Class JPlT'._J^t£ S' 
 Book ' rfT 
 
ip 
 
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 CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction v 
 
 How I Killed a Bear . . . Charles Dudley Warner 1 
 Camping Out Charles Dudley Warner 13 
 
 Goliath Thomas Bailey Aldrich 29 
 
 (From Two Bites at a Cherry) 
 
 Mr. Higginbotham's Catas- 
 trophe Nathaniel Hawthorne . 45 
 
 The Whistle Benjamin Franklin . . 64 
 
 Franklin's Boyhood .... Benjamin Franklin . . 66 
 
 The Christmas Dinner . . Washington Irving . . 82 
 (From The Sketch Book) 
 
 The Belated Travellers . . Washington Irving . . 99 
 (From Tales of a Traveller) 
 
 The House at Walden . . Henry D. Thoreau . . 121 
 (From Walden) 
 
 Neighbors of the Wilderness Henry D. Thoreau . . 130 
 (From Walden) 
 
 EosY Balm Alice Brown .... 144 
 
 (From The County Road) 
 
 The Ogillallah Village . . Francis Parkman . . 164 
 (From The Oregon Trail) 
 
 A White Heron Sarah Orne Jewett . . 187 
 
 Canoeing Robert Louis Stevenson . 204 
 
 (From An Inland Voyage) 
 
 The Archery Contest . . . Walter Scott .... 214 
 (From Ivanhoe^ 
 
iv CONTENTS 
 
 The Tournament Walter Scott .... 225 
 
 (From Ivanhoe) 
 
 A Young Marsh Hawk . . John Burroughs . . . 244: 
 (From Riverby) 
 
 The Purloined Letter . . Edgar Allan Poe . . 255 
 
 Letters : 
 
 Charles Lamb Introduces a Friend 281 
 
 Stevenson Writes to a Child 281 
 
 President Lincoln Acknowledges His Error to 
 General Grant 284 
 
 Washington Irving Writes of His Visit to Sir 
 Walter Scott 285 
 
 Hawthorne Writbs of His Life at Brook Farm . 286 
 
INTKODUCTION 
 
 It has long been recognized that the three important 
 aims in the teaching of English in secondary schools 
 are (1) " to enable the pupil to understand ^^ 
 
 the expressed thoughts of others " ; (2) to Teaching 
 enable him "to give expression to thoughts ^"^usii 
 of his own " ; (3) " to cultivate a taste for reading, to 
 give the pupil some acquaintance with good literature, 
 and to furnish him the means of extending that ac- 
 quaintance." ^ In order to accomplish these purposes 
 the secondary-school course in English has now gen- 
 erally been arranged to include the careful study in 
 class of a number of pieces of literature, the theory 
 and the practice of composition, and the reading of 
 considerable literature outside of the classroom. Not 
 infrequently these three elements have been considered 
 as separate and distinct subjects, and have been so 
 separated from one another in the course of study that 
 there has been little or no relation between them. 
 Under other conditions their mutual dependence has 
 been recognized, but the difficulties in the way of pro- 
 viding an effective means of correlation between them 
 have seemed so great that no vital relation has been 
 established in actual teaching. 
 
 That a close correlation between the study of litera- 
 ture in the classroom, the reading outside of class, and 
 the instruction in the principles of composi- ugi^y^^ ^j 
 tion with practice in writing, is desirable, Different 
 cannot be denied. The study of the thoughts 
 
 1 Report of Committee on Secondary School Studies (The Commit- 
 ^ tee of Ten), Washington, 1893. 
 
 ^ 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 of others as expressed in literature, if rightly done, 
 should lead the pupil to see how to express his own 
 thoughts more effectively in his composition work. All 
 study of good literature should result in a keener ap- 
 preciation of what is best in expression, and all read- 
 ing of good literature should tend to develop a taste 
 for reading. It therefore remains to develop methods 
 for bringing about a close and effective correlation be- 
 tween the several phases of the English work, in order 
 to accomplish the aims outlined for the high school 
 course. 
 
 In preparing this book, the purpose has been to fur- 
 nish material and suggestions by which the teacher can 
 Aim of the correlate successfully the reading and the 
 °^^ study of literature with the work in compo- 
 
 sition. The basis of the book, as the title indicates, is 
 the selections from literature for careful reading and 
 study. The material has been chosen with a view to 
 the fact that it is to serve as an introduction to the 
 reading and the study of literature. 
 
 In beginning the study of literature it is necessary 
 to interest the pupils in good reading. In order to do 
 Kind of *^^^' *^® subject matter of the selections must 
 Reading be interesting and the material must not be 
 so difficult that it discourages the pupils or makes the 
 reading too great a task. The piece of literature must 
 not be so long that the interest flags or that the pupil 
 cannot grasp it in its entirety and study it as a unit. 
 Prose narrative and descriptive sketches, short stories, 
 and tales seem to combine most of the desired elements 
 both for an introduction to the study of literature and 
 for the close correlation of composition and reading. 
 
 The advantages of studying prose literature for the 
 first years of the secondary school course rather than 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 poetry or the poetical drama are important ones. First, 
 the training in grasping the expressed thoughts of 
 others as they appear in the simplest logical ^w study 
 order, which, of course, is that of prose Prose? 
 rather than of poetry, is one of the essential elements 
 of the first year's work. Second, poetic inversions and 
 figurative expressions add so much to the pupil's diffi- 
 culties in understanding what he reads that at the be- 
 ginning of the course it makes too great a task of what 
 should be a source of interest and pleasure. To pass 
 over these difficulties and emphasize only the story or 
 description in the study of poetry is to encourage the 
 bad habit of careless, inaccurate reading. If the pupil 
 is taught to understand fully the prose that he studies 
 in the first years of the course, he will be able to read 
 poetry with less effort and more interest in the later 
 years of his high school English. Third, short stories 
 and sketches are the most simple and natural material 
 with which to begin the study of literature, because 
 they interest the average pupil and arouse in him a 
 desire to read more. Fourth, simple narrative and de- 
 scriptive prose makes possible a closer and more effec- 
 tive correlation between the reading and the composi- 
 tion, since these forms of literature are of the same 
 kind as the themes which the pupils are able to write 
 most successfully during their first years of practice in 
 composition. 
 
 The first aim in the reading of literature must always 
 be to have the pupil understand the thought expressed 
 in the printed page. In order to accomplish pirst^jm 
 this, the pupil must be taught to get each inReaaing 
 idea as it is presented ; to combine these ideas to get 
 the thought of the sentence; and to follow the thought 
 from sentence to sentence until he grasps the meaning 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 of the paragraph, sketch, or story as a whole. The only 
 way to teach him to grasp the author's thought is 
 to have understood each unit of expression of that 
 thought. The meanings of words, figures of speech, 
 allusions, etc., as expressions of the idea must be 
 clearly understood. Pupils should be taught the intel- 
 ligent use of the dictionary and of books of reference 
 at the beginning of the course. In order to encourage 
 them to use reference books, the notes on each selection 
 consist of only such information as cannot readily be 
 obtained by the pupils themselves from the books usu- 
 ally found in the average high school library. 
 
 The teacher must also make sure that the pupils get 
 a clear conception of the thought expressed in each 
 sentence, and of the topic, with its develop- 
 Grasp^Jtiie ment, in the paragraph. Various methods 
 Thought j^g^y ^Q used to accomplish these ends. In 
 narrative sketches, the retelling of the story paragraph 
 by paragraph will lead the pupils to get the details of 
 the narrative in logical groups. In description, the 
 pupils should be encouraged to visualize the scene, ob- 
 ject, or person portrayed, and often to make sketches 
 on the blackboard to show clearly the position of the 
 details presented. Such devices tend to emphasize con- 
 stantly to the pupils the importance of reading care- 
 fully and accurately in order to get the whole thought 
 of the author. 
 
 The teacher's methods of testing the extent to which 
 the pupils, in preparing an assignment in reading, 
 have grasped the author's thought, are of 
 Test Pupils' great importance. From the beginning, the 
 Grasp pupils should be made to realize that they 
 
 must prepare their lessons in literature with as much 
 care as they do those in other studies. Furthermore, 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 the metliods of the teacher in the classroom must be 
 such as to demand this careful preparation. Pupils 
 should not be permitted to get the answers to the 
 teacher's questions from the books lying open before 
 them. If an assignment in literature has been studied 
 as carefully as it should be, the pupils should be able 
 to answer practically any question on the subject mat- 
 ter or expression of the thought without consulting the 
 book. In fact, recitations on the assignment in litera- 
 ture should frequently be conducted with closed books. 
 It is only in this way that the teacher can really deter- 
 mine how fully and accurately the pupils have grasped 
 and assimilated the author's ideas. 
 
 As the study of literature is different from that of 
 the other subjects of the high school course, much at- 
 tention must be ffiven by the teacher to show- „ ^ 
 
 o J ^ Teach 
 
 ing the pupils how to read and study litera- Pupils to 
 ture. In assigning a lesson in reading, the ^ ^ 
 teacher should indicate clearly to the pupils what is to 
 be done in preparing the lesson, and, to some extent 
 at least, how it is to be done. The failure of the pupils 
 to understand what is desired of them is the cause of % 
 many a poorly prepared recitation in English. 
 
