 
 of the green-room." 
 
 While amusing ourselves with reconnoitring 
 this group, we noticed one in particular who ap- 
 peared to be the oracle. He was a weather- 
 beaten veteran, a little bronzed by time and beer, 
 who had no doubt grown gray in the parts of 
 robbers, cardinals, Roman senators, and walking 
 noblemen. 
 
 " There is something in the set of that hat, 
 and the turn of that physiognomy, extremely 
 familiar to me," said Buckthorne. He looked a 
 little closer, — "I can]g[Ot be mistaken, that must 
 be my old brother of the truncheon, Flimsey, the 
 tragic hero of the Strolling Company." 
 
 It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed 
 evident signs that times went hard w4th him, he 
 was so finely and shabbily dressed. His coat 
 was somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord 
 Townly cut ; single breasted, and scarcely capa- 
 ble of meeting in front of his body, which, from 
 long intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and 
 robustness of a beer-barrel. He wore a pair of 
 dingy-white stockinet pantaloons, which had much 
 ado to reach his waistcoat, a great .quantity of 
 dirty cravat ; and a pair of old russet-colored 
 tragedy boots. 
 
 When his companions had dispersed, Buck- 
 thorne drew him aside, and made himself known 
 
280 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 to him. The tragic veteran could scarcely recog- 
 nize him, or believe that lie was really his quon- 
 dam associate, " little Gentleman Jack." Buck- 
 thorne invited him to a neighboring coffee-house 
 to talk over old times ; and in the course of a 
 little while we were put in possession of his his- 
 tory in brief. 
 
 He had continued to act the heroes in the 
 strolling company for some time after Buckthorne 
 had left it, or rather had been driven from it so 
 abruptly. At length the manager died, and the 
 troop was thrown into confusion. Every one 
 aspired to the crown, every one was for taking 
 the lead ; and the manager's widow, although a 
 tragedy queen, and a brimstone to boot, pro- 
 nounced it utterly impossible for a woman to 
 keep any control over such a set of tempestuous 
 rascallions. 
 
 " Upon this hint, I spoke," said Flimsey. I 
 stepped forward, and offered my services in the 
 most effectual way. They were accepted. In a 
 week's time I married the widow, and succeeded 
 to the throne. " The funeral baked meats did 
 coldly furnish forth the marriage table," as Ham- 
 let says. But the ghost of my predecessor never 
 haunted me ; and I inherited crowns, sceptres, 
 bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and 
 trumpery, not omitting the widow, without the 
 least molestation. 
 
 I now led a flourishing life of it; for our 
 company was pretty strong and attractive, and 
 as my wife and I took the heavy parts of tragedy, 
 it w^s a great saving to the treasury. We car- 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 281 
 
 ried off the palm from all the rival shows at 
 country fairs ; and I assure you we have even 
 drawn full houses, and been applauded by the 
 critics at Batlemy Fair itself, though we had 
 Astley's troop, the Irish giant, and " the death 
 of Nelson" in wax work, to contend against. 
 
 I soon began to experience, however, the cares 
 of command. I discovered that there were ca- 
 bals breaking out in the company, headed by the 
 clown, who you may recollect was a terribly 
 peevish, fractious fellow, and always in ill-humor. 
 I had a great mind to turn him off at once, but I 
 could not do without him, for there was not a 
 droller scoundrel on the stage. His very shape 
 was comic, for he had but to turn his back 
 upon the audience, and all the ladies were ready 
 to die with laughing. He felt his importance, 
 and took advantage of it. He would keep the 
 audience in a continual roar, and then come be- 
 hind the scenes, and fret and fume, and play the 
 very devil. I excused a great deal in him, how- 
 ever, knowing that comic actors are a little prone 
 to this infirmity of temper. 
 
 I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer 
 nature to struggle with, which was the affection 
 of my wife. As ill luck would have it, she took 
 it into her head to be very fond of me, and be- 
 came intolerably jealous. I could not keep a 
 pretty girl in the company, and hardly dared em- 
 brace an ugly one, even when my part required it. 
 I have known her reduce a fine lady to tatters, 
 " to very rags," as Hamlet says, in an instant, and 
 destroy one of the very best dresses in the ward- 
 
282 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 robe, merely because she saw me kiss her at the 
 side scenes ; though I give you my honor it was 
 done merely by way of rehearsal. 
 
 This was doubly annoying, because I have a 
 natural liking to pretty faces, and wish to have 
 them about me ; and because they are indispensa- 
 ble to the success of a company at a fair, where 
 one has to vie with so many rival theatres. But 
 when once a jealous wife gets a freak in her head, 
 there 's no use in talking of interest or anything 
 else. Egad, sir, I have more than once trembled 
 when, during a fit of her tantrums, she was play- 
 ing high tragedy, and flourishing her tin dagger 
 on the stage, lest she should give way to her hu- 
 mor, and stab some fancied rival in good earnest. 
 
 I went on better, however, than could be ex- 
 pected, considering the weakness of my flesh, and 
 the violence of my rib. I had not a much worse 
 time of it than old Jupiter, whose spouse was 
 continually ferreting out some new intrigue, and 
 making the heavens almost too hot to hold him. 
 
 At length, as luck would have it, we were per- 
 forming at a country fair, when I understood the 
 theatre of a neighboring town to be vacant. I 
 had always been desirous to be enrolled in a set- 
 tled company, and the height of my desire was 
 to get on a par with a brother-in-law, who was 
 manager of a regular theatre, and who had looked 
 down upon me. Here was an opportunity not 
 to be neglected. I concluded an agreement with 
 the proprietors, and in a few days opened the 
 theatre with great eclat. 
 
 Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER 288 
 
 " the high top -gallant of my joy," as Komeo says. 
 No longer a chieftain of a wandering tribe, but a 
 monarch of a legitimate throne, and entitled to 
 call even the great potentates of Covent Garden 
 and Drury Lane cousins. You, no doubt, think 
 my happiness complete. Alas, sir ! I was one 
 of the most uncomfortable dogs living. No one 
 knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a man- 
 ager ; but above all of a country manager. No 
 one can conceive the contentions and quarrels 
 within doors, the oppressions and vexations from 
 without. I was pestered with the bloods and 
 loungers of a country town, who infested my 
 green-room, and played the mischief among my 
 actresses. But there was no shaking them off. 
 It would have been ruin to affront them ; for 
 though troublesome friends, they would have 
 been dangerous enemies. Then there was the 
 village critics and village amateurs, who were 
 continually tormenting me with advice, and get- 
 ting into a passion if I would not take it ; espe- 
 cially the village doctor and the village attorney, 
 who had both been to London occasionally, and 
 knew what acting should be. 
 
 I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scape- 
 graces as ever were collected together within the 
 walls of a theatre. I had been obliged to com- 
 bine my original troop with some of the former 
 troop of the theatre, who were favorites of the 
 public. Here was a mixture that produced per- 
 petual ferment. They were all the time either 
 fighting or frolicking with each other, and I 
 scarcely know which mood was least troublesome. 
 
284 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 If tliey quarrelled, everything went wrong ; and 
 if they were friends, tliey were continually play- 
 ing off some prank upon each other, or upon me ; 
 for I had unhappily acquired among them the 
 character of an easy, good-natured fellow, — the 
 worst character that a manager can possess. 
 
 Their waggery at times drove me almost crazy ; 
 for there is nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed 
 tricks and hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran 
 band of theatrical vagabonds. I relished them 
 well enough, it is true, while I was merely one 
 of the company, but as a manager I found them 
 detestable. They were incessantly bringing some 
 disgrace upon the theatre by their tavern frolics 
 and their pranks about the country town. All 
 my lectures about the importance of keeping up 
 the dignity of the profession and the respectability 
 of the company were in vain. The villains could 
 not sympathize with the delicate feelings of a man 
 in station. They even trifled with the serious- 
 ness of stage business. I have had the whole 
 piece interrupted, and a crowded audience of at 
 least twenty -five pounds kept waiting, because the 
 actors had hid away the breeches of Rosalind ; 
 and have known Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to 
 deliver his soliloquy, with a dish-clout pinned to 
 his skirts. Such are the baleful consequences of 
 a manager's getting a character for good-nature. 
 
 I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great 
 actors who came down starring, as it is called, 
 from London. Of all baneful influences, keep me 
 from that of a London star. A first-rate actress 
 going the rounds of the country theatres is as bad 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 2Sb 
 
 as a blazing comet whisking about the heavens, 
 and shaking fire and plagues and discords from 
 its tail. 
 
 The moment one of these " heavenly bodies " 
 appeared in my horizon, I was sure to be in hot 
 water. My theatre was overrun by provincial 
 dandies, copper-washed counterfeits of Bond Street 
 loungers, who are always proud to be in the train 
 of an actress from town, and anxious to be 
 thought on exceeding good terms with her. It 
 was really a relief to me when some random 
 young nobleman would come in pursuit of the 
 bait, and awe all this small fry at a distance. I 
 have always felt myself more at ease with a 
 nobleman than with the dandy of a country 
 town. 
 
 And then the injuries I suffered in my per- 
 sonal dignity and my managerial authority from 
 the visits of these great London actors ! 'Sblood, 
 sir, I was no longer master of myself on my 
 throne. I was hectored and lectured in my own 
 green-room, and made an absolute nincompoop on 
 my own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute 
 and capricious as a London star at a country the- 
 atre. I dreaded the sight of all of them, and yet 
 if I did not engage them, I was sure of having 
 the public clamorous against me. They drew full 
 houses, and appeared to be making my fortime ; 
 but they swallowed up all the profits by their 
 insatiable demands. They were absolute tape- 
 worms to my little theatre ; the more it took in 
 the poorer it grew. They were sure to leave me 
 with an exhausted public, empty benches, and a 
 
286 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 score or two of affronts to settle among the towns- 
 folk, in consequence of misunderstandings about 
 the taking of places. 
 
 But the worst thing I had to undergo in my 
 managerial career was patronage. Oh, sir ! of 
 all things deliver me from the patronage of the 
 great people of a country town. It was my ruin. 
 You must know that this town, though small, 
 was filled with feuds, and parties, and great folks ; 
 being a busy little trading and manufacturing 
 town. The mischief was that their greatness 
 was of a kind not to be settled by reference to 
 the court calendar, or college of heraldry ; it was 
 therefore the most quarrelsome kind of greatness 
 in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell you 
 there are no feuds more furious than the frontier 
 feuds which take place in these " debatable lands " 
 of gentility. The most violent dispute that I 
 ever knew in high life was one which occurred at 
 a country town, on a question of precedence be- 
 tween the ladies of a manufacturer of pins and a 
 manufacturer of needles. 
 
 At the town where I was situated there were 
 perpetual altercations of the kind. The head 
 manufacturer's lady, for instance, v/as at daggers- 
 drawings with the head shopkeeper's, and both 
 were too rich and had too many friends to be 
 treated lightly. The doctor's and lawyer's ladies 
 held their heads still higher ; but they in turn 
 were kept in check by the wife of a country 
 banker, who kept her own carriage ; while a 
 masculine widow of cracked character and second- 
 handed fashion, who lived in a large house and 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER, 287 
 
 claimed to be in some way related to nobility, 
 looked down upon them all. To be sure, her 
 manners were not over-elegant, nor her fortune 
 over-large ; but then, sir, her blood — oh, her blood 
 carried it all hollow ; there was no withstanding 
 a woman with such blood in her veins. 
 
 After all, her claims to high connection were 
 questioned, and she had frequent battles for prec- 
 edence at balls and assemblies with some of the 
 sturdy dames of the neighborhood, who stood 
 upon their wealth and their virtue ; but then she 
 had two dashing daughters, who dressed as fine 
 as dragoons, and had as high blood as their 
 mother, and seconded her in everything ; so they 
 carried their point with high heads, and every- 
 body hated, abused, and stood in awe of the Fan- 
 tadlins. 
 
 Such was the state of the fashionable world 
 in this self-important little town. Unluckily, I 
 was not as well acquainted with its politics as I 
 should have been. I had found myself a stranger 
 and in great perplexities during my first season ; 
 I determined, therefore, to put myself under the 
 patronage of some powerful name, and thus to 
 take the field with the prejudices of the public in 
 my favor. I cast around my thoughts for that 
 purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. 
 Fantadlin. JSiO one seemed to me to have a more 
 absolute sway in the world of fashion. I had 
 always noticed that her party slammed the box- 
 door the loudest at the theatre ; and had the most 
 beaux attending on them, and talked and laughed 
 loudest during the performance ; and then the 
 
288 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 Miss Fantadlins wore always more featners and 
 flowers than any otber ladies ; and used quizzing- 
 glasses incessantly. The first evening of my the- 
 atre's reopening, therefore, was announced in 
 staring capitals on the play-bills, as under the 
 patronage of ** The Honorable Mrs. Fantadlin." 
 
 Sir, the whole community flew to arms ! the 
 banker's wife felt her dignity grievously insulted 
 at not having the preference ; her husband being 
 high bailiff and the richest man in the place. 
 She immediately issued invitations for a large 
 party, for the night of the performance, and asked 
 many a lady to it whom she never had noticed 
 before. Presume to patronize the theatre ! in- 
 sufferable ! And then for me to dare to term her 
 '^ The Honorable ! " What claim had she to the 
 title forsooth ? The fashionable world had long 
 groaned under the tyranny of the Fantadlins, and 
 were glad to make a common cause against this 
 new instance of assumption. Those, too, /who 
 had never before been noticed by the banker's 
 lady were ready to enlist in any quarrel fo^;* the 
 honor of her acquaintance. All minor feuds were 
 forgotten. The doctor's lady and the lawyer's 
 lady met together, and the manufacturer's lady 
 and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each other ; and 
 all, headed by the banker's lady, voted the thea- 
 tre a hore^ and determined to encourage nothing 
 but the Indian Jugglers and Mr. Walker's Eidou- 
 ranion. 
 
 Alas for poor Pillgariick ! I knew little the 
 mischief that was brewing against me. My box- 
 book remained blank ; the evening arrived ; but 
 
TEE STROLLING MANAGER. 289 
 
 no audience. The music struck up to a tolera- 
 ble pit and gallery, but no fashionables ! I peeped 
 anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time 
 passed away ; the play was retarded until pit and 
 gallery became furious ; and I had to raise the 
 curtain, and play my greatest part in tragedy to 
 " a beggarly account of empty boxes." 
 
 It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was 
 their custom, and entered like a tempest, with a 
 flutter of feathers and red shawls ; but they were 
 evidently disconcerted at finding they had no one 
 to admire and envy them, and were enraged at 
 this glaring defection of their fashionable follow- 
 ers. All the beau-monde were engaged at the 
 banker's lady's rout. They remained for some 
 time in solitary and uncomfortable state ; and 
 though they had the theatre almost to themselves, 
 yet, for the first time, they talked in whispers. 
 They left the house at the end of the first piece, 
 and I never saw them afterwards. 
 
 Such was the rock on which I split. I never 
 got Over the patronage of the Fantadlin family. 
 My house was deserted ; my actors grew discon- 
 tented because they were ill paid ; my door be- 
 came a hammering place for every bailifi* in the 
 country ; and my wife became more and more 
 shrewish and tormenting the more I wanted com- 
 fort. 
 
 I tried for a time the usual consolation of 
 a harassed and henpecked man ; I took to the 
 bottle, and tried to tipple away my cares, but in 
 vain. I don't mean to decry the bottle ; it is no 
 doubt an excellent remedy in many cases, but it 
 19 
 
290 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 did not answer in mine. It cracked my voice, 
 coppered my nose, but neither improved my wife 
 nor my affairs. My establishment became a scene 
 of confusion and peculation. I was considered a 
 ruined man, and of course fair game for every 
 one to pluck at, as every one plunders a sinking 
 ship. Day after day some of the troop deserted, 
 and, like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms 
 and accoutrements with them. In this manner 
 my wardrobe took legs and walked away, my 
 finery strolled all over the country, my swords 
 and daggers glittered in every barn, until, at last, 
 my tailor made " one fell swoop," and carried off 
 tliree dress-coats, half a dozen doublets, and nine- 
 teen pair of flesh-colored pantaloons. This was 
 the " be all and the end all " of my fortune. I 
 no longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought 
 I, since stealing is the order of the day, I '11 steal 
 too ; so I secretly gathered together the jewels 
 of my wardrobe, packed up a hero's dress in a 
 handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy 
 sword, and quietly stole off at dead of night, " the 
 bell then beating one," leaving my queen and 
 kingdom to the mercy of my rebellious subjects, 
 and my merciless foes the bumbailiffs. 
 
 Such, sir, was the ^' end of all my greatness." 
 I was heartily cured of all passion for governing, 
 and returned once more into the ranks. I had 
 for some time the usual run of an actor's life. I 
 played in various country theatres, at fairs, and 
 in barns ; sometimes hard pushed, sometimes 
 flush, until, on one occasion, I came within an 
 ace of making my fortune, and becoming one of 
 the wonders of tlie age. 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER, 291 
 
 I was playing the part of Richard the Third 
 in a country barn, and in my best style ; for, to 
 tell the truth, I was a little in liquor, and the 
 critics of the company always observed that I 
 played with most effect when I had a glass too 
 much. There was a thunder of applause when 
 I came to that part where Richard cries for " a 
 horse ! a horse ! " My cracked voice had always 
 a wonderful effect here ; it was like two voices 
 run into one ; you would have thought two men 
 had been calling for a horse, or that Richard had 
 called for two horses. And when I flung the 
 taunt at Richmond j " Richard is hoarse with call- 
 ing thee to arms," I thought the barn would have 
 come down about my ears with the raptures of 
 the audience. 
 
 The very next morning a person waited upon 
 me at my lodgings. I saw at once he was a gen- 
 tleman by his dress ; for he had a large brooch 
 in his bosom, thick rings on his fingers, and used 
 a quizzing-glass. And a gentleman he proved to 
 be ; for I soon ascertained that he was a kept au- 
 thor, or kind of literary tailor to one of the great 
 London theatres ; one who worked under the 
 manager's directions, and cut up and cut down 
 plays, and patched and pieced, and new faced, and 
 turned them inside out ; in short, he was one of 
 the readiest and greatest writers of the day. 
 
 He was now on a foraging excursion in quest 
 of something that might be got up for a prodigy. 
 The theatre, it seems, was in desperate condition 
 — nothing but a miracle could save it. He had 
 seen me act Richard the night before, and had 
 
292 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 pitched upon me for that miracle. I had a re- 
 markable bluster in my style and swagger in my 
 gait. I certainly differed from all other heroes 
 of the barn : so the thought struck the agent to 
 bring me out as a theatrical wonder, as the re- 
 storer of natural and legitimate acting, as the 
 only one who could understand and act Shak- 
 speare rightly. 
 
 When he opened his plan I shrunk from it 
 with becoming modesty, for well as I thought of 
 myself, I doubted my competency to such an un- 
 dertaking. 
 
 I hinted at my imperfect knowledge of Shak- 
 speare, having played his characters only after 
 mutilated copies, interlarded with a great deal of 
 my own talk by way of helping memory or 
 heightening the effect. 
 
 " So much the better ! " cried the gentleman 
 with rino-s on his fino;ers ; " so much the better ! 
 New readings, sir ! — new readings ! Don't study 
 a line — let us have Shakspeare after your own 
 fashion." 
 
 " But then my voice was cracked ; it could 
 not fill a London theatre." 
 
 " So much the better ! so much the better ! 
 The public is tired of intonation — the ore ro- 
 tundo has had its day. No, sir, your cracked 
 voice is the very thing ; — spit and splutter, and 
 snap and snarl, and ' play the very dog ' about 
 the stage, and you '11 be the making of us." 
 
 " But then," — I could not help blushing to 
 the end of my very nose as I said it, but I was 
 determined to be candid, — " but then," added I, 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER, 293 
 
 " there is one awkward circumstance : I have 
 an unlucky habit — my misfortunes, and the ex- 
 posures to which one is subjected in country 
 barns, have obliged me now and then to — to — 
 take a drop of something comfortable — and so 
 — and so " 
 
 " What ! you drink ? " cried the agent, eagerly. 
 
 I bowed my head in blushing acknowledg- 
 ment. 
 
 " So much the better ! so much the better ! 
 The irregularities of genius ! A sober fellow is 
 commonplace. The public like an actor that 
 drinks. Give me your hand, sir. You 're the 
 very man to make a dash with." 
 
 I still hung back with lingering diffidence, de- 
 claring myself unworthy of such praise. 
 
 " 'Sblood, man," cried he, " no praise at all. 
 You don't imagine / think you a wonder ; I only 
 want the public to think so. Nothing is so easy 
 as to gull the public, if you only set up a prod- 
 igy. Common talent anybody can measure by 
 common rule ; but a prodigy sets all rule and 
 measurement at defiance." 
 
 These words opened my eyes in an instant : 
 we now came to a proper understanding, less flat- 
 tering, it is true, to my vanity, but much more 
 satisfactory to my judgment. 
 
 It was agreed that I should make my appear- 
 ance before a London audience, as a dramatic 
 sun just bursting from behind the clouds : one 
 that was to banish all the lesser lights and false 
 fires of the stage. Every precaution was to be 
 taken to possess the public mind at every avenue. 
 
294 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 The pit was to be packed with sturdy clappers ; 
 the newspapers secured by vehement puffers ; 
 every theatrical resort to be haunted by hireling 
 talkers. In a word, every engine of theatrical 
 humbug was to be put in action. Wherever I 
 differed from former actors, it was to be main- 
 tained that I was right and they were wrong. 
 If I ranted, it was to be pure passion ; if I were 
 vulgar, it was to be pronounced a familiar touch 
 of nature ; if I made any queer blunder, it was 
 to be a new reading. If my voice cracked, or I 
 got out in my part, I was only to bounce, and 
 grin, and snarl at the audience, and make any 
 horrible grimace that came into my head, and my 
 admirers were to call it " a great point," and to 
 fall back and shout and yell with rapture. 
 
 " In short," said the gentleman with the quiz- 
 zing-glass, " strike out boldly and bravely : no 
 matter how or what you do, so that it be but odd 
 and strange. If you do but escape pelting the 
 first night, your fortune and the fortune of the 
 theatre is made." 
 
 I set off for London, therefore, in company 
 with the kept author, full of new plans and new 
 hopes. I was to be the restorer of Shakspeare 
 and Nature, and the legitimate drama ; my very 
 swagger was to be heroic, and my cracked voice 
 the standard of elocution. Alas, sir, my usual 
 luck attended me : before I arrived at the metrop- 
 olis a rival wonder had appeared ; a woman who 
 could dance the slack rope, and run up a cord 
 from the stage to the gallery with fireworks all 
 round her. She was seized on by the manager 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 295 
 
 with avidity. She was the saving of the great 
 national theatre for the season. Nothing was 
 talked of but Madame Saqui's fireworks and 
 flesh-colored pantaloons ; and Nature, Shakspeare, 
 the legitimate drama, and poor Pillgarlick, were 
 completely left in the lurch. 
 
 When Madame Saqui's performance grew stale, 
 other wonders succeeded : horses, and harlequin- 
 ades, and mummery of all kinds ; until another 
 dramatic prodigy was brought forward to play 
 the very game for which I had been intended. I 
 called upon the kept author for an explanation, 
 but he was deeply engaged in writing a melo- 
 drama or a pantomime, and was extremely testy 
 on being interrupted in his studies. However, 
 as the theatre was in some measure pledged to 
 provide for me, the manager acted, according to 
 the usual phrase, " like a man of honor," and I 
 received an appointment in the corps. It had 
 been a turn of a die whether I should be Alex- 
 ander the Great or Alexander the coppersmith — 
 the latter carried it. I could not be put at the 
 head of the drama, so I was put at the tail of it. 
 In other words, I was enrolled among the num- 
 ber of what are called useful men ; those who 
 enact soldiers, senators, and Banquo's shadowy 
 line. I was perfectly satisfied with my lot ; for 
 I have always been a bit of a philosopher. If 
 my situation was not splendid, it at least was se- 
 cure ; and in fact I have seen half a dozen prod- 
 igies appear, dazzle, burst like bubbles, and pass 
 away, and yet here I am, snug, unenvied, and un- 
 molested, at the foot of the profession. 
 
296 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 You may smile ; but let me tell you, we " use- 
 ful men " are the only comfortable actors on the 
 stage. We are safe from hisses, and below the 
 hope of applause. We fear not the success of 
 rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So long as we 
 get the words of our parts, and they are not often 
 many, it is all we care for. We have our own 
 merriment, our own friends, and our o^vn admir- 
 ers, — for every actor has his friends and admir- 
 ers, from the highest to the lowest. The first- 
 rate actor dines with the noble amateur, and en- 
 tertains a fashionable table with scraps and songs 
 and theatrical slip-slop. The second-rate actors 
 have their second-rate friends and admirers, with 
 whom they likewise spout tragedy and talk slip- 
 slop ; — and so down even to us ; who have our 
 friends and admirers among spruce clerks and as- 
 piring apprentices — ^ who treat us to a dinner 
 now and then, and enjoy at tenth hand the same 
 scraps and songs and slip-slop that have been 
 served up by our more fortunate brethren at the 
 tables of the great. 
 
 I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, 
 experience what true pleasure is. I have known 
 enough of notoriety to pity the poor devils who 
 are called favorites of the public. I would rather 
 be a kitten in the arms of a spoiled child, to be 
 one moment patted and pampered and the next 
 moment thumped over the head with the spoon. I 
 smile to see our leadinoj actors frettino^ themselves 
 with envy and jealousy about a trumpery renown, 
 questionable in its quality, and uncertain in its 
 duration. I laugh, too, though of course in my 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 297 
 
 sleeve, at the bustle and importance, and trouble 
 and perplexities of our manager — who is harass- 
 ing himself to death in the hopeless effort to 
 please everybody. 
 
 I have found among my fellow-subalterns ^two 
 or three quondam managers, who like myself have 
 wielded the sceptres of country theatres, and we 
 have many a sly joke together at the expense of 
 the manager and the public. Sometimes, too, we 
 meet, like deposed and exiled kings, talk over the 
 events of our respective reigns, moralize over a 
 tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the 
 great and little world ; which, I take it, is the es- 
 sence of practical philosophy. 
 
 Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and 
 his friends. It grieves me much that I could not 
 procure from him further particulars of his his- 
 tory, and especially of that part of it which 
 passed in town. He had evidently seen much of 
 literary life ; and, as he had never risen to emi- 
 nence in letters, and yet was free from the gall 
 of disappointment, I had hoped to gain some can- 
 did intelligence concerning his contemporaries. 
 The testimony of such an honest chronicler 
 would have been particularly valuable at the pres- 
 ent time ; when, owing to the extreme fecundity 
 of the press, and the thousand anecdotes, criti- 
 cisms, and biographical sketches that are daily 
 poured forth concerning public characters, it is 
 extremely difficult to get at any truth concerning 
 them. 
 
 He was always, however, excessively reserved 
 
298 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 and fastidious on this point, at which I very much 
 wondered, authors in general appearing to think 
 each other fair game, and being ready to serve 
 each other up for the amusement of the public. 
 
 j^ few mornings after hearing the history of 
 the ex-manager, I was surprised by a visit from 
 Buckthorne before I was out of bed. He was 
 dressed for travelling. 
 
 " Give me joy ! give me joy ! " said he, rub- 
 bing his hands with the utmost glee, " my great 
 expectations are realized ! " 
 
 I gazed at him with a look of wonder and in- 
 quiry. 
 
 " My booby cousin is dead I " cried he ; " may 
 he rest in peace I he nearly broke his neck in a 
 fall from his horse in a fox-chase. By good luck, 
 he lived long enough to make his will. He has 
 made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling of 
 retributive justice, and partly because, as he says, 
 none of his own family nor friends know how to 
 enjoy such an estate. I 'm off to the country to 
 take possession. I've done with authorship. 
 That for the critics ! " said he, snapping his finger. 
 " Come down to Doubting Castle, when I get 
 settled, and, egad, I'll give you a rouse." So 
 saying, he shook me heartily by the hand, and 
 bounded off in high spirits. 
 
 A long time elapsed before I heard from him 
 again. Indeed, it was but lately that I received 
 a letter, written in the happiest of moods. He 
 was getting the estate in fine order ; everything 
 went to his wishes ; and what was more, he was 
 married to Sacharissa, who it seems had always 
 
BUCKTHORNE, 299 
 
 entertained an ardent though secret attachment 
 for hhn, which he fortunately discovered just 
 after coming to his estate. 
 
 " I find," said he, " you are a little given to 
 the sin of authorship, which I renounce : ifi the 
 anecdotes I have given you of my story are of 
 any interest, you may make use of them ; but 
 come down to Doubting Castle, and see how we 
 live, and I '11 give you my whole London life over 
 a social glass ; and a rattling history it shall be 
 about authors and reviewers." 
 
 If ever I visit Doubting Castle and get the 
 history he promises, the public shall be sure to 
 hear of it. 
 
PART THIRD. 
 
 THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 
 
 RACK ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! 
 " Here comes the estafette from Na- 
 ples," said mine host of the inn at Ter- 
 racina ; " bring out the relay." 
 
 The estafette came galloping up the road ac- 
 cording to custom, brandishing over his head a 
 short-handled whip, with a long, knotted lash, 
 every smack of which made a report like a pistol. 
 He was a tight, square-set young fellow, in the 
 usual uniform : a smart blue coat, ornamented 
 with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as 
 to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked 
 up not unlike the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat 
 edged with gold lace ; a pair of stiff riding-boots ; 
 but, instead of the usual leathern breeches, he 
 had a fragment of a pair of drawers, that scarcely 
 furnished an apology for modesty to hide behind. 
 
 The estafette galloped up to the door, and 
 jumped from his horse. 
 
 " A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair 
 of breeches," said he, " and quickly, per Vamor 
 di Dio^ I am behind my time, and must be off ! " 
 
 " San Gennaro ! " replied the host ; '^ why, 
 where hast thou left thy garment ? " 
 
 " Among the robbers between this and Fondi." 
 
304 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 '' What, rob an estafette ! I never heard of 
 such folly. What could they hope to get from 
 thee ? " 
 
 " My leather breeches ! " replied the estafette. 
 " They were bran new, and shone like gold, and 
 hit the fancy of the captain." 
 
 " Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. 
 To meddle with an estafette ! and that merely 
 for the sake of a pair of leather breeches ! " 
 
 The robbing of the government messenger 
 seemed to strike the host with more astonishment 
 than any other enormity that had taken place on 
 the road ; and, indeed, it was the first time so 
 wanton an outrage had been committed ; the rob- 
 bers generally taking care not to meddle with any- 
 thing belonging to government. 
 
 The estafette was by this time equipped, for 
 he had not lost an instant in making his prepara- 
 tions while talking. The relay was ready ; the 
 rosolio tosse\i off; he grasped the reins and the 
 stirrup. 
 
 u Were there many robbers in the band ? " said 
 a handsome, dark young man, stepping forward 
 from the door of the inn. 
 
 " As formidable a band as ever I saw," said 
 the estafette, springing into the saddle. 
 
 " Are they cruel to travellers ? " said a beau- 
 tiful young Venetian lady, who had been hanging 
 on the gentleman's arm. 
 
 " Cruel, signora ! " echoed the estafette, giving 
 a glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. 
 " Corpo di Bacco ! They stiletto all the men ; 
 and, as to the women " Crack ! crack ! 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 305 
 
 crack ! crack ! crack ! — The last words were 
 drowned in the smacking of the whip, and away 
 fjalloped the estafette along the road to the Pon- 
 tine marshes. 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! " ejaculated the fair Venetian, 
 " what will become of us ! " 
 
 The inn of which we are speaking stands just 
 outside of the walls of Terracina, under a vast 
 precipitous height of rocks, crowned with the ruins 
 of the castle of Theodric the Goth. The situa- 
 tion of Terracina is remarkable. It is a. little, 
 ancient, lazy Italian town, on the frontiers of the 
 Roman territory. There seems to be an idle 
 pause in everything about the place. The Medi- 
 terranean spreads before it — that sea without 
 flux or reflux. The port is without a sail, ex- 
 cepting that once in a while a solitary felucca 
 may be seen disgorging its holy cargo of baccala, 
 or codfish, the meagre provision for the quare- 
 sima, or Lent. The inhabitants are apparently 
 a listless, heedless race, as people of soft sunny 
 climates are apt to be ; but under this pas- 
 sive, indolent exterior are said to lurk danger- 
 ous qualities. They are supposed by many to be 
 little better than the banditti of the neighboring 
 mountains, and indeed to hold a secret corre- 
 spondence with them. The solitary watchtowers, 
 erected here and there along the coast, speak of 
 pirates and corsairs that hover about these shores ; 
 while the low huts, as stations for soldiers, which 
 dot the distant road, as it winds up through an 
 olive grove, intimate that in the ascent there is 
 danger for the traveller, and facility for the ban- 
 20 
 
306 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 dit. Indeed, it is between this town and Fondi 
 that the road to Naples is most infested by ban- 
 ditti. It has several windings and solitary places, 
 where the robbers are enabled to see the trav- 
 eller from a distance, from the brows of hills or 
 impending precipices, and to lie in wait for him 
 at lonely and difficult passes. 
 
 The Italian robbers are a desperate class of 
 men, that have almost formed themselves into an 
 order of society. They wear a kind of uniform, 
 or rather costume, which openly designates their 
 profession. This is probably done to diminish its 
 skulking, lawless character, and to give it some- 
 thing of a military air in the eyes of the common 
 people ; or, perhaps, to catch by outward show 
 and finery the fancies of the young men of the 
 villages, and thus to gain recruits. Their dresses 
 are often very rich and picturesque. They wear 
 jackets and breeches of bright colors, sometimes 
 gayly embroidered ; their breasts are covered 
 with medals and relics ; their hats are broad- 
 brimmed, with conical crowns, decorated with 
 feathers, of variously-colored ribands ; their hair 
 is sometimes gathered in silk nets ; they wear a 
 kind of sandal of cloth or leather, bound round 
 the legs with thongs, and extremely flexible, to 
 enable them to scramble with ease and celerity 
 among the mountain precipices ; a broad belt of 
 cloth, or a sash of silk net, is stuck full of pistols 
 and stilettos ; a carbine is slung at the back ; 
 while about them is generally thrown, in a neg- 
 ligent manner, a great dingy mantle, which serves 
 as a protection in storms, or a bed in their biv- 
 ouacs among the mountains. 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 307 
 
 They range over a great extent of wild coun- 
 try, along the cham of Apennines, bordering on 
 different states ; they know all the difficult passes, 
 the short cuts for retreat, and the impracticable 
 forests of the mountain summits, where no force 
 dare follow them. They are secure of the good- 
 will of the inhabitants of those regions, a poor and 
 semi-barbarous race, whom they never disturb 
 and often enrich. Indeed, they are considered 
 as a sort of illegitimate heroes among the moun- 
 tain villages, and in certain frontier towns where 
 they dispose of their plunder. Thus counte- 
 nanced, and sheltered, and secure in the fastnesses 
 of their mountains, the robbers have set the weak 
 police of the Italian states at defiance. It is in 
 vain that their names and descriptions are posted 
 on the doors of country churches, and rewards 
 offered for them alive or dead ; the villagers are 
 either too much awed by the terrible instances of 
 vengeance inflicted by the brigands, or have too 
 good an understanding with them to be their be- 
 trayers. It is true they are now and then hunted 
 and shot down like beasts of prey by the gens- 
 d'armeSj their heads put in iron cages, and stuck 
 upon posts by the roadside, or their limbs hung 
 up to blacken in the trees near the places where 
 they have committed their atrocities ; but these 
 ghastly spectacles only serve to make some dreary 
 pass of the road still more dreary, and to dismay 
 the traveller, without deterring the bandit. 
 
 At the time that the estafette made his sudden 
 appearance almost in cuerpo, as has been men- 
 tioned, the audacity of the robbers had risen to 
 
308 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 an unparalleled height. They had laid villas un- 
 der contribution ; they had sent messages into 
 country towns, to tradesmen and rich burghers, 
 demanding supplies of money, of clothing, or even 
 of luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in case 
 of refusal. They had their spies and emissaries 
 in every town, village, and inn, along the princi- 
 pal roads, to give them notice of the movements 
 and quality of travellers. They had plundered 
 carriages, carried people of rank and fortune into 
 the mountains, and obliged them to w^'ite for 
 heavy ransoms, and had committed outrages on 
 females who had fallen into their hands. 
 
 Such was briefly the state of the robbers, or 
 rather such was the account of the rumors preva- 
 lent concerning them, when the scene took place 
 at the inn of Terracina. The dark handsome 
 young man and the Venetian lady, incidentally 
 mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon in a 
 private carriage drawn by mules, and attended by 
 a single servant. They had been recently mar- 
 ried, were spending the honey-moon in travelling 
 through these delicious countries, and were on 
 their way to visit a rich aunt of the bride at 
 Naples. 
 
 The lady was young, and tender, and timid. 
 The stories she had heard along the road had 
 filled her with apprehension, not more for her- 
 self than for her husband ; for though she had 
 been married almost a month, she still loved him 
 almost to idolatry. When she reached Terracina, 
 the rumors of the road had increased to an alarm- 
 ing magnitude ; and the sight of two robbers' 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 809 
 
 skullSj grinning in iron cages, on each side of the 
 old gateway of the town, brought her to a pause. 
 Her husband had tried in vain to reassure her ; 
 they had lingered all the afternoon at the inn, un- 
 til it was too late to think of starting that even- 
 ing, and the parting words of the estafette com- 
 pleted her affright. 
 
 " Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her 
 arm within her husband's, and drawing towards 
 him as if for protection. — " Let us return to 
 Rome, and give up this visit to Naples." 
 
 "And give up the visit to your aunt, too?" 
 said the husband. 
 
 " Nay — what is my aunt in comparison with 
 your safety ? " said she, looking up tenderly in 
 his face. 
 
 There was something in her tone and manner 
 that showed she really was thinking more of her 
 husband's safety at the moment than of her own ; 
 and being so recently married, and a match of 
 pure affection, too, it is very possible that she 
 was ; at least her husband thought so. Indeed, 
 any one who has heard the sweet musical tone of 
 a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of 
 a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a 
 Venetian eye, would not wonder at the husband's 
 believing whatever they professed. He clasped 
 the white hand that had been laid within his, put 
 his arm round her slender waist, and drawing her 
 fondly to his bosom, " This night, at least," said 
 he, " we will pass at Terracina." 
 
 Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! Another 
 apparition of the road attracted the attention of 
 
310 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 mine host and his guests. From the direction of 
 the Pontine marshes, a carriage, drawn by half a 
 dozen horses, came driving at a furious rate ; the 
 postilions smacking their whips like mad, as is 
 the case when conscious of the greatness or of 
 the munificence of their fare. It was a landaulet 
 with a servant mounted on the dickey. The 
 compact, highly finished, yet proudly simple con- 
 struction of the carriage ; the quantity of neat, 
 well-arranged trunks and conveniences ; the loads 
 of box-coats on the dickey ; the fresh, burly, blufi*- 
 looking face of the master at the window ; and 
 the ruddy, round-headed servant, in close-cropped 
 hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters, 
 all proclaimed at once that this was the equipage 
 of an Englishman. 
 
 " Horses to Fondi," said the Englishman, as 
 the landlord came bowing to the carriage -door. 
 
 " Would not his Excellenza alight, and take 
 some refreshments ? " 
 
 " No — he did not mean to eat until he got to 
 Fondi." 
 
 " But the horses will be some time in getting 
 ready." 
 
 " Ah ! that 's always the way ; nothing but 
 delay in this cursed country ! " 
 
 " If his Excellenza would only walk into the 
 house-^' 
 
 " No, no, no ! — I tell you no ! — I want 
 nothing but horses, and as quick as possible. 
 John, see that the horses are got ready, and don't 
 let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if 
 we 're delayed over the time, I '11 lodge a com- 
 plaint with the postmaster." 
 
THE INN AT TERR AC IN A, 311 
 
 John touched his hat, and set off to obey his 
 master's orders with the taciturn obedience of an 
 English servant. 
 
 In the mean time the Englishman got out of the 
 carriage, and walked up and down before the inn, 
 with his hands in his pockets, taking no notice of 
 the crowd of idlers who were gazing at him and 
 his equipage. He was tall, stout, and well made ; 
 dressed with neatness and precision ; wore a trav- 
 elling cap of the color of gingerbread ; and had 
 rather an unhappy expression about the corners 
 of his mouth : partly from not having yet made 
 his dinner, and partly from not having been able 
 to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an 
 hour. Not that he had any other cause for haste 
 than an Englishman's usual hurry to get to the 
 end of a journey ; or, to use the regular phrase, 
 " to get on." Perhaps, too, he was a little sore 
 from having been fleeced at every stage. 
 
 After some time, the servant returned from the 
 stable with a look of some perplexity. 
 
 " Are the horses ready, John ? " 
 
 " No, sir — I never saw such a place. There 's 
 no getting anything done. I think your honor 
 had better step into the house and get something 
 to eat ; it will be a long while before we get to 
 Fundy." 
 
 " D — n the house — it 's a mere trick — I '11 
 not eat anything, just to spite them," said the 
 Englishman, still more crusty at the prospect of 
 being so long without his dinner. 
 
 " They say your honor 's very wrong," said 
 John, " to set off at this late hour. The road 's 
 full of highwaymen." 
 
812 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " Mere tales to get custom." 
 
 " The estafette which passed us was stopped by 
 a whole gang," said John, increasing his emphasis 
 with each additional piece of information. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 " They robbed him of his breeches," said John, 
 giving at the same time a hitch to his own waist- 
 band. 
 
 " All humbug ! " 
 
 Here the dark handsome young man stepped 
 forward, and addressing the Englishman very po- 
 litely, in broken English, invited him to partake 
 of a repast he was about to make. 
 
 " Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his 
 hands deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight 
 side-glance of suspicion at the young man, as if 
 he thought, from his civility, he must have a de- 
 sign upon his purse. 
 
 " We shall be most happy, if you will do us 
 the favor," said the lady, in her soft Venetian di- 
 alect. There was a sweetness in her accents that 
 was most persuasive. The Englishman cast a 
 look upon her countenance ; her beauty was still 
 more eloquent. His features instantly relaxed. 
 He made a polite bow. " With great pleasure, 
 Signora," said he. 
 