 In the first years of the course, the teacher, in assign- 
 ing the lesson, should put on the blackboard a series 
 of questions or suggestions, so that the pupils may have 
 a number of definite points to consider in studying the 
 lesson assigned. The suggestions for study which are 
 given immediately after each selection in this book are 
 designed to indicate to the teacher the character and the 
 scope of such questions. They are not intended to be 
 sufficient in number for every lesson assigned in the 
 study of the selection. They are designed rather to be 
 general in character, and thus to furnish suggestions 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 which the teacher can amplify by the more specific 
 questions necessary to bring out all the details to be 
 considered in the recitation. 
 
 The other purpose of the reading is to 'stimulate the 
 pupil's interest in good literature and to lead him to 
 
 read, on his own initiative, what is worth 
 Interest In tp • • i i i i • 
 
 Outside while. If mterest is aroused by the study in 
 Reading ^j^^^ ^£ ^^^ ^ork of an author or of one type 
 
 of writing, it is easy to create a desire to read outside 
 of class other works of the same author or other pieces 
 of literature of the same kind. In order to assist the 
 teacher in directing the outside reading of the pupils, 
 a list of the author's other works and of books of a 
 similar character is given for each selection in this 
 book. Various methods can be used by the teacher to 
 interest the pupils in this outside reading. Every effort 
 should be made to encourage the pupils to read as 
 many books on these lists as their time permits. If the 
 pupils are required to read a certain number of these 
 books, precaution must be taken against making the 
 outside reading a formal task rather than a pleasure. 
 The pupils' interest in the books may be aroused in 
 several ways. By reading aloud to the class a chapter 
 or two of the book, the teacher may lead many of the 
 pupils to read the whole book. By referring in class 
 work to characters, plots, and other details of the books 
 on the reading list or by quoting from them, the 
 teacher will often stimulate the pupils' curiosity, and 
 create a desire to read the books. By considering the 
 tastes and the needs of the individual pupils, the 
 teacher can suggest to each the books most likely to 
 be of interest and value. To create and develop the 
 desire for good literature outside of the classroom is 
 one of the greatest privileges of the teacher of English. 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 The principles of composition can be developed in- 
 ductively from the literature read and studied in class. 
 
 Durino: the first years of the course, when ,, 
 
 . , ... • . 1 Literature 
 
 particular attention is given to the principles and the 
 
 J. , 1 ^ J. j_- • Principles 
 
 or sentence and paragraph construction m ofOomposi- 
 the^composition work, these principles can be *^°^ 
 developed and their application illustrated from the 
 selections. In order to get the thought clearly from 
 the printed page it is necessary, as has been pointed 
 out, to study with some degree of care the sentence and 
 paragraph structure. By noting the separate ideas as 
 expressed by words, phrases, and clauses, and by de- 
 termining their relation in the sentence as the expres- 
 sion of the thought, the pupil learns the principles of 
 sentence unity and sentence coherence. If his attention 
 is properly drawn to these principles as they are ex- 
 emplified in the literature before him, the application 
 of them may be clearly demonstrated without spoiling 
 the piece of literature. 
 
 To follow the chain of thought in the paragraph, it 
 is necessary to see clearly the relation of each thought 
 as expressed in the sentence to the preceding and the 
 succeeding thoughts, in order that the development of 
 the topic may be clear, and that the pupil may grasp 
 the subject in its entirety. In teaching the pupil to get 
 the whole thought of the paragraph, it is necessary to 
 consider the topic developed in the paragraph ; that is, 
 to study the unity of the paragraph ; and also to con- 
 sider the relation of each thought to the one central 
 topic ; that is, the principle of paragraph coherence. 
 Thus, in the effort to teach the pupils how to get the 
 thoughts of others by reading, the essential principles 
 of composition are absolutely necessary. In a similar 
 manner the principles of narration and description may 
 
xii INTKODUCTION 
 
 be developed inductively from the literature. By see- 
 ing the application of rhetorical principles in litera- 
 ture, the pupil comes to realize their importance in 
 effective writing, and is impressed by the varied forms 
 of their application as he is not likely to be by exam- 
 ples isolated from their context, in textbooks. 
 
 Since it is by constant practice that the average 
 pupil learns to write clearly and accurately, the essen- 
 tial part of the composition work is not the 
 and Theme- study of the principles of composition, but 
 Writing rather the writing of themes. Close correla- 
 tion can be developed between the theme-writing and 
 the study of literature. Besides exemplifying the prin- 
 ciples of sentence and paragraph as well as the princi- 
 ples of narration and description, the literature can be 
 used to show the pupil how to write themes on similar 
 subjects taken from his own experience. In order to 
 indicate how the selections may serve to guide the 
 pupil in choosing a subject as well as in planning and 
 writing his theme, a number of theme subjects and 
 suggestions for developing them have been given after 
 each selection. 
 
 From the lists of subjects given, teachers and pupils 
 can select those best adapted to their needs, or can 
 readily supplement those suggested with 
 Theme others of a similar kind particularly related to 
 Subiects Iqq^i interests. To secure additional good 
 theme subjects, the teacher must familiarize himself 
 with local conditions, especially as they affect the life 
 and interests of the pupils. In general the theme sub- 
 jects should not be based on the subject matter of the 
 literature, but should be taken from the pupils' own 
 experiences, and especially from experiences that have 
 something in common with those presented in the selec- 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 tions studied. The possibility of writing interesting 
 themes on every-day incidents in the lives of the pupils 
 is indicated by the list of subjects given. After the 
 pupils come to see the inexhaustible supply of material 
 which their own experiences afford, it will be easy for 
 them to find their own subjects. 
 
 How the literature may be made to serve as a model 
 in one respect or another for the pupils' themes, is 
 shown to some extent by the suggestions for Literature 
 theme- writing. Only one or two subjects *3^™^°*i®i 
 have been developed in these suggestions to indicate 
 the method to be employed by the teacher. In assign- 
 ing a subject or several subjects for themes, the teacher 
 can be of much assistance to the pupils by discussing 
 with them the subjects upon which they are to write. 
 These discussions should aim to connect the theme sub- 
 jects with the literary models studied, and thus lead 
 the pupils to consider the best method of treating the 
 subject. Interest in the subject will also be stimulated 
 by this means, and a desire on the part of the pupils 
 to write upon it will be aroused. 
 
 That clear, logical thinking is prerequisite for clear 
 expression should be constantly emphasized in teach- 
 ing composition. Much of the work of get- clear 
 ting the pupils to express their thoughts ^^^t^e"^ 
 clearly and accurately is really concerned Outline 
 with teaching them how to think clearly and logically. 
 For this purpose an outline is frequently of great value. 
 Here again the literature can be used to advantage. 
 An outline of a paragraph or of several paragraphs 
 analyzed in connection with the reading will make 
 clear the method of arranging the details in an orderly 
 form. A similar outline of a theme on a related sub- 
 ject, made in class by the cooperation of teacher and 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 pupils, will indicate the method of grouping and ar- 
 ranging thoughts in a logical manner. Like all formal 
 devices, the outline, if made mechanically, will tend to 
 curb the spontaneous expression of the pupils; but 
 rightly employed by teachers and pupils, it will readily 
 become a valuable aid to clear thinking and expression. 
 If the relation of the generally accepted aims in the 
 study of English to the plan and methods suggested 
 
 „„ ,, in this book have been made clear, it is evi- 
 Effective oc > i • <• 
 
 Correlation dent that a close, effective correlation of all 
 
 the important phases of the secondary school 
 course in English is both possible and desirable. The 
 methods suggested are not based upon theories, but 
 have been successfully carried out in a number of high 
 schools. Although the suggestions for study and out- 
 side reading, and the suggestions for subjects for 
 theme-writing are sufficient under ordinary conditions, 
 they were not intended to be comprehensive or final, 
 but rather, as their name implies, suggestive both to 
 teacher and pupils, who, it is hoped, will amplify and 
 develop them to meet their own needs and conditions. 
 
PROSE LITERATURE 
 FOR SECONDARY SCHOOLS 
 
 HOW I KILLED A BEAR 
 
 CHARLES DUDLEY WAKNER 
 
 So many conflicting accounts have appeared about 
 
 my casual encounter with an Adirondack bear last 
 
 summer, that in justice to the public, to myself, and 
 
 J to the bear, it is necessary to make a plain statement 
 
 V;of the facts. Besides, it is so seldom I have occasion 
 
 ' to kill a bear, that the celebration of the exploit may 
 
 be excused. ■■■■ i v >|i y 
 
 The encounter was unpremeditated on both sides. 
 . I was not hunting for a bear, and I have no reason to 
 suppose that a bear was looking for me. The fact is, 
 that we were both out blackberrying, and met by 
 chance, — the usual way. There is among the Adiron- 
 dack visitors always a great deal of conversation about 
 bears, — a general expression of the wish to see one 
 in the woods, and much speculation as to how a person 
 would act if he or she chanced to meet one. But bears 
 are scarce and timid, and appear only to a favored 
 few. 
 
 It was a warm day in August, just the sort of day 
 when an adventure of any kind seemed impossible. 
 But it occurred to the housekeepers at our cottage — 
 there were four of them — to send me to the clearing, 
 on the mountain back of the house, to pick blackber- 
 ries. It was rather a series of small clearings, run« 
 
2 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 ning up into the forest, much overgrown with bushes 
 and briers, and not unromantic. Cows pastured there, 
 penetrating through the leafy passages from one open- 
 - ing to another, and browsing among the bushes. I 
 was kindly furnished with a six-quart pail, and told 
 not to be gone long. 
 
 Not from any predatory instinct, but to save appear- 
 ances, I took a gun. It adds to the manly aspect of a 
 person with a tin pail if he also carries a gun. It was 
 possible I might start up a partridge ; though how I 
 was to hit him, if he started up instead of standing 
 still, puzzled me. Many people use a shot-gun for 
 partridges. I prefer the rifle: it makes a clean job of 
 death, and does not prematurely stuff the bird with 
 globules of lead. The rifle was a Sharp's, carrying a 
 ball cartridge (ten to the pound), — an excellent wea- 
 ppn. belonging ^o a friend of mine, who had intended, 
 for a good muny years backT'lJS^ kiU a-^^ier with it."* He J 
 could hit a tree with it — if the wind did not blow,^^i 
 and the atmosphere was just ri^ht, and the tree w^s^ 
 not too far off — nearly every time. Of course, the 
 tree must have some size. Needless to say that I was 
 at that time no sportsman. Years ago I killed a robin 
 under the most humiliatinpr circumstances. The bird 
 was in a low cherry-tree. I loaded a big shot-gun 
 pretty full, crept up under the tree, rested the gun on 
 the fence, with the muzzle more than ten feet from 
 the bird, shut both eyes, and pulled the trigger. 
 When I got up to see what had happened, the robin 
 was scattered about under the tree in more than a 
 thousand pieces, no one of which was big enough to 
 enable a naturalist to decide from it to what species it 
 belonged. This disgusted me with the life of a sports- 
 man. I mention the incident to show that, although 
 
HOW I KILLED A BEAR 3 
 
 I went blackberrying armed, there was not much in- 
 equality between me and the bear. 
 
 In this blackberry-patch bears had been seen. The 
 summer before, our colored cook, accompanied by a 
 little girl of the vicinage^ was picking berries there 
 one day, when a bear came out of the woods, and 
 walked towards them. The girl took to her heels, and 
 escaped. Aunt Chloe was paralyzed with terror. In- 
 stead of attempting to run, she sat down on the 
 ground where she was standing, and began to weep 
 and scream, giving herself up for lost. The bear was 
 bewildered by this conduct. He approached and 
 looked at her; he walked around and surveyed her. 
 Probably he had never seen a colored person before, 
 and did not know whether she would agree with him : 
 at any rate, after watching her a few moments, he 
 turned about, and went into the forest. This is an 
 authentic instance of the delicate consideration of a 
 Bear, and is much more remarkable than the forbear- 
 ance towards the African slave of the well-known lion, 
 because the bear had no thorn in his foot. 
 
 When I had climbed the hill, I set up my rifle 
 against a tree, and began picking berries, lured on 
 from bush to bush by the black gleam of fruit (that 
 always promises more in the distance than it realizes 
 when you reach it) ; penetrating farther and farther, 
 through leaf-shaded cow-paths flecked with sunlight, 
 into clearing after clearing. I could hear on all sides 
 the tinkle of bells, the cracking of sticks, and the 
 stamping of cattle that were taking refuge in the 
 thicket from the flies. Occasionally, as I broke through 
 a coyext, I encountered a meek cow, who stared at me 
 stupidly for a second, and then shambled off into the 
 brush. I became accustomed to this dumb society, and 
 
4 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 picked on in silence, attributing all the wood noises 
 to the cattle, thinking nothing of any real bear. In 
 point of fact, however, I was thinking all the time of 
 a nice romantic bear, and, as I picked, was composing 
 a story about a 2:eiierous she-bear who had lost her 
 cub, and who seized a small girl in this very wood, 
 carried her tenderly off to a cave, and brought her up 
 on bear's milk and honey. When the girl got big 
 enough to run away, moved by her inherited instincts, 
 she escaped, and came into the valley to her father's 
 house (this part of the story was to be worked out, so 
 that the child would know her father by some family 
 resemblance, and have some language in which to ad- 
 dress him), and told him where the bear lived. The 
 father took his gun, and, guided by the unfeeling 
 daughter, went into the woods and shot the bear, who 
 never made any resistance, and only, when dying, 
 turned reproachful eyes upon her murderer. The 
 moral of the tale was to be kindness to animals. 
 
 I was in the midst of this tale, when I happened to 
 look some rods away to the other edge of the clearing, 
 and there was a bear! 'He was standing on his hind- 
 legs, and doing just what I was doing, — picking 
 blackberries. With one paw he bent down the bush, 
 while with the other he clawed the berries into his 
 mouth, — green ones and all. To say that I was as- 
 tonished is inside the mark. I suddenly discovered 
 that I did n't want to see a bear, after all. At about 
 the same moment the bear saw me, stopped eating 
 berries, and regarded me with a glad surprise. It is 
 all very well to imagine what you would do under such 
 circumstances. Probably you would n't do it : I did n't. 
 The bear dropped (down on his fore-feet, and came 
 slowly towards me. -Climbing a tree was of no use. 
 
 
 
HOW I KILLED A BEAR 5 
 
 with so good a climber in the rear. If I started to 
 
 \ run, I had no doubt the bear would give chase ; and 
 
 althouo:h a bear cannot run down hill as fast as he 
 
 can run up hill, yet I felt that he could get over this 
 
 yough, brush-tangled ground faster than I could. 
 
 The bear was approaching. It suddenly occurred to 
 me how I could divert his mind until I could fall back 
 upon my military base. My pail was nearly full of 
 excellent berries, — much better than the bear could 
 pick himself. I put the pail on the ground, and slowly 
 backed away from it, keeping my eye, as beast-tamers 
 do, on the bear. The ruse succeeded. 
 
 The bear came up fo the berries, and stopped. Not 
 accustomed to eat out of a pail, he tipped it over, and 
 nosed about in the fruit, " gorming " (if there is such 
 a word) it down, mixed with leaves and dirt, like a 
 pig. The bear is a worse feeder than the pig. When- 
 ever he disturbs a maple-sugar camp in the spring, he 
 always upsets the buckets of syrup, and tramples 
 round in the sticky sweets, wasting more than he eats. 
 The bear's manners are thoroughly disagreeable. 
 
 As soon as my enemy's head was down, I started 
 and ran. Somewhat out of breath, and shaky, I reached 
 my faithful rifle. It was not a moment too soon. I 
 heard the bear crashing through the brush after me. 
 Enraged at my^ duplicity, he was now coming on with 
 blood in his eyeTTt felt that the time of one of us was 
 probably short. The rapidity of thought at such mo- 
 ments of peril is well known. I thought an .octavo 
 volume, had it illustrated and published, sold fifty 
 thousand copies, and went to Europe on the proceeds, 
 while that bear was loping across the clearing. As I 
 was cocking the gun, I made a hasty and unsatisfac- 
 tory review of my whole life. I noted that, even in 
 
6 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 such a compulsory review, it is almost impossible to 
 think of any good thing you have done. The sins come 
 out uncommonly strong. I recollected a newspaper 
 subscription I had delayed paying years and years ago, 
 until both editor and newspaper were dead, and which 
 now never could be paid to all eternity. 
 
 .The bear was coming on. 
 
 \1 tried to remember what I had read about encoun- 
 ter^ with bears. I could n't recall an instance in which 
 a man had run away from a bear in the woods and 
 escaped, although I recalled plenty where the bear had 
 run from the man and got off. I tried to think what 
 is the best way to kill a bear with a gun, when you 
 are not near enough to club him with the stock. My 
 first thought was to fire at his head ; to plant the ball 
 between his eyes ; but this is a dangerous experiment. 
 The bear's brain is very small ; and unless you hit 
 that, the bear does not mind a bullet in his head ; that 
 is, not at the time. I remembered that the instant 
 death of the bear would follow a bullet planted just 
 back of his fore-leg, and sent into his heart. This 
 spot is also difficult to reach, unless the bear stands 
 off, side towards you, like a target. I finally deter- 
 mined to fire at him generally. 
 
 The bear was coming on. 
 
 The contest seemed to me very different from any- 
 thing at Creedmoor. I had carefully read the reports 
 of the shooting there ; but it was not easy to apply 
 the experience I had thus acquired. I hesitated whether 
 I had better fire lying on my stomach ; or lying on my 
 back, and resting the gun on my toes. But in neither 
 position, I reflected, could I see the bear until he 
 was upon me. The range was too short; and the bear 
 would n't wait for me to examine the thermometer 
 
HOW I KILLED A BEAR 7 
 
 and note the direction of the wind. Trial of the Creed- 
 moor method, therefore, had to be abandoned ; and I 
 bitterly regretted that I had not read more accounts 
 of offhand shooting. 
 
 For the bear was coming on. 
 