 In short, the eagerness to " get on " was sud- 
 denly slackened ; the determination to famish him- 
 self as far as Fondi, by way of punishing the land- 
 lord, was abandoned ; John chose an apartment 
 in the inn for his master's reception ; and prepa- 
 rations were made to remain there until morning. 
 
 The carriage was unpacked of such of its con- 
 
THE INN AT TERR AC IN A, 313 
 
 tents as were indispensable for the night. There 
 was the usual parade of trunks and writing-desks, 
 and portfolios and dressing-boxes, and those other 
 oppressive conveniences which burden a comfort- 
 able man. The observant loiterers about the inn- 
 door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored cloaks, with 
 only a hawk's-eye uncovered, made many remarks 
 to each other on this quantity of luggage that 
 seemed enough for an army. The domestics of 
 the inn talked with wonder of the splendid dress- 
 ing-case, with its gold and silver furniture, that 
 was spread out on the toilet-table, and the bag 
 of gold that chinked as it was taken out of 
 the trunk. The strange Milors wealth, and the 
 treasures he carried about him, were the talk, 
 that evening, over all Terracina. 
 
 The Englishman took some time to make his 
 ablutions and arrange his dress for table ; and, 
 after considerable labor and effort in putting him- 
 self at his ease, made his appearance, with stiff 
 white cravat, his clothes free from the least speck 
 of dust, and adjusted with precision. He made 
 a civil bow on entering in the unprofessing Eng- 
 lish way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed 
 to the complimentary salutations of the Continent, 
 considered extremely cold. 
 
 The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, 
 or dinner, as the Englishman called it, was now 
 served : heaven and earth, and the waters under 
 the earth, had been moved to furnish it ; for 
 there were birds of the air, and beasts of the 
 field, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's 
 servant, too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy 
 
314 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 in his zeal to cook his master a beefsteak ; and 
 made his appearance, loaded with ketchup, and 
 soy, and Cayenne pepper, and Harvey sauce, and 
 a bottle of port wine, from that warehouse, the 
 carriage, in w^hich his master seemed desirous of 
 carrying England about the world with him. In- 
 deed the repast was one of those Italian farragoes 
 which require a little qualifying. The tureen of 
 soup was a black sea, with livers, and limbs, and 
 fragments of all kinds of birds, and beasts floating 
 like wrecks about it. A meagre-winged animal, 
 which my host called a delicate chicken, had evi- 
 dently died of a consumption. The macaroni 
 was smoked. The beefsteak was tough buifalo's 
 flesh. There was what appeared to be a dish of 
 stewed eels, of which the Englishman ate with 
 great relish ; but had nearly refunded them when 
 told that they were vipers, caught among the 
 rocks of Terracina, and esteemed a great deli- 
 cacy. 
 
 Nothing, however, conquers a traveller's spleen 
 sooner than eating, whatever may be the cook- 
 ery ; and nothing brings him into good-humor 
 with his company sooner than eating together ; 
 the Englishman, therefore, had not half finished 
 his repast and his bottle, before he began to 
 think the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a 
 foreigner, and his wife almost handsome enough 
 to be an Englishwoman. 
 
 In the course of the repast, the usual topics 
 of travellers were discussed, and among others, 
 the reports of robbers, which harassed the mind 
 of the fair Venetian. The landlord and waiter 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA, 315 
 
 dipped into the conversation with that familiar- 
 ity permitted on the Continent, and served up so 
 many bloody tales as they served up the dishes, 
 that they almost frightened away the poor lady's 
 appetite. The Englishman, who had a national 
 antipathy to everything technically called " hum- 
 bug," listened to them all with a certain screw of 
 the mouth, expressive of incredulity. There was 
 the well-known story of the school of Terracina, 
 captured by the robbers ; and one of the schol- 
 ars cruelly massacred, in order to bring the par- 
 ents to terms for the ransom of the rest. And 
 another, of a gentleman of Rome, who received 
 his son's ear in a letter, with information, that 
 his son would be remitted to him in this way, 
 by instalments, until he paid the required ransom. 
 
 The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard 
 these tales ; and the landlord, like a true nar- 
 rator of the terrible, doubled the dose when he 
 saw how it operated. He was just proceeding 
 to relate the misfortunes of a great English lord 
 and his family, when the Englishman, tired of 
 his volubility, interrupted him, and pronounced 
 these accounts to be mere travellers' tales, or 
 the exaggerations of ignorant peasants, and de- 
 signing innkeepers. The landlord was indignant 
 at the doubt levelled at his stories, and the innu- 
 endo levelled at his cloth ; he cited, in corrobora- 
 tion, half a dozen tales still more terrible. 
 
 "I don't believe a word of them," said the 
 Englishman. 
 
 " But the robbers have been tried and exe- 
 cuted ! " 
 
316 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 " All a farce ! " 
 
 " But their heads are stuck up along the 
 road ! " 
 
 " Old skulls accumulated during a century." 
 
 The landlord muttered to himself as he went 
 out at the door, '' San Gennaro ! quanto sono 
 singolari questi Inglesi ! " 
 
 A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced 
 the arrival of more travellers ; and, from the 
 variety of voices, or rather of clamors, the clat- 
 tering of hoofs, the rattling of wheels, and the 
 general uproar both within and without, the ar- 
 rival seemed to be numerous. 
 
 It was, in fact, the procaccio and its convoy : 
 a kind of caravan which sets out on certain days 
 for the transportation of merchandise, with an 
 escort of soldiery to protect it from the robbers. 
 Travellers avail themselves of its protection, and 
 a long file of carriages generally accompany it. 
 
 A considerable time elapsed before either land 
 lord or waiter returned ; being hurried hitht 
 and thither by that tempest of noise and bustle, 
 which takes place in an Italian inn on the arrival 
 of any considerable accession of custom. When 
 mine host reappeared^ there was a smile of tri- 
 umph on his countenance. 
 
 " Perhaps," said he, as he cleared the table ; 
 " perhaps the signor has not heard of what has 
 happened ? " 
 
 " What ? " said the Englishman, dryly. 
 
 " Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of 
 fresh exploits of the robbers." 
 
 « Pish ! " 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 317 
 
 " There 's more news of the English Milor and 
 his family," said the host, exnltingly. 
 
 " An English lord ? What English lord ? " 
 
 "Milor Popkin." 
 
 " Lord Popkins ? I never heard of such a 
 title ! " 
 
 " O ! sicuro a great nobleman, who passed 
 through here lately with mi ladi and her daugh- 
 ters. A magnifico, one of the grand counsellors 
 of London, an almanno ! " 
 
 " Almanno — almanno ? — tut — he means al- 
 derman." 
 
 " Sicuro — Aldermanno Popkin, and the Prin- 
 cipessa Popkin, and the Signorine Popkin ? " 
 said mine host, triumphantly. 
 
 He now put himself into an attitude, and 
 would have launched into a full detail, had he 
 not been thwarted by the Englishman, who 
 seemed determined neither to credit nor indulge 
 him in his stories, but dryly motioned for him to 
 clear away the table. 
 
 An Italian tongue, however, is not easily 
 checked ; that of mine host continued to wag 
 with increasing volubility, as he conveyed the 
 relics of the repast out of the room ; and the last 
 that could be distinguished of his voice, as it died 
 away along the corridor, was the iteration of the 
 favorite word, Popkin — Popkin — Popkin — 
 pop — pop — pop. 
 
 The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled 
 the house with stories, as it had with guests. The 
 Englishman and his companions walked after 
 supper up and down the large hall, or common 
 
318 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 room of the inn, which ran through the centre 
 of the building. It was spacious and somewhat 
 dirty, with tables placed in various parts, at 
 which groups of travellers were seated ; while 
 others strolled about, waiting, in famished impa- 
 tience, for their evening's meal. 
 
 It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people 
 of all ranks and countries, who had arrived in all 
 kinds of vehicles. Though distinct knots of trav- 
 ellers, yet the travelling together, under one com- 
 mon escort, had jumbled them into a certain de- 
 gree of companionship on the road ; besides, on 
 the Continent travellers are always familiar, and 
 nothing is more motley than the groups which 
 gather casually together in sociable conversation 
 in the public rooms of inns. 
 
 The formidable number, and formidable guard 
 of the procaccio had prevented any molestation 
 from banditti ; but every party of travellers had 
 its tale of wonder, and one carriage vied with 
 another in its budget of assertions and surmises. 
 Fierce, whiskered faces had been seen peering 
 over the rocks ; carbines and stilettos gleaming 
 from among the bushes ; suspicious-looking fel- 
 lows, with flapped hats, and scowling eyes, had 
 occasionally reconnoitred a straggling carriage, 
 but had disappeared on seeing the guard. 
 
 The fair Venetian listened to all these stories 
 with that avidity with which we always pamper 
 any feeling of alarm ; even the Englishman began 
 to feel interested in the common topic, desirous 
 of getting more correct information than mere 
 flying reports. Conquering, therefore, that shy- 
 
THE INN AT TERR AC IN A, 313 
 
 ness which is prone to keep an Englishman soli- 
 tary in crowds, he approached one of the talking 
 groups, the oracle of which was a tall, thin Ital- 
 ian, with long aquiline nose, a high forehead, and 
 lively prominent eye, beaming from under a green 
 velvet travelling-cap, with gold tassel. He was 
 of Rome, a surgeon by profession, a poet by 
 choice, and something of an improvisatore. 
 
 In the present instance, however, he was talk- 
 ing in plain prose, but holding forth with the flu- 
 ency of one who talks well, and likes to exert his 
 talent. A question or two from the Englishman 
 drew copious replies ; for an Englishman sociable 
 among strangers is regarded as a phenomenon on 
 the Continent, and always treated with attention 
 for the rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave 
 much the same account of the banditti that I 
 have already furnished. 
 
 " But why does not the police exert itself, and 
 root them out ? " demanded the Englishman. 
 
 " Because the police is too weak, and the ban- 
 ditti are too strong," replied the other. " To root 
 them out would be a more difficult task than you 
 imagine. They are connected and almost iden- 
 tified with the mountain peasantry and the peo- 
 ple of the villages. The numerous bands have 
 an understanding with each other, and with the 
 country round. A gendarme cannot stir without 
 their being aware of it. They have their scouts 
 everywhere, who lurk about towns, villages, and 
 inns, mingle in every crowd, and pervade every 
 place of resort. I should not be surprised if some 
 one should be supervising us at this moment." 
 
320 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, and 
 turned pale. 
 
 Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a 
 lively Neapolitan lawyer. 
 
 " By the way," said he, " I recollect a little 
 adventure of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, 
 which happened in this very neighborhood ; not 
 far from the ruins of Theodric's Castle, which are 
 on the top of those great rocky heights above the 
 town." 
 
 A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the 
 adventure of the doctor, by all excepting the im- 
 provisatore, who, being fond of talking and of 
 hearing himself talk, and accustomed, moreover, 
 to harangue without interruption, looked rather 
 annoyed at being checked when in full career. 
 The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his 
 chagrin, but related the following anecdote. 
 
ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 
 
 Y friend, the Doctor, was a thorough 
 antiquary ; a little rusty, musty old fel- 
 low, always groping among ruins. He 
 relished a building as you Englishmen relish a 
 cheese, — the mor^e mouldy and crumbling it was, 
 the more it suited his taste. A shell of an old 
 nameless temple, or the cracked walls of a bro- 
 ken-down amphitheatre, would throw him into 
 raptures ; and he took more delight in these crusts 
 and cheese-parings of antiquity than in the best- 
 conditioned modern palaces. 
 
 He was a curious collector of coins also, and 
 had just gained an accession of wealth that almost 
 turned his brain. He had picked up, for instance, 
 several Roman Consulars, half a Roman As, two 
 Funics, which had doubtless belonged to the sol- 
 diers of Hannibal, having been found on the very 
 spot where they had encamped among the Apen- 
 nines. He had, moreover, one Samnite, struck 
 after the Social War, and a Philistis, a queen that 
 never existed ; but above all, he valued himself 
 upon a coin, indescribable to any but the initiated 
 in these matters, bearing a cross on one side, and 
 a pegasus on the other, and which, by some an- 
 tiquarian logic, the little man adduced as an 
 21 
 
322 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 historical document, illustrating the progress of 
 Christianity. 
 
 All these precious coins he carried about him 
 in a leathern purse, buried deep in a pocket of 
 his little black breeches. 
 
 The last maggot he had taken into his brain, 
 
 . was to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi, 
 
 which are said to exist to this day among the 
 
 mountains of the Abruzzi ; but about which a 
 
 singular degree of obscurity prevails.^ He had 
 
 * Among the many fond speculations of antiquaries is that 
 of the existence of traces of the ancient Pelasgian cities in the 
 Apennines ; and many a wistful eye is cast by the traveller, 
 versed in antiquarian lore, at the richly wooded mountains of 
 the Abruzzi, as a forbidden fairy land of research. These 
 spots, so beautiful, yet so inaccessible, from the rudeness of 
 their inhabitants and the hordes of banditti which infest them, 
 are a region of fable to the learned. Sometimes a wealthy 
 virtuoso, whose purse and whose consequence could command 
 a military escort, has penetrated to some individual point 
 among the mountains ; and sometimes a wandering artist or 
 student, under protection of poverty or insignificance, has 
 brought away some' vague account, only calculated to give a 
 keener edge to curiosity and conjecture. 
 
 By those who maintain the existence of the Pelasgian cities, 
 it is affirmed that the formation of the different kingdoms in 
 the Peloponnesus gradually caused the expulsion thence of the 
 Pelasgi; but that their great migration may be dated from 
 the finishing the wall around Acropolis, and that at this 
 period they came to Italy. To these, in the spirit of theory, 
 they would ascribe the introduction of the elegant arts into 
 the country. It is evident, however, that, as barbarians fly- 
 ing before the first dawn of civilization, they could bring 
 little with them superior to the inventions of the aborigines, 
 and nothing that would have survived to the antiquarian 
 through such a lapse of ages. It would appear more prob- 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 323 
 
 made many discoveries concerning them, and had 
 recorded a great many valuable notes and mem- 
 orandums on the subject, in a voluminous book, 
 which he always carried about with him ; either 
 for the purpose of frequent reference, or through 
 fear lest the precious document should fall into 
 the hands of brother antiquaries. He had, there- 
 fore, a large pocket in the skirt of his coat, where 
 he bore about this inestimable tome, banging 
 against his rear as he walked. 
 
 Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, 
 the good little man, during a sojourn at Terra- 
 cina, mounted one day the rocky cliffs which 
 overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theodric. 
 He was groping about the ruins towards the hour 
 of sunset, buried in his reflections, his wits no 
 doubt wool-gathering among the Goths and Ro- 
 mans, when he heard footsteps behind him. 
 
 He turned, and beheld five or six young fel- 
 lows, of rough, saucy demeanor, clad in a singu- 
 
 able, that these cities, improperly termed Pelasgian, were 
 coeval with many that have been discovered. The romantic 
 Aricia, built by Hippolytus before the siege of Troy, and the 
 poetic Tibur, iEsculate and Proenes, built by Telegonus after 
 the dispersion of the Greeks; — these, lying contiguous to 
 inhabited and cultivated spots, have been discovered. There 
 are others, too, on the ruins of which the latter and more 
 civilized Grecian colonists have ingrafted themselves, and 
 which have become known by their merits or their medals. 
 But that there are many still imdiscovered, imbedded in 
 the Abruzzi, it is the delight of the antiquarians to fancy. 
 Strange that such a virgin soil for research, such an unknown 
 realm of knowledge, should at this day remain in the very 
 centre of hackneyed Italy ! 
 
324 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 lar manner, half peasant, half huntsman, with car- 
 bines in their hands. Their whole appearance 
 and carriage left him no doubt into what com- 
 pany he had fallen. 
 
 The Doctor was a feeble little man, poor in 
 look, and poorer in purse. He had but little 
 gold or silver to be robbed of; but then he had 
 his curious ancient coin in his breeches-pocket. 
 He had, moreover, certain other valuables, such 
 as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with fig- 
 ures on it large enough for a clock ; and a set of 
 seals at the end of a steel chain, dangling half- 
 way down to his knees. All these were of pre- 
 cious esteem, being family relics. He had also a 
 seal ring, a veritable antique intaglio, that covered 
 half his knuckles. It was a Yenus, which the 
 old man almost worshipped with the zeal of a 
 voluptuary. But what he most valued was his 
 inestimable collection of hints relative to the Pe- 
 lasgian cities, which he would gladly have given 
 all the money in his pocket to have had safe at 
 the bottom of his trunk in Terracina. 
 
 However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least 
 as stout a heart as he could, seeing that he 
 was but a puny little man at the best of times. 
 So he wished the hunters a '' buon giorno." 
 They returned his salutation, giving the old gen- 
 tleman a sociable slap on the back that made his 
 heart leap into his throat. 
 
 They fell into conversation, and walked for 
 some time together among the heights, the Doc- 
 tor wishing them all the while at the bottom of 
 the crater of Vesuvius. At length they came to 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 825 
 
 a small osteria on the mountain, where they pro- 
 posed to enter and have a cup of wine together : 
 the Doctor consented, though he would as soon 
 have been invited to drink hemlock. 
 
 One of the gang remained sentinel at the door ; 
 the others swaggered into the house, stood their 
 guns in the corner of the room, and each draw- 
 ing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it up- 
 on the table. They now drew benches round 
 the board, called lustily for wine, and, hailing the 
 Doctor as though he had been a boon companion 
 of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down 
 and making merry. 
 
 The worthy man complied with forced grimace, 
 but with fear and trembling ; sitting uneasily on 
 the edge of his chair ; eying ruefully the black- 
 muzzled pistols, and cold, naked stilettos ; and 
 supping down heai'tburn with every drop of 
 liquor. His new comrades, however, pushed the 
 bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously. They 
 sang, they laughed ; told excellent stories of their 
 robberies and combats, mingled with many ruffian 
 jokes ; and the little Doctor was fain to laugh at 
 all their cut-throat pleasantries, though his heart 
 was dying away at the very bottom of his bosom. 
 
 By their own account, they were young 
 men from the villages, who had recently taken 
 up this line of life out of the wild caprice of 
 youth. They talked of their murderous exploits 
 as a sportsman talks of his amusements : to shoot 
 down a traveller seemed of little more conse- 
 quence to them than to shoot a hare. They 
 spoke with rapture of the glorious roving life 
 
826 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 they led, free as birds ; here to-day, gone to-mor- 
 row ; ranging the forests, climbing the rocks, 
 scouring the valleys ;^ the world their own wher- 
 ever they could lay hold of it ; full purses — 
 merry companions — pretty women. The little 
 antiquary got fuddled with their talk and their 
 wine, for they did not spare bumpers. He half 
 forgot his fears, his seal-ring, and his family 
 watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities, 
 which was warming under him, for a time faded 
 from his memory in the glowing picture that they 
 drew. He declares that he no longer wonders 
 at the prevalence of this robber mania among the 
 mountains ; for he felt at the time, that, had he 
 been a young man, and a strong man, and had 
 there been no danger of the galleys in the back- 
 ground, he should have been half tempted him- 
 self to turn bandit. 
 
 At length the hour of separating arrived. The 
 Doctor was suddenly called to himself and his 
 fears by seeing the robbers resume their weap- 
 ons. He now quaked for his valuables, and, 
 above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He en- 
 deavored, however, to look cool and unconcerned ; 
 and drew from out his deep pocket a long, lank, 
 leathern purse, far gone in consumption, at the 
 bottom of which a few coin chinked with the 
 trembling of his hand. 
 
 The chief of the party observed his movement, 
 and laying his hand upon the antiquary's shoul- 
 der, " Harkee ! Signor Dottore ! " said he, " we 
 have drunk together as friends and comrades ; 
 let us part as such. We understand you. We 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 327 
 
 know who and what you are, for we know who 
 everybody is that sleeps at Terracina, or that 
 puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man, 
 but you carry all your wealth in your head : we 
 cannot get at it, and we should not know what 
 to do with it if we could. I see you are uneasy 
 about your ring ; but don't worry yourself, it is 
 not worth taking ; you think it an antique, but 
 it 's a counterfeit — a mere sham." 
 
 Here the ire of the antiquary rose : the Doc- 
 tor forgot himself in his zeal for the character of 
 his ring. Heaven and earth ! his Yenus a sham ! 
 Had they pronounced the wife of his bosom " no 
 better than she should be," he could not have 
 been more indignant. He fired up in vindication 
 of his intaglio. 
 
 " Nay, nay," continued the robber, " we have 
 no time to dispute about it ; value it as you please. 
 Come, you 're a brave little old signor — one 
 more cup of wine, and we '11 pay the reckoning. 
 No compliments — you shall not pay a grain — 
 you are our guest — I insist upon it. So — now 
 make the best of your way back to Terracina ; 
 it 's oTowino; late. Buono via^o-io ! And harkee ! 
 take care how you wander among these moun- 
 tains, — you may not always fall into such good 
 company." 
 
 They shouldered their guns ; sprang gayly up 
 the rocks ; and the little Doctor hobbled back to 
 Terracina, rejoicing that the robbers had left his 
 watch, his coins, and his treatise, unmolested : but 
 still indignant that they should have pronounced 
 his Yenus an impostor. 
 
328 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 The improvisatore had shown many symptoms 
 of impatience during this recital. He saw his 
 theme in danger of being taken out of his hands, 
 which to an able talker is always a grievance, but 
 to an improvisatore is an absolute calamity : and 
 then for it to be taken away by a Neapolitan was 
 still more vexatious ; the inhabitants of the dif- 
 ferent Italian states having an implacable jealousy 
 of each other in all things, great and small. He 
 took advantage of the first pause of the Neapoli- 
 tan to catch hold again of the thread of the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " As I observed before," said he, " the prowl- 
 ings of the banditti are so extensive ; they are 
 so much in league with one another, and so inter- 
 woven with various ranks of society " 
 
 " For that matter," said the Neapolitan, " I 
 have heard that your government has had some 
 understanding with those gentry ; or, at least, 
 has winked at their misdeeds." 
 
 " My government ? " said the Roman, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi " — 
 
 " Hush ! " said the Roman, holding up his fin- 
 ger, and rolling his large eyes about the room. 
 
 " Nay, I only repeat what I heard commonly 
 rumored in Rome," replied the Neapolitan, stur- 
 dily. " It was openly said, that the Cardinal had 
 been up to the mountains, and had an interview 
 with some of the chiefs. And I have been told, 
 moreover, that, while honest people have been 
 kicking their heels in the Cardinal's antechamber, 
 waiting by the hour for admittance, one of those 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY, 329 
 
 stiletto - looking fellows has elbowed his way 
 through the crowd, and entered without ceremony 
 into the Cardinal's presence." 
 
 " I know," observed the improvisatore, " that 
 there have been such reports, and it is not impos- 
 sible that government may have made use of these 
 men at particular periods : such as at the time of 
 your late abortive revolution, when your carbo- 
 nari were so busy with their machinations all over 
 the country. The information which such men 
 could collect, who were familiar, not merely with 
 the recesses and secret places of the mountains, 
 but also with the dark and dangerous recesses of 
 society ; who knew every suspicious character, 
 and all his movements and all his lurkings ; in a 
 word, who knew all that was plotting in a world 
 of mischief ; — the utility of such men as instru- 
 ments in the hands of government was too obvi- 
 ous to be overlooked ; and Cardinal Gonsalvi, as 
 a politic statesman, may, perhaps, have made use 
 of them. Besides, he knew that, with all their 
 atrocities, the robbers were always respectful to- 
 wards the Church, and devout in their religion." 
 
 " Religion ! religion ! " echoed the Englishman. 
 
 " Yes, religion," repeated the Roman. " They 
 have each their patron saint. They will cross 
 themselves and say their prayers, whenever, in 
 their mountain haunts, they hear the matin or the 
 Ave-Maria bells sounding from the valleys ; and 
 will often descend from their retreats, and run 
 imminent risks to visit some favorite shrine. I 
 recollect an instance in point. 
 
 " I was one evenino^ in the villaoe of Frascati. 
 
330 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 which stands on the beautiful brow of a hill ris- 
 ing from the Campagna, just below the Abruzzi 
 Mountains. The people, as is usual in fine even- 
 ing's in our Italian towns and villaoes, were rec- 
 reating themselves in the open air, and chatting 
 in groups in the public square. While I was 
 conversing with a knot of friends, I noticed a tall 
 fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, passing across 
 the square, but skulking along in the dusk, as if 
 anxious to avoid observation. The people drew 
 back as he passed. It was whispered to me that 
 he was a notorious bandit." 
 
 " But why was he not immediately seized ? " 
 said the Englishman. 
 
 " Because it was nobody's business ; because 
 nobody wished to incur the vengeance of his com- 
 rades ; because there were not sufficient gen- 
 darmes near to insure security against the number 
 of desperadoes he might have at hand ; because 
 the gendarmes might not have received particular 
 instructions with respect to him, and might not 
 feel disposed to engage in a hazardous conflict 
 without compulsion. In short, I might give you 
 a thousand reasons rising out of the state of our 
 government and manners, not one of which after 
 all might appear satisfactory." 
 
 The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with 
 an air of contempt. 
 
 " I have been told," added the Roman, rather 
 quickly, "that even in your metropolis of Lon- 
 don, notorious thieves, well known to the police 
 as such, walk the streets at noonday in search of 
 their prey, and are not molested unless caught in 
 the very act of robbery." 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY, 331 
 
 The Englishman gave another shrug, but with 
 a different expression. 
 
 " Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring 
 wolf, thus prowling through the fold, and saw him 
 enter a church. I was curious to witness his 
 devotion. You know our spacious magnificent 
 churches. The one in which he entered was vast, 
 and shrouded in the dusk of evening. At the ex- 
 tremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers fee- 
 bly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the 
 side chapels was a votive candle placed before the 
 image of a saint. Before this image the robber 
 had prostrated himself. His mantle partly falling 
 off from his shoulders as he knelt, revealed a 
 form of Herculean strength ; a stiletto and pis- 
 tol glittered in his belt ; and the light falling on 
 his countenance, showed features not unhand- 
 some, but strongly and fiercely characterized. 
 As he prayed, he became vehemently agitated ; 
 his lips quivered ; sighs and murmurs, almost 
 groans, burst from him ; he beat his breast with 
 violence ; then clasped his hands and wrung them 
 convulsively, as he extended them towards the 
 image. Never had I seen such a terrific picture 
 of remorse. I felt fearful of being discovered 
 watching him, and withdrew. Shortly afterwards 
 I saw him issue from the church wrapped in his 
 mantle. He recrossed the square, and no doubt 
 returned to the mountains with a disburdened con- 
 science, ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime." 
 
 Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of 
 the conversation, and had just preluded with the 
 ominous remark, " That puts me in mind of a 
 
332 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 circumstance," when the improvisatore, too adroit 
 to suffer himself to be again superseded, went on, 
 pretending not to hear the interruption. 
 
 " Among the many circumstances connected 
 with the banditti, which serve to render the trav- 
 eller uneasy and insecure, is the understanding 
 which they sometimes have with inn-keepers. 
 Many an isolated inn among the lonely parts of 
 the Roman territories, and especially about the 
 mountains, are of a dangerous and perfidious 
 character. They are places where the banditti 
 gather information, and where the unwary trav- 
 eller, remote from hearing or assistance, is be- 
 trayed to the midnight dagger. The robberies 
 committed at such inns are often accompanied by 
 the most atrocious murders ; for it is only by the 
 complete extermination of their victims that the 
 assassins can escape detection. I recollect an ad- 
 venture," added he, " which occurred at one of 
 these solitary mountain inns, which, as you all 
 seem in a mood for robber anecdotes, may not be 
 uninteresting." 
 
 Having secured the attention and awakened the 
 curiosity of the by-standers, he paused for a mo- 
 ment, rolled up his large eyes as improvisatori are 
 apt to do when they would recollect an impromptu, 
 and then related with great dramatic effect the 
 following story, which had, doubtless, been well 
 prepared and digested beforeh{,md. 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 
 
 |T was late one evening that a carriage, 
 drawn by mules, slowly toiled its way 
 up one of the passes of the Apennines. 
 It was through one of the wildest defiles, where a 
 hamlet occurred only at distant intervals, perched 
 on the summit of some rocky height, or the white 
 towers of a convent peeped out from among the 
 thick mountain foliage. The carriage was of 
 ancient and ponderous construction. Its faded 
 embellishments spoke of former splendor, but its 
 crazy springs and axle-trees creaked out the tale 
 of present decline. Within was seated a tall, 
 thin old gentleman, in a kind of military travel- 
 ling-dress, and a foraging-cap trimmed with fur, 
 though the gray locks which stole from under it 
 hinted that his fighting days were over. Beside 
 him was a pale, beautiful girl of eighteen, dressed 
 in something of a northern or Polish costume. 
 One servant was seated in front, a rusty, crusty 
 looking fellow, with a scar across his face, an 
 orange-tawny schnurhart or pair of moustaches, 
 bristling from under his nose, and altogether the 
 air of an old soldier. 
 
 It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish noble- 
 
334 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 man ; a wreck of one of those princely families 
 once of almost oriental magniiScence, but broken 
 down and impoverished by the disasters of Po- 
 land. The Count, like many other generous 
 spirits, had been found guilty of the crime of pat- 
 riotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his 
 country. He had resided for some time in the 
 first cities of Italy, for the education of his 
 daughter, in whom all his cares and pleasures 
 were now centred. He had taken her into so- 
 ciety, where her beauty and her accomplishments 
 gained her many admirers ; and had she not been 
 the daughter of a poor broken-down Polish noble- 
 man, it is more than probable many would have 
 contended for her hand. Suddenly, however, her 
 health became delicate and drooping ; her gayety 
 ,fled with the roses of her cheek, and she sank 
 into silence and debility. The old Count saw 
 the change with the solicitude of a parent. " We 
 must try a change of air and scene," said he ; and 
 in a few days the old family carriage was rum- 
 bling among the Apennines. 
 
 Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, 
 who had been born in the family, and grown 
 rusty in its service. He had followed his master 
 in all his fortunes ; had fought by his side ; had 
 stood over him when fallen in battle ; and had 
 received, in his defence, the sabre-cut which added 
 such grimness to his countenance. He was now 
 his valet, his steward, his butler, his factotum. 
 The only being that rivalled his master in his 
 affections was his youthful mistress. She had 
 grown up under his eye, he had led her by the 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 335 
 
 hand when she was a child, and he now looked 
 upon her with the fondness of a parent. Nay, 
 he even took the freedom of a parent in giving 
 his blunt opinion on all matters which he thought 
 were for her good ; and felt a parent's vanity at 
 seeing her gazed at and admired. 
 
 The evening was thickening ; they had been 
 for some time passing through narrow gorges of 
 the mountains, along the edges of a tumbling 
 stream. The scenery was lonely and savage. 
 The rocks often beetled over the road, with flocks 
 of white goats browsing on their brinks, and 
 gazing down upon the travellers. They had be- 
 tween two or three leagues yet to go before they 
 could reach any village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro, 
 a tippling old fellow, who had refreshed himself 
 at the last halting-place with' a more than ordi-, 
 nary quantity of wine, sat singing and talking 
 alternately to his mules, and suffering them to 
 lag on at a snail's pace, in spite of the frequent 
 entreaties of the Count and maledictions of 
 Caspar. 
 
 The clouds began to roll in heavy masses 
 along the mountains, shrouding their summits 
 from view. The air was damp and chilly. The 
 Count's solicitude on his daughter's account over- 
 came his usual patience. He leaned from the 
 carriage, and called to old Pietro in an angry 
 tone. 
 
 '' Forward ! " said he. " It will be midnight 
 before we arrive at our inn." 
 
 " Yonder it is, Signor," said the muleteer. 
 
 " Where ? " demanded the Count. 
 
336 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 •^ Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate 
 pile about a quarter of a league distant. 
 
 " That the place ? — why, it looks more like a 
 ruin than an inn. I thought we were to put up 
 for the night at a comfortable village." 
 
 Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous ex- 
 clamations and ejaculations, such as are ever at 
 the tip of the tongue of a delinquent muleteer. 
 " Such roads ! and such mountains ! and then his 
 poor animals were way-worn, and leg-weary ; 
 they Avould fall lame ; they would never be able 
 to reach the village. And then what could his 
 Excellenza wish for better than the inn ; a per- 
 fect castella — a palazza — and such people ! — 
 and such a larder ! — and such beds ! — His Ex- 
 cellenza might fare as sumptuously, and sleep as 
 soundly there as a prince 1 " 
 
 The Count was easily persuaded, for he was 
 anxious to get his daughter out of the night air ; 
 so in a little while the old carriage rattled and 
 jingled into the great gateway of the inn. 
 
 The building did certainly in some measure 
 answer to the muleteer's description. It was 
 large enough for either castle or palace ; built in 
 a strong, but simple and almost rude style ; with 
 a great quantity of waste room. It had in fact 
 been, in former times, a hunting-seat of one of 
 the Italian princes. There was space enough 
 within its walls and out-buildings to have accom- 
 modated a little army. A scanty household 
 seemed now to people this dreary mansion. The 
 faces that presented themselves on the arrival 
 of the travellers were begrimed with dirt, and 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 337 
 
 scowling in their expression. They all knew old 
 Pietro, however, and gave him a welcome as he 
 entered, singing and talking, and almost whoop- 
 ing, into the gateway. 
 
 The hostess of the inn waited, herself, on the 
 Count and his daughter, to show them the apart- 
 ments. They were conducted through a long 
 gloomy corridor, and then through a suite of 
 chambers opening into each other, with lofty 
 ceilings, and great beams extending across them. 
 Everything, however, had a wretched, squalid 
 look. The walls were damp and bare, excepting 
 that here and there hung some great painting, 
 large enough for a chapel, and blackened out of 
 all distinction. 
 
 They chose two bedrooms, one within another ; 
 the inner one for the daughter. The bedsteads 
 were massive and misshapen ; but on examining 
 the beds so vaunted by old Pietro, they found 
 them stuffed with fibres of hemp knotted in great 
 lumps. The Count shrugged his shoulders, but 
 there was no choice left. 
 
 The chilliness of the apartments crept to their 
 bones ; and they were glad to return to a 
 common chamber or kind of hall, where was a 
 fire burning in a huge cavern, miscalled a chim- 
 ney. A quantity of green wood, just thrown on, 
 puffed out volumes of smoke. The room cor- 
 responded to the rest of the mansion. The floor 
 was paved and dirty. A great oaken table stood 
 in the centre, immovable from its size and weight. 
 The only thing that contradicted this prevalent 
 air of indigence was the dress of the hostess. 
 22 
 
338 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 She was a slattern of course ; yet her garments, 
 though dirty and negligent, were of costly mate- 
 rials. She wore several rings of great value on 
 her fingers, and jewels in her ears, and round her 
 neck was a string of large pearls, to which was 
 attached a sparkling crucifix. She had the re- 
 mains of beauty, yet there was something in the 
 expression of her countenance that inspired the 
 young lady with singular aversion. She was 
 officious and obsequious in her attentions, and 
 both the Count and his daughter felt relieved, 
 when she consigned them to the care of a dark, 
 sullen - looking servant - maid, and went off to 
 superintend the supper. 
 
 Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for hav- 
 ing, either through negligence or design, subjected 
 his master and mistress to such quarters ; and 
 vowed by his moustaches to have revenge on the 
 old varlet the moment they were safe out from 
 among the mountains. He kept up a continual 
 quarrel with the sulky servant-maid, which only 
 served to increase the sinister expression with 
 which she regarded the travellers, from under 
 her strong dark eyebrows. 
 
 As to the Count, he was a good-humored pas- 
 sive traveller. Perhaps real misfortunes had 
 subdued his spirit, and rendered him tolerant of 
 many of those petty evils which make prosperous 
 men miserable. He drew a large broken arm- 
 chair to the fireside for his daughter, and another 
 for himself, and seizing an enormous pair of 
 tongs, endeavored to rearrange the wood so as to 
 produce a blaze. His efforts, however, were 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 339 
 
 only repaid by thicker puffs of smoke, which 
 almost overcame the gojd gentleman's patience. 
 He would draw back, cast a look upon his deli- 
 cate daughter, then upon the cheerless, squalid 
 apartment, and, shrugging his shoulders, would 
 give a fresh stir to the fire. 
 
 Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, how- 
 ever, there is none greater than sulky attendance : 
 the good Count for some time bore the smoke in 
 silence, rather th^n address himself to the scowl- 
 ing servant-maid. At length he was compelled 
 to beg for drier firewood. The woman retired 
 muttering. On reentering the room hastily, with 
 an armful of fagots, her foot slipped ; she fell, 
 and striking her head against the corner of a 
 chair, cut her temple severely. 
 
 The blow stunned her for a time, and the 
 wound bled profusely. When she recovered, she 
 found the Count's daughter administering to her 
 wound, and binding it up with her own handker- 
 chief It was such an attention as any woman 
 of ordinary feeling would have yielded ; but per- 
 haps there was something in the appearance of 
 the lovely being who bent over her, or in the 
 tones of her voice, that touched the heart of the 
 woman, unused to be administered to by such 
 hands. Certain it is, she was strongly affected. 
 She caught the delicate hand of the Polonaise, 
 and pressed it fervently to her lips. 
 
 '' May San Francesco watch over you, Sig- 
 nora ! " exclaimed she. 
 
 A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. 
 It was a Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. 
 
340 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 The court-yard was in an uproar ; the house 
 in a bustle. The landlady hurried to attend 
 such distinguished guests ; and the poor Count 
 and his daughter, and their supper, were for a 
 moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered 
 Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian 
 ear ; but it was impossible to convince the hostess 
 of the superiority of his old master and young 
 mistress to the whole nobility of Spain. 
 
 The noise of the arrival had attracted the 
 daughter to the window just as the new-comers 
 had alighted. A young cavalier sprang out of 
 the carriage and handed out the Princess. The 
 latter was a little shrivelled old lady, with a face 
 of parchment and sparkling black eye ; she was 
 richly and gayly dressed, and walked with the 
 assistance of a golden-headed cane as high as 
 herself The young man was tall and elegantly 
 formed. The Count's daughter shrank back at 
 the sight of him, though the deep frame of the 
 window screened her from observation. She gave 
 a heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What 
 that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at 
 the contrast between the splendid equipage of the 
 Princess, and the crazy rheumatic-looking old 
 vehicle of her father, which stood hard by. 
 Whatever might be the reason, the young lady 
 closed the casement with a sigh. She returned 
 to her chair, — a slight shivering passed over 
 her delicate frame : she leaned her elbow on the 
 arm of the chair, rested her pale cheek in the 
 palm of her hand, and looked mournfully into 
 the fire. 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 341 
 
 The Count thought she appeared paler than 
 usual. 
 
 " Does anything ail thee, my child ? " said he. 
 
 " Nothing, dear father ! " replied she, laying her 
 hand within his, and looking up smiling in his 
 face ; but as she said so, a treacherous tear rose 
 suddenly to her eye, and she turned away her 
 head. 
 
 " The air of the window has chilled thee," said 
 the Count, fondly, " but a good night's rest will 
 make all well again." 
 
 The supper-table was at length laid, and the 
 supper about to be served, when the hostess ap- 
 peared, with her usual obsequiousness, apologizing 
 for showing in the new-comers ; but the night air 
 was cold, and there was no other chamber in the 
 inn with a fire in it. She had scarcely made 
 the apology when the Princess entered, leaning 
 on the arm of the elegant young man. 
 
 The Count immediately recognized her for a 
 lady whom he had met frequently in society, both 
 at Rome and Naples ; and at whose conversa- 
 ziones, in fact, he had been constantly invited. 
 The cavalier, too, was her nephew and heir, who 
 had been greatly admired in the gay circles both 
 for his merits and prospects, and who had once 
 been on a visit at the same time with his daugh- 
 ter and himself at the villa of a nobleman near 
 Naples. Report had recently affianced him to a 
 rich Spanish heiress. 
 
 The meeting was agreeable to both the Count 
 and the Princess. The former was a gentleman 
 of the old school, courteous in the extreme ; the 
 
342 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Princess had been a belle in her youth, and a 
 woman of fashion all her life, and liked to be at- 
 tended to. 
 
 The young man approached the daughter, and 
 began something of a complimentary observation ; 
 but his manner was embarrassed, and his compli- 
 ment ended in an indistinct murmur ; while the 
 daughter bowed without looking up, moved her 
 lips without articulating a word, and sank again 
 into her chair, where she sat gazing into the fire, 
 with a thousand varying expressions passing over 
 her countenance. 
 
 This singular greeting of the young people 
 was not perceived by the old ones, who were 
 occupied at the time with their own courteous 
 salutations. It was arranged that they should 
 sup together ; and as the Princess travelled with 
 her own cook, a very tolerable supper soon 
 smoked upon the board. This, too, was assisted 
 by choice wines, and liquors, and delicate confi- 
 tures brought from one of her carriages ; for she 
 was a veteran epicure, and curious in her relish 
 for the good things of this world. She was, in 
 fact, a vivacious little old lady, who mingled the 
 woman of dissipation with the devotee. She was 
 actually on her way to Loretto to expiate a long 
 life of gallantries and peccadilloes by a rich offer- 
 ing at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, 
 rather a luxurious penitent, and a contrast to the 
 primitive pilgrims, with scrip and staff, and cockle- 
 shell ; but then it would be unreasonable to ex- 
 pect such self-denial from people of fashion ; and 
 there was not a doubt of the ample efficacy of 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 343 
 
 the rich crucifixes, and golden vessels, and jew- 
 elled ornaments, which she was bearing to the 
 treasury of the blessed Virgin. 
 
 The Princess and the Count chatted much 
 during supper about the scenes and society in 
 which they had mingled, and did not notice that 
 they had all the conversation to themselves : the 
 young people were silent and constrained. The 
 daughter ate nothing in spite of the politeness of 
 the Princess, who continually pressed her to taste 
 of one or other of the delicacies. The Count 
 shook his head. 
 
 " She is not well this evening," said he. " I 
 thought she would have fainted just now as she 
 was looking out of the window at your carriage 
 on its arrival." 
 
 A crimson glow flushed to the very temples 
 of the daughter ; but she leaned over her plate, 
 and her tresses cast a shade over her counte- 
 nance. 
 
 When supper was over, they drew their chairs 
 about the great fireplace. The flame and smoke 
 had subsided, and a heap of glowing embers dif- 
 fused a grateful warmth. A guitar, which had 
 been brought from the Count's carriage, leaned 
 against the wall ; the Princess perceived it. — 
 " Can we not have a little music before parting 
 for the night ? " demanded she. 
 