 I tried to fix my last thoughts upon my family. As 
 my family is small, this was not difficult. Dread of 
 displeasing my wife, or hurting her feelings, was up- 
 permost in my mind. What would be her anxiety as 
 hour after hour passed on, and I did not return! 
 What would the rest of the household think as the 
 afternoon passed, and no blackberries came ! What 
 would be my wife's mortification when the news was 
 brought that her huslSand had been eaten by a bear ! 
 I cannot imagine anything more ignominious than to 
 have a husband eaten by a bear. And this was not 
 my only anxiety. The mind at such times is not 
 under contrSET^W ith the gravest fears the most whim- 
 sical ideas will occur. I looked beyond the mourning 
 frien'ds, and. thought what kind of an epitaph they 
 would be compelled to put upon the stone. Some- 
 thing like this : — 
 
 HERE LIE THE REMAINS 
 OF 
 
 EATEN BY A BEAR 
 
 Aug. 20, 1877. 
 
 It is a very unheroic and even disagreeably epitaph. 
 That " eaten by a bear " is intolerable. It is gro- 
 tesque. And then I thought what an Jnade^uate lan- 
 guage the English is for compact expression. It would 
 not answer to put upon the stone simply " eaten " ; for 
 that is indefinite, and requires explanation : it might 
 
8 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 mean eaten by a cannibal. This difficulty could not 
 occur in the German, where essen signifies the act of 
 feeding by a man, sindjr essen by a beast. How sim- 
 ple the thing would be in German ! — 
 
 HIEK LIEGT 
 HOCHWOHLGEBOREN 
 
 GEFRESSEN 
 
 Aug. 20, 1877. 
 
 That explains itself. The well-born one was eaten 
 by a beast, and presumably by a bear, — an animal 
 that has a bad reputation since the days of Elisha. 
 
 The bear was coming on ; he had, in fact, come on. 
 I judged that he could see the whites of my eyes. All 
 my subsequent reflections were confused. I raised 
 the gun, covered the bear's breast with the sight, and 
 let drive. Then I turned, and ran like a deer. I 
 did not hear the bear pursuing. I looked back. The 
 bear had stopped. He was lying down. I then re- 
 membered that the best thing to do after having fired 
 your gun is to reload it. I slipped in a charge, keep- 
 ing my eyes on the bear. He never stirred. I walked 
 back suspiciously. There was a quiver in the hind- 
 legs, but no other motion. Still he might be sham- 
 ming ; bears often sham. To make sure, I approached, 
 and put a ball into his head. He did n't mind it now : 
 he minded nothing. Death had come to him with a 
 merciful suddenness. He was calm in death. In order 
 that he might remain so, I blew his brains out, and 
 then started for home. I had killed a bear ! 
 
 Notwithstanding my excitement, I managed to 
 saunter into the house with an unconcerned air. There 
 was a chorus of voices : — 
 
HOW I KILLED A BEAR 9 
 
 " Where are your blackberries ? " 
 
 " Why were you gone so long ? " 
 
 " Where 's your pail ? " 
 
 " I left the pail." 
 
 " Left the pail ! What for ? " 
 
 " A bear wanted it." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! " 
 
 " Well, the last I saw of it, a bear had it." 
 
 " Oh, come ! You did n't really see a bear ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I did really see a real bear." 
 
 "Did he run?" 
 
 "Yes; he ran after me." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it. What did you do?" 
 
 " Oh I nothing particular — except kill the bear." 
 
 Cries of " Gammon I " " Don't believe it ! " " Where's 
 the bear?" 
 
 " If you want to see the bear, you must go up into 
 the woods. 1 could n't bring him down alone." 
 
 Having satisfied the household that something ex- 
 traordinary had occurred, and excited the posthumous 
 fear of some of them for my own safety, I went down 
 into the valley to get help. The great bear- hunter, 
 who keeps one of the summer boarding-houses, re- 
 ceived my story with a smile of incredulity ; and the 
 incredulity spread to the other inhaMtaiits and to the 
 boarders as soon as the story was known. However, 
 as I insisted in all soberness, and offered to lead them 
 to the bear, a party of forty or fifty people at last 
 started off with me to bring the bear in. Nobody be- 
 lieved there was any bear in the case ; but everybody 
 who could get a gun carried one ; and we went into 
 the woods armed with guns, pistols, pitchforks, and 
 sticks, against all contingencies or surprises, — a crowd 
 made up mostly o£ scoffers and jeerers. 
 
10 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 But wlien I led the way to the fatal spot, and 
 pointed out the bear, lying peacefully wrapped in his 
 own skin, something like terror seized the boarders, 
 and genuine excitement the natives. It was a no- 
 mistake bear, by George ! and the hero of the fight — 
 well, I will not insist upon that. But what a proces- 
 sion that was, carrying the bear home ! and what a 
 congregation was speedily gathered in the valley to 
 see the bear ! Our best preacher up there never drew 
 anything like it on Sunday. 
 
 And I must say that my particular friends, who 
 were sportsmen, behaved very well, on the whole. 
 They did n't deny that it was a bear, although they 
 said it was small for a bear. Mr. Deane, who is 
 equally good with a rifle and a rod, admitted that it 
 was a very fair shot. He is probably the best salmon- 
 fisher in the United States, and he is an equally good 
 hunter. I suppose there is no person in America who 
 is more desirous . to kill a moose than he. But he 
 needlessly remarked, after he had examined the wound 
 in the bear, that he had seen that kind of a shot made 
 by a cow's horn. 
 
 This sort of talk affected me not. When I went to 
 sleep that night, my last delicious thought was, " I 've 
 killed a bear ! " 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Creedinoor : — A village in Queen's County, New York, on 
 Long Island. The Rifle Range of the National Rifle Associa- 
 tion is situated here. 
 
 the African Slave : — Androclus, a Roman slave of the 
 first century after Christ, was condemned to be slain by wild 
 beasts ; but the lion that was sent into the arena refused to 
 attack him. This lion turned out to be the one from whose foot 
 Androclus had some time before, in the desert, extracted a 
 
HOW I KILLED A BEAR 11 
 
 large thorn. Thus the gratitude of this wild creature saVed the 
 life of the slave. 
 
 Elisha : — See the Bible : II Kings, 2 : 23, 24. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 When we begin to read a story, we desire to know who the 
 characters in the story are, when and where the incidents took 
 place, and under what circumstances and why they happened. 
 The author usually explains the situation at the beginning by 
 answering the questions : Who ? When ? Where? What ? and 
 Why? Note how this is done in the story " How I Killed a Bear." 
 
 Who tells the story ? Is anything gained by telling the 
 story in this way ? Does the story seem real ? Are you inter- 
 ested at the beginning of the story? Does your interest increase 
 as you read further ? Where is the most exciting part of the 
 story ? How does the author make it interesting ? What is the 
 purpose of repeating the sentence in a separate paragraph, 
 " The bear was coming on " ? Why does not the story end when 
 the bear has been killed ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 My First Shot at a Deer Following the Tracks in the 
 Alone in the Woods Snow 
 
 A Chance Shot Blueberrying 
 
 How I Was Frightened An Adventure in the Forest 
 
 A Rabbit Hunt When We Hunted Deer 
 
 When I Thought I Saw a Bear A Caged Bear 
 
 How We Caught the Wolf The Animals in the Zoo 
 An Adventure in Duck Shooting 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 How I Was Frightened : — Can you give the reader the 
 circumstances under which you were frightened, such as the time 
 and the place, and the number and character of your com- 
 panions, as Warner does in the third, fourth, and sixth para- 
 graphs of " How I Killed a Bear " ? By what means can you 
 arouse the reader's interest in your subject as Warner does in 
 the seventh paragraph ? Try to increase the reader's interest at 
 each step in your story. Note how Warner describes his fright 
 
12 
 
 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 and his thoughts as the bear approached. Try to make your 
 story equally exciting by telling what you thought and felt when 
 you were frightened. Decide what is the point of greatest ex- 
 citement in your adventure, and where this should be placed in 
 writing your theme. In a short theme recounting a simple ex- 
 perience such as you are telling, is it necessary to add anything 
 after the point of greatest interest is reached ? 
 
 My First Shot at a Deer : — Can you apply the same 
 method of story-telling suggested by the above questions, on the 
 subject " How I Was Frightened " ? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 In the Wilderness 
 
 Being a Boy 
 
 My Summer in a Garden .... 
 
 On Horseback 
 
 The Wilderness Hunter .... 
 
 Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail . 
 
 The Hunting Trips of a Ranchman . 
 
 Outdoor Pastimes of an American 
 Hunter (Chapter II, A Colorado 
 Bear Hunt; Chapter V, A Shot at 
 a Mountain Sheep) 
 
 The Biography of a Grizzly 
 
 Johnny Bear 
 
 The Trail of the Sandhill Stag 
 
 Lives of the Hunted . . 
 
 Following the Deer . . 
 
 True Bear Stories . . . 
 
 Adventures of a Siberian Cub 
 
 The Animal Story Book . 
 
 The Deerslayer .... 
 
 Kindred of the Wild . . 
 