 The Count was proud of his daughter's accom- 
 plishment, and joined in the request. The yoimg 
 man made an effort of politeness, and taking up 
 the guitar, presented it, though in an embarrassed 
 manner, to the fair musician. She would have 
 
344 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 declined it, but was too much confused to do so ; 
 indeed, she was so nervous and agitated, that siie 
 dared not trust her voice, to make an excuse. 
 She touched the instrument mth a faltering hand, 
 and, after preluding a little, accompanied herself 
 in several Polish airs. Her father's eyes glis- 
 tened as he sat gazing on her. Even the crusty 
 Caspar lingered in the room, partly through a 
 fondness for the music of Ms native country, but 
 chiefly through his pride in the musician. Indeed 
 the melody of the voice, and the delicacy of the 
 touch, were enough to have charmed more fastid- 
 ious ears. The little Princess nodded her head 
 and tapped her hand to the music, though exceed- 
 ingly out of time ; while the nephew sat buried 
 in profound contemplation of a black picture on 
 the opposite wall. 
 
 " And now," said the Count, patting her cheek 
 fondly, "one more favor. Let the Princess hear 
 that little Spanish air you were so fond of You 
 can't think," added he, " what a proficiency she 
 has made in your language ; though she has been 
 a sad girl, and neglected it of late." 
 
 The color flushed the pale cheek of the daugh- 
 ter. She hesitated, murmured something ; but 
 with sudden effort, collected herself, struck the 
 guitar boldly, and began. It was a Spanish ro- 
 mance, with something of love and melancholy in 
 it. She gave the first stanza with great expres- 
 sion, for the tremulous, melting tones of her voice 
 went to the heart ; but her articulation failed, her 
 lips quivered, the song died away, and she burst 
 into tears. 
 
TEE BELATED TRAVELLERS, 345 
 
 The Count folded her tenderly in his arms. 
 " Thou art not well, my child," said he, " and I 
 am tasking thee cruelly. Retire to thy cham- 
 ber, and God bless thee ! " She bowed to the 
 company without raising her eyes, and glided out 
 of the room. 
 
 The Count shook his head as the door closed. 
 " Something is the matter with that child," said 
 he, " which I cannot divine. She has lost all 
 health and spirits lately. She was always a ten- 
 der flower, and I had much pains to rear her. 
 Excuse a father's foolishness," continued he, " but 
 I have seen much trouble in my family ; and 
 this poor girl is all that is now left to me ; and 
 she used to be so lively" 
 
 " Maybe she 's in love ! " said the little Prin- 
 cess, with a shrewd nod of the head. 
 
 " Impossible I " replied the good Count, art- 
 lessly. " She has never mentioned a word of 
 such a thing to me." 
 
 How little did the worthy gentleman dream 
 of the thousand cares, and griefs, and mighty love 
 concerns which agitate a virgin heart, and which 
 a timid girl scarcely breathes unto herself. 
 
 The nephew of the Princess rose abruptly and 
 walked about the room. 
 
 When she found herself alone in her chamber, 
 the feelings of the young lady, so long restrained, 
 broke forth with violence. She opened the case- 
 ment that the cool air might blow upon her throb- 
 bing temples. Perhaps there was some little 
 pride or pique mingled with her emotions ; though 
 her gentle nature did not seem calculated to har- 
 bor any such angry inmate. 
 
846 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " He saw me weep ! " said she, with a sudden 
 mantling of the cheek, and a swelling of the 
 throat, — " but no matter ! — no matter ! " 
 
 And so saying, she threw her white arms across 
 the window-frame, buried her face in them, and 
 abandoned herself to an agony of tears. She 
 remained lost in a reverie, until the sound of her 
 father's and Caspar's voices in the adjoining room 
 gave token that the party had retired for the 
 night. The lights gleaming from window to win- 
 dow, showed that they were conducting the Prin- 
 cess to her apartments, which were in the oppo- 
 site wing of the inn ; and she distinctly saw the 
 figure of the nephew as he passed one of the case- 
 ments. 
 
 She heaved a deep heart-drawn sigh, and was 
 about to close the lattice, when her attention was 
 caught by words spoken below her window by 
 two persons who had just turned an angle of the 
 building. 
 
 " But -^^hat will become of the poor young 
 lady ? " said a voice, which she recognized for 
 that of the servant-woman. 
 
 " Pooh ! she must take her chance," was the 
 reply from old Pietro. 
 
 " But cannot she be spared ? " asked the other, 
 entreatingly ; " she 's so kind-hearted ! " 
 
 " Cospetto ! what has got into thee ? " replied 
 the other, petulantly : " would you mar the whole 
 business for the sake of a silly girl ? " By this 
 time they had got so far from the window that 
 the Polonaise could hear nothing further. There 
 was something in this fragment of conversation 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 347 
 
 calculated to alarm. Did it relate to herself? — 
 and if so, what was this impending danger from 
 which it was entreated that she might be spared ? 
 She was several times on the point of tapping at 
 her father's door, to tell him what she had heard, 
 but she might have been mistaken ; she might 
 have heard indistinctly ; the conversation might 
 have alluded to some one else ; at any rate, it 
 was too indefinite to lead to any conclusion. 
 While in this state of irresolution, she was star- 
 tled by a low knock against the wainscot in a 
 remote part of her gloomy chamber. On holding 
 up the light, she beheld a small door there, which 
 she had not before remarked. It was bolted on 
 the inside. She advanced, and demanded who 
 knocked, and was answered in a voice of the 
 female domestic. On opening the door, the 
 woman stood before it pale and agitated. She 
 entered softly, laying her finger on her lips as in 
 sign of caution and secrecy. 
 
 " Fly ! " said she : " leave this house instantly, 
 or you are lost ! " 
 
 The young lady, trembling with alarm, de- 
 manded an explanation. 
 
 " I have no time," replied the woman, " I dare 
 not — I shall be missed if I linger here — but 
 fly instantly, or you are lost." 
 
 " And leave my father ? " 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 " In the adjoining chamber." 
 
 " Call him, then, but lose no time." 
 
 The young lady knocked at her father's door. 
 He was not yet retired to bed. She hurried into 
 
34:8 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 his room, and told him of the fearful warnings 
 she had received. The Comit returned with her 
 into the chamber, followed by Caspar. His ques- 
 tions soon drew the truth out of the embarrassed 
 answers of the woman. The inn was beset by 
 robbers. They were to be introduced after mid- 
 night, when the attendants of the Princess and 
 the rest of the travellers were sleeping, and would 
 be an easy prey. 
 
 " But we can barricade the inn, we can defend 
 ourselves," said the Count. 
 
 " What ! when the people of the inn are in 
 league with the banditti ? " 
 
 " How then are we to escape ? Can we not 
 order Qut the carriage and depart ? " 
 
 " San Francesco ! for what ? to give the alarm 
 that the plot is discovered ? That would make 
 the robbers desperate, and bring them on you at 
 once. They have had notice of the rich booty 
 in the inn, and will not easily let it escape them." 
 
 " But how else are we to get off? " 
 
 " There is a horse behind the inn," said the 
 woman, " from which the man has just dis- 
 mounted who has been to summon the aid of part 
 of the band at a distance." 
 
 " One horse ; and there are three of us ! " said 
 the Count. 
 
 " And the Spanish Princess ! " cried the daugh- 
 ter, anxiously. " How can she be extricated 
 from the danger ? " 
 
 " Diavolo ! what is she to me ? " said the wom- 
 an, in sudden passion. " It is you I come to 
 save, and you will betray me, and we shall all 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 349 
 
 be lost ! Hark ! " continued she, '' I am called 
 — I shall be discovered — one word more. This 
 door leads by a staircase to the courtyard. Un- 
 der the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a small 
 door leading out to the fields. You will find a 
 horse there ; mount it ; make a circuit under the 
 shadow of a ridge of rocks that you will see ; 
 proceed cautiously and quietly until you cross a 
 brook, and find yourself on the road just where 
 there are three white crosses nailed against a 
 tree ; then put your horse to his speed, and make 
 the best of your way to the village — but recol- 
 lect, my life is in your hands — say nothing of 
 what you have heard or seen, whatever may hap- 
 pen at this inn." 
 
 The woman hurried away. A short and agi- 
 tated consultation took place between the Count, 
 his daughter, and the veteran Caspar. The 
 young lady seemed to have lost all apprehension 
 for herself in her solicitude for the safety of the 
 Princess. " To fly in selfish silence, and leave 
 her to be massacred ! " — A shuddering seized 
 her at the very thought. The gallantry of the 
 Count, too, revolted at the idea. He could not 
 consent to turn his back upon a party of helpless 
 travellers, and leave them in ignorance of the 
 danger which hung over them. 
 
 " But what is to become of the young lady," 
 said Caspar, " if the alarm is given, and the inn 
 thrown in a tumult ? What may happen to her 
 in a chance-medley affray ? " 
 
 Here the feelings of the father were aroused ; 
 he looked upon his lovely, helpless child, and trem- 
 
350 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 bled at the chance of her falling into the hands of 
 ruffians. 
 
 The daughter, however, thought nothing of 
 herself. " The Princess ! the Princess ! — only 
 let the Princess know her danger." She was will- 
 ing to share it with her. 
 
 At length Caspar interfered w^ith the zeal of a 
 faithful old servant. No time was to be lost — 
 the first thing was to get the young lady out of 
 danger. '-' Mount the horse," said he to the 
 Count, " take her behind you, and fly ! Make 
 for the village, rouse the inhabitants, and send as- 
 sistance. Leave me here to give the alarm to 
 the Princess and her people. I am an old soldier, 
 and I think we shall be able to stand siege until 
 you send us aid." 
 
 The daughter would again have insisted on 
 staying with the Princess — 
 
 " For what ? " said old Caspar, bluntly. " You 
 could do no good — you would be in the way ; — 
 we should have to take care of you instead of 
 ourselves." 
 
 There was no answering these objections ; the 
 Count seized his pistols, and taking his daughter 
 under his arm, moved towards the staircase. 
 The young lady paused, stepped back, and said, 
 faltering with agitation — " There is a young cav- 
 alier with the Princess — her nephew — perhaps 
 'he may " — 
 
 " I understand you. Mademoiselle," replied old 
 Caspar, with a significant nod ; " not a hair of his 
 head shall suffer harm if I can help it." 
 
 The young lady blushed deeper than ever ; she 
 
TEE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 351 
 
 had not anticipated being so thoroughly understood 
 by the blunt old servant. 
 
 " That is not what I mean/' said she, hesitat- 
 ing. She would have added something, or made 
 some explanation, but the moments were precious, 
 and her father hurried her away. 
 
 They found their way through the courtyard to 
 the small postern gate where the horse stood, fast- 
 ened to a ring in the wall. The Count mounted, 
 took his daughter behind him, and they proceeded 
 as quietly as possible in the direction which the 
 woman had pointed out. Many a fearful and 
 anxious look did the daughter cast back upon the 
 gloomy pile ; the lights which had feebly twinkled 
 through the dusky casements were one by one dis- 
 appearing, a sign that the inmates were gradually 
 sinking to repose ; and she trembled with impa- 
 tience, lest succor should not arrive until that re- 
 pose had been fatally interrupted. 
 
 They passed silently and safely along the skirts 
 of the rocks, protected from observation by their 
 overhanging shadows. They crossed the brook, 
 and reached the place where three white crosses 
 nailed against a tree told of some murder that had 
 been committed there. Just as they had reached 
 this ill-omened spot they beheld several men in the 
 gloom coming down a craggy defile among the 
 rocks. 
 
 " Who goes there ? " exclaimed a voice. The 
 Count put spurs to his horse, but one of the men 
 sprang forward and seized the bridle. The horse 
 started back, and reared ; and had not the young 
 lady clung to her father, she would have been 
 
352 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 thrown off. The Count leaned forward, put a 
 pistol to the very head of the ruffian, and fired. 
 The latter fell dead. The horse sprang forward. 
 Two or three shots were fired which whistled by 
 the fugitives, but only served to augment their 
 speed. They reached the village in safety. 
 
 The whole place was soon roused ; but such 
 was the awe in which the banditti were held, that 
 the inhabitants shrunk at the idea of encounter- 
 ing them. A desperate band had for some time 
 infested that pass through the mountains, and the 
 inn had long been suspected of being one of those 
 horrible places where the unsuspicious wayfarer 
 is entrapped and silently disposed of. The rich 
 ornaments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn 
 had excited heavy suvSpicions. Several instances 
 had occurred of small parties of travellers disap- 
 pearing mysteriously on that road, who, it was 
 supposed at first, had been carried off by the rob- 
 bers for the purpose of ransom, but who had 
 never been heard of more. Such were the tales 
 buzzed in the ears of the Count by the villagers, 
 as he endeavored to rouse them to the rescue of 
 the Princess and her train from their perilous sit- 
 uation. The daughter seconded the exertions of 
 her father with all the eloquence of prayers, and 
 tears, and beauty. Every moment that elapsed 
 increased her anxiety until it became agonizing. 
 Fortunately there was a body of gendarmes rest- 
 ing at the village. A number of the young vil- 
 lagers volunteered to accompany them, and the lit- 
 tle army was put in motion. The Count having 
 deposited his daughter in a place of safety, was too 
 
TEE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 853 
 
 much of the old soldier not to hasten to the scene 
 of danger. It would be difficult to paint the 
 anxious agitation of the young lady while await- 
 ing the result. 
 
 The party arrived at the inn just in time. 
 The robbers, finding their plans discovered, and 
 the travellers prepared for their reception, had 
 become open and furious in their attack. The 
 Princess's party had barricaded themselves in one 
 suite of apartments, and repulsed the robbers 
 from the doors and windows. Caspar had shown 
 the generalship of a veteran, and the nephew of 
 the Princess the dashing valor of a young soldier. 
 Their ammunition, however, was nearly exhausted, 
 and they would have found it difficult to hold out 
 much longer, when a discharge from the musket- 
 ry of the gendarmes gave them the joyful tidings 
 of succor. 
 
 A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers 
 were surprised in the inn, and had to stand siege 
 in their turn ; while their comrades made desper- 
 ate attempts to relieve them from under cover 
 of the neighboring rocks and thickets. 
 
 I cannot pretend to give a minute account of 
 the fight, as I have heard it related in a variety 
 iOf ways. Suffice it to say, the robbers were de- 
 jfeated ; several of them killed, and several taken 
 prisoners; which last, together with the people 
 of the inn, were either executed or sent to the 
 galleys. 
 
 1^ I picked up these particulars in the course of a 
 journey which I made some time after the event 
 had taken place. I passed by the very inn. It 
 
 23 
 
354 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 was then dismantled^ excepting one wing, in 
 which a body of gendarmes was stationed. They 
 pointed out to me the shot-holes in the window- 
 frames, the walls, and the panels of the doors. 
 There were a number of withered limbs dan- 
 gling from the branches of a neighboring tree, 
 and blackening in the air, which I was told were 
 the limbs of the robbers who had been slain, and 
 the culprits who had been executed. The whole 
 place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. 
 
 " Were any of the Princess's party killed ? " 
 inquired the Englishman. 
 
 " As far as I can recollect, there were two or 
 three." 
 
 " Not the nephew, I trust ? " said the fair 
 Venetian. 
 
 " Oh no : he hastened with the Count to relieve 
 the anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of 
 victory. The young lady had been sustained 
 through the interval of suspense by the very 
 intensity of her feelings. The moment she saw 
 her father returning in safety, accompanied by the 
 nephew of the Princess, she uttered a cry of rap- 
 ture, and fainted. Happily, however, she soon 
 recovered, and what is more, was married shortly 
 afterwards to the young cavalier ; and the whole 
 party accompanied the old Princess in her pilgrim-, 
 age to Loretto, where her votive offerings mayjl 
 still be seen in the treasury of the Santa Casa." 
 
 It would be tedious to follow the devious course 
 of the conversation as it wound through a maz6 
 of stories of the kind, until it was taken up by 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS, 355 
 
 two other travellers who had come under convoy 
 of the procaccio : Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a 
 linen-draper and a green - grocer, just returning 
 from a hasty tour in Greece and the Holy Land. 
 They were full of the story of Alderman Pop- 
 kins. They were astonished that the robbers 
 should dare to molest a man of his importance on 
 'Change, he being an eminent dry-salter of Throg- 
 morton Street, and a magistrate to boot. 
 
 In fact, the story of the Popkins family was 
 but too true. It was attested by too many pres- 
 ent to be for a moment doubted ; and from the 
 contradictory and concordant testimony of half a 
 score, all eager to relate it, and all talking at the 
 same time, the Englishman was enabled to gather 
 the following particulars. 
 
ADYENTUEE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY. 
 
 It was but a few days before, that the 
 carriage of Alderman Popkins had 
 
 ,^,,^ driven up to the inn of Terracina. 
 Those who have seen an English family-carriage 
 on the Continent must have remarked the sensa- 
 tion it produces. It is an epitome of England ; 
 a little morsel of the old Island rolling about the 
 world. Everything about it compact, snug, fin- 
 ished, and fitting. The wheels turning on patent 
 axles without rattling; the body, hangmg so well 
 on its springs, yielding to every motion, yet pro- 
 tecting from every shock ; the ruddy faces gap- 
 ing from the windows, — sometimes of a portly 
 old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager, 
 and sometimes of a fine fresh hoyden just from 
 boarding-school. And then the dickeys loaded 
 with well-dressed servants, beef-fed and bluff; 
 looking down from their heights with contempt 
 on all "the world around ; profoundly ignorant of 
 the country and the people, and devoutly certam 
 that everything not English must be wrong. 
 
 Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins 
 as it made its appearance at Terracina. The^ 
 courier who had preceded it to order horses, and| 
 who was a Neapolitan, had given a magnificent 
 
THE POPKTNS FAMILY. 357 
 
 account of the richness and greatness of his 
 master ; blundering with an Italian's splendor of 
 imagination about the Alderman's titles and dig- 
 nities. The host had added his usual share of 
 exaggeration ; so that by the time the Alderman 
 drove up to the door, he was a Milor — Magni- 
 fico — Principe — the Lord knows what ! 
 
 The Alderman was advised to take an escort 
 to Fondi and Itri, but he refused. It was as 
 much as a man's life was worth, he said, to stop 
 him on the king's highway : he would complain 
 of it to the ambassador at Naples ; he would 
 make a national affair of it. The Principessa 
 Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly 
 secure in the protection of her husband, so om- 
 nipotent a man in the city. The Signorines 
 Popkins, two fine bouncing girls, looked to their 
 brother Tom, who had taken lessons in boxing ; 
 and as to the dandy himself, he swore no scara- 
 mouch of an Italian robber would dare to med- 
 dle with an Englishman. The landlord shrugged 
 his shoulders, and turned out the palms of his 
 hands with a true Italian grimace, and the car- 
 riage of Milor Popkins rolled on. 
 
 They passed through several very suspicious 
 places without any molestation. The Misses 
 Popkins, who were very romantic, and had learnt 
 to draw in water-colors, were enchanted with the 
 savage scenery aroiuid ; it was so like what they 
 had read in Mrs. Padcliffs romances ; they sliould 
 Kke, of all things, to make sketches. At length 
 the carriage arrived at a place where tlie road 
 wound up a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk 
 
858 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 into a sleep ; the young ladies were lost in the 
 " Loves of the Angels " ; and the dandy was 
 hectoring the postilions from the coach-box. The 
 Alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs 
 up the hilL It was a long, winding ascent, and 
 obliged him every now and then to stop and blow 
 and wipe his forehead, with many a pish! and 
 phew ! being rather pursy and short of wind. 
 As the carriage, however, was far behind him, 
 and moved slowly under the weight of so many 
 well-stuffed trunks, and well-stuffed travellers, he 
 had plenty of time to walk at leisure. 
 
 On a jutting point of a rock that overhung 
 the road, nearly at the summit of the hill, just 
 where the road began again to descend, he saw a 
 solitary man seated, who appeared to be tending 
 goats. Alderman Popkins was one of your 
 shrewd travellers who always like to be picking 
 up small information along the road ; so he 
 thought he 'd just scramble up to the honest man^ 
 and have a little talk with him by way of learn- 
 ing the news and getting a lesson in Italian. Aa \ 
 he drew near to the peasant, he did not half like 
 his looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks, 
 wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with 
 his slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy 
 visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and 
 a fierce moustache to be seen. He had whistled 
 several times to his dog, which was roving about 
 the side of the hill. As the Alderman approached, 
 he arose and greeted him. When standing erect, 
 he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of 
 Alderman Popkins, who, however, being a short 
 man, might be deceived. 
 
THE POPKINS FAMILY. ' 359 
 
 The latter would gladly now have been back 
 in the carriage, or even on 'Change in London ; 
 for he was by no means well pleased with his 
 company. However, he determined to put the 
 best face on matters, and was beginning a conver- 
 sation about the state of the weather, the bad- 
 dishness of the crops, and the price of goats in 
 that part of the country, when he heard a violent 
 screaming. He ran to the edge of the rock, and 
 looking over, beheld his carriage surrounded by 
 robbers. One held down the fat footman, another 
 had the dandy by his starched cravat, with a pistol 
 to his head ; one was rummaging a portmanteau, 
 another rummaging the Principessa's pockets ; 
 while the two Misses Popkins were screaming 
 from each window of the carriage, and their 
 waiting-maid squalling from the dickey. 
 
 Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent 
 and the magistrate roused within him. He 
 grasped his cane, and was on the point of scram- 
 bling down the rocks either to assault the robbers 
 or to read the riot act, when he was suddenly 
 seized by the arm. It was by his friend the 
 goatherd, whose cloak falling open, discovered a 
 belt stack full of pistols and stilettos. In short, 
 he found himself in the clutches of the captain 
 of the band, who had stationed himself on the 
 rock to look out for travellers and to give notice 
 to his men. 
 
 A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were 
 turned inside out, and all the finery and frippery 
 of the Popkins family scattered about the road. 
 Such a chaos of Venice beads and Roman mosa- 
 
360 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 ics, and Paris bonnets of the young ladies, min- 
 gled with the Alderman's nightcaps and lambs'- 
 wool stockings, and the dandy's hair-brushes, 
 stays, and starched cravats. 
 
 The gentlemen were eased of their purses and 
 their watches, the ladies of theif jewels ; and the 
 whole party were on the point of being carried 
 up into the mountain, when fortunately the ap- 
 pearance of soldiers at a distance obliged the 
 robbers to make off with the spoils they had se- 
 cured, and leave the Popkins family to gather 
 together the remnants of their effects, and make 
 the best of their way to Fondi. 
 
 When safe arrived, the Alderman made a 
 terrible blustering at the inn ; threatened to com- 
 plain to the ambassador at Naples, and was ready 
 to shake his cane at the whole country. The 
 dandy had many stories to tell of his scuffles 
 with the brigands, who overpowered him merely 
 by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins, they 
 were quite delighted with the adventure, and 
 were occupied the whole evening in writing it in 
 their journals. They declared the captain of the 
 band to be a most romantic-looking man, they 
 dared to say some unfortunate lover or exiled 
 nobleman ; and several of the band to be very 
 handsome young men — " quite picturesque ! " 
 
 " In verity," said mine host of Terracina, 
 " they say the captain of the band is un gallant 
 uomor 
 
 " A gallant man ! " said the Englishman, indig- 
 nantly : " I 'd have your gallant man hanged like 
 a dos I " 
 
THE POP KINS FAMILY, 361 
 
 " To dare to meddle with Englishmen ! " said 
 Mr. Hobbs. 
 
 " And such a family as the Popkinses ! " said 
 Mr. Dobbs. 
 
 " They ought to come upon the country for 
 damages I " said Mr. Hobbs. 
 
 " Our ambassador should make a complaint to 
 the government of Naples," said Mr. Dobbs. 
 
 " They should be obliged to drive these rascals 
 out of the country," said Hobbs. 
 
 " And if they did not, we should declare war 
 against them," said Dobbs. 
 
 " Pish ! — humbug ! " muttered the English- 
 man to himself, and walked away. 
 
 The Englishman had been a little wearied by 
 this story, and by the ultra zeal of his country- 
 men, and was glad when a summons to their 
 supper relieved him from the crowd of travellers. 
 He walked out with his Venetian friends and a 
 young Frenchman of an interesting demeanor, 
 who had become sociable with them in the course 
 of the conversation. They directed their steps 
 towards the sea, which was lit up by the rising 
 moon. 
 
 As they strolled along the beach they came to 
 where a party of soldiers were stationed in a 
 circle. They were guarding a number of galley 
 slaves, who were permitted to refresh themselves 
 in the evening breeze, and sport and roll upon 
 the sand. 
 
 The Frenchman paused, and pointed to the 
 group of wretches at their sports. " It is diffi- 
 
362 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 cult," said he, " to conceive a more frightful mass 
 of crime than is here collected. Many of these 
 have probably been robbers, such as you have 
 heard described. Such is, too often, the career 
 of crime in this country. The parricide, the 
 fratricide, the infanticide, the miscreant of every 
 kind, first flies from justice and turns moun- 
 tain bandit ; and then, when wearied of a life 
 of danger, becomes traitor to his brother des- 
 peradoes ; betrays them to punishment, and thus 
 buys a commutation of his own sentence from 
 death to the galleys ; happy in the privilege of 
 wallowing on the shore an hour a day, in this 
 mere state of animal enjoyment." 
 
 The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look 
 at the horde of wretches at their evening amuse- 
 ment. " They seemed," she said, " like so many 
 serpents writhing together." And yet the idea 
 that some of them had been robbers, those for- 
 midable beings that haunted her imagination, 
 made her still cast another fearful glance, as we 
 contemplate some terrible beast of prey, with a 
 degree of awe and horror, even though caged and 
 chained. 
 
 The conversation reverted to the tales of ban- 
 ditti which they had heard at the inn. The 
 Englishman condemned some of them as fabrica- 
 tions, others as exaggerations. As to the story 
 of tlie improvisatore, he pronounced it a mere 
 piece of romance, originating in the heated brain 
 of the narrator. 
 
 " And yet," said the Frenchman, " there is so 
 much romance about the real life of those beings, 
 
THE FOP KINS FAMILY. 363 
 
 and about the singular country they infest, that it 
 is hard to tell what to reject on the ground of im- , 
 probability. I have had an adventure happen 
 to myself which gave me an opportunity of get- 
 ting some insight into their manners and habits, 
 which I found altogether out of the common run 
 of existence." 
 
 There was an air of mingled frankness and 
 modesty about the Frenchman which had gained 
 the goodwill of the whole party, not even except- 
 ing the Englishman. They all eagerly inquired 
 after the particulars of the circumstances he al- 
 luded to, and as they strolled slowly up and down 
 the sea-shore, he related the following adventure. 
 
 f^~-lD 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 
 
 1^ AM an historical painter by profession, 
 and resided for some time in the family 
 of a foreign Prince at his villa, about 
 fifteen miles from Kome, among some of the most 
 interesting scenery of Italy. It is situated on the 
 heights of ancient Tusculum. In its neighbor- 
 hood are the ruins of the villas of Cicero, Scylla, 
 Lucullus, Rufinus, and other illustrious Romans, 
 who sought refuge here occasionally from their 
 toils, in the bosom of a soft and luxurious repose. 
 From the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed 
 by the pure mountain breeze, the eye looks over 
 a romantic landscape full of poetical and historical 
 associations. The Albanian Mountains ; Tivoli, 
 once the favorite residence of Horace and Mecae- 
 nas ; the vast, deserted, melancholy Campagna, 
 with the Tiber winding through it, and St. Pe- 
 ter's dome swelling in the midst, the monument, 
 as it were, over the grave of ancient Rome. 
 
 I assisted the Prince in researches which he 
 was making among tlie classic ruins of his vicin- 
 ity : his exertions were highly successful. Many 
 wrecks of admirable statues and fragments of ex- 
 quisite sculpture were dug up ; monuments of 
 the taste and magnificence that reigned in the an- 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE, 365 
 
 cient Tusculan abodes. He had studded his villa 
 and its grounds with statues, relievos, vases, and 
 sarcophagi, thus retrieved from the bosom of the 
 earth. 
 
 The mode of life pursued at the villa was de- 
 lightfully serene, diversified by interesting occupa- 
 tions and elegant leisure. Every one passed the 
 day according to his pleasure or pursuits ; and 
 we all assembled in a cheerful dinner-party at 
 sunset. 
 
 It was on the fourth of November, a beautiful 
 serene day, that we had assembled in the saloon 
 at the sound of the first dinner-bell. The family 
 were surprised at the absence of the Prince's 
 confessor. They waited for him in vain, and 
 at length placed themselves at table. They at 
 first attributed his absence to his having pro- 
 longed his customary walk ; and the early part 
 of the dinner passed without any uneasiness. 
 When the dessert was served, however, without 
 his making his appearance, they began to feel 
 anxious. They feared he might have been taken 
 ill in some alley of the w^oods, or might have 
 fallen into the hands of robbers. Not far from 
 the villa,, with the interval of a small valley, rose 
 the mountains of the Abruzzi, the strong-hold of 
 banditti. Indeed, the neighborhood had for some 
 time past been infested by them ; and Barbone, 
 a notorious bandit chief, had often been met 
 prowling about the solitudes of Tusculum. The 
 daring enterprises of these ruffians were well 
 known : the objects of their cupidity or vengeance 
 were insecure even in palaces. As yet they had 
 
366 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 respected the possessions of the Prince; but the 
 idea of such dangerous spirits hovering about the 
 neighborhood was sufficient to occasion alarm. 
 
 The fears of the company increased as even- 
 ing closed in. The Prince ordered out forest 
 guards and domestics with flambeaux to search 
 for the confessor. They had not departed long 
 when a slight noise was heard in the corridor of 
 the ground-floor. The family were dining on the 
 first floor, and the remaining domestics were oc- 
 cupied in attendance. There was no one on the 
 ground-floor at this moment but the housekeeper, 
 the laundress, and three field-laborers, who were 
 resting themselves, and conversing with the 
 women. 
 
 I heard the noise from below, and presuming 
 it to be occasioned by the return of the absentee, 
 I left the table and hastened down-stairs, eager to 
 gain intelligence that might relieve the anxiety 
 of the Prince and Princess. I had scarcely 
 reached the last step, when I beheld before me a 
 man dressed as a bandit ; a carbine in his hand, 
 and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His coun- 
 tenance had a mingled expression of ferocity and 
 trepidation : he sprang upon me, and exclaimed 
 exultingly, " Ecco il principe ! " 
 
 I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but 
 endeavored to summon up coolness and presence 
 of mind. A glance towards the lower end of the 
 corridor showed me several ruffians, clothed and 
 armed in the same manner with the one who had 
 seized me. They were guarding the two females 
 and the field-laborers. The robber, who held me 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 367 
 
 jfirmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly whether 
 or not I were the Prince : his object evidently 
 was to carry off the Prince, and extort an im- 
 mense ransom. He was enraged at receivinsf 
 none but vague replies, for I felt the importance 
 of misleading him. 
 
 A sudden thought struck me how I might ex- 
 tricate myself from his clutches. I was unarmed, 
 it is true, but I was vigorous. His companions 
 were at a distance. By a sudden exertion I 
 might wrest myself from him, and spring up the 
 staircase, whither he would not dare to follow me 
 singly. The idea was put in practice as soon as 
 conceived. The ruffian's throat was bare ; with 
 my right hand 1 seized him by it, with my left 
 hand I grasped the arm which held the carbine. 
 The suddenness of my attack took him completely 
 unawares, and the strangling nature of my grasp 
 paralyzed him. He choked and faltered. I felt 
 his hand relaxing its hold, and was on the point 
 of jerking myself away, and darting up the stair- 
 case, before he could recover himself, when I was 
 suddenly seized by some one from behind. 
 
 I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once 
 released, fell upon me with fury, and gave me sev- 
 eral blows with the butt end of his carbine, one 
 of which wounded me severely in the forehead 
 and covered me with blood. He took advantage 
 of my being stunned to rifle me of my watch, 
 and whatever valuables I had about my person. 
 
 When I recovered from the effect of the blow, 
 T heard the voice of the chief of the banditti, 
 who exclaimed — " Quello e il principe ; siamo 
 
3G8 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 contente ; andiamo ! " (It is the Prince ; enough ; 
 let us be off.) The band immediately closed 
 around me and dragged me out of the palace, 
 bearing off the three laborers likewise. 
 
 I had no hat on, and the blood flowed from my 
 wound ; I managed to stanch it, however, with 
 my pocket - handkerchief, which I bound round 
 my forehead. The captain of the band conducted 
 me in triumph, supposing me to be the Prince. 
 We had gone some distance before he learnt his 
 mistake from one of the laborers. His rage was 
 terrible. It was too late to return to the villa 
 and endeavor to retrieve his error, for by this 
 time the alarm must have been given, and every 
 one in arms. He darted at me a ferocious look, 
 — swore I had deceived him, and caused him to 
 miss his fortune, — and told me to prepare for 
 death. The rest of the robbers were equally fu- 
 rious. I saw their hands upon their poniards, 
 and I knew that death was seldom an empty 
 threat with these ruffians. The laborers saw the 
 peril into which their information had betrayed 
 me, and eagerly assured the captain that I was a 
 man for whom the Prince would pay a great ran- 
 som. This produced a pause. For my part, I 
 cannot say that I had been much dismayed by 
 their menaces. I mean not to make any boast 
 of courage ; but I have been so schooled to hard- 
 ship during the late revolutions, and have beheld 
 death around me in so many perilous and disas- 
 trous scenes, that I have become in some meas- 
 ure callous to its terrors. The frequent hazard 
 of life makes a man at length as reckless of it as 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 369 
 
 a gambler of his money. To their threat of 
 death, I replied, " that the sooner it was executed 
 the better." This reply seemed to astonish the 
 captain ; and the prospect of ransom held out by 
 the laborers had, no doubt, a still greater effect 
 on him. He considered for a moment, assumed a 
 calmer manner, and made a sign to his compan- 
 ions, who had remained waiting for my death- 
 warrant. " Forward ! " said he ; " we will see 
 about this matter by and by ! " 
 
 We descended rapidly towards the road of La 
 Molara, which leads to Rocca Priori. In the 
 rnidst of this road is a solitary inn. The captain 
 ordered the troop to halt at the distance of a pis- 
 tol-shot from it, and enjoined profound silence. 
 He approached the threshold alone, with noiseless 
 steps. He examined the outside of the door very 
 narrowly, and then returning precipitately, made 
 a sign for the troop to continue its march in si- 
 lence. It has since been ascertained, that this 
 was one of those infamous inns which are the 
 secret resorts of banditti. The innkeeper had an 
 understanding with the captain as he most prob- 
 ably had with the chiefs of the different bands. 
 When any of the patroles and gens-d'armes were 
 quartered at his house, the brigands were warned 
 of it by a preconcerted signal on the door ; when 
 there was no such signal, they might enter with 
 safety, and be sure of welcome. 
 
 After pursuing our road a little further, we 
 
 struck off towards the woody mountains which 
 
 envelop Rocca Priori. Our march was long 
 
 and painful ; with many circuits and windings ; 
 
 24 
 
370 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 at length we clambered a steep ascent, covered 
 with a thick forest ; and when we had reached 
 the centre, I was told to seat myself on the 
 ground. No sooner had I done so than, at a sign 
 from their chief, the robbers surrounded me, and 
 spreading their great cloaks from one to the other, 
 formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to which 
 their bodies might be said to serve as columns. 
 The captain then struck a light, and a flambeau 
 was lit immediately. The mantles were extended 
 to prevent the light of the flambeau from being 
 seen through the forest. Anxious as was my 
 situation, I could not look round upon this screen 
 of dusky drapery, relieved by the bright colors 
 of the robbers' garments, the gleaming of their 
 weapons, and the variety of strong marked coun- 
 tenances, lit up by the flambeau, without admir- 
 ing the picturesque effect of the scene. It was 
 quite theatrical. 
 
 The captain now held an inkhorn, and giving 
 me pen and paper, ordered me to write what he 
 should dictate. I obeyed. It was a demand, 
 couched in the style of robber eloquence, " that 
 the Prince should send three thousand dollars for 
 my ransom ; or that my death should be the con- 
 sequence of a refusal." 
 
 I knew enough of the desperate character of 
 these beings to feel assured this was not an idle' 
 menace. Their only mode of insuring attention 
 to their demands is to make the infliction of the 
 penalty inevitable. I saw at once, however, that 
 the demand was preposterous, and made in im- 
 proper language. 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE, 371 
 
 I told the captain so, and assured him that so 
 extravagant a sum would never be granted. — 
 '' That I was neither a friend nor relative of the 
 Prince, but a mere artist, employed to execute 
 certain paintings. That I had nothing to offer as 
 a ransom, but the price of my labors ; if this were 
 not sufficient, my life was at their disposal ; it 
 was a thing on which I set but little value." 
 
 I was the more hardy in my reply, because I 
 saw that coolness and hardihood had an effect up- 
 on the robbers. It is true, as I finished speaking, 
 the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto ; but 
 he restrained himself, and snatching the letter, 
 folded it, and ordered me, in a peremptory tone, 
 to address it to the Prince. He then dispatched 
 one of the laborers with it to Tusculum, who 
 promised to return with all possible speed. 
 
 The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, 
 and I was told that I might do the same. They 
 spread their great cloaks on the ground, and lay 
 down around me. One was stationed at a little 
 distance to keep watch, and was relieved every 
 two hours. The strangeness and wildness of this 
 mountain bivouac among lawless beings, whose 
 hands seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and 
 with whom life was so trivial and insecure, was 
 enough to banish repose. The coldness of the 
 earth, and of the dew, however, had a still greater 
 effect than mental causes in disturbing my rest. 
 The airs wafted to these mountains from the dis- 
 tant Mediterranean diffused a great chilliness as 
 the night advanced. An expedient suggested it- 
 self. I called one of my fellow-prisoners, the la- 
 
372 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 borers, and made him lie down beside me. When- 
 ever one of my limbs became chilled, I approached 
 it to the robust limb of my neighbor, and bor- 
 rowed some of his warmth. In this way I was 
 able to obtain a little sleep. 
 
 Day at length dawned, and I was roused from 
 my 'Slumber by the voice of the chieftain. He de- 
 sired me to rise and follow him. I obeyed. On 
 considering his physiognomy attentively, it ap- 
 peared a little softened. He even assisted me in 
 scrambling up the steep forest, among rocks and 
 brambles. Habit had made him a vigorous 
 mountaineer ; but I found it excessively toilsome 
 to climb these rugged heights. We arrived at 
 length at the summit of the mountain. 
 
 Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of 
 my art suddenly awakened ; and I forgot in an 
 instant all my perils and fatigues at this magnifi- 
 cent view of the sunrise in the midst of the moun- 
 tains of the Abruzzi. It was on these heights 
 that Hannibal first pitched his camp, and pointed 
 out Rome to his followers. The eye embraces a 
 vast extent of country. The minor height of 
 Tusculum, with its villas and its sacred ruins, lie 
 below ; the Sabine Hills and the Albanian Moun- 
 tains stretch on either hand ; and beyond Tuscu- 
 lum and Frascati spreads out the immense Cam- 
 pagna, with its lines of tombs, and here and there 
 a broken aqueduct stretching across it, and the 
 towers and domes of the eternal city in the midst. 
 
 Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a ris- 
 ing sun, and bursting upon my sight as I looked 
 forth from among the majestic forests of the 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 373 
 
 Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made 
 still more savage by groups of banditti, armed and 
 dressed in their wild picturesque manner, and you 
 will not wonder that the enthusiasm of a painter 
 for a moment overpowered all his other feelings. 
 
 The banditti were astonished at my admiration 
 of a scene which familiarity had made so common 
 in their eyes. I took advantage of their halting 
 at this spot, drew forth a quire of drawing-paper, 
 and began to sketch the features of the landscape. 
 The height on which I was seated was wild and 
 solitary, separated from the ridge of Tusculum by 
 a valley nearly three miles wide, though the dis- 
 tance appeared less from the purity of the atmos- 
 phere. This height was one of the favorite re- 
 treats of the banditti, commanding a look-out over 
 the country ; while at the same time it was cov- 
 ered with forests, and distant from the populous 
 haunts of men. 
 
 While I was sketching, my attention was called 
 off for a moment by the cries of birds, and the 
 bleatings of sheep. I looked around, but could 
 see nothing of the animals which uttered them. 
 They were repeated, and appeared to come from 
 the summits of the trees. On looking more nar- 
 rowly, I perceived six of the robbers perched in 
 the tops of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest 
 of the mountain, and commanded an uninterrupted 
 prospect. They were keeping a look-out like so 
 many vidtures ; casting their eyes into the depths 
 of the valley below us ; communicating with each 
 other by signs, or holding discourse in sounds 
 which might be mistaken by the wayfarer for the 
 
374 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 cries of hawks and crows, or the bleating of the 
 mountain flocks. After they had reconnoitred 
 the neighborhood, and finished their singular dis- 
 course, they descended from their airy perch, and 
 returned to their prisoners. The captain posted 
 three of them at three naked sides of the moan- 
 tain, wliile he remained to guard us with Avhat 
 appeared his most trusty companion. 
 
 I had my book of sketches in my hand ; he 
 requested to see it, and after having run his eye 
 over it, expressed himself convinced of the truth 
 of my assertion that I was a painter. I thought 
 I saw a gleam of good feeling dawning in him, 
 and determined to avail myself of it. I knew 
 that the worst of men have their good points and 
 their accessible sides, if one would but study them 
 carefully. Indeed, there is a singular mixture in 
 the character of the Italian robber. AVith reck- 
 less ferocity he often mingles traits of kindness 
 and good-humor. He is not always radically bad ; 
 but driven to his course of life by some unpre- 
 meditated crime, the effect of those sudden bursts 
 of passion to which the Italian temperament is 
 prone. This has compelled him to take to the 
 mountains, or, as it is technically termed among 
 them, " andare in campagna." He has become a 
 robber by profession ; but, like a soldier, when 
 not in action he can lay aside his weapon and his 
 fierceness, and become like other men. 
 