 Wilderness Pets at Camp Buckshaw 
 
 Charles Dudley Warner 
 
 « 
 
 (( (( 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt 
 
 tt 
 
 ti 
 
 « 
 
 tt 
 
 Ernest Thompson Seton 
 
 W. J. Long 
 Joaquin Miller 
 L. Golschmann 
 Andrew Lang (Ed.) 
 James Fenimore Cooper 
 Charles G. D. Roberts 
 Edward Breck 
 
CAMPING OUT 
 
 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 It seems to be agreed that civilization is kept up 
 only by a constant effort. Nature claims its own speed- 
 ily when the effort is relaxed. If you clear a patch of 
 fertile ground in the forest, uproot the stumps and 
 plant it, year after year, in potatoes and maize, you 
 say you have subdued it. But if you leave it for a 
 season or two, a kind of barbarism seems to steal out 
 upon it from the circling woods; coarse grass and 
 brambles cover it; bushes spring up in a wild tangle; 
 the raspberry and the blackberry flower and fruit, and 
 the humorous bear feeds upon them. The last state of 
 the ground is worse than the first. 
 
 Perhaps the cleared spot is called Ephesus. There 
 is a splendid city on the plain; there are temples and 
 theatres on the hills ; the commerce of the world seeks 
 its port; the luxury of the Orient flows through its 
 marble streets. You are there one day when the sea 
 has receded: the plain is a pestilent marsh; the tem- 
 ples, the theatres, the lofty gates, have sunken and 
 crumbled, and the wild-brier runs over them; and, as 
 you grow pensive in the most desolate place in the 
 world, a bandit lounges out of a tomb, and offers to 
 relieve you of all that which creates artificial distinc- 
 tions in society. The higher the civilization has risen, 
 the more abject is the desolation of barbarism that 
 ensues. The most melancholy spot in the Adirondacks 
 is not a tamarack-swamp, where the traveller wades 
 in moss and mire, and the atmosphere is composed 
 
14 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 of equal active parts of black-flies, mosquitoes, and 
 midges. It is the village of the Adirondack Iron- 
 Works, where the streets of gaunt houses are falling 
 to pieces, tenantless; the factory wheels have stopped; 
 the furnaces are in ruins; the iron and wooden ma- 
 chinery is strewn about in helpless detachment; and 
 heaps of charcoal, ore, and slag proclaim an arrested 
 industry. Beside this deserted village, even Calamity 
 Pond, shallow, sedgy, with its ragged shores of stunted 
 firs, and its melancholy shaft that marks the spot 
 where the proprietor of the iron-works accidentally 
 shot himself, is cheerful. 
 
 The instinct of barbarism that leads people periodi- 
 cally to throw away the habits of civilization, and seek 
 the freedom and discomfort of the woods, is explicable 
 enough ; but it is not so easy to understand why this 
 passion should be strongest in those who are most re- 
 fined, and most trained in intellectual and social fas- 
 tidiousness. Philistinism and shoddy do not like the 
 woods, unless it becomes fashionable to do so; and 
 then, as speedily as possible they introduce their arti- 
 ficial luxuries, and reduce the life in the wilderness to 
 the vulgarity of a well-fed picnic. It is they who have 
 strewn the Adirondacks with paper collars and tin 
 cans. The real enjoyment of camping and tramping 
 in the woods lies in a return to primitive conditions of 
 lodging, dress, and food, in as total an escape as may 
 be from the requirements of civilization. And it re- 
 mains to be explained why this is enjoyed most by 
 those who are most highly civilized. It is wonderful 
 to see how easily the restraints of society fall off. Of 
 course it is not true that courtesy depends upon clothes 
 with the best people ; but, with others, behavior hangs 
 almost entirely upon dress. Many good habits are 
 
CAMPING OUT 15 
 
 easily got rid of in the woods. Doubt sometimes seems 
 to be felt whether Sunday is a legal holiday there. 
 It becomes a question of casuistry with a clergyman 
 whether he may shoot at a mark on Sunday, if none 
 of his congregation are present. He intends no harm : 
 he only gratifies a curiosity to see if he can hit the 
 mark. Where shall he draw the line ? Doubtless he 
 might throw a stone at a chipmunk or shout at a loon. 
 Might he fire at a mark with an air-gun that makes no 
 noise ? He will not fish or hunt on Sunday (although 
 he is no more likely to catch anything that day than 
 on any other) ; but may he eat trout that the guide 
 has caught on Sunday, if the guide swears he caught 
 them Saturday night ? Is there such a thing as a vaca- 
 tion in religion ? How much of our virtue do we owe 
 to inherited habits ? 
 
 I am not at all sure whether this desire to camp out- 
 side of civilization is creditable to human nature, or 
 otherwise. We hear sometimes that the Turk has been 
 merely camping for four centuries in Europe. I sus- 
 pect that many of us are, after all, really camping 
 temporarily in civilized conditions ; and that going 
 into the wilderness is an escape, longed for, into our 
 natural and preferred state. Consider what this 
 "camping out" is, that is confessedly so agreeable to 
 people most delicately reared. I have no desire to ex- 
 aggerate its delights. 
 
 The Adirondack wilderness is essentially unbroken. 
 A few bad roads that penetrate it, a few jolting wagons 
 that traverse them, a few barn-like boarding-houses 
 on the edge of the forest, where the boarders are 
 soothed by patent coffee, and stimulated to unnatural 
 gayety by Japan tea, and experimented on by unique 
 cookery, do little to destroy the savage fascination of 
 
16 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 the region. In half an hour, at any point, one can put 
 himself into solitude and every desirable discomfort. 
 The party that covets the experience of the camp 
 comes down to^rimtitiy^^ conditions of dress and equip- 
 ment. There are guides and porters to carry the 
 blankets for beds, the raw provisions, and the camp 
 equipasre ; and the motley party of the temporarily de- 
 civilized files into the woods, and begins, perhaps by a 
 road, perhaps on a trail, its exhilarating and weary 
 march. The exhilaration arises partly from the casting 
 aside of restraint, partly from the adventure of explo- 
 ration ; and the weariness, from the interminable toil 
 of bad walking, a heavy pack, and the grim monotony 
 of trees and bushes, that shut out all prospect, except 
 an occasional glimpse of the sky. Mountains are pain- 
 fully climbed, streams forded, lonesome lakes paddled 
 over, long and muddy " carries " traversed. Fancy 
 this party the victim of political exile, banished by the 
 law, and a more sorrowful march could not be im- 
 agined; but the voluntary hardship becomes pleasure, 
 and it is undeniable that the spirits of the party rise 
 as the difficulties increase. 
 
 For this straggling and stumbling band the World 
 is young again: it has come to the beginnin,g of things ; 
 it has cut loose from tradition, and is free to make a 
 home anywhere : the movement has all the promise of 
 a revolution. All this yirgiaaL freshness invites the 
 primitive instincts of play and disorder. The free range 
 of the forests suggests endless possibilities of explora- 
 tion and possession. Perhaps we are treading where 
 man since the creation never trod before ; perhaps the 
 waters of this bubbling spring, which we deepen by 
 scraping out the decayed leaves and the black earth, 
 have never been tasted before, except by the wild deni- 
 
CAMPING OUT 17 
 
 j; p.nR- nf these woods. We cross the trails of lurking^ 
 animals, — paths that heighten our sense of seclusion 
 from the world. The hammering of the infrequent 
 woodpecker, the call of the lonely bird, the drumming 
 of the solitary partridge, — all these sounds do but 
 emphasize the lonesomeness of nature. The roar of the 
 mountain brook, dashing over its bed of pebbles, ris- 
 ing out of the ravine, and spreading, as it were, a mist 
 of sound through all the forest (continuous beating 
 waves that have the rhythm of eternity in them), and 
 the fitful movement of the air-tides through the bal- 
 sams and firs and the giant pines, — how these grand 
 symphonies shut out the little ^g^pg£atia»» of our 
 vexed life ! It seems easy to begin life over again on 
 the simplest terms. Probably it is not so much the 
 desire of the congregation to escape from the preacher, 
 or of the preacher to escape from himself, that drives 
 jop^histicated people into the wilderness, as it is the 
 unconquered craving for primitive simplicity, the re- 
 volt against the everlasting dress-parade of our civili- 
 zation. From this monstrous^pomposity even the arti- 
 ficial rusticity of a Petit Trianon is a relief. It was 
 only human nature that the jaded Frenchman of the 
 regency should run away to the New World, and live 
 in a forest-hut with an Indian squaw ; although he 
 found little satisfaction in his act of heroism, unless it 
 was talked about at Versailles. 
 
 When our trampers come, late in the afternoon, to 
 the bank of a lovely lake where they purpose to enter 
 the primitive life, everything is waiting for them in 
 virgin expectation. There is a little promontory jut- 
 ting into the lake, and sloping down to a sandy beach, 
 on which the waters idly lapse, and shoals of red-fins 
 and shiners come to greet the stranger ; the forest is 
 
18 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 untouched by the axe ; the tender green sweeps the 
 water's edge ; ranks of slender firs are marshalled by 
 the shore ; clumps of white-birch stems shine in satin 
 purity among the evergreens ; the boles of giant 
 spruces, maples, and oaks, lifting high their crowns of 
 foliage, stretch away in endless galleries and arcades ; 
 through the shifting leaves the sunshine falls upon 
 the brown earth ; overhead are fragments of blue sky ; 
 under the boughs and in chance openings appear the 
 bluer lake and the outline of the gracious mountains. 
 The discoverers of this paradise, which they have en- 
 tered to destroy, note the babbling of the brook that 
 flows close at hand ; they hear the splash of the leap- 
 ing fish ; they listen to the sweet, metallic song of the 
 evening thrush, and the chatter of the red squirrel, 
 who angrily challenges their right to be there. But the 
 moment of sentiment passes. This party has come here 
 to eat and to sleep, and not to encourage Nature in her 
 poetic attitudinizing* 
 
 The spot for a shanty is selected. This side shall be 
 its opening, towards the lake ; and in front of it the 
 fire, so that the smoke shall drift into the hut, and 
 discourage the mosquitoes ; yonder shall be the cook's 
 fire and the path to the spring. The whole colony be- 
 stir themselves in the foundation of a new home, — an 
 enterprise that has all the fascination, and none of the 
 danger, of a veritable new settlement in the wilder- 
 ness. The axes of the guides resound in the echoing 
 spaces ; great trunks fall with a crash ; vista^ are opened 
 towards the lake and the mountains. The spot for the 
 shanty is cleared of underbrush ; forked stakes are 
 driven into the ground, cross-pieces are laid on them, 
 and poles sloping back to the ground. In an incredible 
 space of time there is the skeleton of a house, which is 
 
CAMPING OUT 19 
 
 entirely open In front. The roof and sides must be 
 covered. For this purpose the trunks of great spruces 
 are skinned. The woodman rims the bark near the foot 
 of the tree, and again six feet above, and slashes it 
 perpendicularly; then, with a blunt stick, he crowds off 
 this thick hide exactly as an ox is skinned. It needs 
 but a few of these skins to cover the roof; and they 
 make a perfectly water-tight roof, except when it 
 rainSo Meantime, busy hands have gathered boughs of 
 the spruce and the feathery balsam, and shingled 
 the ground underneath the shanty for a bed. It is an 
 aromatic bed : in theory it is elastic and consoling. 
 Upon it are spread the blankets. The sleepers, of all 
 sexes and ages, are to lie there in a row, their feet to 
 the fire, and their heads under the edge of the sloping 
 roof. Nothing could be better contrived. The fire is in 
 front: it is not a fire, but a conflagration — a vast heap 
 of green logs set on fire — of pitch, and split dead- 
 wood, and crackling balsams, raging and roaring. By 
 the time twilight falls, the cook has prepared supper. 
 Everything has been cooked in a tin pail and a skillet, 
 — potatoes, tea, pork, mutton, slapjacks. You wonder 
 how everything could have been prepared in so: few 
 utensils. When you eat, the wonder ceases: everything 
 might have been cooked in one pail. It is a noble meal ; 
 and nobly it is disposed of by these amateur savages, 
 sitting about upon logs and roots of trees. Never were 
 there such potatoes, never beans that seemed to have 
 more of the bean in them, never such curly pork, never 
 trout with more Indian-meal on them, never mutton 
 more distinctly sheepy ; and the tea, drunk out of a 
 tin cup, with a lump of maple-sugar dissolved in it, — 
 it is the sort of tea that takes hold, lifts the hair, and 
 disposes the drinker to anecdote and hilariousness. 
 
20 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 There is no deception about it: it tastes of tannin 
 and spruce and creosote. Everything, in short, has the 
 flavor of the wilderness and a free life. It is idyllic. 
 And yet, w^ith all our sentimentality, there is nothing 
 feeble about the cooking. The slapjacks are a solid 
 job of work, made to last, and not go to pieces in a 
 person's stomach like a trivial bun : we might record 
 on them, in cuneiform characters, our incipient civili- 
 zation; and future generations would doubtless turn 
 them up as Acadian bricks. Good, robust victuals are 
 what the primitive man wants. 
 
 Darkness falls suddenly. Outside the ring of light 
 from our conflagration the woods are black. There 
 is a tremendous impression of isolation and lonesome- 
 ness in our situation. "We are the prisoners of the 
 night. The woods never seemed so vast and myste- 
 rious. The trees are gigantic. There are noises that 
 we do not understand, — mysterious winds passing 
 overhead, and rambling in the great galleries, tree- 
 trunks grinding against each other, undefinable stirs 
 and uneasinesses. The shapes of those who pass into 
 the dimness are outlined in monstrous proportions. 
 The spectres, seated about in the glare of the fire, 
 talk about appearances and presentiments and reli- 
 gion. The guides cheer the night with bear -fights, 
 and catamount encounters, and frozen-to-death expe- 
 riences, and simple tales of great prolixity and no 
 point, and jokes of primitive lucidity. We hear cata- 
 mounts, and the stealthy tread of things in the leaves, 
 and the hooting of owls, and, when the moon rises, 
 the laughter of the loon. Everything is strange, 
 spectral, fascinating. 
 
 By and by we get our positions in the shanty for 
 the night, and arrange the row of sleepers. The 
 
CAMPING OUT 21 
 
 shanty has become a smoke-house by this time : 
 waves of smoke roll into it from the fire. It is only 
 by lying down, and getting the head well under the 
 eaves, that one can breathe. No one can find her 
 " things " ; nobody has a pillow. At length the row 
 is laid out, with the solemn protestation of intention 
 to sleep. The wind, shifting, drives away the smoke. 
 Good-night is said a hundred times ; positions are re- 
 adjusted, more last words, new shifting about, final 
 remarks ; it is all so comfortable and romantic ; and 
 then silence. Silence continues for a minute. The 
 fire flashes up ; all the row of heads is lifted up simul- 
 taneously to watch it ; showers of sparks sail aloft into 
 the blue night ; the vast vault of greenery is a fairy 
 spectacle. How the sparks mount and twinkle and 
 disappear like tropical fire-flies, and all the leaves 
 murmur, and clap their hands ! Some of the sparks 
 do not go out : we see them flaming in the sky when 
 the flame of the fire has died down. Well, good-night, 
 good-night. More folding of the arms to sleep ; more 
 grumbling about the hardness of a hand-bag, or the 
 insufficiency of a pocket-handkerchief, for a pillow. 
 Good-night. Was that a remark ? — something about 
 a root, a stub in the ground sticking into the back. 
 " You could n't lie along a hair? " " Well, no : here 's 
 another stub." It needs but a moment for the conver- 
 sation to become general, — about roots under the 
 shoulder, stubs in the back, a ridge on which it is im- 
 possible for the sleeper to balance, the non-elasticity 
 of boughs, the hardness of the ground, the heat, the 
 smoke, the chilly air. Subjects of remarks multiply. 
 The whole camp is awake, and chattering like an 
 aviary. The owl is also awake ; but the guides who are 
 asleep outside make more noise than the owls. Water 
 
22 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 is wanted, and is handed about in a dipper. Every- 
 body is yawning ; everybody is now determined to go 
 to sleep in good earnest. A last good-night. There is 
 an appalling silence. It is interrupted in the most 
 natural way in the world. Somebody has got the start, 
 and gone to sleep. He proclaims the fact. He seems 
 to have been brought up on the seashore, and to know 
 how to make all the deep-toned noises of the restless 
 ocean. He is also like a war-horse ; or, it is suggested, 
 like a saw-horse. How malignantly he snorts, and 
 breaks off short, and at once begins again in another 
 key ! One head is raised after another. 
 
 "Who is that?" 
 
 " Somebody punch him." 
 
 " Turn him over." 
 
 " Reason with him." 
 
 The sleeper is turned over. The turn was a mis- 
 take. He was before, it appears, on his most agree- 
 able side. The camp rises in indignation. The sleeper 
 sits up in bewilderment. Before he can go off again, 
 two or three others have preceded him. They are all 
 alike. You can never judge what a person is when he 
 is awake. There are here half a dozen disturbers of 
 the peace who should be put in solitary confinement. 
 At midnight, when a philosopher crawls out to sit on 
 a log by the fire, and smoke a pipe, a duet in tenor and 
 mezzo-soprano is going on in the shanty, with a chorus 
 always coming in at the wrong time. Those who are not 
 asleep want to know why the smoker does n't go to bed. 
 He is requested to get some water, to throw on another 
 log, to see what time it is, to note whether it looks like 
 rain. A buzz of conversation arises. She is sure she 
 heard something behind the shanty. He says it is all 
 nonsense. "Perhaps, however, it might be a mouse." 
 
CAMPING OUT 23 
 
 "Mercy! Are there mice?" 
 
 " Plenty." , 
 
 " Then that's what I heard nibbling by my head. I 
 shan't sleep a wink! Do they bite? " 
 
 " No, they nibble ; scarcely ever take a full bite out." 
 
 "It's horrid!" 
 
 Towards morning it grows chilly ; the guides have 
 let the fire go out ; the blankets will slip down. Anx- 
 iety begins to be expressed about the dawn. 
 
 " What time does the sun rise ?" 
 
 "Awful early. Did you sleep ? " 
 
 " Not a wink. And you? " 
 
 " In spots. I 'm going to dig up this root as soon as 
 it is light enough." 
 
 " See that mist on the lake, and the light just com- 
 ing on the Gothics ! I 'd no idea it was so cold : all the 
 first part of the night I was roasted." 
 