 I took occasion, from the observations of the 
 captain on my sketchings, to fall into conversation 
 with him, and found him sociable and communi- 
 cative. By degrees I became completely at my 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE, 375 
 
 ease with him. I had fancied I perceived about 
 him a degree of self-love, which I determined to 
 make use of. I assumed an air of careless frank- 
 ness, and told him, that, as an artist, I pretended 
 to the power of judging of the physiognomy ; that 
 I thought I perceived something in his features 
 and demeanor which announced him worthy of 
 higher fortunes ; that he was not formed to exer- 
 cise the profession to which he had abandoned 
 himself; that he had talents and qualities fitted 
 for a nobler sphere of action ; that he had but 
 to change his course of life, and, in a legitimate 
 career, the same courage and endowments which 
 now made him an object of terror, would assure 
 him the applause and admiration of society. 
 
 I had not mistaken my man ; my discourse 
 both touched and excited him. He seized my 
 hand, pressed it, and replied with strong emo- 
 tion, " You have guessed the truth ; you have 
 judged of me rightly." He remained for a mo- 
 ment silent ; then, with a kind of effort, he re- 
 sumed, — "I will tell you some particulars of my 
 life, and you will perceive that it was the oppres- 
 sion of others, rather than my own crimes, which 
 drove me to the mountains. I sought to serve my 
 fellow-men, and they have persecuted me from 
 among them." We seated ourselves on the grass, 
 and the robber 2fave me the followin^: anecdotes 
 of his history. 
 
THE STOEY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 AM a native of the village of Prossedi. 
 
 My father was easy enough in cireum- 
 
 ij stances, and we lived peaceably and in- 
 
 dependently, cultivating our fields. All went 
 on well with us, until a new chief of the Sbirri 
 was sent to our village to take command of the 
 police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying into 
 everything, and practising all sorts of vexations 
 and oppressions in the discharge of his office. I 
 was at that time eighteen years of age, and had 
 a natural love of justice and good neighborhood. 
 I had also a little education, and knew something 
 of history, so as to be able to judge a little of 
 men and their actions. All this inspired me with 
 hatred for this paltry despot. My own family, 
 also, became the object of his suspicion or dislike, 
 and felt more than once the arbitrary abuse of his 
 power. These things worked together in my 
 mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My char- 
 acter was always ardent and energetic, and, acted 
 upon by the love of justice, determined me, by 
 one blow, to rid the country of the tyrant. 
 
 Full of my project, I rose one morning before 
 peep of day, and concealing a stiletto under my 
 
TEE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. Zll 
 
 waistcoat, — here you see it ! — (and he drew 
 forth a long, keen poniard,) I lay in wait for him 
 in the outskirts of the village. I knew all his 
 haunts, and his habit of making his rounds and 
 prowling about like a wolf in the gray of the 
 morning. At length I met him, and attacked him 
 with fury. He was armed, but I took him una- 
 wares, and was full of youth and vigor. I gave 
 him repeated blows to make sure work, and laid 
 him lifeless at my feet. 
 
 When I was satisfied that I had done for him, 
 I returned with all liaste to the village, but had 
 the ill luck to meet two of the Sbirri as I en- 
 tered it. They accosted me, and asked if I had 
 seen their chief. I assumed an air of tranquillity, 
 and told them I had not. They continued on 
 their way, and within a few hours brought back 
 the dead body to Prossedi. Their suspicions of 
 me being ah*eady awakened, I was arrested and 
 thrown into prison. Here I lay several weeks, 
 when the Prince, who was Seigneur of Prossedi, 
 directed judicial proceedings against me. I was 
 brought to trial, and a witness was produced, who 
 pretended to have seen me flying with precipita- 
 tion not far from the bleeding body ; and so I 
 was condemned to the galleys for thirty years. 
 
 " Curse on such laws ! " vociferated the bandit, 
 foaming with rage : " Curse on such a govern- 
 ment ! and ten thousand curses on the Prince 
 who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, 
 while so many other Roman Princes harbor and 
 protect assassins a thousand times more culpable! 
 What had I done but what was inspired by a 
 
378 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 love of justice and my country ? Why was my 
 act more culpable than that of Brutus, when he 
 sacrificed Ccesar to the cause of liberty and jus- 
 tice ? " 
 
 There was something at once both lofty and 
 ludicrous in the rhapsody of this robber chief, 
 thus associating himself with one of the great 
 names of antiquity. It showed, however, that 
 he had at least the merit of knowing the remark- 
 able facts in the history of his country. He 
 became more calm, and resumed his narrative. 
 
 I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. 
 My heart was burning with rage. I had been 
 married scarce six months to a woman whom I 
 passionately loved, and who was pregnant. My 
 family was in despair. For a long time I made 
 unsuccessful efforts to break my chain. At length 
 I found a morsel of iron, which I hid carefully, 
 and endeavored, with a pointed flint, to fashion it 
 into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this 
 work durino^ the nio;ht-time, and when it was fin- 
 ished, I made out, after a long time, to sever one 
 of the rings of my chain. My flight was suc- 
 cessful. 
 
 I wandered for several weeks in the mountains 
 which surround Prossedi, and found means to 
 inform my wife of the place where I was concealed. 
 She came often to see me. I had determined to 
 put myself at the head of an armed band. She 
 endeavored, for a long time, to dissuade me, but 
 finding my resolution fixed, she at length united 
 in my project of vengeance, and brought me, 
 herself, my poniard. By her means I commu- 
 
THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 379 
 
 nicated with several brave fellows of the neigh- 
 boring villages, whom I knew to be ready to take 
 to the mountains, and only panting for an oppor- 
 tunity to exercise their daring spirits. We soon 
 formed a combination, procured arms, and we 
 have had ample opportunities of revenging our- 
 selves for the wrongs and injuries which most of 
 us have suffered. Everything has succeeded with 
 us until now ; and had it not been for our blunder 
 in mistaking you for the Prince, our fortunes 
 would have been made. 
 
 Here the robber concluded his story. He had 
 talked himself into complete companionship, and 
 assured me he no longer bore me any grudge for 
 the error of which I had been the innocent cause. 
 He even professed a kindness for me, and wished 
 me to remain some time with them. He prom- 
 ised to give me a sight of certain grottos which 
 they occupied beyond Villetri, and whither they 
 resorted during the intervals of their expeditions. 
 
 He assured me that they led a jovial life there ; 
 had plenty of good cheer ; slept on beds of moss ; 
 and were waited upon by young and beautiful 
 females, whom I might take for models. 
 
 I confess 1 felt my curiosity roused by his 
 descriptions of the grottos and their inhabitants : 
 they realized those scenes in robber story which 
 I had always looked upon as mere creations of 
 the fancy. I should gladly have accepted his in- 
 vitation, and paid a visit to these caverns, could I 
 have felt more secure in my company. 
 
 I began to hnd my situation less painful. I 
 had evidently propitiated the good - will of the 
 
380 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 chieftain, and hoped that he might release me 
 for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, however, 
 awaited me. While the captain was looking out 
 with impatience for the return of the messenger, 
 who had been sent to the Prince, the sentinel 
 posted on the side of the mountain facing the 
 plain of La Molara came running towards us. 
 " We are betrayed ! " exclaimed he. " The po- 
 lice of Frascati are after us. A party of carabi- 
 neers have just stopped at the inn below the 
 mountain.'* Then, laying his hand on his sti- 
 letto, he swore, with a terrible oath, that if they 
 made the least movement towards the mountain, 
 my life and the lives of my fellow-prisoners should 
 answer for it. 
 
 The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of de- 
 meanor, and approved of what his companion 
 said ; but when the latter had returned to his 
 post, he turned to me with a softened air : '' I 
 must act as chief," said he, " and humor my dan- 
 gerous subalterns. It is a law with us to kill 
 our prisoners rather than suffer them to be res- 
 cued ; but do not be alarmed. In case we are 
 surprised, keep by me ; fly with us, and I will 
 consider myself responsible for your life." 
 
 There was nothing very consolatory in this 
 arrangement, which would have placed me between 
 two dangers. I scarcely knew, in case of flight, 
 from which I should have the most to apprehend, 
 the carbines of the pursuers, or the stilettos of the 
 pursued. I remained silent, however, and endeav- 
 ored to maintain a look of Iranquillity. 
 
 For an hour was I kept in this state of peril 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 3bx 
 
 and anxiety. The robbers, crouching among 
 their leafy coverts, kept an eagle watch upon 
 the carabineers below, as they loitered about the 
 inn ; sometimes lolling about the portal ; some- 
 times disappearing for several minutes ; then sal- 
 lying out, examining their weapons, pointing in 
 different directions, and apparently asking ques- 
 tions about the neighborhood. Not a movement, 
 a gesture, was lost upon the keen eyes of the brig- 
 ands. At length we were relieved from our 
 apprehensions. The carabineers having finished 
 their refreshment, seized their arms, continued 
 along the valley towards the great road, and grad- 
 ually left the mountain behind them. " I felt 
 almost certain," said the chief, " that they could 
 not be sent after us. They know too well 
 how prisoners have fared in our hands on simi- 
 lar occasions. Our laws in this respect are in- 
 flexible, and are necessary for our safety. If w^e 
 once flinched from them, there would no longer 
 be such a thing as a ransom to be procured." 
 
 There were no signs yet of the messenger's 
 return. I was preparing to resume my sketch- 
 ing, when the captain drew a quire of paper from 
 his knapsack. " Come," said he, laughing, "you 
 are a painter, — take my likeness. The leaves 
 of your portfolio are small, — draw it on this." 
 I gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom 
 presents itself to a painter. I recollected that 
 Salvator Rosa in his youth had voluntarily so- 
 journed for a time among the banditti of Cala- 
 bria, and had filled his mind with the savage 
 scenery and savage associates by which he was 
 
o82 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 surrounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm 
 at the thought. I found the captain the most 
 docile of subjects, and, after various shiftings of 
 position, placed him in an attitude to my mind. 
 
 Picture to yourself a stern muscular figure, in 
 fanciful bandit costume ; with pistols and poniard 
 in belt ; his brawny neck bare ; a handkerchief 
 loosely thrown around it, and the two ends in 
 front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of 
 travellers ; relics and medals hanging on his- 
 breast ; his hat decorated with various colored 
 ribbons ; his vest and short breeches of bright 
 colors, and finely embroidered ; his legs in bus- 
 kins or leggins. Fancy him on a mountain 
 height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks, lean- 
 ing on his carbine, as if meditating some exploit ; 
 while far b^low are beheld villages and villas, 
 the scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Cam- 
 pagna dimly extending in the distance. 
 
 The robber was pleased with the sketch, and 
 seemed to admire himself upon paper. I had 
 scarcely finished, when the laborer arrived who 
 had been sent for my ransom. He had reached 
 Tusculum two hours after midnight. He had 
 brought me a letter from the Prince, who was in 
 bed at the time of his arrival. As I had pre- 
 dicted, he treated the demand as extravagant, 
 but offered five^ hundred dollars for my ransom. 
 Having no money by him at the moment, he had 
 sent a note for the amount, payable to whomso- 
 ever should conduct me safe and sound to Rome. 
 I presented the note of hand to the chieftain ; he 
 received it with a shrug. " O what use are notes 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 3bOf 
 
 of hand to us ? " said he. " "Who can we send 
 with jou to Rome to receive it? We are all 
 marked men; known and described at every gate, 
 and military post, and village church-door. No ; 
 we must have gold and silver ; let the sum be 
 paid in cash, and you shall be restored to lib- 
 erty." 
 
 The captain again placed a sheet of paper be- 
 fore me to communicate his determination to the 
 Prince. When I had finished the letter, and 
 took the sheet from the quire, I found on the op- 
 posite side of it the portrait which I had just 
 been tracing. I was about to tear it off and give 
 it to the chief. 
 
 " Hold ! " said he, " let it go to Rome ; let 
 them see what kind of a looking fellow I am. 
 Perhaps the Prince and his friends may form as 
 good an opinion of me from my face as you have 
 done." 
 
 This was said sportively, yet it was evident 
 there was vanity lurking at the bottom. Even 
 this wary, distrustful chief of banditti forgot for 
 a moment his usual foresight and precaution, in 
 the common wish to be admired. He never re- 
 flected what use might be made of this portrait, 
 in his pursuit and conviction. 
 
 The letter was folded and directed, and the 
 messenger departed again for Tusculum. It was 
 now eleven o'clock in the morning, and as yet we 
 had eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety, I 
 began to feel a craving appetite. I was glad 
 therefore to hear the captain talk something about 
 eating. He observed that for three days and 
 
o6~4: TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 nights they had been lurking about among rocks 
 and woods, meditating their expedition to Tuscu- 
 lum, during which time all their provisions had 
 been exhausted. He should now take measures 
 to procure a supply. Leaving me, therefore, in 
 charge of his comrade, in whom he appeared to 
 have implicit confidence, he departed, assuring me 
 that in less than two hours I should make a good 
 dinner. Where it was to come from was an 
 enigma to me, though it was evident these beings 
 had their secret friends and agents throughout the 
 country. 
 
 Indeed the inhabitants of these mountains, and 
 of the valleys which they embosom, are a rude, 
 half-civilized set. The towns and villages among 
 the forests of the Abruzzi, shut up from the rest 
 of the world, are almost like savage dens. It is 
 wonderful that such rude abodes, so little known 
 and visited, should be embosomed in the midst 
 of one of the most travelled and civilized coun- 
 tries of Europe. Among these regions the rob- 
 ber prowls unmolested ; not a mountaineer hesi- 
 tates to give him secret harbor and assistance. 
 The shepherds, however, who tend their flocks 
 among the mountains, are the favorite emissaries 
 of the robbers, when they would send messages 
 down to the valleys either for ransom or supplies. 
 
 The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild as 
 the scenes they frequent. They are clad in a 
 rude garb of black or brown sheepskin ; they 
 have high conical hats, and coarse sandals of 
 cloth bound around their legs with thongs, simi- 
 lar to those worn by the robbers. They carry 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 385 
 
 long staves, on which, as they lean, they form 
 picturesque objects in the lonely landscape, and 
 they are followed by their ever-constant compan- 
 ion, the dog. They are a curious, questioning 
 set, glad at any time to relieve the monotony of 
 their solitude by the conversation of the passer-by ; 
 and the dog will lend an attentive ear, and put 
 on as sagacious and inquisitive a look as his 
 master. 
 
 But I am wandering from my story. I was 
 now left alone with one of the robbers, the con- 
 fidential companion of the chief He was the 
 youngest and most vigorous of the band ; and 
 though his countenance had something of that dis- 
 solute fierceness which seems natural to this des- 
 perate, lawless mode of life, yet there were traces 
 of manly beauty about it. As an artist I could 
 not but admire it. I had remarked in him an air 
 of abstraction and reverie, and at times a move- 
 ment of inward suffering and impatience. He 
 now sat on the ground, his elbows on his knees, 
 his head resting between his clenched fists, and 
 his eyes fixed on tlie earth with an expression of 
 sadness and bitter rumination. I had grown fa- 
 miliar with him from repeated conversations, and 
 had found him superior in mind to the rest of the 
 band. I was anxious to seize any opportunity 
 of sounding the feelings of these singular beings. 
 I fancied I read in the countenance of this one 
 traces of self-condemnation and remorse ; and the 
 ease with which I had drawn forth the confidence 
 of the chieftain, encouraged me to hope the same 
 with his follower. 
 25 
 
386 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 After a little preliminary conversation, I ven- 
 tured to ask him if he did not feel regret at hav- 
 ing abandoned his family, and taken to this dan- 
 gerous profession. " I feel," replied he, " but one 
 regret, and that will end only with my life." 
 
 As he said this, he pressed his clenched fists 
 upon his bosom, drew his breath through his set 
 teeth, and added, with a deep emotion, " I have 
 something within here that stifles me ; it is like a 
 burning iron consuming my very heart. I could 
 tell you a miserable story — but not now — 
 another time." 
 
 He relapsed into his former position, and sat 
 with his head between his hands, muttering to 
 himself in broken ejaculations, and what appeared 
 at times to be curses and maledictions. I saw he 
 was not in a mood to be disturbed, so I left him 
 to himself In a little while the exhaustion of his 
 feelings, and probably the fatigues he had under- 
 gone in this expedition, began to produce drow- 
 siness. He struggled with it for a time, but the 
 warmth and stillness of mid-day made it irresist- 
 ible, and he at length stretched himself upon the 
 herbage and fell asleep. 
 
 I now beheld a chance of escape within my 
 reach. My guard lay before me at my mercy. 
 His vigorous limbs relaxed by sleep — his bosom 
 open for the blow — his carbine slipped from his 
 nerveless grasp, and lying by his side — his sti- 
 letto half out of the pocket in which it was usu- 
 ally carried. Two only of his comrades were in 
 sight, and those at a considerable distance on the 
 edge of the mountain, their backs turned to us. 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 387 
 
 and their attention occupied in keeping a lookout 
 upon the plain. Through a strip of intervening 
 forest, and at the foot of a steep descent, I beheld 
 the village of Rocca Priori. To have secured 
 the carbine of the sleeping brigand ; to have 
 seized upon his poniard, and have plunged it in 
 his heart, vi^ould have been the work of an in- 
 stant. Should he die without noise, I might dart 
 through the forest, and down to Rocca Priori be- 
 fore my flight might be discovered. In case of 
 alarm, I should still have a fair start of the rob- 
 bers, and a chance of getting beyond the reach 
 of their shot. 
 
 Here then was an opportunity for both escape 
 and vengeance ; perilous indeed, but powerfully 
 tempting. Had my situation been more critical. 
 I could not have resisted it. I reflected, however, 
 for a moment. The attempt, if successful, would 
 be followed by the sacrifice of my two fellow- 
 prisoners, who were sleeping profoundly, and 
 could not be awakened in time to escape. The 
 laborer who had gone after the ransom might 
 also fall a victim to the rage of the robbers, with- 
 out the money which he brought being saved. 
 Besides, the conduct of the chief towards me made 
 me feel confident of speedy deliverance. These 
 reflections overcame the first powerful impulse, 
 and I calmed the turbulent agitation which it 
 had awakened. 
 
 I again took out my materials for drawing, and 
 
 amused myself with sketching the magnificent 
 
 prospect. It was now about noon, and everything 
 
 ' had sunk into repose, like the sleeping bandit be- 
 
388 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 fore me. The noontide stillness that reigned 
 over these mountains, the vast landscape below, 
 gleaming with distant towns, and dotted with va- 
 rious habitations and signs of life, yet all so si- 
 lent, had a powerful effect upon my mind. The 
 intermediate valleys, too, which lie among the 
 mountains, have a peculiar air of solitude. Few 
 sounds are heard at mid-day to break the quiet 
 of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a soli- 
 tary muleteer, lagging with his lazy animal along 
 the road which winds through the centre of the 
 valley ; sometimes the faint piping of a shepherd's 
 reed from the side of the mountain, or sometimes 
 the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, followed 
 by a monk with bare feet, and bare, shining head, 
 and carrying provisions to his convent. 
 
 I had contiimed to sketch for some time among 
 my sleeping companions, when at length I saw 
 the captain of the band approaching, followed 
 by a peasant leading a mule, on which was a 
 well-filled sack. I at first apprehended that this 
 was some new prey fallen into the hands of the 
 robber ; but the contented look of the peasant 
 soon relieved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that 
 it was our promised repast. The brigands now 
 came running from the three sides of the moun- 
 tain, having the quick scent of vultures. Every 
 one busied himself in unloading the mule, and 
 relieving the sack of its contents. 
 
 The first thing that made its appearance was 
 an enormous ham, of a color and plumpness that 
 would have inspired the pencil of Teniers ; it was 
 followed by a large cheese, a bag of boiled chest- 
 
. THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 389 
 
 nuts, a little barrel of wine, and a quantity of 
 good household bread. Everything was arranged 
 on the grass with a degree of symmetry ; and 
 the captain, presenting me with his knife, re- 
 quested me to help myself. We all seated 
 ourselves around the viands, and nothing was 
 heard for a time but the sound of vigorous mas- 
 tication, or the gurgling of the barrel of wine as 
 it revolved briskly about the circle. My long 
 fasting, and mountam air and exercise, had given 
 me a keen appetite ; and never did repast appear 
 to me more excellent or picturesque. 
 
 From time to time one of the band was 
 dispatched to keep a lookout upon the plain. 
 No enemy was at hand, and the dinner was un- 
 disturbed. The peasant received nearly three 
 times the value of his provisions, and set off down 
 the mountain highly satisfied with his bargain. 
 I felt invigorated by the hearty meal I had made, 
 and notwithstanding that the wound I had received 
 the evening before was painful, yet I could not 
 but feel extremely interested and gratified by the 
 singular scenes continually presented to me. 
 Everything was picturesque about these wild be- 
 ings and their haunts. Their bivouacs ; their 
 groups on guard ; their indolent noontide repose 
 on the mountain-brow ; their rude repast on the 
 herbage among rocks and trees ; everything pre- 
 sented a study for a painter : but it was towards 
 the approach of evening that I felt the highest 
 enthusiasm awakened. 
 
 The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Cam- 
 pagna, shed its rich yellow beams on the woody 
 
390 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 summit of the Abruzzi. Several mountains 
 crowned with snow shone brilliantly in the dis- 
 tance, contrasting their brightness with others, 
 which, thrown into shade, assumed deep tints of 
 purple and violet. As the evening advanced, the 
 landscape darkened into a sterner character. 
 The immense solitude around ; the wild moun- 
 tains broken into rocks and precipices, intermin- 
 gled with vast oaks, corks, and chestnuts ; and 
 the groups of banditti in the foreground, reminded 
 me of the savage scenes of Salvator Rosa. 
 
 To beguile the time, the captain proposed to 
 his comrades to spread before me their jewels and 
 cameos, as I must doubtless be a judge of such 
 articles, and able to form an estimate of their 
 value. He set the example, the others followed 
 it ; and in a few moments I saw the grass before 
 me sparkling with jewels and gems that would 
 have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine 
 lady. 
 
 Among them were several precious jewels, 
 and antique intaglios and cameos of great value ; 
 the spoils, doubtless, of travellers of distinction. 
 I found that they were in the habit of selling 
 their booty in the frontier towns ; but as these, 
 in general, were thinly and poorly peopled, and 
 little frequented by travellers, they could offer no 
 market for such valuable articles of taste and lux- 
 ury. -I suggested to them the certainty of their 
 readily obtaining great prices for these gems 
 among the rich strangers with whom Rome was 
 thronged. 
 
 The impression made upon their greedy minds 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE, 391 
 
 was immediately apparent. One of the band, a 
 young man, and the least known, requested per- 
 mission of the captain to depart the following day, 
 in disguise, for Rome, for the purpose of traffic ; 
 promising, on the faith of a bandit, (a sacred 
 pledge among them,) to return in two days to any 
 place that he might appoint. The captain con- 
 sented, and a curious scene took place ; the rob- 
 bers crowded round him eagerly, confiding to him 
 such of their jewels as they wished to dispose of, 
 and giving him instructions what to demand. 
 There was much bargaining and exchanging and 
 selling of trinkets among them ; and I beheld my 
 watch, which had a chain and valuable seals, pur- 
 chased by the young robber-merchant of the ruf- 
 fian who had plundered me, for sixty dollars. I 
 now conceived a faint hope, that if it went to 
 Rome, I might somehow or other regain posses- 
 sion of it."^ 
 
 In the mean time day declined, and no mes- 
 senger returned from Tusculum. The idea of 
 passing another night in the woods was extremely 
 disheartening, for I began to be satisfied with 
 what I had seen of robber-life. The chieftain 
 now ordered his men to follow him, that he might 
 station them at their posts; adding, that, if the 
 messenger 3A not return before night, they must 
 shift their quarters to some other place. 
 
 * The hopes of the artist were not disappointed : the rob- 
 ber was stopped at one of the gates of Rome. Something in 
 his looks or deportment had excited suspicion. He was 
 searched, and the vaUiable trinkets found on him sufficiently 
 evinced his cliaracter. On applying to the police, the artist's 
 watch was returned to him. 
 
392 TALES OF A TRAVEttER, 
 
 I was again left alone with thgg^oung bandit 
 who had before guarded me ; he had the same 
 gloomy air and haggard eye, with now and then 
 a bitter sardonic smile. I determined to probe 
 this ulcerated heart, and reminded him of a kind 
 promise he had given me to tell me the cause 
 of his suffering. It seemed to me as if these 
 troubled spirits were glad of any opportunity to 
 disburden themselves, and of having some fresh, 
 undiseased mind, with which they could commu- 
 nicate. I had hardly made the request, when 
 he seated himself by my side, and gave me his 
 story in, as near as I can recollect, the follow- 
 ing words. 
 
THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. 
 
 WAS born in the little town of Fro- 
 sinone, which lies at the skirts of the 
 Abruzzi. My father had made a little 
 property in trade, and gave me some education, 
 as he intended me for the Church ; but I had 
 kept g'^j company too much to relish the cowl, 
 so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was 
 a heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, 
 but good-humored in the main ; so I made my 
 way very well for a time, until I fell in love. 
 There lived in our town a surveyor or land-bail- 
 iff of the Prince, who had a young daughter, a 
 beautiful girl of sixteen ; she was looked upon as 
 something better than the common run of our 
 townsfolk, and was kept almost entirely at home. 
 I saw her occasionally, and became madly in 
 love with her — she looked so fresh and tender, 
 and so different from the sunburnt females to 
 whom I had been accustomed. 
 
 As my father kept me in money, I always 
 dressed well, and took all opportunities of show- 
 ing myself off to advantage in the eyes of the 
 little beauty. I used to see her at church ; and 
 as I could play a little upon the guitar, 1 gave a 
 tune sometimes under her window of an evening ; 
 
394 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 and I tried to have interviewst with her in her 
 father's vineyard, not far from the town, where 
 she sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased 
 with me, but she was young and shy ; and her 
 father kept a strict eye upon her, and took alarm 
 at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion of me, 
 and looked for a better match for his daughter. 
 I became furious at the difficulties thrown in my 
 way, having been accustomed always to easy suc- 
 cess among the women, being considered one of 
 the smartest young fellows of the place. 
 
 Her father brought home a suitor for her, — a 
 rich farmer from a neighboring town. The wed- 
 ding-day was appointed, and preparations were 
 making. I got sight of her at the window, and 
 I thought she looked sadly at me. I determined 
 the match should not take place, cost what it 
 might. I met her intended bridegroom in the 
 market-place, and could not restrain the expres- 
 sion of my rage. A few hot words passed between 
 us, when I drew my stiletto and stabbed him to 
 the heart. I fled to a neighboring church for 
 refuge, and with a little money I obtained abso- 
 lution, but I did not dare to venture from my 
 asylum. 
 
 At that time our captain was forming his troop. 
 He had known me from boyhood ; and hearing 
 of my situation, came to me in secret, and made 
 such offers, that I agreed to enroll myself among 
 his followers. Indeed, I had more than once 
 thought of taking to this mode of life, having 
 known several brave fellows of the mountains, 
 who used to spend their money freely among us 
 
THE YOUNG ROBBER. 395 
 
 youngsters of the town. I accordingly left my 
 asylum late one night, repaired to the appointed 
 place of meeting, took the oaths prescribed, and 
 became one of the troop. We were for some 
 time in a distant part of the mountains, and our 
 wild adventurous kind of life hit my fancy won- 
 derfully, and diverted my thoughts. At length 
 they returned with all their violence to the rec- 
 ollection of Rosetta ; the solitude in which I often 
 found myself gave me time to brood over her 
 image ; and, as I have kept watch at night over 
 our sleeping camp in the mountains, my feelings 
 have been aroused almost to a fever. 
 
 At length we shifted our ground, and deter- 
 mined to make a descent upon the road between 
 Terracina and Naples. In the course of our ex- 
 pedition we passed a day or two in the woody 
 mountains which rise above Frosinone. I cannot 
 tell you how I felt when I looked down upon 
 that place, and distinguished the residence of 
 Rosetta. I determined to have an interview 
 with her ; — but to what purpose ? I could not 
 expect that she would quit her home, and accom- 
 pany me in my hazardous life among the moun- 
 tains. She had been brought up too tenderly 
 for that ; when I looked upon the women who 
 were associated with some of our troop, I could 
 not have borne the thoughts of her being their 
 companion. All return to my former life was 
 likewise hopeless, for a price was set upon my 
 head. Still I determined to see her ; the very 
 hazard and fruitlessness of the thing made me 
 furious to accomplish it. 
 
396 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 About three weeks since, I persuaded our cap- 
 tain to draw down to the vicinity of Frosinone, 
 suggesting the chance of entrapping some of its 
 principal inhabitants, and compelling them to a 
 ransom. We were lying in ambush towards 
 evening, not far from the vineyard of Rosetta's 
 father. I stole quietly from my companions, and 
 drew near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent 
 walks. How my heart beat when among the 
 vines I beheld the gleaming of a white dress ! 
 I knew it must be Rosetta's ; it being rare for 
 any female of that place to dress in white. I 
 advanced secretly and without noise, until, put- 
 ting aside the vines, 1 stood suddenly before her. 
 She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized her 
 in my arms, put my hand upon her mouth, and 
 conjured her to be silent. I poured out all the 
 frenzy of my passion ; offered to renounce my 
 mode of life ; to put my fate in her hands ; to fly 
 where we might live in safety together. All that 
 I could say or do would not pacify her. Instead 
 of love, horror and affright seemed to have taken 
 possession of her breast. She struggled partly 
 from my grasp, and filled the air with her cries. 
 
 In an instant the captain and the rest of my 
 companions were around us. I would have given 
 anything at that moment had she been safe out 
 of our hands, and in her father's house. It was 
 too late. The captain pronounced her a prize, 
 and ordered that she should be borne to the 
 mountains. I represented to him that she was 
 my prize ; that I had a previous claim to her ; 
 and I mentioned my former attachment. He 
 
THE YOUNG ROBBER. 397 
 
 sneered bitterly in reply ; observed that brigands 
 had no business with village intrigues, and that, 
 according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of 
 the kind were determined by lot. Love and 
 jealousy were raging in my heart, but I had to 
 choose between obedience and death. I surren- 
 dered her to the captain, and we made for the 
 mountains. 
 
 She was overcome by affright, and her steps 
 were so feeble and faltering that it was necessary 
 to support her. I could not endure the idea that 
 my comrades should touch her, and assuming a 
 forced tranquillity, begged she might be confided 
 to me, as one to whom she was more accustomed. 
 The captain regarded me, for a moment, with a 
 searching look, but I bore it without flinching, 
 and he consented. I took her in my arms ; she 
 was almost senseless. Her head rested on my 
 shoulder ; I felt her breath on my face, and it 
 seemed to fan the flame which devoured me. 
 Oh God ! to have this glowing treasure in my 
 arms, and yet to think it was not mine ! 
 
 We arrived at the foot of the mountain ; I 
 ascended it with difficulty, particularly where the 
 woods were thick, but I would not relinquish my 
 delicious burden. I reflected with rage, however, 
 that I must soon do so. The thoughts that so 
 delicate a creature must be abandoned to my rude 
 companions maddened me. I felt tempted, the 
 stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them 
 all, and bear her off in triumph. I scarcely con- 
 ceived the idea before I saw its rashness ; but 
 my brain was fevered with the thought that any 
 
398 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 but myself should enjoy her charms. I endeav- 
 ored to outstrip my companions by the quick- 
 ness of my movements, and to get a little distance 
 ahead, in case any favorable opportunity of 
 escape should present. Vain effort ! The voice 
 of the captain suddenly ordered a halt. I trem- 
 bled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly 
 opened a languid eye, but was without strength 
 or motion. I laid her upon the grass. The cap- 
 tain darted on me a terrible look of suspicion, 
 and ordered me to scour the woods with my com- 
 panions in search of some shepherd, who might 
 be sent to her father's to demand a ransom. 
 
 I saw at once the peril. To resist with vio- 
 lence was certain death, but to leave her alone, 
 in the power of the captain ! — I spoke out then 
 with a fervor, inspired by my passion and by 
 despair. I reminded the captain that I was the 
 first to seize her ; that she was my prize ; and 
 that my previous attachment to her ought to 
 make her sacred among my companions. I in- 
 sisted, therefore, that he should pledge me his 
 word to respect her, otherwise I would refuse 
 obedience to his orders. His only reply was to 
 cock his carbine, and at the signal my comrades 
 did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my 
 impotent rage. What could I do ? I felt the 
 madness of resistance. I was menaced on all 
 hands, and my companions obliged me to follow 
 them. She remained alone with the chief — yes, 
 alone — and almost lifeless ! — 
 
 Here the robber paused in his recital, over- 
 powered by his emotions. Great drops of sweat 
 
THE YOUNG ROBBER. 399 
 
 stood on his forehead ; he panted rather than 
 breathed ; his brawny bosom rose and fell like 
 the waves of the troubled sea. When he had 
 become a little calm, he continued his recital. 
 
 I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. 
 I ran with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possi- 
 ble, to get back before what I dreaded might 
 take place. I had left my companions far behind, 
 and I rejoined them before they had reached one 
 half the distance I had made. I hurried them 
 back to the place where we had left the captain. 
 As we approached, I beheld him seated by the 
 side of Rosetta. His triumphant look, and the 
 desolate condition of the unfortunate girl, left me 
 no doubt of her fate. I know not how I re- 
 strained my fury. 
 
 It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding 
 her hand, that she was made to trace a few char- 
 acters, requesting her father to send three hun- 
 dred dollars as her ransom. The letter was dis- 
 patched by the shepherd. When he was gone, 
 the chief turned sternly to me. " You have set 
 an example," said he, " of mutiny and self-will, 
 which, if indulged, would be ruinous to the troop. 
 Had I treated you as our laws require, this bullet 
 would have been driven through your brain. 
 But you are an old friend. I have borne pa- 
 tiently with your fury and your folly. I have 
 even protected you from a foolish passion that 
 would have unmanned you. As to this girl, the 
 laws of our association must have their course." 
 So saying, he gave his commands : lots were 
 drawn, and the helpless girl was abandoned to the 
 troop. 
 
400 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Here the robber paused again, panting with 
 fury, and it was some moments before he could 
 resume his story. 
 
 Hell, said he, was raging in my heart. I beheld 
 the impossibility of avenging myself; and I felt 
 that, according to the articles in which we stood 
 bound to one another, the captain was in the 
 right. I rushed with frenzy from the place ; I 
 threw myself upon the earth ; tore up the grass 
 with my hands ; and beat my head and gnashed 
 my teeth in agony and rage. When at length 
 I returned, I beheld the wretched victim, pale, 
 dishevelled, her dress torn and disordered. An 
 emotion of pity, for a moment, subdued my 
 fiercer feelings. I bore her to the foot of a tree, 
 and leaned her gently against it. I took my 
 gourd, which was filled with wine, and applying 
 it to her lips, endeavored to make her swallow a 
 little. To what a condition was she reduced ! 
 she, whom I had once seen the pride of Frosi- 
 none, whom but a short time before I had beheld 
 sporting in her father's vineyard, so fresh, and 
 beautiful, and happy ! Her teeth were clenched ; j 
 her eyes fixed on the ground ; her form without 
 motion, and in a state of absolute insensibility. 
 I hung over her in an agony of recollection at all 
 that she had been, and of anguish at what I now 
 beheld her. I darted around a look of horror at 
 my companions, who seemed like so many fiends 
 exulting in the downfall of an angel ; and I felt 
 a horror at being myself their accomplice. 
 
 The captain, always suspicious, saw, with his 
 usual penetration, what was passing within me, 
 
THE YOUNG ROBBER. 401 
 
 and ordered me to go upon the ridge of the woods, 
 to keep a lookout over the neighborhood, and 
 await the return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of 
 course, stifling the fury that raged within me, 
 though I felt, for the moment, that he was my 
 most deadly foe. 
 
 On my way, however, a ray of reflection came 
 across my mind. I perceived that the captain 
 was but following, with strictness, the terrible 
 laws to which we had sworn fidelity ; that the 
 passion by which I had been blinded might, with 
 justice, have been fatal to me, but for his for- 
 bearance ; that he had penetrated my soul, and 
 had taken precautions, by sending me out of the 
 way, to prevent my committing any excess in my 
 anger. From that instant I felt that I was 
 capable of pardoning him. 
 
 Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the 
 foot of the mountain. The country was solitary 
 and secure, and in a short time I beheld the 
 shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I hast- 
 ened to meet him. He had obtained nothing. 
 He had found the father plunged in the deepest 
 distress. He had read the letter with violent 
 emotion, and then, calming himself with a sudden 
 exertion, he had replied coldly : " My daughter 
 has been dishonored by those wretches ; let her 
 be returned without ransom, — or let her die ! " 
 
 I shuddered at this reply. I knew that, accord, 
 ing to the laws of our troop, her death was in- 
 evitable. Our oaths required it. I felt, never- 
 theless, that, not having been able to have her to 
 myself, I could be her executioner ! 
 
402 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 The robber again paused with agitation. I 
 sat musing upon his last frightful words, which 
 proved to what excess the passions may be car- 
 ried when escaped from all moral restraint. 
 There was a horrible verity in this story that re- 
 minded me of some of the tragic fictions of Dante. 
 
 We now come to a fatal moment, resumed the 
 bandit. After the report of the shepherd, I re- 
 turned with him, and the chieftain received from 
 his lips the refusal of her father. At a signal 
 which we all understood, we followed him to 
 some distance from the victim. He there pro- 
 nounced her sentence of death. Every one 
 stood ready to execute his orders, but I inter- 
 fered. I observed that there was something due 
 to pity as well as to justice ; that I was as 
 ready as any one to approve the implacable law, 
 which was to serve as a warning to all those who 
 hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for our 
 prisoners ; but that though the sacrifice was prop- 
 er, it ought to be made without cruelty. The 
 night is approaching, continued I ; she will soon 
 be wrapped in sleep ; let her then be dispatched. 
 All I now claim on the score of former kindness 
 is, let me strike the blow. I will do it as surely, 
 though more tenderly than another. Several 
 raised their voices against my proposition, but the 
 captain imposed silence on them. He told me I 
 might conduct her into a thicket at some distance, 
 and he relied upon my promise. 
 
 I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was 
 a forlorn kind of triumph at having at length 
 become her exclusive posses'sor. I bore her off 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 403 
 
 into the thickness of the forest. She remained in 
 the same state of insensibility or stupor. I was 
 thankful that she did not recollect me, for had she 
 once murmured my name, I should have been 
 overcome. She slept at length in the arms of 
 him who was to poniard her. Many were the 
 conflicts I underwent before I could bring myself 
 to strike the blow. But my heart had become 
 sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and 
 I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other 
 should become her executioner. When her re- 
 pose had continued for some time, I separated 
 myself gently from her, that I might not disturb 
 her sleep, and seizing suddenly my poniard, 
 plunged it into her bosom. A painful and con- 
 centrated murmur, but without any convulsive 
 movement, accompanied her last sigh. — So per- 
 ished this unfortunate ! 
 
 He ceased to speak. I sat, horror - struck, 
 covering my face with my hands, seeking, as it 
 were, to hide from myself the frightful images he 
 had presented to my mind. I was roused from 
 this silence by the voice of the captain : " You 
 sleep," said he, " and it is time to be off. Come, 
 we must abandon this height, as night is setting 
 in, and the messenger is not returned. I will 
 post some one on the mountain edge to conduct 
 him to the place where we shall pass the night." 
 
 This was no agreeable news to me. I was 
 sick at heart with the dismal story I had heard. 
 I was harassed and fatigued, and the sight of the 
 banditti began to grow insupportable to me. 
 
404 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 The captain assembled his comrades. We 
 rapidly descended the forest, which we had 
 mounted with so much difficulty in the morning, 
 and soon arrived in what appeared to be a fre- 
 quented road. The robbers proceeded with great 
 caution, carrying their guns cocked, and looking 
 on every side with wary and suspicious eyes. 
 They were apprehensive of encountering the 
 civic patrole. We left Rocca Priori behind us. 
 There was a fountain near by, and as I was ex- 
 cessively thirsty, I begged permission to stop and 
 drink. The captain himself went and brought 
 me water in his hat. We pursued our route, 
 when, at the extremity of an alley which crossed 
 the road, I perceived a female on horseback, 
 dressed in white. She was alone. I recollected 
 the fate of the poor girl in the story, and trembled 
 for her safety. 
 
 One of the brigands saw her at the same in- 
 stant, and plunging into the bushes, he ran pre- 
 cipitately in the direction towards her. Stopping 
 on the border of the alley, he put one knee to 
 the ground, presented his carbine ready to menace 
 her, or to shoot her horse if she attempted to fly, 
 and in this way awaited her approach. I kept 
 my eyes fixed on her with intense anxiety. I 
 felt tempted to shout and warn her of her danger, 
 though my own destruction would have been the 
 consequence. It was awful to see this tiger 
 crouching ready for a bound, and the poor inno- 
 cent victim unconsciously near him. Nothing 
 but a mere chance could save her. To my joy 
 the chance turned in her favor. She seemed 
 
TEE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 405 
 
 almost accidentally to take an opposite path, 
 which led outside of the woods, where the robber 
 dared not venture. To this casual deviation she 
 owed her safety. 
 
 I could not imagine why the captain of the 
 band had ventured to such a distance from the 
 height on which he had placed the sentinel to 
 watch the return of the messenger. He seemed 
 himself anxious at the risk to which he exposed 
 himself. His movements were rapid and uneasy ; 
 I could scarce keep pace with him. At length, 
 after three hours of what might be° termed a 
 forced march, we mounted the extremity of the 
 same woods, the summit of which we had occu- 
 pied during the day ; and I learnt with satisfac- 
 tion that we had reached our quarters for the 
 night. " You must be fatigued," said the chief- 
 tain ; " but it was necessary to survey the envi- 
 rons so as not to be surprised during the night. 
 Had we met with the famous civic guard of 
 Rocca Priori, you would have seen fine sport." 
 Such was the indefatigable precaution and fore- 
 thought of this robber chief, who really gave con- 
 tinual evidence of military talent. 
 
 The night was magnificent. The moon, rising 
 above the horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit 
 up the grand features of the mountain, while 
 lights twinkling here and there, like terrestrial 
 stars in the wide dusky expanse of the landscape, 
 betrayed the lonely cabins of the shepherds. 
 Exhausted by fatigue, and by the many agita- 
 tions I had experienced, I prepared to sleep, 
 soothed by the hope of approaching deliverance. 
 