 " What were they talking about all night ? " 
 
 When the party crawls out to the early breakfast, 
 after it has washed its faces in the lake, it is disor- 
 ganized, but cheerful. Nobody admits much sleep; 
 but everybody is refreshed, and declares it delightful. 
 It is the fresh air all night that invigorates ; or maybe 
 it is the tea or the slapjacks. The guides have erected 
 a table of spruce bark, with benches at the sides ; so 
 that breakfast is taken in form. It is served on tin 
 plates and oak chips. After breakfast begins the day's 
 work. It may be a mountain-climbing expedition, or 
 rowing and angling in the lake, or fishing for trout in 
 some stream two or three miles distant. Nobody can 
 stir far from camp without a guide. Hammocks are 
 swung, bowers are built, novel-reading begins, worsted 
 work appears, cards are shuffled and dealt. The day 
 passes in absolute freedom from responsibility to one's 
 
24 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 self. At night, when the expeditions return, the camp 
 resumes its animation. Adventures are recounted, 
 every statement of the narrator being disputed and 
 argued. Everybody has become an adept in wood-craft ; 
 but nobody credits his neighbor with like instinct. 
 Society getting resolved into its elements, confidence 
 is gone. 
 
 Whilst the hilarious party are at supper, a drop or 
 two of rain falls. The head guide is appealed to. Is it 
 going to rain ? He says it does rain. But will it be a 
 rainy night? The guide goes down to the lake, looks 
 at the sky, and concludes that if the wind shifts a 
 p'int more, there is no telling what sort of weather we 
 shall have. Meantime the drops patter thicker on the 
 leaves overhead, and the leaves, in turn, pass the water 
 down to the table; the sky darkens; the wind rises; 
 there is a kind of shiver in the woods; and we scud 
 away into the shanty, taking the remains of our supper, 
 and eating it as best we can. The rain increases. The 
 fire sputters and fumes. All the trees are dripping, 
 dripping, and the ground is wet. We cannot step out- 
 doors without getting a drenching. Like sheep, we are 
 penned in the little hut, where no one can stand erect. 
 The rain swirls into the open front, and wets the bot- 
 tom of the blankets. The smoke drives in. We curl 
 up, and enjoy ourselves. The guides at length con- 
 clude that it is going to be damp. The dismal situation 
 sets us all into good spirits ; and it is later than the 
 night before when we crawl under our blankets, sure 
 this time of a sound sleep, lulled by the storm and the 
 rain resounding on the bark roof. How much better 
 off we are than many a shelterless wretch ! We are 
 as snug as dry herrings. At the moment, however, of 
 dropping off to sleep, somebody unfortunately notes a 
 
CAMPING OUT 25 
 
 drop of water on his face ; this is followed by another 
 drop ; in an instant a stream is established. He moves 
 his head to a dry place. Scarcely has he done so, when 
 he feels a dampness in his back. Reaching his hand 
 outside, he finds a puddle of water soaking through 
 his blanket. By this time, somebody inquires if it is 
 possible that the roof leaks. One man has a stream 
 of water under him ; another says it is coming into his 
 ear. The roof appears to be a discriminating sieve. 
 Those who are dry see no need of such a fuss. The 
 man in the corner spreads his umbrella, and the pro- 
 tective measure is resented by his neighbor. In the 
 darkness there is recrimination. One of the guides, 
 who is summoned, suggests that the rubber blankets 
 be passed out, and spread over the roof. The inmates 
 dislike the proposal, saying that a shower-bath is no 
 worse than a tub-bath. The rain continues to soak 
 down. The fire is only half alive. The bedding is 
 damp. Some sit up, if they can find a dry spot to sit 
 on, and smoke. Heartless observations are made. A 
 few sleep. And the night wears on. The morning opens 
 cheerless. The sky is still leaking, and so is the shanty. 
 The guides bring in a half -cooked breakfast. The roof 
 is patched up. There are reviving signs of breaking 
 away, delusive signs that create momentary exhilara- 
 tion. Even if the storm clears, the woods are soaked. 
 There is no chance of stirring. The world is only ten 
 feet square. 
 
 This life, without responsibility or clean clothes, 
 may continue as long as the reader desires. There are 
 those who would like to live in this free fashion for- 
 ever, taking rain and sun as heaven pleases ; and there 
 are some souls so constituted that they cannot exist 
 more than three days without their worldly baggage. 
 
26 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 Taking the party altogether, from one cause or another 
 it is likely to strike camp sooner than was intended. 
 And the stricken camp is a melancholy sight. The 
 woods have been despoiled ; the stumps are ugly ; the 
 bushes are scorched ; the pine-leaf -strewn earth is trod- 
 den into mire ; the landing looks like a cattle-ford ; 
 the ground is littered with all the unsightly debris of 
 a hand-to-hand life ; the dismantled shanty is a shabby 
 object ; the charred and blackened logs, where the fire 
 blazed, suggest the extinction of family life. Man has 
 wrought his usual wrong upon Nature, and he can save 
 his self-respect only by moving to virgin forests. 
 
 And move to them he will, the next season, if not 
 this. For he who has once experienced the fascination 
 of the woods-life never escapes its enticement : in the 
 memory nothing remains but its charm. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Ephesus : — A celebrated city of Asia Minor. 
 
 Orient : — The East. 
 
 Petit Trianon: — A little palace near the royal palace at Ver- 
 sailles, in France. 
 
 the regency: — When Louis XIV, of France, died, in 1715, 
 he left his crown to his great-grandson, Louis, then five years 
 old. Philip of Orleans seized the regency. The eight years dur- 
 ing which he ruled were full of wickedness and corruption at the 
 court. 
 
 Versailles: — A town somewhat west of Paris, in which the 
 royal palaces of France were built. 
 
 Acadian bricks : — (Usually spelled Accadian.) Bricks made 
 by an early race of people, supposed to have lived in Babylonia, 
 before the Assyrian conquest. See Accad^ Genesis, 10 : 10. 
 
 the Gothics: — A range of mountains. 
 
 QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Can you make anything out of the first few paragraphs ? Why 
 does the author refer so many times to the Adirondacks ? Is there 
 
CAMPING OUT 27 
 
 anything gained by the paragraph about the clergymen ? Can 
 you show how the piece grows less and less general, and more and 
 more particular ? Where does it begin to increase in interest ? 
 Where is the place at which a kind of story begins ? Note how 
 much, from that place onward, is story, how much is description, 
 and how much is explanation. In which kind of writing are you 
 most interested ? Why ? Is there anything humorous in this se- 
 lection ? Do you get a good idea of the camp at night ? How is 
 an effect of lonesomeness and isolation produced ? Are the people 
 who are described more, or less, good-natured than campers in 
 real life ? Can you describe (from your imagination) some par- 
 ticular person in the party ? Is the idea that the author gives of 
 camping a fair one ? Have your camping experiences been agree- 
 able, or not ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 When Our Tent Blew Down Building a Camp Stove 
 
 An Unexpected Intruder in Camp Around the Camp Fire 
 
 How We Pitched Camp Camp Cooking 
 
 The Night That It Rained Breaking Camp 
 
 How to Build a Camp Fire Sounds at Night 
 
 A Rainy Day in Camp Some People Who Should 
 How to Make a Camp Bed Not Go Camping 
 
 The First Night in Camp An Incident of Camp Life 
 
 Is Camping Worth While ? An Ideal Camping Place 
 
 The Boy Who Spoiled Our Week An Accident on the Water 
 
 at Camp An Unsuccessful Sail 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 The Night That It Rained : — How much explanation will 
 be necessary in order to make your reader understand the situa- 
 tion as to time and place ? Do you think a long explanation would 
 be interesting ? Describe the first suggestion of rain ; then the 
 gradual approach of the storm. Tell what you and your compan- 
 ions did, and how you felt. Can you report any of the remarks 
 made by various persons ? Can you make the remarks of each 
 person show his character ? Does Warner do so ? How can you 
 close up your story ? Can you give, in a brief way, a suggestion 
 of the passing of the storm (or the coming on of daylight) and 
 
28 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER 
 
 the gradual return to quiet and comfort ? Would it be wise to 
 refer again to the feelings of the party, under the changed con- 
 ditions ? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 See the list of books by Warner, page 12. 
 
 The Mountains Stewart Edward White 
 
 The Forest " « « 
 
 Camp and Trail « « « 
 
 Trail and Camp Fire Grinnell and Roosevelt 
 
 Camping and Tramping with Roosevelt John Burroughs 
 
 A Woman Tenderfoot Grace G. Seton 
 
 A Moosehead Journal James Russell Lowell 
 
 The Maine Woods Henry D. Thoreau 
 
 Around the Camp Fire Charles G. D. Roberts 
 
 The Heart of the Ancient Wood . . « « « « 
 
GOLIATH 
 
 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 (From Two Bites at a Cherry) , 
 
 It was raining — softly, fluently, persistently — rain- 
 ing as it rains on the afternoon of the morning when 
 you hesitate a minute or two at the hat-stand, and 
 finally decide not to take your umbrella down town 
 with you. It was one of those fine rains — I am not 
 praising it — which wet you to the skin in about four 
 seconds. A sharp twenty-minutes' walk lay between 
 my office in Court Street and my rooms in Huntington 
 Avenue. I was standing meditatively in the doorway 
 of the former establishment on the lookout for a hack 
 or a herdic. An unusual number of these vehicles were 
 hurrying in all directions, but . as each approached 
 within the arc of my observation the face of some for- 
 tunate occupant was visible through the blurred glass 
 of the closed window. 
 