406 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 The captain ordered his companions to collect 
 some dry moss ; he arranged with his own hands 
 a kind of mattress and pillow of it, and gave me 
 his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but 
 feel both surprised and gratified by such unex- 
 pected attentions on the part of this benevolent 
 cut-throat ; for there is nothing more striking 
 than to find the ordinary charities, which are 
 matters of course in common life, flourishing by 
 the side of such stern and sterile crime. It is 
 like finding tender flowers and fresh herbage of 
 the valley growing among the rocks and cinders 
 of the volcano. 
 
 Before I fell asleep I had some further dis- 
 course with the captain, who seemed to feel great 
 confidence in me. He referred to our previous 
 conversation of the morning ; told me he was 
 weary of his hazardous profession ; that he had 
 acquired sufiicient property, and was anxious to 
 return to the world, and lead a peaceful life in 
 the bosom of his family. He wished to know 
 whether it was not in my power to procure for 
 him a passport to the United States of America. 
 I applauded his good intentions, and promised to 
 do everything in my power to promote its suc- 
 cess. We then parted for the iiight. I stretched 
 myself upon my couch of moss, which, after my 
 fatigues, felt like a bed of down ; and, sheltered 
 by the robber-mantle from all humidity, I slept 
 soundly, without waking, until the signal to 
 arise. 
 
 It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just 
 dawning. As the place where we had passed the 
 
THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 407 
 
 night was too much exposed, we moved up into 
 the thickness of the woods. A fire was kindled. 
 While there was any flame, the mantles were 
 again extended round it : but when nothing re- 
 mained but glowing cinders, they were lowered, 
 and the robbers seated themselves in a circle. 
 
 The scene before me reminded me of some of 
 those described by Homer. There wanted only 
 the victim on the coals, and the sacred knife to 
 cut off the succulent parts, and distribute them 
 around. My companions might have rivalled the 
 grim warriors of Greece. In place of the noble 
 repasts, however, of Achilles and Agamemnon, I 
 beheld displayed on the grass the remains of the 
 ham which had sustained so vigorous an attack 
 on the preceding evening, accompanied by the 
 relics of the bread, cheese, and wine. We had 
 scarcely commenced our fi-ugal breakfast, when I 
 heard again an imitation of the bleating of sheep, 
 similar to what I had heard the day before. The 
 captain answered it in the same tone. Two men 
 were soon after seen descending from the woody 
 height, where we had passed the preceding even- 
 ing. On nearer approach, they proved to be 
 the sentinel and the messenger. The captain 
 rose, and went to meet them. He made a signal 
 for his comrades to join him. They had a short 
 conference, and then returning to me with great 
 eagerness, " Your ransom is paid," said he, " you 
 are free ! " 
 
 Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot 
 tell you what a rush of delight these tidings gave 
 me. I cared not to finish my repast, but pre- 
 
408 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 pared to depart. , The captain took me by the 
 hand, requested permission to write to me, and 
 begged me not to forget the passport. I replied, 
 that I hoped to be of effectual service to him, 
 and that I relied on his honor to return the 
 Prince's note for five hundred dollars, now that 
 the cash was paid. He regarded me for a 
 moment with surprise, then seeming to recollect 
 himself, " JE giusto^^ said he, " eccoto — adio I " ^ 
 He delivered me the note, pressed my hand once 
 more, and we separated. The laborers were per- 
 mitted to follow me, and we resumed with joy 
 our road toward Tusculum. 
 
 The Frenchman ceased to speak. The party 
 continued, for a few moments, to pace the shore 
 in silence. The story had made a deep impres- 
 sion, particularly on the Venetian lady. At that 
 part which related to the young girl of Frosi- 
 none, she was violently affected. Sobs broke 
 from her ; she clung closer to her husband, and 
 as she looked up to him as if for protection, the 
 moonbeams sliining on her beautifully fair coun- 
 tenance, shoAved it paler than usual, while tears 
 glittered in her fine dark eyes. 
 
 " Corragio, 7nia vita I " said he, as he gently 
 and fondly tapped the white hand that lay upon 
 his arm. 
 
 The party now returned to the inn, and sep- 
 arated for the night. The fair Venetian, though 
 of the sweetest temperament, was half out of 
 humor with the Englishman, for a certain slow- 
 * It is just — there it is — adieu ! 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 409 
 
 ness of faith which he had evinced throughout 
 the whole evening. She could not understand 
 this dislike to " humbug/' as he termed it, which 
 held a kind of sway over him, and seemed to 
 control his opinions and his very actions. 
 
 " I '11 warrant," said she to her husband, as 
 they retired for the night, — " I'll warrant, with 
 all his affected indifference, this Englishman's 
 heart would quake at the very sight of a bandit." 
 
 Her Jiusband gently, and good-humoredly, 
 checked her. 
 
 " I have no patience with these Englishmen," 
 said she, as she got into bed, — • " they are so cold 
 and insensible ! " 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 
 
 iN the morning all was bustle in the inn 
 at Terracina. The procaccio . had de- 
 parted at daybreak on its route towards 
 Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start, and 
 the departure of an English equipage is always 
 enough to keep an inn in a bustle. On this oc- 
 casion there was more than usual stir, for the 
 Englishman, having much property about him, 
 and having been convinced of the real danger of 
 the road, had applied to the police, and obtained, 
 by dint of liberal pay, an escort of eight dra- 
 goons and twelve foot-soldiers, as far as Fondi. 
 
 Perhaps, too, there might have been a little 
 ostentation at bottom, though, to say the truth, 
 he had nothing of it in his manner. He moved 
 about, taciturn and reserved as usual, among the 
 gaping crowd ; gave laconic orders to John, as he 
 packed away the thousand and one indispensable 
 conveniences of the night ; double loaded his 
 pistols with great sang froid^ and deposited them 
 in the pockets of the carriage ; taking no notice 
 of a pair of keen eyes gazing on him from among ' 
 the herd of loitering idlers. I 
 
 The fair Venetian now came up with a request, 
 made in her dulcet tones, that he would permit 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE, 411 
 
 their carriage to proceed under protection of his 
 escort. The Englishman, who was busy loading 
 another pair of pistols for his servant, and held 
 the ramrod between his teeth, nodded assent, as a 
 matter of course, but without lifting up his eyes. 
 The fair Venetian was a little piqued at what 
 she supposed indifference : — " O Dio ! " ejaculated 
 she softly as she retired ; " Quanto sono insen- 
 sibili questi Inglesi." 
 
 At length, off they set in gallant style. The 
 eight dragoons prancing in front, the twelve foot- 
 soldiers marching in rear, and the carriage mov- 
 ing slowly in the centre, to enable the infantry 
 to keep pace with them. They had proceeded 
 but a few hundred yards, when it was discovered 
 that some indispensable article had been left be- 
 hind. In fact, the Englishman's purse was miss- 
 ing, and John was dispatched to the inn to 
 search for it. This occasioned a little delay, and 
 the carriage of the Venetians drove slowly on. 
 John came back out of breath and out of humor. 
 The purse was not to be found. His master was 
 irritated ; he recollected the very place where it 
 lay ; he had not a doubt the Italian servant had 
 pocketed it. John was again sent back. He 
 returned once more without the purse, but with 
 the landlord and the whole household at his 
 heels. A thousand ejaculations and protestations, 
 accompanied by all sorts of grimaces and contor- 
 tions — " No purse had been seen — his excel- 
 lenza must be mistaken." 
 
 " No — his excellenza was not mistaken — the 
 purse lay on the marble table, under the mirror, 
 
412 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 a green purse, half full of gold and silver." 
 Again a thousand grimaces and contortions, and 
 vows by San Gennaro, that no purse of the kind 
 had been seen. 
 
 The Englishman became furious. " The waiter 
 had pocketed it — the landlord was a knave — 
 the inn a den of thieves — it was a vile coun- 
 try — he had been cheated and plundered from 
 one end of it to the other — but he 'd have sat- 
 isfaction — he 'd drive right off to the police." 
 
 He was on the point of ordering the postilions 
 to turn back, when, on rising, he displaced the 
 cushion of the carriage, and the purse of money 
 fell chinking to the floor. 
 
 All the blood in his body seemed to rush into 
 his face. — " Curse the purse," said he, as he 
 snatched it up. He dashed a handful of money 
 on the ground before the pale cringing waiter, — 
 " There, be off ! " cried he. " John, order the pos- 
 tilions to drive on." 
 
 About half an hour had been exhausted in 
 this altercation. The Venetian carriage had loi- 
 tered along ; its passengers looking out from 
 time to time, and expecting the escort every 
 moment to follow. They had gradually turned 
 an angle of the road that shut them out of sight. 
 The little army was again in motion, and made a 
 very picturesque appearance as it woimd along 
 at the bottom of the rocks ; the morning sun- 
 shine beaming upon the weapons of the soldiery. 
 
 The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, 
 vexed with himself at what had passed, and con- 
 sequently out of humor with all the world. As 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 413 
 
 this, however, is no uncommon ease with gentle- 
 men who travel for their pleasure, it is hardly 
 worthy of remark. They had wound up from 
 the coast among the hills, and came to a part of 
 the road that admitted of some prospect ahead. 
 
 " I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said 
 John, leaning down from the coach-box. 
 
 " Pish ! " said the Englishman, testily ; " don't 
 plague me about the lady's carriage ; must I be 
 continually pestered with the concerns of stran- 
 gers ? " John said not another word, for he un- 
 derstood his master's mood. 
 
 The road grew more wild and lonely ; they 
 were slowly proceeding on a foot-pace up a hill ; 
 the dragoons were some distance ahead, and had 
 just reached the summit of the hill, when they 
 uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, and gal- 
 loped forward. The Englishman was. roused 
 from his sulky reverie. He stretched his head 
 from the carriage, which had attained the brow of 
 the hill. Before him extended a long hollow 
 defile, commanded on one side by rugged precipi- 
 tous heights, covered with bushes of scanty 
 forest. At some distance he beheld the carriage 
 of the Venetians overturned. A numerous gang 
 of desperadoes were rifling it; the young man 
 and his servant were overpowered, and partly 
 stripped ; and the lady was in the hands of two 
 of the ruffians. The Englishman seized his 
 pistols, sprang from the carriage, and called upon 
 John to follow him. 
 
 In the mean time, as the#dragoons came for- 
 ward, the robbers, who were busy with the car- 
 
414 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 riage, quitted their spoil, formed themselves in 
 the middle of the road, and taking a deliberate 
 aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, another 
 was wounded, and the whole were for a moment 
 cheeked and thrown into confusion. The robbers 
 loaded again in an instant. The dragoons dis- 
 charged their carbines, but without apparent effect. 
 The J received another volley, which, though none 
 fell, threw them again into confusion. The rob- 
 bers were loading a second time when they saw 
 the foot-soldiers at hand. " Scampa via I " was 
 the word: they abandoned their prey, and re- 
 treated up the rocks, the soldiers after them. 
 They fought from cliff to cliff, and bush to bush, 
 the robbers turning every now and then to fire 
 upon their pursuers ; the soldiers scrambling after 
 them, and discharging their muskets whenever 
 they could get a chance. Sometimes a soldier or 
 a robber was shot down, and came tumbling 
 among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from 
 below, whenever a robber came in sight. 
 
 The Englishman had hastened to the scene of 
 action, and the balls discharged at the 'dragoons 
 had whistled past him as he advanced. One 
 object, however, engrossed his attention. It was 
 the beautiful Venetian lady in the hands of two 
 of the robbers, who, during the confusion of the 
 fight, carried her shrieking up the mountain. 
 He saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, 
 and he sprang up the rocks to intercept the rob- 
 bers, as they bore off their prey. The rugged- 
 ness of the steep, ^d the entanglements of the 
 bushes, delayed and impeded him. He lost sight 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE, 415 
 
 of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, 
 which grew fainter and fainter. They were off 
 to the left, while the reports of muskets showed 
 that the battle was raging to the right. At length 
 he came upon what appeared to be a rugged foot- 
 path, faintly worn in a gulley of the rocks, and 
 beheld the ruffians at some distance hurrying the 
 lady up the defile. One of them hearing his 
 approach, let go his prey, advanced towards him, 
 and levelling the carbine which had been slung 
 on his back, fired. The ball whizzed through 
 the Englishman's hat, and carried with it some 
 of his hair. He returned the fire witli one of 
 his pistols, and the robber fell. The other 
 brigand now dropped the lady, and drawing a 
 long pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary 
 with deliberate aim. The ball passed between 
 his left arm and his side, slightly wounding the 
 arm. The Englishman advanced, and discharged 
 his remaining pistol, which wounded the robber, 
 but not severely. 
 
 The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon 
 his adversary, who eluded the blow, receiving 
 merely a slight wound, and defended himself 
 with his pistol, which had a spring bayonet. 
 They closed with one another, and a desperate 
 struggle ensued. The robber was a square-built, 
 thickset man, powerful, muscular, and active. 
 The Englishman, though of larger frame and 
 greater strength, was less active, and less accus- 
 tomed to athletic exercises and feats of hardihood, 
 but he showed himself practised and skilled in 
 the art of defence. They were on a craggy 
 
416 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 height, and the Englishman perceived that his 
 antagonist was striving to press him to the edge. 
 A side-glance showed him also the robber whom 
 he had first wounded, scrambhng up to the assist- 
 ance of his comrade, stiletto in hand. He had 
 in fact attained the summit of the cliff, he was 
 within a few steps, and the Englishman felt that 
 his case was desperate, when he heard suddenly 
 the report of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The 
 shot came from John, who had arrived just in 
 time to save his master. 
 
 The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of 
 blood and the violence of the contest, showed 
 signs of faltering. The Englishman pursued his 
 advantage, pressed on him, and as his strength 
 relaxed, dashed him headlong from the precipice. 
 He looked after him, and saw him lying motion- 
 less among the rocks below. 
 
 The Englishman now sought the fair Vene- 
 tian. He found her senseless on the ground. 
 With his servant's assistance he bore her down 
 to the road, where her husband was raving like 
 one distracted. He had sought her in vain, and 
 had given her over for lost ; and when he beheld 
 her thus brought back in safety, his joy was 
 equally wild and ungovernable. He would have 
 caught her insensible form to his bosom had not 
 the Englishman restrained him. The latter, now 
 really aroused, displayed a true tenderness and 
 manly gallantry, which one would not have ex- 
 pected from his habitual phlegm. His kindness, 
 however, was practical, not wasted in words. He 
 dispatched John to the carriage for restoratives 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 417 
 
 of all kinds, and, totally thoughtless of himself, 
 was anxious only about his lovely charge. The 
 occasional discharge of firearms along the height, 
 showed that a retreating fight was still kept up 
 by the robbers. The lady gave signs of reviving 
 animation. The Englishman, eager to get her 
 from this place of danger, conveyed her to his 
 own carriage, and, committing her to the care of 
 her husband, ordered the dragoons to escort them 
 to Fondi. The Venetian would have insisted on 
 the Englishman's getting into the carriage ; but 
 the latter refused. He poured forth a torrent of 
 thanks and benedictions ; but the Englishman 
 beckoned to the postilions to drive on. 
 
 John now dressed his master's wounds, which 
 were found not to be serious, though he was faint 
 with loss of blood. The Venetian carriage had 
 been righted, and the baggage replaced ; and, get- 
 ting into it, they set out on their way towards 
 Fondi, leaving the foot-soldiers still engaged in 
 ferreting out the banditti. 
 
 Before arriving at Fondi, the fair Venetian 
 had completely recovered from her swoon. She 
 made the usual question, — 
 " Where was she ? '* 
 " In the Englishman's carriage." 
 " How had she escaped from the robbers ? " 
 " The Englishman had rescued her." 
 Her transports were unbounded ; and mingled 
 with them were enthusiastic ejaculations of grati- 
 tude to her deliverer. A thousand times did she 
 reproach herself for having accused him of cold- 
 ness and insensibility. The moment she saw him, 
 27 
 
418 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 she rushed mto his arms with the vivacity of her 
 nation, and hung about his neck in a speechless 
 transport of gratitude. Never was man more 
 embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman. 
 
 " Tut ! — tut ! " said the Englishman. 
 
 " You are wounded ! " shrieked the fair Vene- 
 tian as she saw blood upon his clothes. 
 
 " Pooh ! nothing at all ! " 
 
 " My deliverer ! — my angel ! " exclaimed she, 
 clasping him again round the neck, and sobbing 
 on his bosom. 
 
 " Pish ! " said the Englishman, with a good-hu- 
 mored tone, but looking somewhat foolish, " this 
 is all humbug." 
 
 The fair Venetian, however, has never since 
 accused the English of insensibility. 
 
PART FOURTH. 
 
 THE MONEY-DIGGERS. 
 
 FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 
 KNICKERBOCKER. 
 
 " Now I remember those old women's words, 
 Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales : 
 And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by night 
 About the place where treasure hath been hid." 
 
 Marlow's Jew of Malta, 
 
HELL-GATE. 
 
 BOUT six miles from the renowned city 
 of the Manhattoes, in that Sound or arm 
 of the sea which passes between the 
 mainland and Nassau, or Long Island, there is 
 a narrow strait, where the current is violently- 
 compressed between shouldering promontories, and 
 horribly perplexed by rocks and shoals. Being, 
 at the best of times, a very violent, impetuous 
 current, it takes these impediments in mighty 
 dudgeon ; boiling in whirlpools ; brawling and 
 fretting in ripples ; raging and roaring in rapids 
 and breakers ; and, in short, indulging in all kinds 
 of wrong-headed paroxysms. At such times, woe 
 to any unlucky vessel that ventures within its 
 clutches. 
 
 This termagant ^umor, however, prevails only 
 at certain times of tide. At low water, for in- 
 stance, it is as pacific a stream as you would wish 
 to see ; but as the tide rises, it begins to fret ; at 
 half- tide it roars with might and main, like a bull 
 bellowing for more drink ; but when the tide is 
 full, it relapses into quiet, and, for a time, sleeps 
 as soundly as an alderman after dinner. In fact, 
 it may be compared to a quarrelsome toper, who 
 
422 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 is a peaceable fellow enough when he has no 
 liquor at all, or when he has a skinfull ; but who, 
 when half-seas-over, plays the very devil. 
 
 This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking 
 little strait was a place of great danger and per- 
 plexity to the Dutch navigators of ancient days ; 
 hectoring their tub-built barks in a most unruly 
 style ; whirling them about in a manner to make 
 any but a Dutchman giddy, and not unfrequently 
 stranding them upon rocks and reefs, as it did the 
 famous squadron of Oloffe the Dreamer, when 
 seeking a place to found the city of the Manhat- 
 toes. Whereupon, out of sheer spleen, they de- 
 nominated it Helle-gat^ and solemnly gave it over 
 to the devil. This appellation has since been 
 aptly rendered into English by the name of Hell- 
 gate, and into nonsense by the name of ^i^rZ-gate, 
 according to certain foreign intruders, who neither 
 understood Dutch nor English, — may St. Nicholas 
 confound them ! 
 
 This strait of Hell-gate was a place of great 
 awe and perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood, 
 having been much of a navigator on those small 
 seas, and having more than once run the risk of 
 shipwreck and drowning in the course of certain 
 holiday voyages, to which, in common with other 
 Dutch urchins, I was rather prone. Indeed, 
 partly from the name, and partly from various 
 strange circumstances connected with it, this 
 place had far more terrors in the eyes of my tru- 
 ant companions and myself than had Scylla and 
 Charybdis for the navigators of yore. 
 
 In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group 
 
HELL-GATE. ^23 
 
 of rocks called the Hen and Chickens, there lay 
 the wreck of a vessel which had been entangled 
 in the whirlpools and stranded during a storm. 
 There was a wild story told to us of this being 
 the wreck of a pirate, and some tale of bloody 
 murder which I cannot now recollect, but which 
 made us regard it with great awe, and keep far 
 from it in our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate 
 look of the forlorn hulk, and the fearful place 
 where it lay rotting, were enough to awaken 
 strange notions. A row of timber-heads, black- 
 ened by time, just peered above the surface at 
 high water ; but at low tide a considerable part 
 of the hull was bare, and its great ribs or timbers, 
 partly stripped of their planks, and dripping with 
 sea-weeds, looked like the huge skeleton of some 
 sea-monster. There was also the stump of a 
 mast, with a few ropes and blocks swinging 
 about and whistling in the wind, while the sea- 
 gull wheeled and screamed around the melan- 
 choly carcass. I have a faint recollection of some 
 hobgoblin tale of sailors' ghosts being seen about 
 this wreck at night, with bare skulls, and blue 
 lights in their sockets instead of eyes, but I have 
 forgotten all the particulars. 
 
 In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was 
 like the straits of Pelorus of yore, a region of 
 fable and romance to me. From the strait to the 
 Manhattoes, the borders of the Sound are greatly 
 diversified, being broken and indented by rocky 
 nooks overhung with trees, which give them a 
 wild and romantic look. In the time of my 
 boyhood, they abounded with traditions about 
 
42i TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 pirates, ghosts, smugglers, and buried money; 
 which had a wonderful effect upon the young 
 minds of my companions and myself. 
 
 As I grew to more mature years, I made dili- 
 gent research after the truth of these strange 
 traditions ; for I have always been a curious in- 
 vestigator of the valuable but obscure branches 
 of the history of my native province. I found 
 infinite difficulty, however, in arriving at any pre- 
 cise information. In seeking to dig up one fact, 
 it is incredible the number of fables that I un- 
 earthed. I will say nothing of the devil's step- 
 ping-stones, by which the arch-fiend made his re- 
 treat from Connecticut to Long Island, across the 
 Sound ; seeing the subject is likely to be learnedly 
 treated by a worthy friend and contemporary his- 
 torian, whom I have furnished with particulars 
 thereof."^ Neither will I say anything of the 
 black man in a three-cornered hat, seated in the 
 stern of a jolly-boat, who used to be seen about 
 Hell-gate in stormy weather, and who went by 
 the name of the pirate's spuke^ (i. e. pirate's 
 ghost,) and whom, it is said, old Governor Stuy- 
 vesant once shot with a silver bullet ; because I 
 never could meet with any person of stanch cred- 
 ibility who professed to have seen this spectrum, 
 unless it were the widow of Manus Conklen, the 
 blacksmith, of Frogsneck ; but then, poor woman, 
 she was a little purblind, and might have been 
 
 * For a very interesting and authentic account of the devil 
 and his stepping-stones, see the valuable Memoir read before 
 the New York Historical Society, since the death of Mr. 
 Knickerbocker, by his friend, an eminent jurist of the place. 
 
HELL- GATE, 425 
 
 mistaken ; though they say she saw farther than 
 other folks in the dark. 
 
 All this, however, was but little satisfactory 
 in regard to the tales of pirates and their buried 
 money, about which I was most curious ; and the 
 following is all that I could, for a long time, col- 
 lect, that had anything like an air of authenticity. 
 
KIDD THE PIRATE. 
 
 N old times, just after the territory of 
 the New Netherlands had been wrested 
 from the hands of their High Mighti- 
 nesses, the Lords States- General of Holland, by 
 King Charles the Second, and while it was as yet 
 in an unquiet state, the province was a great re- 
 sort of random adventurers, loose livers, and all 
 that class of hap-hazard fellows who live by their 
 wits, and dislike the old - fashioned restraint of 
 law and gospel. Among these, the foremost were 
 the buccaneers. These were rovers of the deep, 
 who perhaps in time of war had been educated 
 in those schools of piracy, the privateers ; but 
 having once tasted the sweets of plunder, had 
 ever retained a hankering after it. There is but 
 a slight step from the privateersman to the pirate ; 
 both fight for the love of plunder ; only that the 
 latter is the bravest, as he dares both the enemy 
 and the gallows. 
 
 But in whatever school they had been taught, the 
 buccaneers that kept about the English colonies 
 were daring fellows, and made sad work in times 
 of peace among the Spanish settlements and Span- 
 ish' merchantmen. The easy access to the harbor 
 of the Manhattoes, the number of hiding-places 
 
KIDD TEE PIRATE, 427 
 
 about its waters, and the laxity of its scarcely 
 organized government, made it a great rendezvous 
 of the pirates ; where they might dispose of 
 their booty, and concert new depredations. As 
 they brought home with them wealthy lading of 
 all kinds, the luxuries of the tropics, and the 
 sumptuous spoils of the Spanish provinces, and 
 disposed of them with the proverbial carelessness 
 of freebooters, they were welcome visitors to the 
 thrifty traders of the Manhattoes. Crews of 
 these desperadoes, therefore, the runagates of ev- 
 ery country and every clime, might be seen swag- 
 gering in open day about the streets of the little 
 burgh, elbowing its quiet mynheers ; trafficking 
 away their rich outlandish plunder at half or 
 quarter price to the wary merchant ; and then 
 squandering their prize-money in taverns, drink- 
 ing, gambling, singing, swearing, shouting, and 
 astounding the neighborhood with midnight brawl 
 and ruffian revelry. 
 
 At length these excesses rose to such a height 
 as to become a scandal to the provinces, and to 
 call loudly for the interposition of government. 
 Measures were accordingly taken to put a stop to 
 the widely extended evil, and to ferret this ver- 
 min brood out of the colonies. 
 
 Among the agents employed to execute this 
 purpose was the notorious Captain Kidd. He 
 had long been an equivocal character ; one of 
 those nondescript animals of the ocean that are 
 neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He was somewhat 
 of a trader, something more of a smuggler, with 
 a considerable dash of the picaroon. He had 
 
428 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 traded for many years among the pirates, in a 
 little rakish, mosquito-built vessel, that could run 
 into all kinds of waters. He knew all their 
 haunts and lurking-places ; was always hooking 
 about on mysterious voyages, and was as busy as 
 a Mother Gary's chicken in a storm. 
 
 This nondescript personage was pitched upon 
 by government as the very man to hunt the pi- 
 rates by sea, upon the good old maxim of " set- 
 ting a rogue to catch a rogue " ; or as otters are 
 sometimes used to catch their cousins - german, 
 the fish. 
 
 Kidd accordingly sailed for New York, in 
 1695, in a gallant vessel called the Adventure 
 Galley, well armed and duly commissioned. On 
 arriving at his old haunts, however, he shipped 
 his crew on new terms; enlisted a number of 
 his old comrades, lads of the knife and the pistol ; 
 and then set sail for the East. Instead of cruis- 
 ing against pirates, he turned pirate himself; 
 steered to the Madeiras, to Bonavista, and Mada- 
 gascar, and cruised about the entrance of the 
 Eed Sea. Here, among other maritime robber- 
 ies, he captured a rich Quedah merchantman, 
 manned by Moors, though commanded by an 
 Englishman. Kidd would fain have passed this 
 off for a worthy exploit, as being a kind of cru- 
 sade against the infidels ; but government had 
 lono- since lost all relish for such Christian tri- 
 
 o 
 
 umphs. 
 
 After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, 
 and changing from ship to ship, Kidd had the 
 hardihood to return to Boston, laden with booty, 
 
KIDD THE PIRATE. 429 
 
 with a crew of swaggering companions at his 
 heels. 
 
 Times, however, were changed. The bucca- 
 neers could no longer show a whisker in the colo- 
 nies with impunity. The new governor, Lord 
 Bellamont, had signalized himself by his zeal in 
 extirpating these offenders ; and was doubly ex- 
 asperated against Kidd, having been instrumental 
 in appointing him to the trust which he had be- 
 trayed. No sooner, therefore, did he show him- 
 self in Boston, than the alarm was given of his 
 reappearance, and measures were taken to arrest 
 this cutpurse of the ocean. The daring character 
 which Kidd had acquired, however, and the des- 
 perate fellows who followed like bull-dogs at his 
 heels, caused a little delay in his arrest. He took 
 advantage of this, it is said, to bury the greater 
 part of his treasures, and then carried a high head 
 about the streets of Boston. He even attempted 
 to defend himself when arrested, but was secured 
 and thrown into prison, with his followers. Such 
 was the formidable character of this pirate and 
 his crew, that it was thought advisable to dispatch 
 a frigate to bring them to England. Great exer- 
 tions were made to screen him from justice, but 
 in vain ; he and his comrades were tried, con- 
 demned, and hanged at Execution Dock in Lon- 
 don. Kidd died hard, for the rope with which 
 he was first tied up broke with his weight, and 
 he tumbled to the ground. He was tied up a 
 second time, and more effectually ; hence came, 
 doubtless, the story of Kidd's having a charmed 
 life, and that he had to be twice hanged. 
 
430 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Such is the main outline of Kidd's history ; 
 but it has given birth to an innumerable progeny 
 of traditions. The report of his having buried 
 great treasures of gold and jewels before his ar- 
 rest, set the brains of all the good people along 
 the coast in a ferment. There were rumors on 
 rumors of great sums of money found here and 
 there, sometimes in one part of the country, some- 
 times in another ; of coins with Moorish inscrip- 
 tions, doubtless the spoils of his eastern prizes, but 
 which the common people looked upon with su- 
 perstitious awe, regarding the Moorish letters as 
 diabolical or magical characters. 
 
 Some reported the treasure to have been bur- 
 ied in solitary, unsettled places, about Plymouth 
 and Cape Cod; but by degrees various other 
 parts, not only on the eastern coast, but along the 
 shores of the Sound, and even of Manhattan and 
 Long Island, were gilded by these rumors. Li 
 fact, the rigorous measures of Lord Bellamont 
 spread sudden consternation among the buccaneers 
 in every part of the provinces : they secreted 
 their money and jewels in lonely out-of-the-way 
 places, about the wild shores of the rivers and sea- 
 coast, and dispersed themselves over the face of 
 the country. The hand of justice prevented many 
 of them from ever returning to regain their bur- 
 ied treasures, which remained, and remain prob- 
 ably to this day, objects of enterprise for the 
 money-digger. 
 
 This is the cause of those frequent reports of 
 trees and rocks bearing mysterious marks, sup- 
 posed to indicate the spots where treasures lay 
 
KIDD THE PIRATE. 431 
 
 hidden ; and many have been the ransackings 
 after the pirate's booty. In all the stories which 
 once abounded of these enterprises, the devil 
 played a conspicuous part. Either he was con- 
 ciliated by ceremonies and invocations, or some 
 solemn compact was made with him. Still he 
 was ever prone to play the money-diggers some 
 slippery trick. Some would dig so far as to 
 come to an iron chest, when some baffling circum- 
 stance was sure to take place. Either the earth 
 would fall in and fill up the pit, or some direful 
 noise or apparition would frighten the party from 
 the place : sometimes the devil himself would 
 appear, and bear off the prize when within their 
 very grasp ; and if they revisited the place the 
 next day, not a trace would be found of their 
 labors of the preceding night. 
 
 All these rumors, however, were extremely 
 vague, and for a long time tantalized, without 
 gratifying, my curiosity. There is nothing in this 
 world so hard to get at as truth, and there is 
 nothing in this world but truth that I care for. 
 I sought among all my favorite sources of au- 
 thentic information, the oldest inhabitants, and 
 particularly the old Dutch wives of the province ; 
 but though I flatter myself that I am better 
 versed than most men in the curious history of 
 my native province, yet for a long time my in- 
 quiries were unattended with any substantial re- 
 sult. 
 
 At length it happened that, one calm day in 
 the latter part of summer, I was relaxing myself 
 from the toils of severe study, by a day's amuse- 
 
432 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 ment in fishing in those waters which had been 
 the favorite resort of my boyhood. I was in 
 company with several worthy burghers of my na- 
 tive city, among whom were more than one illus- 
 trious member of the corporation, whose names, 
 did I dare to mention them, would do honor to 
 my humble page. Our sport was indifferent. 
 The fish did not bite freely, and we frequently 
 changed our fishing-ground without bettering our 
 luck. We were at length anchored close under 
 a ledge of rocky coast, on the eastern side of the 
 island of Manhatta. It was a still, warm day. 
 The stream whirled and dimpled by us, without 
 a wave or even a ripple ; and everything was so 
 calm and quiet, that it was almost startling when 
 the kingfisher would pitch himself from the branch 
 of some high tree, and after suspending himself 
 for a moment in the air, to take his aim, would 
 souse into the smooth water after his prey. 
 While we were lolling in our boat, half drowsy 
 with the warm stillness of the day, and the dul- 
 ness of our sport, one of our party, a worthy 
 alderman, was overtaken by a slumber, and, as 
 he dozed, suffered the sinker of his drop-line to 
 lie upon the bottom of the river. On waking, 
 he found he had caught something of importance 
 from the weight. On drawing it to the surface, 
 we were much surprised to find it a long pistol of 
 very curious and outlandish fashion, which, from 
 its rusted condition, and its stock being worm- 
 eaten and covered with barnacles, appeared to 
 have lain a long time under water. The unex- 
 pected appearance of this document of warfare 
 
KIDD THE PIRATE, 433 
 
 occasioned much speculation among my pacific 
 companions. One supposed it to have fallen there 
 during the revolutionary war ; another, from the 
 peculiarity of its fashion, attributed it to the voy- 
 agers in the earliest days of the settlement ; per- 
 chance to the renowned Adrian Block, who ex- 
 plored the Sound, and discovered Block Island, 
 since so noted for its cheese. But a third, after 
 regarding it for some time, pronounced it to be 
 of veritable Spanish workmanship. 
 
 "I'll warrant," said he, "if this pistol could 
 talk, It would tell strange stories of hard fights 
 among the Spanish Dons. I Ve no doubt but it 
 IS a rehc of the buccaneers of old times,— who 
 knows but it belonged to Kidd himself? " 
 
 " Ah ! that Kidd was a resolute fellow," cried 
 an old iron-faced Cape-Cod whaler. — " There 's a 
 fine old song about him, all to the tune of — 
 
 My name is Captain Kidd, 
 As I sailed, as I sailed ; — 
 
 and then it tells about how he gained the devil's 
 good graces by burying the Bible : — 
 
 I had the Bible in my hand, 
 
 As I sailed, as I sailed, 
 And I buried it in the sand, 
 
 As I sailed. — 
 
 "Odsfish, if I thought this pistol had belonged 
 to Kidd, I should set great store by it, for curi- 
 osity's sake. By the way, I recollect a story 
 about a fellow who once dug up Kidd's buried 
 28 
 
434 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 money, which was written by a neighbor of mine, 
 and which I learnt by heart. As the fish don't 
 bite just now, I '11 tell it to you, by way of pass- 
 ing away the time." — And so saying, he gave 
 us the following narration. 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 
 
 FEW miles from Boston in Massachu- 
 setts, there is a deep inlet, winding sev- 
 eral miles into the interior of the country 
 from Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly- 
 wooded swamp or morass. On one side of this 
 inlet is a beautiful dark grove ; on the opposite 
 side the land rises abruptly from the water's edge 
 into a high ridge, on which grow a few scattered 
 oaks of great age and immense size. Under one 
 of these gigantic trees, according to old stories, 
 there was a great amount of treasure buried by 
 Kidd the pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to 
 bring the money in a boat secretly and at night 
 to the very foot of the hill ; the elevation of the 
 place permitted a good lookout to be kept that 
 no one was at hand ; while the remarkable trees 
 formed good landmarks by which the place might 
 easily be found again. The old stories add, more- 
 over, that the devil presided at the hiding of the 
 money, and took it under his guardianship ; but 
 this, it is well known, he always does with buried 
 treasure, particularly when it has been ill-gotten. 
 Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover 
 his wealth ; being shortly after seized at Boston, 
 
436 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 sent out to England, and there hanged for a pi- 
 rate. 
 
 About the year 1727, just at the time that 
 earthquakes were prevalent in New England, and 
 shook many tall sinners down upon their knees, 
 there lived near this place a meagre, miserly fel- 
 low, of the name of Tom Walker. He had a 
 wife as miserly as himself: they were so miserly 
 that they even conspired to cheat each other. 
 Whatever the woman could lay hands on, she 
 hid away ; a hen could not cackle but she was 
 on the alert to secure the new-laid Q^g, Her 
 husband was continually prying about to detect 
 her secret hoards, and many and fierce were the 
 conflicts that took place about what ought to have 
 been common property. They lived in a forlorn- 
 looking house that stood alone, and had an air 
 of starvation. A few straggling savin-trees, em- 
 blems of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke ever 
 curled from its chimney ; no traveller stopped at 
 its door. A miserable horse, whose ribs were as 
 articulate as the bars of a gridiron, stalked about 
 a field, where a thin carpet of moss, scarcely cov- 
 ering the ragged beds of pudding-stone, tantalized 
 and balked his hunger ; and sometimes he would 
 lean his head over the fence, look piteously at the 
 passer-by, and seem to petition deliverance from 
 this land of famine. 
 
 The house and its inmates had altogether a 
 bad name. Tom's wife was a tall termagant, 
 fierce of temper, loud of tongue, and strong of 
 arm. Her voice was often heard in wordy war- 
 fare with her husband ; and his face sometimes 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 437 
 
 showed signs that their conflicts were not con- 
 fined to words. No one ventured, however, to 
 interfere between them. The lonely wayfarer 
 shrunk within himself at the horrid clamor and 
 clapper-clawing ; eyed the den of discord askance ; 
 and hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, 
 in his celibacy. 
 
 One day that Tom Walker had been to a dis- 
 tant part of the neighborhood, he took what he 
 considered a short cut homeward, through the 
 swamp. Like most short cuts, it was an ill- 
 chosen route. The swamp was thickly grown 
 with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of 
 them ninety feet high, which made it dark at 
 noonday, and a retreat for all the owls of the 
 neighborhood. It was full of pits and quagmires, 
 partly covered with weeds and mosses, where the 
 green surface often betrayed the traveller into a 
 gulf of black, smothering mud : there were also 
 dark and stagnant pools, the abodes of the tadpole, 
 the bull-frog, and the water-snake ; where the 
 trunks of pines and hemlocks lay half-drowned, half- 
 rotting, looking like alligators sleeping in the mire. 
 
 Tom had long been picking his way cautiously 
 through this treacherous forest ; stepping from 
 tuft to tuft of rushes and roots, which afforded 
 precarious footholds among deep sloughs ; or pac- 
 ing carefully, like a cat, along the prostrate trunks 
 of trees ; startled now and then by the sudden 
 screaming of the bittern, or the quacking of a 
 wild duck rising on the wing from some solitary 
 pool. At length he arrived at a firm piece of 
 ground, which ran out like a peninsula into the 
 
438 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 deep bosom of the swamp. It had been one of 
 the strong-holds of the Indians during their wars 
 wdth the first colonists. Here they had thrown 
 up a kind of fort, which they had looked upon as 
 almost impregnable, and had used as a place of 
 refuge for their squaws and children. Nothing 
 remained of the old Lidian fort but a few em- 
 bankments, gradually sinking to the level of the 
 surrounding earth, and already overgrown in part 
 by oaks and other forest trees, the foliage of 
 which formed a contrast to the dark pines and 
 hemlocks of the swamp. 
 
 It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom 
 Walker reached the old fort, and he paused there 
 awhile to rest himself. Any one but he would 
 have felt unwilling to linger in this lonely, mel- 
 ancholy place, for the common people had a bad 
 opinion of it, from the stories handed down from 
 the time of the Indian wars ; when it was as- 
 serted that the savages held incantations here, 
 and made sacrifices to the evil spirit. 
 
 Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be 
 troubled with any fears of the kind. He reposed 
 himself for some time on the trunk of a fallen 
 hemlock, listening to the boding cry of the tree- 
 toad, and delving with his walking-staff into a 
 mound of black mould at his feet. As he turned 
 up the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against 
 something hard. He raked it out of the vegeta- 
 ble mould, and lo ! a cloven skull, with an Indian 
 tomahawk buried deep in it, lay before him. The 
 rust on the weapon showed tlie time that had 
 elapsed since this death-blow had been given. It 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 439 
 
 was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that 
 had taken place in this last foothold of the Indian 
 warriors. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as he gave it a 
 kick to shake the dirt from it. 
 
 " Let that skull alone ! " said a gruff voice. 
 Tom lifted up his eyes, and beheld a great black 
 man seated directly opposite him, on the stump 
 of a tree. He was exceedingly surprised, having 
 neither heard nor seen any one approach; and 
 he was still more perplexed on observing, as well 
 as the gathering gloom would permit, that the 
 stranger was neither negro nor Indian. It is 
 true he was dressed in a rude half Indian garb, 
 and had a red belt or sash swathed round his 
 body ; but his face was neither black nor copper- 
 color, but swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with 
 soot, as if he had been accustomed to toil among 
 fires and forges. He had a shock of coarse black 
 hair, that stood out from his head in all directions, 
 and bore an axe on his shoulder. 
 
 He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair 
 of great red eyes. 
 
 " What are you doing on my grounds ? " said 
 the black man, with a hoarse growling voice. 
 
 " Your grounds ! " said Tom, with a sneer, 
 " no more your grounds than mine ; they belong 
 to Deacon Peabody." 
 
 " Deacon Peabody be d d," said the stran- 
 ger, " as I flatter myself he will be, if he does 
 not look more to his own sins and less to those 
 of his neighbors. Look yonder, and see how 
 Deacon Peabody is faring." 
 
440 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Tom looked in the direction that the stranger 
 pointed, and beheld one of the great trees, fair 
 and flourishing without, but rotten at the core, 
 and saw that it had been nearly hewn through, 
 so that the first high wind was likely to blow it 
 down. On the bark of the tree was scored the 
 name of Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, who 
 had waxed wealthy by driving shrewd bargains 
 with the Indians. He now looked around, and 
 found most of the tall trees marked with the 
 name of some great man of the colony, and all 
 more or less scored by the axe. The one on 
 which he had been seated, and which had evi- 
 dently just been hewn down, bore the name of 
 Crowninshield ; and he recollected a mighty rich 
 man of that name, who made a vulgar display 
 of wealth, which it was whispered he had ac- 
 quired by buccaneering. 
 
 " He 's just ready for burning!" said the black 
 man, with a growl of triumph. " You see I am 
 likely to have a good stock of firewood for 
 winter." 
 
 " But what right have you," said Tom, " to cut 
 down Deacon Peabody's timber ? " 
 
 " The right of a prior claim," said the other. 
 " This woodland belonged to me long before one 
 of your white-faced race put foot upon the soil." 
 
 "And pray, who are you, if I may be so 
 bold ? " said Tom. 
 
 " Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild 
 huntsman in some countries ; the black miner in 
 others. In this neighborhood I am known by the 
 name of the black woodsman. I am he to whom 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 441 
 
 the red men consecrated this spot, and in honor 
 of whom they now and then roasted a white man, 
 by way of sweet - smeHing sacrifice. Since the 
 red men have been exterminated by you white 
 savages, I amuse myself by presiding at the per- 
 secutions of Quakers and Anabaptists ; I am the 
 great patron and prompter of slave-dealers, and 
 the grand-master of the Salem witches." 
 
 " The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake 
 not," said Tom, sturdily, " you are he commonly 
 called Old Scratch." 
 
 " The same, at your service ! " replied the black 
 man, with a half civil nod. 
 
 Such was the opening of this interview, ac- 
 cording to the old story ; though it has almost 
 too familiar an air to be credited. One would 
 think that to meet with such a singular personage, 
 in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any 
 man's nerves ; but Tom was a hard-minded fel- 
 low, not easily daunted, and he had lived so long 
 with a termagant wife, that he did not even fear 
 the devil. 
 
 It is said that after this commencement they 
 had a long and earnest conversation together, as 
 Tom returned homeward. The black man told 
 him of great sums of money buried by Kidd the 
 pirate, under the oak-trees on the high ridge, not 
 far from the morass. All these were under his 
 command, and protected by his power, so that 
 none could find them but such as propitiated his 
 favor. These he offered to place within Tom 
 Walker's reach, having conceived an especial 
 kindness for him ; but they were to be had only 
 
442 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 on certain conditions. What these conditions 
 were may be easily surmised, though Tom never 
 disclosed them publicly. They must have been 
 very hard, for he required time tx) think of them, 
 and he was not a man to stick at trifles when 
 money was in view. When they had reached the 
 edge of the swamp, the stranger paused. *' What 
 proof have I that all you have been telling me 
 is true ? " said Tom. " There 's my signature,^' 
 said the black man, pressing his finger on Tom's 
 forehead. So saying, he turned off among the 
 thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, 
 to go down, down, down, into the earth, until 
 nothing but his head and shoulders could be seen, 
 and so on, until he totally disappeared. 
 
 When Tom reached home, he found the black 
 print of a finger burnt, as it were, into his fore- 
 head, which nothing could obliterate. 
 
 The first news his wife had to tell him was the 
 sudden death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich 
 buccaneer. It was announced in the papers 
 with the usual flourish, that " A great man had 
 fallen in Israel." 
 
 Tom recollected the tree which his black 
 friend had just hewn down, and which was ready 
 for burning. "Let the freebooter roast," said 
 Tom, " who cares ! " He now felt convinced that 
 all he had heard and seen was no illusion. 
 
 He was not prone to let his wife into his con- 
 fidence ; but as this was an uneasy secret, he will- 
 ingly shared it with her. All her avarice was 
 awakened at the mention of hidden gold, and she 
 urged her husband to comply with the black man's 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 443 
 
 terms, and secure what would make them wealthy 
 for life. However Tom might have felt disposed 
 to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined 
 not to do so to oblige his wife ; so he flatly re- 
 fused, out of the mere spirit of contradiction. 
 Many and bitter were the quarrels they had on 
 the subject ; but the more she talked, the more 
 resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. 
 
 At length she determined to drive the bargain 
 on her own account, and if she succeeded, to 
 keep all the gain to herself Being of the same 
 fearless temper as her husband, she set oiF for 
 the old Indian fort towards the close of a sum- 
 mer's day. She was many hours absent. When 
 she came back, she was reserved and sullen in 
 her replies. She spoke something of a black 
 man, whom she had met about twilight hewing at 
 the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, 
 and would not come to terms : she was to go 
 again with a propitiatory offering, but what it was 
 she forbore to say. 
 
 The next evening she set off again for the 
 swamp, with her apron heavily laden. Tom 
 waited and waited for her, but in vain; midnight 
 came, but she did not make her appearance : 
 morning, noon, night returned, but still she did 
 not come. Tom how grew uneasy for her safety, 
 especially as he found she had carried off in her 
 apron the silver tea-pot and spoons, and every 
 portable article of value. Another night elapsed, 
 another morning came ; but no wife. In a word, 
 she was never heard of more. 
 
 What was her real fate nobody knows, in con- 
 
444 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 sequence of so many pretending to know. It is 
 one of those facts which have become confounded 
 by a variety of historians. Some asserted that 
 she lost her way among the tangled mazes of the 
 swamp, and sank into some pit or slough ; others, 
 more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped 
 with the household booty, and made off to some 
 other province ; while others surmised that the 
 tempter had decoyed her into a dismal quagmire, 
 on the top of which her hat was found lying. In 
 confirmation of this, it was said a great black 
 man, with an axe on his shoulder, was seen late 
 that very evening coming out of the swamp, car- 
 rying a bundle tied in a check apron, with an air 
 of surly triumph. 
 
 The most current and probable story, however, 
 observes, that Tom Walker grew so anxious 
 about the fate of his wife and his property, that 
 he set out at length to seek them both at the 
 Indian fort. During a long summer's afternoon 
 he searched about the gloomy place, but no wife 
 was to be seen. He called her name repeatedly, 
 but she was nowhere to be heard. The bittern 
 alone responded to his voice, as he fiew scream- 
 ing by ; or the bull-frog croaked dolefully from a 
 neighboring pool. At length, it is said, just in 
 the brown hour of twilight, when the owls began 
 to hoot, and the bats to flit about, his attention 
 was attracted by the clamor of carrion crows hov- 
 ering about a cypress-tree. He looked up, and 
 beheld a bundle tied in a check apron, and hang- 
 ing in the branches of the tree, with a great 
 vulture perched hard by, as if keeping watch 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 445 
 
 upon it. He leaped with joy ; for he recognized 
 his wife's apron, and supposed it to contain the 
 household valuables. 
 
 " Let us get hold of the property," said he, 
 consolingly to himself, " and we will endeavor to 
 do without the woman." 
 
 As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture 
 spread its wide wings, and sailed off screaming, 
 into the deep shadows of the forest. Tom seized 
 the checked apron, but, woful sight ! found 
 nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it ! 
 
 Such, according to this most authentic old 
 story, was all that was to be found of Tom's 
 wife. She had probably attempted to deal with 
 the black man as she had been accustomed to 
 deal with her husband ; but though a female 
 scold is generally considered a match for the 
 devil, yet in this instance she appears to have had 
 the worst of it. She must have died game, how- 
 ever ; for it is said Tom noticed many prints of 
 cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, and 
 found handfuls of hair, that looked as if they had 
 been plucked from the coarse black shock of the 
 woodman. Tom knew his wife's prowess by 
 experience. He shrugged his shoulders, as he 
 looked at the signs of a fierce clapper-clawing. 
 "- Egad," said he to himself, '' Old Scratch must 
 have had a tough time of it ! " 
 
 Tom consoled himself for the loss of his prop- 
 erty, with the loss of his wife, for he was a man 
 of fortitude. He even felt something like grati- 
 tude towards the black woodman, who, he con- 
 sidered, had done him a kindness. He sought, 
 
446 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 therefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance with 
 him, but for some time without success ; the old 
 black-legs played shy, for whatever people may 
 think, he is not always to be had for calling for : 
 he knows how to play his cards when pretty sure 
 of his game. 
 
 At length, it is said, when delay had whetted 
 Tom's eagerness to the quick, and prepared him 
 to agree to anything rather than not gain the 
 promised treasure, he met the black man one 
 evening in his usual woodman's dress, with his 
 axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the swamp, 
 and humming a tune. He affected to receive 
 Tom's advances with great indifference, made 
 brief replies, and went on humming his tune. 
 
 By degrees, however, Tom brought him to 
 business, and they began to haggle about the terms 
 on which the former was to have the pirate's treas- 
 ure. There was one condition which need not be 
 mentioned, being generally understood in all cases 
 where the devil grants favors ; but there were 
 others about which, though of less importance, he 
 was inflexibly obstinate. He insisted that the 
 money found through his means should be em- 
 ployed in his service. He proposed, therefore, 
 that Tom should employ it in the black traffic ; 
 that is to say, that he should fit out a slave-ship. 
 This, however, Tom resolutely refused : he was 
 bad enough in all conscience ; but the devil him- 
 self could not tempt him to turn slave-trader. 
 
 Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he 
 did not insist upon it, but proposed, instead, that 
 he should turn usurer ; the devil being extremely 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER, 447 
 
 anxious for the increase of usurers, looking upon 
 them as his peculiar people. 
 
 To this no objections were made, for it was just 
 to Tom's taste. 
 
 " You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next 
 month," said the black man. 
 
 " I '11 do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom 
 Walker. 
 
 " You shall lend money at two per cent, a 
 month." 
 
 " Egad, I '11 charge four ! " replied Tom Walker. 
 
 " You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, 
 drive the merchants to bankruptcy " 
 
 " I '11 drive them to the d 1," cried Tom 
 
 Walker. 
 
 " You are the usurer for my money ! " said 
 black-legs with delight. " When will you want 
 the rhino ? " 
 
 " This very night." 
 
 " Done ! " said the devil. 
 
 " Done ! " said Tom Walker. — So they shook 
 hands and struck a bargain. 
 
 A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated be- 
 hind his desk in a counting-house in Boston. 
 
 His reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who 
 would lend money out for a good consideration, 
 soon spread abroad. Everybody remembers the 
 time of Governor Belcher, when money was par- 
 ticularly scarce. It was a time of paper credit. 
 The country had been deluged with government 
 bills, the famous Land Bank had been established ; 
 there had been a rage for speculating ; the people 
 had run mad with schemes for new settlements ; 
 
448 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 for building cities in the wilderness ; land-jobbers 
 went about with maps of grants, and townships, 
 and Eldorados, lying nobody knew where, but 
 which everybody was ready to purchase. In 
 a word, the great speculating fever which breaks 
 out every now and then in the country, had raged 
 to an alarming degree, and everybody was dream- 
 ing of making sudden fortunes from nothing. 
 As usual the fever had subsided ; the dream had 
 gone off, and the imaginary fortunes with it ; the 
 patients were left in doleful plight, and the whole 
 country resounded with the consequent cry of 
 '^ hard times." 
 
 At this propitious time of public distress did 
 Tom Walker set up as usurer in Boston. His 
 door was soon thronged by customers. The 
 needy and adventurous ; the gambling speculator ; 
 the dreaming land-jobber ; the thriftless trades- 
 man ; the merchant with cracked credit ; in short, 
 every one driven to raise money by desperate 
 means and desperate sacrifices, hurried to Tom 
 ^Walker. 
 
 Thus Tom was the universal friend of the 
 needy, and acted like a " friend in need " ; that is 
 to say, he always exacted good pay and good se- 
 curity. In proportion to the distress of the appli- 
 cant was the hardness of his terms. He accu- 
 mulated bonds and mortgages ; gradually squeezed 
 his customers closer and closer : and sent them at 
 length, dry as a sponge, from his door. 
 
 In this way he made money hand over hand ; 
 became a rich and mighty man, and exalted his 
 cocked hat upon 'Change. He built himself, as 
 
TEE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER, 449 
 
 usual, a vast house, out of ostentation ; but left 
 the greater part of it unfinished and unfurnished, 
 out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage in 
 the fulness of his vainglory, though he nearly 
 starved the horses which drew it ; and as the un- 
 greased wheels groaned and screeched on the axle- 
 trees, you would have thought you heard the souls 
 of the poor debtors he was squeezing. 
 
 As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thought- 
 ful. Having secured the good things of this 
 world, he began to feel anxious about those of 
 the next. He thought with regret on the bar- 
 gain he had made with his black friend, and set 
 his wits to work to cheat him out of the condi- 
 tions. He became, therefore, all of a sudden, a 
 violent church-goer. He prayed loudly and stren- 
 uously, as if heaven were to be taken by force of 
 lungs. Indeed, one might always tell when he 
 had sinned most during the week, by the clamor 
 of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians 
 who had been modestly and steadfastly travel- 
 ling Zionward, were struck with self-reproach at 
 seeing themselves so suddenly outstripped in their 
 career by this new-made convert. Tom was as 
 rigid in religious as in money matters ; he was 
 a stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbors, 
 and seemed to think every sin entered up to their 
 account became a credit on his own side of the 
 page. He even talked of the expediency of re- 
 viving the persecution of Quakers and Anabap- 
 tists. In a word, Tom's zeal became as notorious 
 as his riches. 
 
 Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to 
 
450 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 forms, Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, 
 after all, would have his due. That he might 
 not be taken unawares, therefore, it is said he 
 always carried a small Bible in his coat-pocket. 
 He had also a great folio Bible on his counting- 
 house desk, and would frequently be found read- 
 ing it when people called on business ; on such 
 occasions he would lay his green spectacles in the 
 book, to mark the place, while he turned round 
 to drive some usurious bargain. 
 
 Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained 
 in his old days, and that, fancying his end ap- 
 proaching, he had his horse new shod, saddled 
 and bridled, and buried with his feet uppermost ; 
 because he supposed that at the last day the 
 world would be turned upside-down ; in which 
 case he should find his horse standing ready for 
 mounting, and he was determined at the worst 
 to give his old friend a run for it. This, how- 
 ever, is probably a mere old wives' fable. If he 
 really did take such a precaution, it was totally 
 superfluous ; at least so says tlie authentic okl 
 legend ; which closes his story in the following 
 manner. 
 
 One hot summer afternoon in the dog-days, 
 just as a terrible black thunder-gust was coming 
 up, Tom sat in his counting-house, in his white 
 linen cap and India silk morning - gown. He 
 was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by 
 which he would complete the ruin of an unlucky 
 land-speculator for whom he had professed the 
 greatest friendship. The poor land-jobber begged 
 him to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom had 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 451 
 
 grown testy and irritated, and refused another 
 day. 
 
 " My family will be ruined, and brought upon 
 the parish," said the land-jobber. '' Charity be- 
 gins at home," replied Tom ; " I must take care 
 of myself in these hard times." 
 
 " You have made so much money out of me," 
 said the speculator. 
 
 Tom lost his patience and his piety. " The 
 devil take me," said he, " if I have made a 
 farthing ! " 
 
 Just then there were three loud knocks at the 
 street-door. He stepped out to see who was 
 there. A black man was holding a black horse, 
 which neighed and stamped with impatience. 
 
 " Tom, you 're come for," said the black fellow, 
 gruffly. Tom shrank back, but too late. He, had 
 left his little Bible at the bottom of his coat- 
 pocket, and his big Bible on the desk buried 
 under the mortgage he was about to foreclose : 
 never was sinner taken more unawares. The 
 black man whisked him like a child into the 
 saddle, gave the horse the lash, and away he 
 galloped, with Tom on his back, in the midst of 
 the thunder-storm. The clerks stuck their pens 
 behind their ears, and stared after him from the 
 windows. Away went Tom Walker, dasliing 
 down the streets ; his white cap bobbing up and 
 down ; his morning-gown fluttering in the wind, 
 and his steed striking fire out of the pavement at 
 every bound. When the clerks turned to look 
 for the black man, he had disappeared. 
 
 Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the 
 
452 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 mortgage. A countryman, who lived on the bor- 
 der of the swamp, reported that in the height of 
 the thunder-gust he had heard a great clattering 
 of hoofs and a howling along the road, and run- 
 ning to the window caught sight of a figure, such 
 as I have described, on a horse that galloped like 
 mad across the fields, over the hills, and down 
 into the black hemlock swamp towards the old 
 Indian fort ; and that shortly after a thunder- 
 bolt falling in that direction seemed to set the 
 whole forest in a blaze. 
 
 The good people of Boston shook their heads 
 and shrugged their shoulders, but had been so 
 much accustomed to witches and goblins, and 
 tricks of the devil, in all kinds of shapes, from 
 the first settlement of the colony, that they were 
 not ^o much horror-struck as might have been ex- 
 pected. Trustees were appointed to take charge 
 of Tom's effects. There was nothing, however, 
 to administer upon. On searching his coffers, all 
 his bonds and mortgages were found reduced to 
 cinders. In place of gold and silver, his iron 
 chest was filled with chips and shavings ; two 
 skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half- 
 starved horses, and the very next day his great 
 house took fire and was burnt to the ground. 
 
 Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill- 
 gotten wealth. Let all griping money-brokers 
 lay this story to heart. The truth of it is not to 
 be doubted. The very hole under the oak-trees, 
 whence he dug Kidd's money, is to be seen to 
 this day ; and the neighboring swamp and old 
 Indian fort are often haunted in stormy nights 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 453 
 
 by a figure on horseback, in morning-gown and 
 white cap, which is doubtless the troubled spirit 
 of the usurer. In fact, the story has resolved 
 itself into a proverb, and is the origin of that 
 popular saying, so prevalent throughout New 
 England, of " The Devil and Tom Walker." 
 
 Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the 
 purport of the tale told by the Cape- Cod whaler. 
 There were divers trivial particulars which I 
 have omitted, and which whiled away the morn- 
 ing very pleasantly, until the time of tide favor- 
 able to fishing being passed, it was proposed to 
 land, and refresh ourselves under the trees, till 
 the noontide heat should have abated. 
 
 We accordingly landed on a delectable part of 
 the island of Manhatta, in that shady and em- 
 bowered tract formerly under the domain of the 
 ancient family of the Hardenbrooks. It was a 
 spot well known to me in the course of the aquat- 
 ic expeditions of my boyhood. Not far from 
 where we landed there was an old Dutch family 
 vault, constructed in the side of a bank, which 
 had been an object of great awe and fable 
 among my schoolboy associates. We had peeped 
 into it during one of our coasting voyages, and 
 been startled by the sight of mouldering coffins 
 and musty bones within ; but what had given it 
 the most fearful interest in our eyes, was its 
 being in some way connected with the pirate 
 wreck which lay rotting among the rocks of Hell- 
 gate. There were stories also of smuggling con- 
 nected with it, particularly relating to a time 
 
454 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 when this retired spot was owned by a noted 
 burgher, called Ready Money Provost; a man of 
 whom it was whispered that he had many myste- 
 rious dealings with parts beyond the seas. All 
 these things, however, had been jumbled together 
 in our minds in that vague way in which such 
 themes are mingled up in the tales of boyhood. 
 
 While I was pondering upon these matters, 
 my companions had spread a repast, from the 
 contents of our well - stored pamiier, under a 
 broad chestnut, on the greensward which swept 
 down to the water's edge. Here we solaced 
 ourselves on the cool grassy carpet during the 
 warm sunny hours of mid-day. While lolling 
 on the grass, indulging in that kind of musing 
 reverie of which I am fond, I summoned up the 
 dusky recollections of my boyhood respecting this 
 place, and repeated them like the imperfectly 
 'Ijemembered traces of a dream, for the amuse- 
 ment of my companions. When I had finished, 
 a worthy old burgher, John Josse Yandermoere, 
 the same who once related to me the adventures 
 of Dolph Heyliger, broke silence, and observed, 
 that he recollected a story of money-digging, 
 which occurred in this very neighborhood, and 
 might account for some of the traditions which I 
 had heard in my boyhood. As we knew him to 
 be one of the most authentic narrators in the 
 province, we begged him to let us have the par- 
 ticulars, and accordingly, while we solaced our- 
 selves with a clean long pipe of Blase Moore's 
 best tobacco, the authentic John Josse Vander- 
 moere related the followino^ tale. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS. 
 
 N the year of grace one thousand seven 
 hundi;igd and — blank — for I do not 
 remember the precise date ; however, it 
 was somewhere in the early part of the last cen- 
 tury, there lived in the ancient city of the Man- 
 hattoes a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webber by 
 name. He was descended from old Cobus Web- 
 ber of the Brille in Holland, one of the original 
 settlers, famous for introducing the cultivation of 
 cabbages, and who came over to the province 
 during the protectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt, 
 otherwise called the Dreamer. 
 
 The field in which Cobus Webber first planted 
 himself and his cabbages had remained ever since 
 in the family, who continued in the same line of 
 husbandry, with that praiseworthy perseverance 
 for which our Dutch burghers are noted. The 
 whole family genius, during several generations, 
 was devoted to the study and development of this 
 one noble vegetable ; and to this concentration 
 of intellect may doubtless be ascribed the pro- 
 digious renown to which the Webber cabbages 
 attained. 
 
 The Webber dynasty continued in uninter- 
 rupted succession ; and never did a line give 
 
456 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 more unquestionable proofs of legitimacy. The 
 eldest son succeeded to the looks, as well as the 
 territory of his sire ; and had the portraits of 
 this line of tranquil potentates been taken, they 
 would have presented a row of heads marvel- 
 lously resembling in shape and magnitude the 
 vegetables over which they reigned. 
 
 The seat of government continued unchanged 
 in the family mansion : — a Dutch-built house, 
 with a front, or rather gable-end pf yellow brick, 
 tapering to a point, with the customary iron 
 weathercock at the top. Everything about the 
 building bore the air of long - settled ease and 
 security. Flights of martins peopled the little 
 coops nailed against its walls, and swallow^s built 
 their nests under the eaves ; and every one knows 
 that these house-loving birds bring good luck to 
 the dwelling where they take up their abode. 
 In a bright summer morning in early summer, it 
 was delectable to hear their cheerful notes, as 
 they sported about in the pure sweet air, chirp- 
 ing forth, as it were, the greatness and prosperity 
 of the Webbers. 
 
 Thus quietly and comfortably did this excel- 
 lent family vegetate under the shade of a mighty 
 button-wood tree, which by little and little grew 
 so great as entirely to overshadow their palace. 
 The city gradually spread its suburbs round their 
 domain. Houses sprang up to interrupt their 
 prospects. The rural lanes in the vicinity began 
 to grow into the bustle and populousness of 
 streets ; in short, with all the habits of rustic 
 life they began to find themselves the inhabitants 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 457 
 
 of a city. Still, however, they maintained their 
 hereditary character, and hereditary possessions, 
 with all the tenacity of petty German princes in 
 the midst of the empire. Wolfert was the last 
 of the line, and succeeded to the patriarchal 
 bench at the door, under the family tree, and 
 swayed the sceptre of his fathers, a kind of rural 
 potentate in the midst of the metropolis. 
 
 To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, 
 he had taken unto himself a helpmate, one of that 
 excellent kind called stirring women ; that is to 
 say, she was one of those notable little house- 
 wives who are always busy where there is noth- 
 ing to do. Her activity, however, took one par- 
 ticular direction: her whole life seemed devoted 
 to intense knitting ; whether at home or abroad, 
 walking or sitting, her needles were continually 
 in motion, and it is even affirmed that by her un- 
 wearied industry she very nearly supplied her 
 household with stockings throughout the year. 
 This worthy couple were blessed with one 
 daughter, who was brought up with great tender- 
 ness and care ; uncommon pains had been taken 
 with her education, so that she could stitch in 
 every variety of way ; make all kinds of pickles 
 and preserves, and mark her own name on a 
 sampler. The influence of her taste was seen 
 also in the family garden, where the ornamental 
 began to mingle with the useful ; whole rows of 
 fiery marigolds and splendid hollyhocks bordered 
 the cabbage-beds ; and gigantic sunflowers lolled 
 their broad jolly faces over the fences, seeming to 
 ogle most affectionately the passers-by. 
 
458 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber 
 over his paternal acres, peacefully and content- 
 edly. Not but that, like all other sovereigns, he 
 had his occasional cares and vexations. The 
 growth of his native city sometimes caused him 
 annoyance. His little territory gradually became 
 hemmed in by streets and houses, which inter- 
 cepted air and sunshine. He was now and then 
 subjected to the irruptions of the border popula- 
 tion that infest the streets of a metropolis ; who 
 would make midnight forays into his dominions, 
 and carry off captive whole platoons of his 
 noblest subjects. Vagrant swine would make a 
 descent, too, now and then, when the gate was 
 left open, and lay all waste before them ; and mis- 
 chievous urchins would decapitate the illustrious 
 sunflowers, the glory of the garden, as they lolled 
 their heads so fondly over the walls. Still all 
 these were petty grievances, which might now 
 and then ruffle the surface of his mind, as a 
 summer breeze will ruffle the surface of a mill- 
 pond ; but they could not disturb the deep-seated 
 quiet of his soul. He would but seize a trusty 
 staff, that stood behind the door, issue suddenly 
 out, and anoint the back of the aggressor, 
 whether pig or urchin, and then return within 
 doors, marvellously refreshed and tranquillized. 
 
 The chief cause of anxiety to honest Wolfert, 
 however, was the growing prosperity of the city. 
 The expenses of living doubled and trebled ; but 
 he could not double and treble the magnitude of 
 his cabbages ; and the number of competitors pre- 
 vented the increase of price ; thus, therefore, while 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 459 
 
 every one around him grew richer, Wolfert grew 
 poorer, and he could not, for the life of him, per- 
 ceive how the evil was to be remedied. 
 
 This growing care, which increased from day 
 to day, had its gradual effect upon our worthy 
 burgher ; insomuch, that it at length implanted 
 two or three wrinkles in his brow ; things un- 
 known before in the family of the Webbers ; and 
 it seemed to pinch up the corners of his cocked hat 
 into an expression of anxiety, totally opposite to 
 the tranquil, broad-brimmed, low-crowned beavers 
 of his illustrious progenitors. 
 
 Perhaps even this would not have materially 
 disturbed the serenity of his mind, had he had 
 only himself and his wife to care for ; but there 
 was his daughter gradually growing to maturity ; 
 and all the world knows that when daughters 
 begin to ripen, no fruit nor flower requires so 
 much looking after. I have no talent at describ- 
 ing female charms, else fain would I depict the 
 progress of this little Dutch beauty. How her 
 blue eyes grew deeper and deeper, and her cherry 
 lips redder and redder ; and how she ripened and 
 ripened, and rounded and rounded in the opening 
 breath of sixteen summers, until, in her seven- 
 teenth spring, she seemed ready to burst out of 
 her bodice, like a half-blown rose-bud. 
 
 Ah, well-a-day ! could I but show her as she 
 was then, tricked out on a Sunday morning, in 
 the hereditary finery of the old Dutch clothes- 
 press, of which her mother had confided to her 
 the key. The wedding-dress of her grandmother, 
 modernized for use, with sundry ornaments, handed 
 
460 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 down as heirlooms in the family. Her pale 
 brown hair smoothed with buttermilk in flat 
 waving lines on eacJi side of her fair forehead. 
 The chain of yellow virgin gold, that encircled 
 her neck ; the little cross, that just rested at the 
 entrance of a soft valley of happiness, as if it 
 would sanctify the place. The — but, pi^oh ! — it 
 is not for an old man like me to be prosing about 
 female beauty ; suffice it to say, Amy had at- 
 tained her seventeenth year. Long since had her 
 sampler exhibited hearts in couples desperately 
 transfixed with arrows, and true lovers' knots 
 worked in deep blue silk ; and it was evident she 
 began to languish for some more interesting occu- 
 pation than the rearing of sunflowers or pickling 
 of cucumbers. 
 
 At this critical period of female existence, 
 when the heart within a damsel's bosom, like its 
 emblem, the miniature which hangs without, is 
 apt to be engrossed by a single image, a new 
 visitor began to make his appearance under the 
 roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk Wal- 
 dron, the only son of a poor widow, but who 
 could boast of more fathers than any lad in the 
 province ; for his mother had had hwv husbands, 
 and this only child : so that thoug' born in lier 
 last wedlock, he might fairly claim t-. be the tardy 
 fruit of a long course of cultivation. 'his son of 
 four fathers united the merits and ilie vigor of 
 all his sires. If he had not had a gi-eat family 
 before him, he seemed likely to have a great one 
 after him ; for you had only to look at the fresh 
 bucksome youth, to see that he was formed to be 
 the founder of a mighty race. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 461 
 
 This youngster gradually became an intimate 
 visitor of the family. He talked little, but he 
 sat long. He filled the father's pipe when it was 
 empty, gathered up the mother's knitting-needle, 
 or ball of worsted when it fell to the ground ; 
 stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell cat, 
 and replenished the tea-pot for the daughter from 
 the bright copper kettle that sang before the fire. 
 All these quiet little ofiices may seem of trifling 
 import ; but when true love is translated into 
 Low Dutch, it is in this way that it eloquently 
 expresses itself They were not lost upon the 
 Webber family. The winning youngster found 
 marvellous favor in the eyes of the mother ; the 
 tortoise-shell cat, albeit the most staid and demure 
 of her kind, gave indubitable signs of approba- 
 tion of his visits ; the tea-kettle seemed to sing out 
 a cheering note of welcome at his approach ; and 
 if the sly glances of the daughter might be rightly 
 read, as she sat bridling and dimpling, and sew- 
 ing by her mother's side, she was not a whit 
 behind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, or the tea- 
 kettle, in good-will. 
 
 Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going 
 on. Profoundly wrapt up in meditation on the 
 growth of the city and his cabbages, he sat look- 
 ing in the fire, and pufiing his pipe in silence. 
 One night, however, as the gentle Amy, accord- 
 ing to custom, lighted her lover to the outer door, 
 and he, according to custom, took his parting 
 salute, the smack resounded so vigorously through 
 the long, silent entry, as to startle even the dull 
 ear of Wolfert. He was slowly roused to a new 
 
462 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 source of anxiety. It had never entered into 
 his head that this mere child, who, as it seemed, 
 but the other day had been climbing about his 
 knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, 
 could all at once be thinking of lovers and mat- 
 rimony. He rubbed his eyes, examined into the 
 fact, and really found that, while he had been 
 dreaming of other matters, she had actually 
 grown to be a woman, and what was worse, had 
 fallen in love. Here arose new cares for Wolfert. 
 He was a kind father, but he was a prudent 
 man. The young man was a lively, stirring lad ; 
 but then he had neither money nor land. Wol- 
 fert's ideas all ran in one channel; and he saw 
 no alternative in case of a marriage but to por- 
 tion off the young couple with a corner of his 
 cabbage-garden, the w^hole of which was barely 
 sufficient for the support of his family. 
 
 Like a prudent father, therefore, he deter- 
 mined to nip this passion in the bud, and forbade 
 the youngster the house ; though sorely did it go 
 against his fatherly heart, and many a silent tear 
 did it cause in the bright eye of his daughter. 
 She showed herself, however, a pattern of filial pie- 
 ty and obedience. She never pouted and sulked ; 
 she never flew in the face of parental authority ; 
 she never flew into a passion, nor fell into hys- 
 terics, as many romantic novel-read young ladies 
 would do. Not she, indeed ! She was none such 
 heroical rebellious trumpery, I '11 warrant ye. 
 On the contrary, she acquiesced like an obedient 
 daughter, shut the street-door in her lover's face, 
 and if ever she did grant him an interview, it 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 463 
 
 was either out of the kitchen-window, or over the 
 garden-fence. 
 
 Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters 
 in his mind, and his brow wrinkled with unusual 
 care, as he wended his way one Saturday after- 
 noon to a rural inn, about two miles from the 
 city. It was a favorite resort of the Dutch part 
 of the community, from being always held by a 
 Dutch line of landlords, and retaining an air and 
 relish of the good old times. It was a Dutch- 
 built house, that had probably been a country 
 seat of some opulent burgher in the early time 
 of the settlement. It stood near a point of land 
 called Corlear's Hook, which stretches out into 
 the Sound, and against which the tide, at its flux 
 and reflux, sets with extraordinary rapidity. 
 The venerable and somewhat crazy mansion was 
 distinguished from afar by a grove of elms and 
 sycamores that seemed to wave a hospitable invi- 
 tation, while a few weeping-willows, with their 
 dank, drooping foliage, resembling falling waters, 
 gave an idea of coolness, that rendered it an 
 attractive spot during the heats of summer. 
 
 Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the 
 old inhabitants of the Manhattoes, where, while 
 some played at shuflle-board and quoits and nine- 
 pins, others smoked a deliberate pipe, and talked 
 over public affairs. 
 
 It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon 
 that Wolfert made his visit to the inn. The 
 grove of elms and willows was stripped of its 
 leaves, which whirled in rustling eddies about the 
 fields. The ninepin alley was deserted, for the 
 
464 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 premature chilliness of the day had driven the 
 company within doors. As it was Saturday 
 afternoon, the habitual club was in session, com- 
 posed principally of regular Dutch burghers, 
 though mingled occasionally with persons of va- 
 rious character and country, as is natural in a 
 place of such motley population. 
 
 Beside the fireplace, in a huge leather-bottomed 
 arm-chair, sat the dictator of this little world, the 
 venerable Rem, or, as it was pronounced, Ramm 
 Rapelye. He was a man of Walloon race, and 
 illustrious for the antiquity of his line ; his great- 
 grandmother having been the first white child born 
 in the province. But he was still more illustrious 
 for his wealth and dignity: he had long filled the 
 noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom 
 the governor himself took off his hat. He had 
 maintained possession of the leather-bottomed 
 chair from time immemorial ; and had gradually 
 waxed in bulk as he sat in his seat of govern- 
 ment, until in the course of years he filled its 
 whole magnitude. His word was decisive with 
 his subjects ; for he was so rich a man that he 
 was never expected to support any opinion by 
 argument. The landlord waited on him with 
 peculiar officiousness ; not that he paid better than 
 his neighbors, but then the coin of a rich man 
 seems always to be so much more acceptable. 
 The landlord had ever a pleasant word and a 
 joke to insinuate in the ear of the august Ramm. 
 It is true, Ramm never laughed, and, indeed, ever 
 maintained a mastiff-like gravity, and even sur- 
 liness of aspect ; yet he now and then rewarded 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 465 
 
 mine host with a token of approbation ; which, 
 though nothing more nor less than a kind of 
 grunt, still delighted the landlord more than a 
 broad laugh from a poorer man. 
 
 "This will be a rough night for the money- 
 diggers/' said mine host, as a gust of wind howled 
 round the house, and rattled at the windows. 
 
 " What ! are they at their works again ? " said 
 an English half-pay captain, with one eye, who 
 was a very frequent attendant at the inn. 
 
 " Aye, are they," said the landlord, " and well 
 may they be. They 've had luck of late. They 
 say a great pot of money has been dug up in the 
 fields, just behind Stuyvesant's orchard. Folks 
 think it must have been buried there in old times, 
 by Peter Stuyvesant, the Dutch governor." 
 
 " Fudge ! " said the one-eyed man of war, as 
 he added a small portion of water to a bottom of 
 brandy. 
 
 " Well, you may believe it or not, as you 
 please," said mine host, somewhat nettled ; " but 
 everybody knows that the old governor buried a 
 great deal of his money at the time of the Dutch 
 troubles, when the English red - coats seized on 
 the province. They say, too, the old gentleman 
 walks ; aye, and in the very same dress that he 
 wears in the picture that hangs up in the family 
 house." 
 
 " Fudge ! " said the half-pay officer. 
 
 " Fudge, if you please ! — But did n't Corney 
 
 Van Zandt see him at midnight, stalking about 
 
 in the meadow with his wooden leg, and a drawn 
 
 sword in his hand, that flashed like fire ? And 
 
 30 
 
466 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 what can he be walking for, but because people 
 have been troubling the place where he buried 
 his money in old times ? " 
 
 Here the landlord was interrupted by several 
 guttural sounds from Ramm Rapelye, betokening 
 that he was laboring Avith the unusual production 
 of an idea. As he was too great a man to be 
 slighted by a prudent publican, mine host respect- 
 fully paused until he should deliver himself. The 
 corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now gave 
 all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the 
 point of an eruption. First, there was a certain 
 heaving of the abdomen, not unlike an earth- 
 quake ; then was emitted a cloud of tobacco- 
 smoke from that crater, his mouth ; then there 
 was a kind of rattle in the throat, as if the idea 
 were working its way up through a region of 
 phlegm ; then there were several disjointed mem- 
 bers of a sentence thrown out, ending in a cough ; 
 at length his voice forced its way into a slow, 
 but absolute tone of a man who feels the weight 
 of his purse, if not of his ideas ; every portion of 
 his speech being marked by a testy puJSf of to- 
 bacco-smoke. 
 
 " Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walk- 
 ing ? — puff — Have people no respect for per- 
 sons ? — puff — puff — Peter Stuyvesant knew 
 better what to do with his money than to bury it 
 
 — puff — I know the Stuyvesant family — puff 
 
 — every one of them — puff — not a more re- 
 spectable family in the province — puff — old 
 standards — puff — warm householders — puff — - 
 none of your upstarts — puff — puff — puff. — ! 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 467 
 
 Don't talk to me of Peter Stuyvesant's walking — 
 pufF — pufF — pufF — puff." 
 
 Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his 
 brow, clasped up his mouth, till it wrinkled at 
 each corner, and redoubled his smoking with such 
 vehemence, that the cloudy volumes soon wreathed 
 round his head, as the smoke envelops the awful 
 summit of Mount ^tna. 
 
 A general silence followed the sudden rebuke 
 of this very rich man. The subject, however, 
 was too interesting to be readily abandoned. The 
 conversation soon broke forth again from the lips 
 of Peechy Prauw Van Hook, the chronicler of 
 the club, one of those prosing, narrative old men 
 who seem to be troubled with an incontinence of 
 words, as they grow old. 
 
 Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories 
 in an evenino; as his hearers could dio^est in a 
 month. He now resumed the conversation, by 
 affirming that, to his knowledge, money had, at 
 different times, been digged up in various parts 
 of the island. The lucky persons who had dis- 
 covered them had always dreamt of them three 
 times beforehand, and what was worthy of remark, 
 those treasures had never been found but by some 
 descendant of the good old Dutch families, which 
 clearly proved that they had been buried by 
 Dutchmen in the olden time. 
 
 " Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen ! " cried the 
 half-pay officer. " The Dutch had nothing to do 
 with them. They were all buried by Kidd the 
 pirate, and his crew." 
 
 Here a key-note was touched that roused the 
 
468 TALE8 OF A TEAVJ£LLER. 
 
 whole company. The name of Captain Kidd 
 was like a talisman in those times, and was asso- 
 ciated with a thousand marvellous stories. 
 
 The half-pay officer took the lead, and in his 
 narrations fathered upon Kidd all the plunder- 
 ings and exploits of Morgan, Blackbeard, and the 
 whole list of bloody buccaneers. 
 
 The officer was a man of great weight among 
 the peaceable members of the club, by reason of 
 his warlike character and gunpowder tales. All 
 his golden stories of Kidd, however, and of the 
 booty he had buried, were obstinately rivalled by 
 the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, rather than suf- 
 fer his Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed by a 
 foreign freebooter, enriched every field and shore 
 in the neighborhood with the hidden wealth of 
 Peter Stuyvesant and his contemporaries. 
 
 Not a word of this conversation was lost upon 
 Wolfert Webber. He returned pensively home, 
 full of magnificent ideas. The soil of his native 
 island seemed to be turned into gold dust ; and 
 every field to teem with treasure. His head 
 almost reeled at the thought how often he must 
 have heedlessly rambled over places where count- 
 less sums lay, scarcely covered by the turf beneath 
 his feet. His mind was in an uproar with this 
 whirl of new ideas. As he came in sight of the 
 venerable mansion of his forefathers, and the little 
 realm where the Webbers had so long, and so 
 contentedly flourished, his gorge rose at the nar- 
 rowness of his destiny. 
 
 " Unlucky Wolfert ! " exclaimed he ; " others 
 can go to bed and dream themselves into whole 
 
WOLFE RT WEBBER. 469 
 
 mines of wealth ; they have but to seize a spade 
 in the morning, and turn up doubloons like pota- 
 toes ; but thou must dream of hardships, and rise 
 to poverty, — must dig thy field from year's end 
 to year's end, and yet raise nothing but cab- 
 bages ! " 
 
 Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy 
 heart ; and it was long before the golden visions 
 that disturbed his brain permitted him to sink 
 into repose. The same visions, however, extended 
 into his sleeping thoughts, and assumed a more 
 definite form. He dreamt that he had discovered 
 an immense treasure in the centre of his garden. 
 At every stroke of the spade he laid bare a gol- 
 den ingot ; diamond crosses sparkled out of the 
 dust ; bags of money turned up their bellies, cor- 
 pulent with pieces-of-eight, or venerable doub- 
 loons ; and chests, wedged close with moidores, 
 ducats, and pistareens, yawned before his ravished 
 eyes, and vomited forth their glittering contents. 
 
 Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He 
 had no heart to go about his daily concerns, 
 which appeared so paltry and profitless ; but sat 
 all day long in the chimney-corner, picturing to 
 himself ingots and heaps of gold in the fire. The 
 next night his dream was repeated. He was 
 again in his garden, digging, and laying open 
 stores of hidden wealth. There Avas something 
 very singular in this repetition. He passed 
 another day of reverie, and though it was clean- 
 ing-day, and the house, as usual in Dutch house- 
 holds, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat unmoved 
 amidst the general uproar. 
 
470 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 The third night he went to bed with a palpi- 
 tating heart. He put on his red night-cap wrong 
 side outwards, for good luck. It was deep mid- 
 night before his anxious mind could settle itself 
 into sleep. Again the golden dream was repeated, 
 and again he saw his garden teeming with ingots 
 and money-bags. 
 
 Wolfert rose the next morning in complete be- 
 wilderment. A dream, three times repeated, was 
 never known to lie ; and if so, his fortune was 
 made. 
 
 In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with 
 the hind part before, and this was a corroboration 
 of good luck. He no longer doubted that a huge 
 store of money lay buried somewhere in his cab- 
 bage-field, coyly waiting to be sought for ; and 
 he repined at having so long been scratching 
 about the surface of the soil instead of digging to 
 the centre. 
 
 He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of 
 these speculations ; asked his daughter to put a 
 lump of gold into his tea, and on handing his wife 
 a plate of slap-jacks, begged her to help herself 
 to a doubloon. 
 
 His grand care now was how to secure this 
 immense treasure without its being known. In- 
 stead of his working regularly in his grounds in 
 the daytime, he now stole from his bed at night, 
 and with spade and pickaxe went to work to rip 
 up and dig about his paternal acres, from one end 
 to the other. In a little time the whole garden, 
 which had presented such a goodly and regular 
 appearance, with its phalanx of cabbages, like a 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 471 
 
 vegetable army in battle array, was reduced to a 
 scene of devastation ; while the relentless Wol- 
 fert, with night-cap on head, and lantern and 
 spade in hand, stalked through the slaughtered 
 ranks, the destroying angel of his own vegetable 
 world. 
 
 Every morning bore testimony to the ravages 
 of the preceding night in cabbages of all ages and 
 conditions, from the tender sprout to the full- 
 grown head, piteously rooted from their quiet 
 beds like worthless weeds, and left to wither in 
 the sunshine. In vain Wolfert's wife remon- 
 strated ; in vain his darling daughter wept over 
 the destruction of some favorite marigold. " Thou 
 shalt have gold of another guess sort," he would 
 cry, chucking her under the chin ; " thou shalt 
 have a string of crooked ducats for thy wedding 
 necklace, my child." His family began really to 
 fear that the poor man's wits were diseased. He 
 muttered in his sleep at night about mines of 
 wealth, about pearls and diamonds, and bars of 
 gold. In the daytime he was moody and ab- 
 stracted, and walked about as if in a trance. 
 Dame Webber held frequent councils with all 
 the old women of the neighborhood ; scarce an 
 hour in the day but a knot of them might be 
 seen wagging their white caps together round 
 her door, while the poor woman made some pit- 
 eous recital. The daughter, too, was fain to seek 
 for more frequent consolation from the stolen in- 
 terviews of her favored swain. Dirk Waldron. 
 The delectable little Dutch songs, with which she 
 used to dulcify the house, grew less and less fre- 
 
472 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 quent, and she would forget her sewing, and 
 look wistfully in her father's face as he sat pon- 
 dering by the fireside. Wolfert caught her eye 
 one day fixed on him thus anxiously, and for a 
 moment was roused from his golden reveries. — 
 " Cheer up, my girl," said he, exultingly ; " why 
 dost thou droop ? — thou shalt liold up thy head 
 one day with the Brinckerhoffs, and the Scher- 
 merhorns, the Van Homes, and the Van Dams. 
 By Saint Nicholas, but the patroon himself shall 
 be glad to get thee for his son ! " 
 
 Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, 
 and was more than ever in doubt of the sound- 
 ness of the good man's intellect. 
 
 In the mean time Wolfert went on digging and 
 digging ; but the field was extensive, and as his 
 dream had indicated no precise spot, he had to 
 dig at random. The winter set in before one 
 tenth of the scene of promise had been explored. 
 
 The ground became frozen hard, and the nights 
 too cold for the labors of the spade. 
 
 No sooner, however, did the returning warmth 
 of spring loosen the soil, and the small frogs be- 
 gin to pipe in the meadows, but Wolfert resumed 
 his labors with renovated zeal. Still, however, 
 the hours of industry were reversed. 
 
 Instead of working cheerily all day, planting 
 and setting out his vegetables, he remained 
 thoughtfully idle, until the shades of night sum- 
 moned him to his secret labors. In this way he 
 continued to dig from night to night, and week 
 to week, and month to month, but not a stiver 
 did he find. On the contrary, the more he 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 473 
 
 digged, the poorer he grew. The rich soil of 
 his garden was digged away, and the sand and 
 gravel from beneath was thrown to the surface, 
 until the whole field presented an aspect of sandy 
 barrenness. 
 
 In the mean time, the seasons gradually rolled 
 on. The little frogs which had piped in the 
 meadows in early spring, croaked as bull-frogs 
 during the summer heats, and then sank into si- 
 lence. The peach-tree budded, blossomed, and 
 bore its fruit. The swallows and martins came, 
 twitted about the roof, built their nests, reared 
 their young, held their congress along the eaves, 
 and then winged their flight in search of another 
 spring. The caterpillar spun its winding-sheet, 
 dangled in it from the great button-wood tree be- 
 fore the house ; turned into a moth, fluttered with 
 the last sunshine of summer, and disappeared ; 
 and finally the leaves of the button-wood tree 
 turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one by 
 one to the ground, and whirling about in little ed- 
 dies of wind and dust, whispered that winter was 
 at hand. 
 
 Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of 
 wealth as the year declined. He had reared no 
 crop for the supply of his household during the 
 sterility of winter. The season was long and 
 severe, and for the first time the family was 
 really straitened in its comforts. By degrees a 
 revulsion of thought took place in Wolfert's mind, 
 common to those whose (golden dreams have been 
 disturbed by pinching realities. The idea gradu- 
 ally stole upon him that he should come to want. 
 
474 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 He already considered himself one of the most 
 unfortunate men in the province, having lost such 
 an incalculable amount of undiscovered treasure, 
 and now, v^hen thousands of pounds had eluded 
 his search, to be perplexed for shillings and pence, 
 was cruel in the extreme. 
 
 Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he 
 went about with a money-seeking air, his eyes 
 bent downwards into the dust, and carrying his 
 hands in his pockets, as men are apt to do when 
 they have nothing else to put into them. He 
 could not even pass the city almshouse without 
 giving it a rueful glance, as if destined to be his 
 future abode. 
 
 The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks 
 occasioned much speculation and remark. For 
 a long time he was suspected of being crazy, and 
 then everybody pitied him ; and at length it be- 
 gan to be suspected that he was poor, and then 
 everybody avoided him. 
 
 The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met 
 him outside of the door when he called, enter- 
 tained him hospitably on the threshold, pressed 
 him warmly by tlie hand at parting, shook their 
 heads as he walked away, with the kind-hearted 
 expression of " poor Wolfert," and turned a cor- 
 ner nimbly if by chance they saw him approach- 
 ing as they walked the streets. Even the barber 
 and the cobbler of the neighborhood, and a tat- 
 tered tailor in an alley liard by, three of the pooi*- 
 est and merriest rogues in tiie world, eyed him 
 with that abundant sympathy which usually at- 
 tends a lack of means ; and there is not a doubt 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 475 
 
 but their pockets would have been at his command, 
 only that they happened to be empty, 
 
 Thus everybody deserted the Webber mansion, 
 as if poverty were contagious, like the plague ; 
 everybody but honest Dirk Waldron, who still 
 kept up his stolen visits to the daughter, and in- 
 deed seemed to wax more affectionate as the for- 
 tunes of his mistress were in the wane. 
 
 Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had 
 frequented his old resort, the rural inn. He was 
 taking a long lonely walk one Saturday afternoon, 
 musing over his wants and disappointments, when 
 his feet took instinctively their wonted direction, 
 and on awaking out of a reverie, he found him- 
 self before the door of the inn. For some mo- 
 ments he hesitated whether to enter, but his heart 
 yearned for companionship ; and where can a 
 ruined man find better companionship than at a 
 tavern, where there is neither sober example nor 
 sober advice to put him out of countenance ? 
 
 Wolfert found several of the old frequenters 
 of the inn at their usual posts, and seated in their 
 usual places ; but one was missing, the great 
 Raram Rapelye, who for many years had filled 
 the leather-bottomed chair of state. His place 
 was supplied by a stranger, who seemed, however, 
 completely at home in the chair and the tavern. 
 He was rather under size, but deep - chested, 
 square, and muscidar. His broad shoulders, 
 double joints, and bow knees, gave tokens of pro- 
 digious strength. His face was dark and weather- 
 beaten ; a deep scar, as if from the slash of a cut- 
 lass, had almost divided his nose, and made a 
 
476 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 gash in his tipper lip, through which his teeth 
 shone like a bull-dog's. A mop of iron-gray hair 
 gave a grisly finish to this hard-favored visage. 
 His dress was of an amphibious character. He 
 wore an old hat edged with tarnished lace, and 
 cocked in martial style, on one side of his head ; 
 a rusty blue military coat with brass buttons, and 
 a wide pair of short petticoat trousers, or rather 
 breeches, for they were gathered up at the knees. 
 He ordered everybody about him with an au- 
 thoritative air ; talking in a brattling voice, that 
 sounded like the crackUng of thorns under a pot ; 
 
 d d the landlord and servants with perfect 
 
 impunity, and was waited upon with greater ob- 
 sequiousness than had ever been shown to the 
 mighty Ramm himself. 
 
 Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know who 
 and what was this stranger, who had thus usurped 
 absolute sway in this ancient domain. Peechy 
 Prauw took him aside, into a remote corner of 
 the hall, and there, in an under voice, and with 
 great caution, imparted to him all that he knew 
 on the subject. The inn had been aroused sev- 
 eral months before, on a dark stormy night, by 
 repeated long shouts, that seemed like the bowl- 
 ings of a wolf. They came from the water-side ; 
 and at length were distinguished to be hailing tlie 
 house in the seafaring manner, " House-a-hoy ! " 
 The landlord turned out with his head waiter, 
 tapster, hostler, and errand-boy, — that is to say, 
 with his old negro Cuff. On approaching the 
 place whence the voice proceeded, they found this 
 amphibious-looking personage at the water's edge, 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 477 
 
 quite alone, and seated on a great oaken sea-chest. 
 How he came there, whether he had been set on 
 shore from some boat, or had floated to land on 
 his chest, nobody could tell, for he did not seem 
 disposed to answer questions ; and there was 
 something in his looks and manners that put a stop 
 to all questioning. Suffice it to say, he took pos- 
 session of a corner-room of the inn, to which his 
 chest was removed with great difficulty. Here 
 he had remained ever since, keeping about the 
 inn and its vicinity. Sometimes, it is true, he 
 disappeared for one, two, or three days at a time, 
 going and returning without giving any notice or 
 account of his movements. He always appeared 
 to have plenty of money, though often of very 
 strange outlandish coinage ; and he regularly paid 
 his bill every evening before turning in. 
 
 Pie had fitted up his room to his own fancy, 
 having slung a hammock from the ceiling instead 
 of a bed, and decorated the walls with rusty pis- 
 tols and cutlasses of foreign workmanship. A 
 greater part of his time was passed in this room, 
 seated by the window, which commanded a wide 
 view of the Sound, a short old-fashioned pipe in 
 his mouth, a glass of rum-toddy at his elbow, and 
 a pocket - telescope in his hand, with which he 
 reconnoitred every boat that moved upon the 
 water. Large square - rigged vessels seemed to 
 excite but little attention ; but the moment he 
 descried anything with a shoulder-of-mutton sail, 
 or that a barge, or yawl, or jolly-boat hove in 
 sight, up went the telescope, and he examined it 
 with the most scrupulous attention. 
 
478 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 All this might have passed without much no- 
 tice, for in those times the province was so much 
 tlie resort of adventurers of all characters and 
 climes, that any oddity in dress or behavior at- 
 tracted but small attention. In a little while, 
 however, this strange sea-monster, thus strangely 
 cast upon dry land, began to encroach upon the 
 long-established customs and customers of the 
 place, and to interfere in a dictatorial manner in 
 the affairs of the ninepin alley and the bar-room, 
 until in the end he usurped an absolute command 
 over the whole inn. It was all in vain to at- 
 tempt to withstand his authority. He was not 
 exactly quarrelsome, but boisterous and peremp- 
 tory, like one accustomed to tyrannize on a quar- 
 ter-deck ; and there was a dare-devil air about 
 everything he said and did, that inspired wariness 
 in all by-standers. Even the half-pay officer, so 
 long the hero of the club, w^as soon silenced by 
 him ; and the quiet burghers stared with wonder 
 at seeing their inflammable man of war so readily 
 and quie^y extinguished. 
 
 And then the tales that he would tell were 
 enough to make a peaceable man's hair stand on 
 end. There was not a sea-fight, nor marauding 
 nor freebooting adventure that had happened 
 within the last twenty years, but he seemed per- 
 fectly versed in it. He delighted to talk of the 
 exploits of the buccaneers in the West Indies, 
 and on the Spanish Main. How his eyes would 
 glisten as he described the waylaying of treasure- 
 ships, the desperate fights, yard-arm and yard-arm 
 — broadside and broadside — the boarding and 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 479 
 
 capturing huge Spanish galleons ! With what 
 chuckling relish would he describe the descent 
 upon some rich Spanish colony ; the rifling of a 
 church ; the sacking of a convent ! You would 
 have thought you heard some gormandizer dilating 
 upon the roasting of a savory goose at Michael- 
 mas as he described the roasting of some Span- 
 ish Don to make him discover his treasure, — a 
 detail given with a minuteness that made every 
 rich old burgher present turn uncomfortably in 
 his chair. All this would be told with infinite 
 glee, as if he considered it an excellent joke ; 
 and then he would give such a tyrannical leer in 
 the face of his next neighbor, that the poor man 
 would be fain to laugh out of sheer faint-liearted- 
 ness. If any one, however, pretended to contra- 
 dict him in any of his stories, he was on fire in an 
 instant. His very cocked hat assumed a momen- 
 tary fierceness, and seemed to resent the contra- 
 diction. " How the devil should you know as 
 well as I ? — I tell you it was as I say ; " and he 
 would at the same time let slip a broadside of 
 thundering oaths and tremendous sea-phrases, 
 such as had never been heard before within these 
 peaceful walls. 
 
 Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise 
 that he knew more of those stories than mere 
 hearsay. Day after day their conjectures con- 
 cerning him grew more and more wild and fear- 
 ful. The strangeness of his arrival, the strange- 
 ness of his manners, the mystery that surrounded 
 him, all made him something incomprehensible in 
 their eyes. He was a kind of monster of the 
 
480 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 deep to them — he was a merman — he was a 
 behemoth — he was a leviathan — in short, they 
 knew not what he was. 
 
 The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea- 
 urchin at length grew quite intolerable. He was 
 no respecter of persons; he contradicted the 
 richest burghers without hesitation ; he took pos- 
 session of the sacred elbow-chair, which, time out 
 of mind, had been the seat of sovereignty of the 
 illustrious Eamm Rapelye. Nay, he even went 
 so far, in one of his rough jocular moods, as to 
 slap that mighty burgher on the back, drink his 
 toddy, and wink in his face, a thing scarcely to be 
 believed. From this time Ramm Rapelye ap- 
 peared no more at the inn ; his example was fol- 
 lowed by several of the most eminent customers, 
 who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out 
 of their opinions, or being obliged to laugh at 
 another man's jokes. The landlord was almost 
 in despair ; but he knew not how to get rid of 
 this sea-monster and his sea-chest, who seemed both 
 to have grown like fixtures, or excrescences, on 
 his establishment. 
 
 Such was the account whispered cautiously in 
 Wolfert's ear, by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as 
 he held him by the button in a corner of the hall, 
 casting a wary glance now and then towards the 
 door of the bar-room, lest he should be overheard 
 by the terrible hero of his tale. 
 
 Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the 
 room in silence ; impressed with profound awe of 
 this unknown, so versed in freebooting history. 
 It was to him a wonderful instance of the revo- 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 481 
 
 lutions of mighty empires, to find the venerable 
 Ramm Rapelye thus ousted from the throne, and 
 a rugged tarpauling dictating from his elbow- 
 chair, hectoring the patriarchs, and filling this 
 tranquil little realm with brawl and bravado. 
 
 The stranger was on this evening in a more 
 than usually communicative mood, and was narrat- 
 ing a number of astounding stories of plunder- 
 ings and burnings on the high seas. He dwelt 
 upon them with peculiar relish, heightening the 
 frightful particulars in proportion to their effect 
 on his peaceful auditors. He gave a swaggering 
 detail of the capture of a Spanish merchantman. 
 She was lying becalmed during a long summer's 
 day, just off from the island which was one of the 
 lurking-places of the pirates. They had recon- 
 noitred her with their spy-glasses from the shore, 
 and ascertained her character and force. At 
 night a picked crew of daring fellows set off for 
 her in a whale-boat. They approached with 
 muffled oars, as she lay rocking idly with the un- 
 dulations of the sea, and her sails flapping against 
 the masts. They were close under the stern be- 
 fore the guard on deck was aware of their ap- 
 proach. The alarm was given ; the pirates threw 
 hand-grenades on deck, and sprang up the main 
 chains, sword in hand. 
 
 The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion ; 
 some were shot down, others took refuge in the 
 tops ; others were driven overboard and drowned, 
 while others fought hand to hand from the main- 
 deck to the quarter-deck, disputing gallantly every 
 inch of ground. There were three Spanish gen- 
 31 
 
482 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 tlemen on board with their ladies, who made the 
 most desperate resistance. They defended the 
 companion-way, cut down several of their assail- 
 ants, and fought like very devils, for they were 
 maddened by the shrieks of the ladies from the 
 cabin. One of the Dons was old, and soon dis- 
 patched. The other two kept their ground vig- 
 orously, even though the captain of the pirates 
 was among their assailants. Just then there was 
 a shout of victory from the main-deck. "The 
 ship is ours ! " cried the pirates. 
 
 One of the Dons immediately dropped his 
 sword and surrendered ; the other, who was a hot- 
 headed youngster, and just married, gave the 
 captain a slash in the face that laid all open. 
 The captain just made out to articulate the words 
 " no quarter." 
 
 " And what did they do with their prisoners ? " 
 said Peechy Prauw, eagerly. 
 
 " Threw them all overboard," was the answer. 
 A dead pause followed the reply. Peechy Prauw 
 sunk quietly back, like a man who had unwarily 
 stolen upon the lair of a sleeping lion. The hon- 
 est burghers cast fearful glances at the deep scar 
 slashed across the visage of the stranger, and 
 moved their chairs a little farther off. The sea- 
 man, however, smoked on without moving a mus- i 
 cle, as though he either did not perceive or did 
 not regard the unfavorable effect he had produced 
 upon his hearers. 
 
 The half-pay officer was the first to break the 
 silence ; for he was continually tempted to make 
 ineffectual head against this tyrant of the sea^, 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 433 
 
 and to regain his lost consequence in the eyes of 
 his ancient companions. He now tried to match 
 the gunpowder tales of the stranger by others 
 equally tremendous. Kidd, as usual, was his hero, 
 concerning whom he seemed to have picked up 
 many of the floating traditions of the province. 
 The seaman had always evinced a settled pique 
 aganist the one-eyed warrior. On this occasion 
 he hstened with peculiar impatience. He sat 
 with one arm akimbo, the other elbow on the 
 table, the hand holding on to the small pipe he 
 was pettishly puffing; his legs crossed; drum- 
 mmg with one foot on the ground, and casting 
 every now and then the side-glance of a basilisk 
 at the prosing captain. At length the latter 
 spoke of Kidd's having ascended the Hudson with 
 some of his crew, to land his plunder in secrecy. 
 " Kidd up the Hudson ! " burst forth the sea- 
 man, with a tremendous oath, — " Kidd never was 
 up the Hudson I '' 
 
 " I tell you he was," said the other. " Aye, 
 and they say he buried a quantity of treasure on 
 the httle flat that runs out into the river, called 
 the DeviFs Dans Kammer." 
 
 " The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth ^ " 
 cried the seaman. " I tell you Kidd never was 
 up the Hudson. What a plague do you know 
 of Kidd and his haunts ? " 
 
 " What do I know ? " echoed the half-pay offi- 
 cer. " Why, I Avas in London at the time of his 
 trial ; aye, and I had the pleasure of seeing him 
 hanged at Execution Dock." 
 
 " Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as 
 
484 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 pretty a fellow hanged as ever trod shoe-leather. 
 Aye 1 " putting his face nearer to that of the offi- 
 cer, " and there was many a land-lubber looked on 
 that might much better have swung in his stead." 
 The half-pay officer was silenced ; but the in- 
 dignation thus pent up in his bosom glowed with 
 intense vehemence in his single eye, which kin- 
 dled like a coal. 
 
 Peechy Prauw, who never could remain si- 
 lent, observed that the gentleman certainly was in 
 the right. Kidd never did bury money up the 
 Hudson, nor indeed in any of those parts, though 
 many affirmed such to be the fact. It was Brad- 
 ish and others of the buccaneers who had buried 
 money ; some said in Turtle Bay, others on Long 
 Island, others in the neighborhood of Hell-gate. 
 Indeed, added he, I recollect an adventure of 
 Sam, the negro fisherman, many years ago, which 
 some think had something to do with the bucca- 
 neers. As we are all friends here, and as it will 
 go no further, I '11 tell it to you. 
 
 " Upon a dark night many years ago, as Black 
 Sam was returning from fishing in Hell-gate " — 
 Here the story was nipped in the bud by a 
 sudden movement from the unknown, who laying 
 his iron fist on the table, knuckles downward, 
 with a quiet force that indented the very boards, 
 and looking grimly over his shoulder, with the 
 grin of an angry bear, — " Heark'ee, neighbor," 
 said he, with significant nodding of the head, 
 " you 'd better let the buccaneers and their money 
 alone, — they 're not for old men and old women 
 to meddle with They fought hard for their 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 485 
 
 money ; they gave body and soul for it ; and 
 wherever it lies buried, depend upon it he must 
 have a tug with the devil who gets it ! " 
 
 This sudden explosion was succeeded by a 
 blank silence throughout the room. Peechy 
 Prauw shrunk within himself, and even the one- 
 eyed officer turned pale. Wolfert, who from a 
 dark corner of the room had listened with intense 
 eagerness to all this talk about buried treasure, 
 looked with mingled awe and reverence at this 
 bold buccaneer ; for such he really suspected him 
 to be. There was a chinking of gold and a 
 sparkling of jewels in all his stories about the 
 Spanish Main that gave a value to every period ; 
 and Wolfert would have given anything for the 
 rummaging of the ponderous sea-chest, which his 
 imagination crammed full of golden chalices, cru- 
 cifixes, and jolly round bags of doubloons. 
 
 The dead stillness that had fallen upon the 
 company was at length interrupted by the stran- 
 ger, who pulled out a prodigious watch of curious 
 and ancient workmanship, and which in Wolfert's 
 eyes had a decidedly Spanish look. On touch- 
 ing a spring it struck ten o'clock ; upon which 
 the sailor called for his reckoning, and having 
 paid it out of a handful of outlandish coin, he 
 drank off the remainder of his beverage, and 
 without taking leave of any one, rolled out of 
 the room, muttering to himself, as he stamped up- 
 stairs to his chamber. 
 
 It was some time before the company could 
 recover from the silence into which they had 
 been thrown. The very footsteps of the stranger, 
 
486 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 which were heard now and then as he traversed 
 his chamber, inspired awe. 
 
 Still the conversation in which they had been 
 engaged was too interesting not to be resumed. 
 A heavy thunder-gust had gathered up unnoticed 
 while they were lost in talk, and the torrents of 
 rain that fell forbade all thouo^hts of setting^ off 
 for home until the storm should subside. They 
 drew nearer together, therefore, and entreated the 
 worthy Peechy Prauw to continue the tale which 
 had been so discourteously interrupted. He read- 
 ily complied, whispering, however, in a tone scarce- 
 ly above his breath, and drowned occasionally by 
 the rolling of the thunder ; and he would pause 
 every now and then, and listen with evident awe, 
 as he heard the heavy footsteps of the stranger 
 pacing overhead. 
 
 The following is the purport of his story. 
 
ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 
 
 YERYBODY knows Black Sam, the old 
 negro fisherman, or, as he is commonly 
 called, Mud Sam, who has fished about 
 the Sound for the last half century. It is now 
 many years since Sam, who was then as active a 
 young negro as any in the province, and worked 
 on the farm of Killian Suydam on Long Island, 
 having finished his day's work at an early hour, 
 was fishing, one still summer evening, just about 
 the neighborhood of Hell-gate. 
 
 He was in a light skiff; and being well ac- 
 quainted with the currents and eddies, had 
 shifted his station according to the shifting of the 
 tide, from the Hen and Chickens to the Hog's 
 Back, from the Hog's Back to the Pot, and from 
 the Pot to the Frying-Pan ; but in the eagerness 
 of his sport he did not see that the tide was rap- 
 idly ebbing, until the roaring of the whirlpools 
 and eddies warned him of his danger ; and he had 
 some difficulty in shooting his skiff from among 
 the rocks and breakers, and getting to the point 
 of Blackwell's Island. Here he cast anchor for 
 some time, waiting the turn of the tide to enable 
 him to return homewards. As the night set in, 
 it grew blustering and gusty. Dark clouds came 
 
488 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 bundling up in the west ; and now and then a 
 growl of thunder or a flash of lightning told that 
 a summer storm was at hand. Sam pulled over, 
 therefore, under the lee of Manhattan Island, and 
 coasting along, came to a snug nook, just under 
 a steep beetling rock, where he fastened his 
 skiff to the root of a tree that shot out from a 
 cleft, and spread its broad branches like a canopy 
 over the water. The gust came scouring along ; 
 the wind threw up the river in white surges ; the 
 rain rattled among the leaves ; the thunder bel- 
 lowed worse than that which is now bellowing ; 
 the lightning seemed to lick up the surges of the 
 stream ; but Sam, snugly sheltered under rock 
 and tree, lay crouching in his skiff, rocking upon 
 the billows until he fell asleep. When he woke 
 all was quiet. The gust had passed away, and 
 only now and then a faint gleam of lightning in 
 the east showed which way it had gone. The 
 night was dark and moonless ; and from the state 
 of the tide Sam concluded it was near midnight. 
 He was on the point of making loose his skiff to 
 return homewards, when he saw a light gleaming 
 along the Avater from a distance, which seemed 
 rapidly approaching. As it drew near he per- 
 ceived it came from a lantern in the bow of a 
 boat gliding along under shadow of the land. 
 It pulled up in a small cove, close to where he 
 was. A man jumped on shore, and searching 
 about with the lantern, exclaimed, " This is the 
 place — here 's the iron ring." The boat was 
 then made fast, and the man returning on board, 
 assisted his comrades in conveying something 
 
THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 489 
 
 heavy on shore. As the light gleamed among 
 them, Sam saw that they were fiYQ stout desper- 
 ate-lookmg fellows, in red woollen caps, with a 
 leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some 
 of them were armed with dirks, or long knives, 
 and pistols. They talked low to one another, 
 and occasionally in some outlandish tongue which 
 he could not understand. 
 
 On landing they made their way among the 
 bushes, takmg turns to relieve each other in lug- 
 ging their burden up the rocky bank. Sam's 
 curiosity was now fully aroused ; so leaving his 
 skiff he clambered silently up a ridge that over- 
 looked their path. They had stopped to rest for a 
 moment, and the leader was looking about among 
 the bushes with his lantern. ^' Have you brought 
 the spades ? " said one. " They are here," replied 
 another, who had them on his shoulder. '' We 
 must dig deep, where there will be no risk of 
 discovery," said a third. 
 
 A cold chill ran through Sam's vein^. He 
 fancied he saw before him a gang of murderers, 
 about to bury their victim. His knees smote 
 together. In his agitation he shook the branch 
 of a tree with which he was supporting himself 
 as he looked over the edge of the cliff. 
 
 " What 's that ? " cried one of the gang. — 
 " Some one stirs among the bushes ! " 
 
 The lantern was held up in the direction of 
 the noise. One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, 
 and pointed it towards the very place where Sam 
 was standing. He stood motionless — breath- 
 less; expecting the next moment to be his last. 
 
490 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Fortunately his dingy complexion was in his 
 favor, and made no glare among the leaves. 
 
 " 'T is no one/' said the man with the lantern. 
 " What a plague ! you would not fire off your 
 pistol and alarm the country ! " 
 
 The pistol was uncocked ; the burden was 
 resumed, and the party slowly toiled along the 
 bank. Sam watched them as they went ; the 
 light sending back fitful gleams through the drip- 
 ping bushes, and it was not till they were fairly 
 out of sight that he ventured to draw breath 
 freely. He now thought of getting back to his 
 boat, and making his escape out of the reach of 
 such dangerous neighbors ; but curiosity was all- 
 powerful. He hesitated and lingered and listened. 
 By and by he heard the strokes of spades. — 
 " They are digging the grave ! " said he to him- 
 self; and the cold sweat started upon his fore- 
 head. Every stroke of a spade, as it sounded 
 through the silent groves, went to his heart ; it 
 was evident there was as little noise made as 
 possible ; everything had an air of terrible mys- 
 tery and secrecy. Sam had a great relish for the 
 horrible, — a tale of murder was a treat for 
 him ; and he was a constant attendant at execu- 
 tions. He could not resist an impulse, in spite 
 of every danger, to steal nearer to the scene of 
 mystery, and overlook the midnight fellows at 
 their work. He crawled along cautiously, there- 
 fore, inch by inch ; stepping with the utmost care 
 among the dry leaves, lest their rustling should 
 betray him. He came at length to where a steep 
 rock intervened between him and the gang ; for 
 
THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 491 
 
 he saw the light of their lantern shining up 
 against the branches of the trees on the other 
 side. Sam slowly and silently clambered up the 
 surface of the rock, and raising his head above 
 its naked edge, beheld the villains immediately 
 below him, and so near, that though he dreaded 
 discovery, he dared not withdraw lest the least 
 movement should be heard. In this way he re- 
 mained, with his round black face peering above 
 the edge of the rock, like the sun just emerging 
 above the edge of the horizon, or the round- 
 cheeked moon on the dial of a clock. 
 
 The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; 
 the grave was filled up, and they were carefully 
 replacing the turf This done, they scattered dry 
 leaves over the place. " And noAv," said the 
 leader, " I defy the devil himself to find it out." 
 
 " The murderers ! " exclaimed Sam, involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld 
 the round black head of Sam just above them. 
 His white eyes strained half out of their orbits ; 
 his white teeth chattering, and his whole visage 
 shining with cold perspiration. 
 
 " We 're discovered ! " cried one. 
 
 " Down with him ! " cried another. 
 
 Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not 
 pause for the report. He scrambled over rock 
 and stone, through brush and brier ; rolled down 
 banks like a hedge - hog ; scrambled up others 
 like a catamount. In every direction he heard 
 some one or other of the gang hemming him in. 
 At length he reached the rocky ridge along the 
 
492 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 river ; one of the red-caps was hard behind him. 
 A steep rock like a wall rose directly in his way ; 
 it seemed to cut off all retreat, when fortunately 
 he espied the strong cord-like branch of a grape- 
 vine reaching half-way down it. He sprang at 
 it with the force of a desperate man, seized it 
 with both hands, and being young and agile, suc- 
 ceeded in swinging himself to the summit of the 
 cliff. Here he stood in full relief against the 
 sky, when the red-cap cocked his pistol and fired. 
 The ball whistled by Sam's head. With the 
 lucky thought of a man in an emergency, he 
 uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and detached 
 at the same time a fragment of the rock, which 
 tumbled with a loud splash into the river. 
 
 " I 've done his business," said tlie red-cap to 
 one or two of his comrades as they arrived pant- 
 ing. " He '11 tell no tales, except to the fishes in 
 the river." 
 
 His pursuers now turned to meet their com- 
 panions. Sam, sliding silently down the surface 
 of the rock, let himself quietly into his skiff, cast 
 loose the fastening, and abandoned himself to the 
 rapid current, which in that place runs like a 
 mill-stream, and soon swept him off from tbe 
 neighborhood. It was not, however, until he had 
 drifted a great distance that he ventured to ply 
 his oars, when he made his skiff dart like an ar- 
 row through the strait of Hell-gate, never heeding 
 the danger of Pot, Frying- Pan, nor Hog's Back 
 itself: nor did he feel himself thoi'oughly secure 
 until safely nestled in bed in the cockloft of the 
 ancient farm-house of the Suydams. 
 
THE BLACK FISHERMAN, 493 
 
 Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to 
 take breath, and to take a sip of the gossip tank- 
 ard that stood at his elbow. His auditors re- 
 mained with open mouths and outstretched necks, 
 gaping like a nest of swallows for an additional 
 mouthful. 
 
 " And is that all ? " exclaimed the half - pay 
 officer. 
 
 " That 's all that belongs to the story," said 
 Peechy Prauw. 
 
 " And did Sam never find out what was buried 
 by the red-caps ? " said Wolfert, eagerly, whose 
 mind was haunted by nothing but ingots and 
 doubloons. 
 
 " Not that I know of," said Peechy ; " he had 
 no time to spare from his work, and, to tell the 
 truth, he did not like to run the risk of another 
 race among the rocks. Besides, how should he 
 recollect the spot where the grave had been 
 digged ? everything would look so different by 
 daylight. And then, where was the use of look- 
 ing for a dead body, when there was no chance of 
 hanging the murderers ? " 
 
 " Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body 
 they buried ? " said Wolfert. 
 
 " To be sure," cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. 
 " Does it not haunt in the neighborhood to this 
 very day ? " 
 
 " Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, 
 opening their eyes still wider, and edging their 
 chairs still closer. 
 
 " Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy ; " have none 
 of you heard of father Red-cap, who haunts the 
 
494 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 old burnt farm-house in the woods, on the border 
 of the Sound, near Hell-gate ? " 
 
 " Oh, to be sure, I Ve heard tell of something 
 of the kind, bat then I took it for some old 
 wives' fable." 
 
 " Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, 
 " that farm-house stands hard by the very spot. 
 It 's been unoccupied time out of mind, and stands 
 in a lonely part of the coast ; but those who fish 
 in the neighborhood have often heard strange 
 noises there ; and lights have been seen about 
 the wood at night ; and an old fellow in a red 
 cap has been seen at the windows more than once, 
 which people take to be the ghost of the body 
 buried there. Once upon a time three soldiers 
 took shelter in the building for the night, and 
 rummaged it from top to bottom, when they 
 found old father Red-cap astride of a cider-barrel 
 in the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a goblet 
 in the other. He offered them a drink out of his 
 goblet, but just as one of the soldiers was putting 
 it to his mouth — whew ! — a flash of fire blazed 
 through the cellar, blinded every mother's son of 
 them for several minutes, and when they re- 
 covered their eye-sight, jug, goblet, and Red-cap 
 had vanished, and nothing but the empty cider- 
 barrel remained." 
 
 Here the half-pay officer, who was growing 
 very muzzy and sleepy, and nodding over his 
 liquor, with half- extinguished eye, suddenly 
 gleamed up like an expiring rushlight. 
 
 " That 's all fudge ! " said he, as Peechy fin- 
 ished his last story. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 495 
 
 " Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it my- 
 self," said Peechy Prauw, '' though all the world 
 knows that there 's something strange about that 
 house and grounds ; but as to the story of Mud 
 Sam, I believe it just as well as if it had hap- 
 pened to myself" 
 
 The deep interest taken in this conversation 
 by the company had made them unconscious of 
 the uproar abroad among the elements, when sud- 
 denly they were electrified by a tremendous clap 
 of thunder. A lumbering crash followed instan- 
 taneously, shaking the building to its very founda- 
 tion. All started from their seats, imagining it the 
 shock of an earthquake, or that old father Ped-cap 
 was coming among them in all his terrors. They 
 listened for a moment, but only heard the rain 
 pelting against the windows, and the wind howl- 
 ing among the trees. The explosion was soon 
 explained by the apparition of an old negro's bald 
 head thrust in at the door, his white goggle eyes 
 contrasting with his jetty poll, which was wet 
 with rain, and shone like a bottle. In a jargon 
 but half intelligible, he announced that the 
 kitchen-chimney had been struck with lightning. 
 
 A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose 
 and sunk in gusts, produced a momentary still- 
 ness. In this interval the report of a musket 
 was heard, and a long shout, almost like a yell, 
 resounded from the shores. Every one crowded 
 to the window ; another musket-shot was heard, 
 and another long shout, mingled wildly with a 
 rising blast of wind. It seemed as if the cry 
 
496 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 came up fi-om the bosom of the waters ; for 
 though incessant flashes of lightning spread a 
 light about the shore, no one was to be seen. 
 
 Suddenly the window of the room overhead 
 was opened, and a loud halloo uttered by the 
 mysterious stranger. Several bailings passed 
 from one party to the other, but in a language 
 which none of the company in the bar-room 
 could understand ; and presently they heard the 
 window closed, and a great noise overhead, as if 
 all the furniture were pulled and hauled about 
 the room. The negro servant was summoned, 
 and shortly afterwards was seen assisting the 
 veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest down- 
 stairs. 
 
 The landlord was in amazement. " What, 
 you are not going on the water in such a 
 storm ? " 
 
 " Storm ! " said the other, scornfully, ^' do you 
 call such a sputter of weather a storm ? " 
 
 " You '11 get drenched to the skin, — you '11 
 catch your death ! " said Peechy Prauw, affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 " Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the 
 veteran, " don't preach about weather to a man 
 that has cruised in whirlwinds and tornadoes." 
 
 The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. 
 The voice from the water was heard once more 
 in a tone of impatience ; the by-standers stared 
 with redoubled awe at this man of storms, who 
 seemed to have come up out of the deep, and to 
 be summoned back to it again. As, with the 
 assistance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponder- 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 497 
 
 Oils sea-chest towards the shore, they eyed it with 
 a superstitious feeling, — half doubting whether 
 he were not really about to embark upon it and 
 launch forth upon the wild waves. They fol- 
 lowed him at a distance with a lantern. 
 
 " Dowse the light ! " roared the hoarse voice 
 from the water. " No one wants hght here ! " 
 
 " Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the vet- 
 eran, turning short upon them; "back to the 
 house with you ! " 
 
 Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in 
 dismay. Still their curiosity would not allow 
 them entirely to withdraw. A long sheet of 
 lightning now flickered across the waves, and 
 discovered a boat, filled with men, just under a 
 rocky point, rising and sinking with the heaving 
 surges, and swashing the waters at every heave. 
 It was with difficulty held to the rocks by a boat- 
 hook, for the current rushed furiously round the 
 point. The veteran hoisted one end of the lum- 
 bering sea-chest on the gunwale of the boat, and 
 seized the handle at the other end to lift it in, 
 when the motion propelled the boat from the 
 shore ; the chest shpped off from the gunwale, 
 and, sinking into the waves, pulled the veteran 
 headlong after it. A loud shriek was uttered by 
 all on shore, and a volley of execrations by those 
 on board ; but boat and man were hurried away 
 by the rushing swiftness of the tide. A pitchy 
 darkness succeeded; Wolfert Webber indeed 
 fancied that he distinguished a cry for help, and 
 that he beheld the drowning man beckoning for 
 assistance ; but when the lightning again gleamed 
 32 
 
498 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 along the water, all was void ; neither man 
 nor boat was to be seen ; nothing but the dash- 
 ing and weltering of the waves as they hurried 
 past. 
 
 The company returned to the tavern to await 
 the subsiding of the storm. They resumed their 
 seats, and gazed on each other with dismay. 
 The whole transaction had not occupied five 
 minutes, and not a dozen words had been spoken. 
 When they looked at the oaken chair, they could 
 scarcely realize the fact that the strange being 
 who had so lately tenanted it, full of life and 
 Herculean vigor, should already be a corpse. 
 There was the very glass he had just drunk from ; 
 there lay the ashes from the pipe which he had 
 smoked, as it were, with his last breath. As the 
 worthy burghers pondered on these things, they 
 felt a terrible conviction of the uncertainty of 
 existence, and each felt as if the ground on which 
 he stood was rendered less stable by his awful 
 example. 
 
 As, however, the most of the company were 
 possessed of that valuable philosophy which ena- 
 bles a man to bear up with fortitude against the 
 misfortunes of his neighbors, they soon managed 
 to console themselves for the tragic end of the 
 veteran. The landlord was particularly happy 
 that the poor dear man had paid his reckoning 
 before he went ; and made a kind of farewell 
 speech on the occasion. 
 
 " He came," said lie, " in a storm, and he went 
 in a storm ; he came in the night, and he went 
 in the night ; he camo nobody knows whence, and 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 499 
 
 he has gone nobody knows where. For aught I 
 know he has gone to sea once more on his chest, 
 and may land to bother some people on the other 
 side of the world ! Though it 's a thousand pities," 
 added he, ^' if he has gone to Davy Jones's locker, 
 that he had not left his own locker behind him." 
 
 " His locker ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " cried . 
 Peechy Prauw. " I 'd not have had that sea- 
 chest in the house for any money ; 1 11 warrant 
 he 'd come racketing after it at nights, and mak- 
 ing a haunted house of the inn. And, as to his 
 going to sea in his chest, I recollect what hap- 
 pened to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on his voyage 
 from Amsterdam. 
 
 " The boatswain died during a storm : so they 
 wrapped him up in a sheet, and put him in his 
 own sea-chest, and threw him overboard ; but 
 they neglected in their hurry-skurry to say pray- 
 ers over him — and the storm raged and roared 
 louder than ever, and they saw the dead man 
 seated in his chest, with his shroud for a sail, com- 
 ing hard after the ship ; and the sea breaking be- 
 fore him in great sprays like fire ; and there they 
 kept scudding day after day, and night after night, 
 expecting every moment to go to wreck ; and 
 every night they saw the dead boatswain in his 
 sea-chest trying to get up with them, and they 
 heard his whistle above the blasts of wind, and he 
 seemed to send great seas mountain-high after 
 them, that woidd have swamped the ship if they 
 had not put up the dead-lights. And so it went 
 on till they lost sight of him in the fogs off New- 
 foundland, and supposed he had veered ship and 
 
500 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 stood for Dead Man's Isle. So much for bury- 
 ing a man at sea without saying prayers over 
 him." 
 
 The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained 
 the company was now at an end. The cuckoo 
 clock in the hall told midnight ; every one pressed 
 to depart, for seldom was such a late hour of the 
 night trespassed on by these quiet burghers. As 
 they sallied forth, they found the heavens once 
 more serene. The storm which had lately ob- 
 scured them had rolled away, and lay piled up in 
 fleecy masses on the horizon, lighted up by the 
 bright crescent of the moon, which looked like a 
 little silver lamp hung up in a palace of clouds. 
 
 The dismal occurrence of the night, and the 
 dismal narrations they had made, had left a super- 
 stitious feeling in every mind. They cast a fear- 
 ful glance at the spot vdiere the buccaneer had 
 disappeared, almost expecting to see him sailing on 
 his chest in the cool moonshine. The trembling 
 rays glittered along the waters, but all was placid ; 
 and the current dimpled over the spot where he 
 had gone down. The party huddled together in 
 a little crowd as they repaired homewards ; par- 
 ticularly when they passed a lonely field where a 
 man had been murdered ; and even the sexton, 
 who had to complete his journey alone, though 
 accustomed, one would think, to ghosts and gob- 
 lins, went a long way round, rather than pass by 
 his own church-yard. 
 
 Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh 
 stock of stories and notions to ruminate upon. 
 These accounts of pots of money and Spanish 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 501 
 
 treasures, buried here and there and everywhere, 
 about the rocks and bays of these wild shores, 
 made him ahnost dizzy. " Blessed St. Nicholas ! " 
 ejaculated he, half aloud, " is it not possible to 
 come upon one of these golden hoards, and to 
 make one's self rich in a twinkling ? How hard 
 that I must go on, delving and delving, day in 
 and day out, merely to make a morsel of bread, 
 when one lucky stroke of a spade might enable 
 me to ride in my carriage for the rest of my 
 life ! " 
 
 As he turned over in his thoughts all that had 
 been told of the singular adventure of the negro 
 fisherman, his imagination gave a totally different 
 complexion to the tale. He saw in the gang of 
 red-caps nothing but a crew of pirates burying 
 their spoils, and his cupidity was once more 
 awakened by the possibility of at length getting 
 on the traces of some of this lurking wealth. In- 
 deed, his infected fancy tinged everything with 
 gold. He felt like the greedy inhabitant of Bag- 
 dad, when his eyes had been greased with the 
 magic ointment of the dervise, that gave him to 
 see all the treasures of the earth. Caskets of 
 buried jewels, chests of ingots, and barrels of 
 outlandish coins, seemed to court him from their 
 concealments, and supplicate him to relieve them 
 from their untimely graves. 
 
 On making private inquiries about the grounds 
 said to be haunted by Father Red-cap, he was 
 more and more confirmed in his surmise. He 
 learned that the place had several times been 
 visited by experienced money - diggers, who had 
 
502 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 heard black Sam's storj, though none of them had 
 met with success. On the contrary, they had 
 always been dogged with ill-luck of some kind or 
 other, in consequence, as Wolfert concluded, of 
 not going to work at the proper time, and with 
 the proper ceremonials. The last attempt had 
 been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who dug for 
 a whole night, and met with incredible difficulty, 
 for as fast as he threw one shovelful of earth 
 out of the hole, two were thrown in by invisible 
 hands. He succeeded so far, however, as to un- 
 cover an iron chest, when there was a terrible 
 roaring, ramping, and raging of uncouth figures 
 about the hole, and at length a shower of blows, 
 dealt by invisible cudgels, fairly belabored him 
 off of the forbidden ground. This Cobus Quack- 
 enbos had declared on his death-bed, so that there 
 could not be any doubt of it. He was a man 
 that had devoted many years of his life to money- 
 dicroino-, and it was thought would have ultimately 
 succeeded, had he not died recently ot a bram- 
 fever in the almshouse. 
 
 Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trep- 
 idation and impatience ; fearful lest some rival 
 adventurer should get a scent of the buried gold. 
 He determined privately to seek out the black 
 fisherman, and get him to serve as guide to the 
 place where he had witnessed the mysterious scene 
 of interment. Sam was easily found ; for he was 
 one of those old habitual beings that live about a 
 neighborhood until they wear themselves a place 
 in the public mind, and become, in a manner, 
 public characters. There was not an unlucky 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 503 
 
 urchin about town that did not know Sam the 
 fisherman, and think that he had a right to play 
 his tricks upon the okl negro. Sam had led an 
 amphibious life for more than half a century, 
 about the shores of the bay, and the fishing- 
 grounds of the Sound. He passed the greater 
 part of his time on and in the water, particularly 
 about Hell-gate ; and might have been taken, in 
 bad weather, for one of the hobgoblins that used 
 to haunt that strait. There would he be seen, 
 at all times, and in all weathers ; sometimes in 
 his skiff, anchored among the eddies, or prowling 
 like a shark about some wreck, where the fish 
 are supposed to be most abundant. Sometimes 
 seated on a rock from hour to hour, looking in 
 the mist and drizzle, like a solitary lieron watch- 
 ing for its prey. He was well acquainted with 
 every hole and corner of the Sound ; frorn the 
 Wallabout to Hell-gate, and from Hell-gate unto 
 the Devil's Stepping - Stones ; and it was even 
 affirmed that he knew all the fish in the river 
 by their Christian names. 
 
 Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not 
 much larger than a tolerable dog-house. It was 
 rudely constructed of fragments of wrecks and 
 drift-wood, and built on the rocky shore, at the 
 foot of the old fort, just about what at present 
 forms the point of the Battery. A " most ancient 
 and fishlike smell " pervaded the place. Oars, 
 paddles, and fishing-rods were leaning against the 
 wall of the fort ; a net was spread on the sand to 
 dry ; a skiff was drawn up on the beach ; and at 
 the door of his cabin was Mud Sam himself, in- 
 
504 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 dulging in the true negro luxury of sleeping in 
 the sunshine. 
 
 Many years had passed away since the time 
 of Sam's youthful adventure, and the snows of 
 many a winter had grizzled the knotty wool upon 
 his head. He perfectly recollected the circum- 
 stances, however, for he had often been called 
 upon to relate them, though in his version of the 
 story he differed in many points from Peechy 
 Prauw ; as is not unfrequently the case with 
 authentic historians. As to the subsequent re- 
 searches of money - diggers, Sam knew nothing 
 about them ; they were matters quite out of his 
 line ; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to 
 disturb his thoughts on that point. His only 
 wish was to secure the old fisherman as a pilot 
 to the spot ; and this was readily effected. The 
 long time that had intervened since his nocturnal 
 adventure had effaced all Sam's awe of the place, 
 and the promise of a trifling reward roused him 
 at once from his sleep and his sunshine. 
 
 The tide was adverse to making the expedition 
 by water, and Wolfert was too impatient to get 
 to the land of promise, to wait for its turning; 
 they set off, therefore, by land. A walk of four 
 or five miles brought them to the edge of a wood, 
 which at that time covered the greater part of 
 the eastern side of the island. It was just be- 
 yond the pleasant region of Bloomen-dael. Here 
 they struck into a long lane, straggling among 
 trees and bushes, very much overgrown with 
 weeds and mullein-stalks, as if but seldom used, 
 and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy but a 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 505 
 
 kind of twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees 
 and flaunted in their faces ; brambles and briers 
 caught their clothes as the j passed ; the garter- 
 snake gHded across their path ; the spotted toad 
 hopped and waddled before them, and the rest- 
 less cat-bird mewed at them from every thicket. 
 Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in romantic 
 legend, he might have fancied himself entering 
 upon forbidden, enchanted ground ; or that these 
 were some of the guardians set to keep watch 
 upon buried treasure. As it was, the loneliness 
 of the place, and the wild stories connected with 
 it, had their effect upon his mind. 
 
 On reaching the lower end of the lane, they 
 found themselves near the shore of the Sound in 
 a kind of amphitheatre, surrounded by forest- 
 trees. The area had once been a grass-plot, but 
 was now shagged with briers and rank weeds. 
 At one end, and just on the river bank, was a 
 ruined building, little better than a heap of rub- 
 bish, wath a stack of chimneys rising like a soli- 
 tary tower out of the centre. The current of 
 the Sound rushed along just below it; with 
 wildly^grown trees drooping their branches into 
 its waves. 
 
 Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the 
 haunted house of Father Red-cap, and called to 
 mind the story of Peechy Prauw. The evening 
 was approaching, and the light falHng dubiously 
 among the woody places, gave a melancholy tone 
 to the scene, well calculated to foster any lurking 
 feeling of awe or superstition. The night-hawk"^ 
 wheeling about in the highest regions of the air, 
 
606 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 emitted his peevish, boding cry. The wood- 
 pecker gave a lonely tap now and then on some 
 hollow tree, and the fire-bird "^ streamed by them 
 with his deep-red plumage. 
 
 They now came to an enclosure that had once 
 been a garden. It extended along the foot of a 
 rocky ridge, but was little better than a wilder- 
 ness of weeds, with here and there a matted rose- 
 bush, or a peach or plum tree grown wild and 
 ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower 
 end of the garden they passed a kind of vault in 
 the side of a bank, facing the v/ater. It had the 
 look of a root-house. The door, though decayed, 
 was still strong, and appeared to have been re- 
 cently patched up. Wolfert pushed it open. It 
 gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, and striking 
 against something like a box, a rattling sound 
 ensued, and a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert 
 drew back shuddering, but was reassured on 
 being informed by the negro that this was a 
 family vault, belonging to one of the old Dutch 
 families that owned this estate ; an assertion cor- 
 roborated by the sight of coffins of various sizes 
 piled within. Sam had been familiar with all 
 these scenes Avhen a boy, and now knew that he 
 could not be far from the place of which they 
 were in quest. 
 
 They now made their way to the water's 
 edge, scrambling along ledges of rocks that over- 
 hung the waves, and obliged often to hold by 
 shrubs and grape-vines to avoid slipping into the 
 deep and hurried stream. At length they came 
 * Orchard Oriole. 
 
 I 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 507 
 
 to a small cove, or rather indent of the shore. 
 It was protected by steep rocks, and overshad- 
 owed by a thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so 
 as to be sheltered and almost concealed. The 
 beach shelved gradually within the cove, but the 
 current swept deep, and black, and rapid, along 
 its jutting points. The negro paused ; raised his 
 remnant of a hat, and scratched his grizzled poll 
 for a moment, as he regarded this nook ; then 
 suddenly clapping his hands, he stepped exultingly 
 forward, and pointed to a large iron ring, stapled 
 firmly in the rock, just where a broad shelf of 
 stone furnished a commodious landing-place. It 
 was the very spot where the red-caps had landed. 
 Years had changed the more perishable features 
 of the scene ; but rock and iron yield slowly to 
 the influence of time. On looking more closely, 
 Wolfert remarked three crosses cut in the rock 
 just above the ring, which had no doubt some 
 mysterious signification. Old Sam now readily 
 recognized the overhanging rock under which his 
 skiff had been sheltered during the thunder-gust. 
 To follow up the course which the midnight gang 
 had taken, however, was a harder task. His 
 mind had been so much taken up on that event- 
 ful occasion by the persons of the drama, as to 
 pay but little attention to the scenes ; and these 
 places look so different by night and day. After 
 wandering about for some time, however, they 
 came to an opening among the trees which Sam 
 thought resembled the place. There was a ledge 
 of rock of moderate height like a wall on one 
 side, which he thought might be the very ridge 
 
508 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 whence he had overlooked the dio^o-ers. Wol- 
 fert examined it narrowly, and at length dis- 
 covered three crosses similar to those on the 
 above ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, 
 but nearly obliterated by moss that had grown 
 over them. His heart leaped with joy, for he 
 doubted not they were the private marks of the 
 buccaneers. All now that remained was to 
 ascertain the precise spot where the treasure lay 
 buried ; for otherwise he might dig at random in 
 the neighborhood of the crosses, without coming 
 upon the spoils, and he had already had enough 
 of such profitless labor. Here, however, the old 
 negro was perfectly at a loss, and indeed per- 
 plexed him by a variety of opinions ; for his 
 recollections were all confused. Sometimes he 
 declared it must have been at the foot of a mul- 
 berry-tree hard by ; then beside a great white 
 stone ; then under a small green knoll, a short 
 distance from the ledse of rocks ; until at lenocth 
 Wolfert became as bewildered as himself. 
 
 The shadows of evening were now spreading 
 themselves over the woods, and rock and tree 
 began to mingle together. It was evidently too 
 late to attempt anything farther at present ; and, 
 indeed, Wolfert had come unprovided with imple- 
 ments to prosecute his researches. Satisfied, 
 therefore, with having ascertained the place, he 
 took note of all its landmarks, that he might 
 reco^^nize it ao-ain, and set out on his return 
 homewards, resolved to prosecute this golden en- 
 terprise without delay. 
 
 The leading anxiety which had hitherto al>- 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 509 
 
 sorbed every feeling, being now in some measure 
 appeased, fancy began to wander, and to conjure 
 up a thousand shapes and chimeras as he returned 
 through this haunted region. Pirates hanging in 
 chains seemed to swing from every tree, and he 
 almost expected to see some Spanish Don, with 
 his throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out 
 of the ground, and shaking the ghost of a money- 
 bag. 
 
 Their way back lay through the desolate gar- 
 den, and Wolfert's nerves had arrived at so sensi- 
 tive a state that the flitting of a bird, the rustling 
 of a leaf, or the falling of a nut, was enough to 
 startle him. As they entered the confines of the 
 garden, they caught sight of a figure at a distance 
 advancing slowly up one of the walks, and bend- 
 ing under the weight of a burden. They paused 
 and regarded him attentively. He wore what 
 appeared to be a woollen cap, and, still more 
 alarming, of a most sanguinary red. 
 
 The figure moved slowly on, ascended the 
 bank, and stopped at the very door of the sepul- 
 chral vault. Just before enterino^ it he looked 
 around. What was the afiright of Wolfert when 
 he recognized the grisly visage of the drowned 
 buccaneer ! He uttered an ejaculation of horror. 
 The figure slowly raised his iron fist, and shook 
 it with a terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause 
 to see any more, but hurried off as fast as his 
 legs could carry him, nor was Sam slow in fol- 
 lowing at his heels, having all his ancient terrors 
 revived. Away, then, did they scramble through 
 bush and brake, horribly frightened at every 
 
510 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 bramble that tugged at their skirts, nor did they 
 pause to breathe, until they had blundered their 
 way through this perilous wood, and fairly 
 reached the high road to the city. 
 
 Several days elapsed before Wolfert could 
 summon courage enough to prosecute the enter- 
 prise, so much had he been dismayed by the ap- 
 parition, whether living or dead, of the grisly 
 buccaneer. In the mean time, what a conflict of 
 mind did he suffer ! He neglected all his con- 
 cerns, was moody and restless all day, lost his 
 appetite, wandered in his thoughts and words, and 
 committed a thousand blunders. His rest was 
 broken ; and when he fell asleep, the nightmare, 
 in shape of a huge money-bag, sat squatted upon 
 his breast. He babbled about incalculable sums ; 
 fancied himself engaged in money-digging ; threw 
 the bedclothes right and left, in the idea that he 
 was shovelling away the dirt ; groped under the 
 bed in quest of the treasure, and lugged forth, as 
 he supposed, an inestimable pot of gold. 
 
 Dame Webber and her aaughi^er were in de- 
 spair at what they conceived a returning touch of 
 insanity. There are two family oracles, one or 
 other of which Dutch housewives consult in all 
 cases of great doubt and perplexity — the domi- 
 nie and the doctor. In the present instance they 
 repaired to the doctor. There was at that time 
 a little dark mouldy man of medicine, famous 
 among the old wives of the Manhattoes for his 
 skill, not only in the healing art, but in all matters 
 of strange and mysterious nature. His name was 
 Dr. Knipperhausen, but he was more commonly 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 511 
 
 known by the appellation of the High-German 
 Doctor.^ To him did the poor women repair for 
 comisel and assistance touching the mental vaga- 
 ries of Wolfert Webber. 
 
 They found the doctor seated in his little study, 
 clad in his dark camlet robe of knowledge, with 
 his black velvet cap ; after the manner of Boor- 
 haave, Van Helmont, and other medical sages ; a 
 pair of green spectacles set in black horn upon 
 his clubbed nose, and poring over a German folio 
 that reflected back the darkness of his physiog- 
 nomy. The doctor listened to their statement of 
 the symptoms of Wolfert's malady with profound 
 attention ; but when they came to mention his 
 raving about buried money, the little man pricked 
 up his ears. Alas, poor women ! they little knew 
 the aid they had called in. 
 
 Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life en- 
 gaged in seeking the short cuts to fortune, in 
 quest of which so many a long lifetime is wasted. 
 He had passed some years of his youth among 
 the Harz mountains of Germany, and had derived 
 much valuable instruction from the miners, touch- 
 ing the mode of seeking treasure buried in the 
 earth. He had prosecuted his studies also under 
 a travelling sage who united the mysteries of 
 medicine with magic and legerdemain. His mhid 
 therefore had become stored with all kinds of 
 mystic lore ; he had dabbled a little in astrology, 
 alchemy, divination ; knew how to detect stolen 
 money, and to tell where springs of water lay 
 
 * The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the 
 history of Dolph Ileyliger. 
 
512 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 hidden ; in a word, by the dark nature of his 
 knowledge he had acquired the name of the High- 
 German Doctor, which is pretty nearly equiva- 
 lent to that of necromancer. The doctor had 
 often heard rumors of treasure being buried in 
 various parts of the island, and had long been 
 anxious to get on the traces of it. No sooner 
 were Wolfert's waking and sleeping vagaries con- 
 fided to him, than he beheld in them the con- 
 firmed symptoms of a case of money-digging, and 
 lost no time m probing it to the bottom. Wol- 
 fert had long been sorely oppressed in mind by 
 the golden secret, and as a family physician is a 
 kind of father confessor, he was glad of any op- 
 portunity of unburdening himself. So far from 
 curing, the doctor caught the malady from his 
 patient. The circumstances unfolded to him 
 awakened all his cupidity ; he had not a doubt 
 of money being buried somewhere in the neigh- 
 borhood of the mysterious crosses, and offered to 
 join Wolfert in the search. He informed him 
 that much secrecy and caution must be observed 
 in enterprises of the kind ; that money is only to 
 be digged for at night ; with certain forms and 
 ceremonies ; and burning of drugs ; the repeat- 
 ing of mystic words, and above all, that the 
 seekers must first be provided with a divining 
 rod, which had the wonderful property of pointing 
 to the very spot on the surface of the earth under 
 which treasure lay hidden. As the doctor had 
 given much of his mind to these matters, he 
 charged himself with all the necessary prepara- 
 tions, and, as the quarter of the moon was pro- 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 513 
 
 pitious, he undertook to have the divining rod 
 ready by a certain night."^ 
 
 * The following note was found appended to this passage 
 in the handwriting of Mr. Knickerbocker. " There has been 
 much written against the divining rod by those light minds 
 who are ever ready to scoff at the mysteries of nature ; but I 
 fully join with Dr. Knipperhausen in giving it my faith. I 
 shall not insist upon its efficacy in discovering the conceal- 
 ment of stolen goods, the boundary stones of fields, the traces 
 of robbers and murderers, or even the existence of subterrane- 
 ous springs and streams of water ; albeit, I think these prop- 
 erties not to be readily discredited; but of its potency in dis- 
 covering veins of precious metal, and hidden sums of money 
 and jewels, I have not the least doubt. Some said that the 
 rod turned only in the hands of persons who had been born 
 in particular months of the year ; hence astrologers had re- 
 course to planetary influence when they would procure a 
 talisman. Others declared that the properties of the rod were 
 either an effect of chance, or the fraud of the holder, or the 
 work of the devil. Thus saith the reverend father Gaspard 
 Sebett in his Treatise on Magic : ' Propter haec et similia 
 argumenta audacter ego promisero vim conversivam virgulae 
 bifurcatae nequaquam naturalem esse, sed vel casu vel fraude 
 virgulam tractantis vel ope diaboli,' &c. 
 
 " Georgius Agricola also was of opinion that it was a mere 
 delusion of the devil to inveigle the avaricious and unwary 
 into his clutches, and in his treatise ' de re Metallica,' lays 
 particular stress on the mysterious words pronounced by 
 those persons who employed the divining rod during his time. 
 But I make not a doubt that the divining rod is one of those 
 secrets of natural magic, the mystery of which is to be ex- 
 plained by the sympathies existing between physical things 
 operated upon by the planets, and rendered efficacious by the 
 strong faith of the individual. Let the divining rod be prop- 
 erly gathered at the proper time of the moon, cut into the 
 proper form, used with the necessary ceremonies, and with a 
 perfect faith in its efficacy, and I can confidently recommend 
 it to my fellow-citizens as an infallible means of discovering 
 33 
 
514 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met 
 with so learned and able a coadjutor. Everything 
 went on secretly, but swimmingly. The doctor 
 had many consultations with his patient, and the 
 good woman of the household lauded the com- 
 forting effect of his visits. In the mean time the 
 wonderful divining rod, that great key to nature's 
 secrets, was duly prepared. The doctor had 
 thumbed over all his books of knowledge for the 
 occasion; and the black fisherman was engaged 
 to take them in his skiff to the scene of enter- 
 prise ; to work with spade and pickaxe in un- 
 earthing the treasure ; and to freight his bark 
 with the weighty spoils they were certain of 
 finding. 
 
 At length the appointed night arrived for this 
 perilous undertaking. Before Wolfert left his 
 home he counselled his wife and daughter to go 
 to bed, and feel no alarm if he should not return 
 during the night. Like reasonable women, on 
 being told not to feel alarm they fell immediately 
 into a panic. They saw at once by his manner 
 that something unusual was in agitation ; all their 
 fears about the unsettled state of his mind were 
 revived with tenfold force : they hung about him, 
 entreating him not to expose himself to the night 
 air, but all in vain. When once Wolfert was 
 mounted on his hobby, it was no easy matter to 
 get him out of the saddle. It was a clear star- 
 light night, when he issued out of the portal of 
 the Webber palace. He wore a large flapped 
 
 the places on the Island of the Manhattoes where treasui-e 
 hath beer buried in the olden time. D. K." 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 515 
 
 hat tied under the chin with a handkerchief of 
 his daughter's, to secure him from the night 
 damp, while Dame Webber threw her long red 
 cloak about his shoulders, and fastened it round 
 his neck. 
 
 The doctor had been no less carefully armed 
 and accoutred by his housekeeper, the vigilant 
 Frau Ilsy ; and sallied forth in his camlet robe 
 by way of surcoat ; his black velvet cap under 
 his cocked hat, a thick clasped book under his 
 arm, a basket of drugs and dried herbs in one 
 hand, and in the other the miraculous rod of div- 
 ination. 
 
 The great church-clock struck ten as Wolfert 
 and the doctor passed by the church-yard, and 
 the watchman bawled in hoarse voice a long and 
 doleful " All 's well ! " A deep sleep had already 
 fallen upon this primitive little burgh : nothing 
 disturbed this awful silence, excepting now and 
 then the bark of some profligate night-walking 
 dog, or the serenade of some romantic cat. It is 
 true, Wolfert fancied more than once that he 
 heard the sound of a stealthy footfall at a dis- 
 tance behind them ; but it might have been 
 merely the echo of their own steps along the 
 quiet streets. He thought also at one time that 
 he saw a tall figure skulking after them — stop- 
 ping when they stopped, and moving on as they 
 proceeded ; but the dim and uncertain lamp-light 
 threw such vague gleams and shadows, that this 
 might all have been mere fancy. 
 
 They found the old fisherman waiting for them, 
 smoking his pipe in the steru of the skilff, which 
 
516 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 was moored just in front of his little cabin. A 
 pickaxe and spade were lying in the bottom of 
 the boat, with a dark lantern, and a stone bottle 
 of good Dutch courage, in which honest Sam no 
 doubt put even more faith than Dr. Knipperhau- 
 sen in his drugs. 
 
 Thus then did these three worthies embark in 
 their cockle-shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal 
 expedition, with a wisdom and valor equalled 
 only by the three wise men of Gotham, who ad- 
 ventured to sea in a bowl. The tide was rising 
 and running rapidly up the Sound. The current 
 bore them along, almost without the aid of an oar. 
 The profile of the town lay all in shadow. Here 
 and there a light feebly glimmered from some 
 sick-chamber, or from the cabin-window of some 
 vessel at anchor in the stream. Not a cloud ob- 
 scured the deep starry firmament, the lights of 
 which wavered on the surface of the placid river ; 
 and a shooting meteor, streaking its pale course 
 in the very direction they were taking, was inter- 
 preted by the doctor into a most propitious omen. 
 
 In a little while they glided by the point of 
 Corlaer's Hook with the rural inn which had 
 been the scene of such night adventures. The 
 family had retired to rest, and the house was 
 dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass over him 
 as they passed the point where the buccaneer had 
 disappeared. He pointed it out to Dr. Knipper- 
 hausen. While regarding it, they thought they 
 saw a boat actually lurking at the very place ; 
 but the shore cast such a shadow over the border 
 of the water that they^ could discern nothing dis- 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 517 
 
 tinctly. They had not proceeded far when they 
 heard the low sounds of distant oars, as if cau- 
 tiously pulled. Sam plied his oars with re- 
 doubled vigor, and knowing all the eddies and 
 currents of the stream, soon left their followers, 
 if such they were, far astern. In a little while 
 they stretched across Turtle Bay and Kip's Bay, 
 then shrouded themselves in the deep shadows of 
 the Manhattan shore, and glided swiftly along, 
 secure from observation. At length the negro 
 shot his skiff into a little cove, darkly embowered 
 by trees, and made it fast to the well-known iron 
 ring. They now landed, and lighting the lantern, 
 gathered their various implements and proceeded 
 slowly through the bushes. Every sound star- 
 tled them, even that of their own footsteps among 
 the dry leaves ; and the hooting of a screech owl, 
 from the shattered chimney of the neighboring 
 ruin, made their blood run cold. 
 
 In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note 
 of the landmarks, it was some time before they 
 could find the open place among the trees, where 
 the treasure was supposed to be buried. At length 
 they came to the ledge of rock ; and on examin- 
 ing its surface by the aid of the lantern, Wolfert 
 recognized the three mystic crosses. Their hearts 
 beat quick, for the momentous trial was at hand 
 that was to determine their hopes. 
 
 The lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber, 
 while the doctor produced the divining rod. It 
 was a forked twig, one end of which was grasped 
 firmly in each hand, while the centre, forming the 
 stem, pointed perpeildicularly upwards. The doc- 
 
518 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 tor moved this wand about, within a certain dis- 
 tance of the earth, from place to place, but for 
 some time without any effect, while Wolfert kept 
 the light of the lantern turned full upon it, and 
 watched it with the most breathless interest. At 
 length the rod began slowly to turn. The doc- 
 tor grasped it with greater earnestness, his hands 
 trembling with the agitation of his mind. The 
 wand continued to turn gradually, until at length 
 the stem had reversed its position, and pointed 
 perpendicularly downward, and remained point- 
 ing to one spot as fixedly as the needle to the 
 pole. 
 
 '' This is the spot ! " said the doctor, in an al- 
 most inaudible tone. 
 
 Wolfert's heart was in his throat. 
 
 " Shall I dig ? " said the negro, grasping the 
 spade. 
 
 '' Pots tausend^ no ! " replied the little doctor, 
 hastily. He now ordered his companions to keep 
 close by him, and to maintain the most inflexible 
 silence. That certain precautions must be taken 
 and ceremonies used to prevent the evil spirits 
 which kept about buried treasure from doing 
 them any harm. He then drew a circle about 
 the place, enough to include the whole party. 
 He next gathered dry twigs and leaves and made 
 a fire, upon which he threw certain drugs and 
 dried herbs which he had brought in his basket. 
 A thick smoke rose, diffusing a potent odor, sa- 
 voring marvellously of brimstone and assafoetida, 
 which, however grateful it might be to the olfac- 
 tory nerves of spirits, nearly strangled poor Wol- 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 519 
 
 fert, and produced a fit of coughing and wheezing 
 that made the whole grove resound. Dr. Knip- 
 perhausen then unclasped the volume which he 
 had brought under his arm, which was printed 
 in red and black characters in German text. 
 While Wolfert held the lantern, the doctor, by 
 the aid of his spectacles, read off several forms 
 of conjuration in Latin and German. He then 
 ordered Sam to seize the pickaxe and proceed to 
 work. The close-bound soil gave obstinate signs 
 of not having been disturbed for many a year. 
 After having picked his way through the surface, 
 Sam came to a bed of sand and gravel, which he 
 threw briskly to right and left with the spade. 
 
 "' Hark ! " said Wolfert, who fancied he heard 
 a trampling among the dry leaves, and a rustling 
 through the bushes. Sam paused for a moment, 
 and they listened. No footstep was near. The 
 bat flitted by them in silence ; a bird, roused 
 from its roost by the light which glared up among 
 the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the 
 profound stillness of the woodland, they could 
 distinguish the current rippling along the rocky 
 shore, and the distant murmuring and roaring of 
 Hell -gate. 
 
 The negro continued his labors, and had al- 
 ready digged a considerable hole. The doctor 
 stood on the edge, reading formulae every now 
 and then from his black-letter volume, or throw- 
 ing more drugs and herbs upon the fire ; while 
 Wolfert bent anxiously over the pit, watching 
 every stroke of the spade. Any one witnessing 
 the scene thus lighted up by fire, lantern, and the 
 
520 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 reflection of AYolfert's red mantle, might have 
 mistaken the little doctor for some foul magician, 
 busied in his incantations, and the grizzly-headed 
 negro for some swart goblin, obedient to his com- 
 mands. 
 
 At length the spade of the fisherman struck 
 upon something that sounded hollow. The sound 
 vibrated to Wolfert's heart. He struck his spade 
 again. — 
 
 " 'T is a chest," said Sam. 
 
 " Full of gold, 1 11 warrant it ! " cried Wolfert, 
 clasping his hands with rapture. 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered the words when a 
 sound from above caught his ear. He cast up 
 his eyes, and lo ! by the expiring light of the 
 fire he beheld, just over the disk of the rock, 
 what appeared to be the grim visage of the 
 drowned buccaneer, grinning hideously down up- 
 on him. 
 
 Wolfert gave a loud cry, and let fall the lan- 
 tern. His panic communicated itself to his com- 
 panions. The negro leaped out of the hole ; the 
 doctor dropped his book and basket, and began to 
 pray in German. All was horror and confusion. 
 The fire was scattered about, the lantern extin- 
 guished. In their hurry-scurry they ran against 
 and confounded one another. They fancied a 
 legion of hobgoblins let loose upon them, and that 
 they saw, by the fitful gleams of the scattered 
 embers, strange figures, in red caps, gibbering 
 and ramping around them. The doctor ran one 
 way, the negro another, and Wolfei-t made for 
 the water side. As he plunged struggling on- 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 521 
 
 wards through brush and brake, he heard the 
 tread of some one in pursuit. He scrambled fran- 
 tically forward. The footsteps gained upon him. 
 He felt himself grasped by his cloak, when sud- 
 denly his pursuer was attacked in turn : a fierce 
 fight and struggle ensued — a pistol was dis- 
 charged that lit up rock and bush for a second, 
 and showed tyro figures grappling together — all 
 was then darker than ever. The contest con- 
 tinued — the combatants clinched each other, and 
 panted, and groaned, and rolled among the rocks. 
 There was snarlino^ and o^rowling: as of a cur, 
 mingled with curses, in which Wolfert fancied he 
 could recognize the voice of the buccaneer. He 
 would fain have fled, but he was on the brink of 
 a precipice, and could go no further. 
 
 Again the parties were on their feet ; again 
 there was a tugging and struggling, as if strength 
 alone could decide the combat, until one was pre- 
 cipitated from the brow of the cliff, and sent 
 headlong into the deep stream that whirled below. 
 Wolfert heard the plunge, and a kind of stran- 
 gling, bubbHng murmur, but the darkness of the 
 night hid everything from him, and the swiftness 
 of the current swept everything instantly out of 
 hearing. One of the combatants was disposed of, 
 but whether friend or foe, Wolfert could not tell, 
 nor whether they might not both be foes. He 
 heard the survivor approach, and his terror re- 
 vived. He saw, where the profile of the rocks 
 rose against tlie horizon, a human form advan- 
 cing. He could not be mistaken : it must be the 
 buccaneer. Whither should he fly ! — a preci- 
 
522 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 pice was on one side — a murderer on the other. 
 The enemy approached — he was close at hand. 
 Wolfert attempted to let himself down the face 
 of the cliff. His cloak caught in a thorn that 
 grew on the edge. He was jerked from off his 
 feet, and held dangling in the air, half choked 
 by the string with which his careful wife had 
 fastened the garment around his neck. Wolfert 
 thought his last moment was arrived ; already 
 had he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, when 
 the string broke, and he tumbled down the bank, 
 bumping from rock to rock, and bush to bush, 
 and leaving the red cloak fluttering like a bloody 
 banner in the air. 
 
 It was a long while before Wolfert came to 
 himself. When he opened his eyes, the ruddy 
 streaks of morning were already shooting up the 
 sky. He found himself grievously battered, and 
 lying in the bottom of a boat. He attempted to 
 sit up, but was too sore and stiff to move. A 
 voice requested him in friendly accents to lie still. 
 He turned his eyes towards the speaker : it was 
 Dirk Waldron. He had dogged the party, at the 
 earnest request of Dame Webber and her daugh- 
 ter, who, with the laudable curiosity of their sex, 
 had pried into the secret consultations of Wolfert 
 and the doctor. Dirk had been completely dis- 
 tanced in following the light skiff of the fisher- 
 man, and had just come in to rescue the poor 
 money-digger from his pursuer. 
 
 Tiius ended this perilous enterprise. The doc- 
 tor and Black Sam severally found their way back 
 to the Manhattoes, each having some dreadful tale 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 523 
 
 of peril to relate. As to poor Wolfert, instead of 
 returning in triumph laden with bags of gold, 
 he was borne home on a shutter, followed by a 
 rabble - rout of curious urchins. His wife and 
 daughter saw the dismal pageant from a distance, 
 and alarmed the neighborhood with their cries : 
 they thought the poor man had suddenly settled 
 the great debt of nature in one of his wayward 
 moods. Finding him, however, still living, they 
 had him speedily to bed, and a jury of old mat- 
 rons of the neighborhood assembled, to determine 
 how he should be doctored. The whole town 
 was in a buzz with the story of the money-dig- 
 gers. Many repaired to the scene of the pre- 
 vious night's adventures : but though they found 
 the very place of the digging, they discovered 
 nothing that compensated them for their trouble. 
 Some say they found the fragments of an oaken 
 chest, and an iron pot-lid, which savored strongly 
 of hidden money ; and that in the old family vault 
 there were traces of bales and boxes : but this is 
 all very dubious. 
 
 In fact, the secret of all this story has never to 
 this day been discovered : whether any treasure 
 were ever actually buried at that place ; whether, 
 if so, it were carried off at night by those who 
 had buried it ; or whether it still remains there 
 under the guardianship of gnomes and spirits un- 
 til it shall be properly sought for, is all matter of 
 conjecture. For my part, I incline to the latter 
 opinion ; and make no doubt that great sums lie 
 buried, both there and in other parts of this isl- 
 and and its neighborhood, ever since the times 
 
524 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of the buccaneers and the Dutch colonists ; and I 
 would earnestly recommend the search after them 
 to such of my fellow-citizens as are not engaged 
 in any other speculations. 
 
 There were many conjectures formed, also, 
 as to who and what was the strange man of the 
 seas who had domineered over the little fraternity 
 at Corlaer's Hook for a time ; disappeared so 
 strangely, and reappeared so fearfully. Some 
 supposed him a smuggler stationed at that place 
 to assist his comrades in landing their goods 
 among the rocky coves of the island. Others, 
 that he was one of the ancient comrades of Kidd 
 or Bradish, returned to convey away treasures 
 formerly hidden in the vicinity. The only cir- 
 cumstance that throws anything like a vague light 
 on this mysterious matter, is a report which pre- 
 vailed of a strange foreign - built shallop, with 
 much the look of a picaroon, having been seen 
 hovering about the Sound for several days with- 
 out landing or reporting herself, though boats 
 were seen going to and from her at night : and 
 that she was seen standing out of the mouth of 
 the harbor, in the gray of the dawn, after the 
 catastrophe of the money-diggers. 
 
 I must not omit to mention another report, 
 also, which I confess is i-ather apocryphal, of the 
 buccaneer, who was supposed to liave been 
 drowned, being seen before daybreak, with a lan- 
 tern in his hand, seated astride of his great sea- 
 chest, and sailing through Hell-gate, which just 
 then began to roar and bellow with redoubled 
 fury. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 525 
 
 While all the gossip world was thus filled 
 with talk and rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and 
 sorrowfully in his bed, bruised in body and sorely 
 beaten down in mind. His wife and daughter 
 did all they could to bind up his wounds, both cor- 
 poral and spiritual. The good old dame never 
 stirred from his bedside, where she sat knitting 
 from morning till night ; while his daughter busied 
 herself about him with the fondest care. Nor 
 did they lack assistance from abroad. Whatever 
 may be said of the desertion of friends in distress, 
 they had no complaint of the kind to make. Not 
 an old wife of the neighborhood but abandoned 
 her work to crowd to the mansion of Wolfert Web- 
 ber, to inquire after his health, and the particu- 
 lars of his story. Not one came moreover with- 
 out her little pipkin of pennyroyal, sage, balm, 
 or other herb tea, delighted at an opportunity 
 of signalizing her kindness and her doctorship. 
 What drenchings did not the poor Wolfert un- 
 dergo, and all in vain ! It was a moving sight 
 to behold him wasting away day by day ; grow- 
 ing thinner and thinner, and ghastlier and ghast- 
 lier, and staring with rueful visage from under 
 an old patchwork counterpane, upon the jury of 
 matrons kindly assembled to sigh and groan and 
 look unhappy around him. 
 
 Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed 
 to shed a ray of sunshine into this house of 
 mourning. He came in with cheery look and 
 manly spirit, and tried to reanimate the expiring 
 heart of the poor money-digger, but it was all 
 in vain. Wolfert was completely done over. If 
 
626 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 anything was wanting to complete his despair, it 
 was a notice served upon him in the midst of his 
 distress, that the corporation were about to run 
 a new street through the very centre of his cab- 
 bage-garden. He now saw nothing before him 
 but poverty and ruin ; his last reliance, the gar- 
 den of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and 
 what then was to become of his poor wife and 
 child ? 
 
 His eyes filled with tears as they followed the 
 dutiful Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk 
 Waldron was seated beside him ; Wolfert grasped 
 his hand, pointed after his daughter, and for the 
 first time since his illness, broke the silence he 
 had maintained. 
 
 " I am going ! " said he, shaking his head 
 feebly, " and when I am gone — my poor daugh- 
 ter" 
 
 " Leave her to me, father ! " said Dirk, man- 
 fully, — " I '11 take care of her ! " 
 
 Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, 
 strapping youngster, and saw there was none bet- 
 ter able to take care of a woman. 
 
 " Enough," said he, — " she is yours ! — and 
 now fetch me a lawyer — let me make my will 
 and die." 
 
 The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, 
 round-headed little man, Roorback (or Rollebuck 
 as it was pronounced) by name. At the sight 
 of him the women broke into loud lamentations, 
 for they looked upon the signing of a will as the 
 signing of a death - warrant. Wolfert made a 
 feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 527 
 
 buried her face and her grief in the bed-curtain. 
 Dame Webbr '^sumed her knitting to hide her 
 distress, whi. oetrayed itself however in a pel- 
 lucid tear, which trickled silently down, and hung 
 at the end of her peaked nose ; while the cat, the 
 only unconcerned member of the family, played 
 with the good dame's ball of worsted, as it rolled 
 about the floor. 
 
 Wolfert lay on his back, his night-cap drawn 
 over . his forehead ; his eyes closed ; his whole 
 visage the picture of death. He begged the law- 
 yer to be brief, for he felt his end approaching, 
 and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer 
 nibbed his pen, spread out his paper, and pre- 
 pared to write. 
 
 " I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly, 
 " my small farm " 
 
 " What — all ! " exclaimed the lawyer. 
 
 Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon 
 the lawyer. 
 
 " Yes — all," said he. 
 
 " What ! all that great patch of land with cab- 
 bages and sun-flowers, which the corporation is 
 just going to run a main street through ? " 
 
 " The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, 
 and sinking back upon his pillow. 
 
 " I wish him joy that inherits it ! " said the 
 little lawyer, chuckling, and rubbing his hands 
 involuntarily. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Wolfert, again 
 opening his eyes. 
 
 " That he '11 be one of the richest men in the 
 place ! " cried little RoUebuck. 
 
528 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back 
 from the threshold of existence : his eyes again 
 lighted up ; he raised himself in his bed, shoved 
 back his red worsted night-cap, and stared broadly 
 at the lawyer. 
 
 " You don't say so ! " exclaimed he. 
 
 " Faith, but I do I " rejoined the other. — 
 " Why, when that great field and that huge 
 meadow come to be laid out in streets, and cut 
 up into snug building-lots — why, whoever owns 
 it need not pull off his hat to the patroon ! " 
 
 " Say you so ? " cried Wolfert, half thrusting 
 one leg out of bed, " why, then I think I '11 not 
 make my will yet ! " 
 
 To the surprise of everybody the dying man 
 actually recovered. The vital spark, which had 
 glimmered faintly in the socket, received fresh 
 fuel from the oil of gladness, which the little law- 
 yer poured into his soul. It once more burnt up 
 into a flame. 
 
 Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive 
 the body of a spirit-broken man ! In a few days 
 Wolfert left his room ; in a few days more his 
 table was covered with deeds, plans of streets, 
 and building - lots. Little RoUebuck was con- 
 stantly with him, his right-hand man and adviser ; 
 and instead of making his will, assisted in the 
 more atjreeable task of makino; his fortune. In 
 fact Wolfert Webber was one of those worthy 
 Dutch burghers of the Manhattoes whose fortunes 
 have been made, in a manner, in spite of them- 
 selves ; who have tenaciously held on to their 
 hereditary acres, raising tm^nips and cabbages 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 529 
 
 about the skirts of the city, hardly able to make 
 both ends meet, until the corporation has cruelly 
 driven streets through their abodes, and they have 
 suddenly awakened out of their lethargy, and, to 
 their astonishment, found themselves rich men. 
 
 Before many months had elapsed, a great bus- 
 tling street passed through the very centre of the 
 Webber garden, just where Wolfert had dreamed 
 of finding a treasure. His golden dream was 
 accomplished ; he did indeed find an unlooked- 
 for source of v^ealth ; for, when his paternal lands 
 were distributed into building-lots, and rented out 
 to safe tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop 
 of cabbages, they returned him an abundant crop 
 of rent ; insomuch that on quarter-day it was a 
 goodly sight to see his tenants knocking at the 
 door, from morning till night, each with a little 
 round-bellied bag of money, a golden produce of 
 the soil. 
 
 The ancient mansion of his forefathers was 
 still kept up ; but instead of being a little yellow- 
 fronted Dutch house in a garden, it now stood 
 boldly in the midst of a street, the grand home 
 of the neighborhood ; for Wolfert enlarged it 
 with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea-room 
 on top, where he might climb up and smoke his 
 pipe in hot weather ; and in the course of time 
 the whole mansion was overrun by the chubby- 
 faced progeny of Amy Webber and Dirk Wal- 
 dron. 
 
 As Wolfert waxed old, and rich, and corpulent, 
 he also set up a great gingerbread-colored car- 
 riage, drawn by a pair of black Flanders mares, 
 34 
 
530 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 with tails that swept the ground; and to com- 
 memorate the origin of his greatness, he had for 
 his crest a full - blown cabbage painted on the 
 pannels, with the pithy motto ^ll^S tiOpf^ that 
 is to say, all head ; meaning thereby that he 
 had risen by sheer head-work. 
 
 To fill the measure o£ his greatness, in the ful- 
 ness of time the renowned E-amm Rapelye slept 
 with his fathers, and Wolfert Webber succeeded 
 to the leather - bottomed arm - chair, in the inn- 
 parlor at Corlaer's Hook ; where he long reigned 
 greatly honored and respected, insomuch that he 
 was never known to tell a story without its being 
 believed, nor to utter a joke without its being 
 laughed at. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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