 Presently a coupe leisurely turned the corner, as if 
 in search of a fare. I hailed the driver, and though he 
 apparently took no notice of my gesture, the coupe 
 slowed up and stopped, or nearly stopped, at the curb- 
 stone directly in front of me. I dashed across the nar- 
 row sidewalk, pulled open the door, and stepped into 
 the vehicle. As I did so, some one else on the opposite 
 side performed the same evolution, and we stood mo- 
 tionless for an instant with the crowns of our hats 
 glued together. Then we seated ourselves simultane- 
 ously, each by this token claiming the priority of pos- 
 session. 
 
30 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," I said, " but this is my 
 carriage.'^ 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," was the equally frigid 
 reply ; " the carriage is mine." 
 
 " I hailed the man from that doorway," I said, with 
 firmness. 
 
 " And I hailed him from the crossing." 
 
 " But I signalled him first." 
 
 My companion disdained to respond to that state- 
 ment, but settled himself back on the cushions as if 
 he had resolved to spend the rest of his life there. 
 
 " We will leave it to the driver," I said. 
 ^^ The subject of this coUo^uy^now twisted his body 
 round on the dripping box, and shouted — 
 
 "Where to, gentlemen?" 
 
 I lowered the plate glass, and addressed him — 
 
 "There's a mistake here. This gentleman and I 
 both claim the coup^. Which of us first called you ? " 
 But the driver " could n't tell t' other from which," as 
 he expressed it. Having two fares inside, he of course 
 had no wild desire to pronounce a decision that would 
 necessarily cancel one of them. 
 
 The situation had reached this awkward phase when 
 the intruder leaned forward and inquired, with a total 
 change in his intonation — 
 
 "Are you not Mr. David Willis?" 
 
 " That is my name." 
 
 " I am Edwin Watson ; we used to know each other 
 slightly at college." 
 
 All along there had been something familiar to me 
 in the man's face, but I had attributed it to the fact 
 that I hated him enough at first sight to have known 
 him intimately for ten years. Of course, after this, 
 there was no further dispute about the carriage. Mr. 
 
GOLIATH 31 
 
 Watson wanted to go to the Providence Station, which 
 lay directly on the route to Huntington Avenue, and 
 I was charmed to have his company. We fell into 
 pleasant chat concerning the old Harvard days, and 
 were surprised when the coupe drew up in front of the 
 red-brick clock-tower of the station. 
 
 The acquaintance, thus renewed by chance, contin- 
 ued. Though we had resided six years in the same 
 city, and had not met before, we were now continually 
 meeting — at the club, at the down-town restaurant 
 where we lunched, at various houses where we visited 
 in common. Mr. Watson was in the banking business ; 
 he had been married one or two years, and was living 
 out of town, in what he called " a little box," on the 
 slope of Blue Hill. He had once or twice invited me 
 to run out to dine and spend the night with him, but 
 some engagement or other disability had interfered. 
 One evening, however, as we were playing billiards at 
 the St. Botolph I accepted his invitation for a certain 
 Tuesday. Watson, who was having a vacation at the 
 time, was not to accompany me from town, but was to 
 meet me with his pony-cart at Green Lodge, a small 
 flag-station on the Providence railroad, two or three 
 miles from The Briers, the name of his place. 
 
 " I shall be proud to show you my wife," he said, 
 " and the baby — and Goliath." 
 
 "Goliath?" 
 
 " That 's the dog," answered Watson, with a laugh. 
 " You and Goliath ought to meet — David and Goli- 
 ath ! " 
 
 If Watson had mentioned the dog earlier in the 
 conversation I might have shied at his hospitality. I 
 may as well at once confess that I do not like dogs, 
 and am afraid of them. Of some things I am not 
 
32 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 afraid; there have been occasions when my courage 
 was not to be doubted — for example, the night I se- 
 cured the burglar in my dining-room, and held him 
 until the police came ; and notably the day I had an 
 interview with a young bull in the middle of a pasture, 
 where there was not so much as a burdock leaf to fly 
 to ; with my red silk pocket-handkerchief I deployed 
 him as coolly as if I had been a professional matador. 
 I state these unadorned facts in no vainglorious mood. 
 If that burglar had been a collie, or that bull a bull- 
 terrier, I should have collapsed on the spot. 
 
 No man can be expected to be a hero in all direc- 
 tions. Doubtless Achilles himself had his secret little 
 cowardice, if truth were known. That acknowledged 
 vulnerable heel of his was perhaps not his only weak 
 point. While I am thus covertly drawing a compari- 
 son between myself and Achilles, I will say that that 
 same extreme sensitiveness of heel is also unhappily 
 mine ; for nothing so sends a chill into it, and thence 
 along my vertebrae, as to have a strange dog come up 
 sniffing behind me. Some inscrutable instinct has ad- 
 vised all strange dogs of my antipathy and pusillanim- 
 
 ^ " The little dogs and all, 
 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me." 
 
 They sally forth from picturesque verandas and un- 
 suspected hidings, to sliow their teeth as I go by. In 
 a spot where there is no dog, one will germinate if he 
 happens to find out that I am to pass that way. Some- 
 times they follow me for miles. Strange dogs that wag 
 their tails at other persons growl at me from over 
 fences, and across vacant lots, and at street corners. 
 
 *' So you keep a dog?" I remarked carelessly, as I 
 dropped the spot-ball into a pocket. 
 
GOLIATH 33 
 
 "Yes,'* returned Watson. "What is a country- 
 place without a dog ? " 
 
 I said to myself, " I know what a country-place is 
 with a dog ; it 's a place I should prefer to avoid." 
 
 But as I had accepted the invitation, and as Wat- 
 son was to pick me up at Green Lodge station, and, 
 presumably, see me safely into the house, I said no 
 more. 
 
 Living as he did on a lonely road, and likely at any 
 hour of the night to have a burglar or two drop in on 
 him, it was proper that Watson should have a dog on 
 the grounds. In any event he would have done so, for 
 he had always had a maniacal passion for the canine 
 race. I remember his keeping at Cambridge a bull-pup 
 that was th© terror of the neighborhood. He had his 
 rooms outside the college yard in order that he might 
 reside with this fiend. A good mastiff or a good col- 
 lie — if there are any good collies and good mastiffs — 
 is perhaps a necessity to exposed country-houses ; but 
 what is the use of allowing him to lie around loose on 
 the landscape, as is generally done ? He ought to be 
 chained up until midnight. He should be taught to 
 distinguish between a burglar and an inoffensive per- 
 son passing along the highway with no intention of 
 taking anything but the air. Men with a taste for dogs 
 owe it to society not to cultivate dogs that have an in- 
 discriminate taste for men. ;. 
 
 The Tuesday on which I was to pass the night with 
 Watson was a day simply packed with evil omgjj^. 
 The feathered cream at breakfast struck the keynote 
 of the day's irritations. Everything went at eross- 
 purposes in the office, and at the last moment a tele- 
 gram imperatively demanding an answer nearly caused 
 me to miss that six o'clock train — the only train that 
 
34 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 stopped at Green Lodge. There were two or three 
 thousand other trains which did not stop there. I was 
 in no frame of mind for rural pleasures when I finally 
 seated myself in the "six o'clock accommodation " with 
 my gripsack beside me. 
 
 The run from town to Green Lodge is about twenty- 
 five minutes, and the last stoppage before reaching 
 that station is at Eeadville. We were possibly half- 
 way between these two points when the train slackened 
 and camfe to a dead halt amid some ragged woodland. 
 Heads were instantly thrust out of the windows right 
 and left, and everybody's face was an interrogation. 
 Presently a brakeman, with a small red flag in his 
 hand, stationed himself some two hundred yards in 
 the rear of the train, in order to prevent the evening 
 express from telescoping; us. Then our engine sullenly 
 detached itself from the tender, and disappeared. 
 What had happened ? An overturned gravel-car lay 
 across the track a quarter of a mile beyond. It was 
 fully an hour before the obstruction was removed, and 
 our engine had backed down again to its coupling. I 
 smiled bitterly, thinking of Watson and his dinner. 
 
 The station at Green Lodge consists of a low plat- 
 form upon which is a shed covered on three sides with 
 unpainted deal boards hacked nearly to pieces by 
 tramps. In autumn and winter the wind here, sweep- 
 ing across the wide Neponset marshes, must be cruel. 
 That is probably why the tramps have destroyed their 
 only decent shelter between Readville and Canton. 
 On this evening in early June, as I stepped upon the 
 platform, the air was merely a ripple and a murmur 
 among the maples and willows. 
 
 I looked around for Watson and the pony-cart. 
 What had occurred was obviojis^ He had waited an 
 
GOLIATH 35 
 
 hour for me, and then driven home with the conviction 
 that the train must have passed before he got there, 
 and that I, for some reason, had failed to come on it. 
 The capsized gravel-car was an episode of which he 
 could have known nothing. 
 
 A walk of three miles was not an inspiriting pro- 
 spect, and would not have been even if I had had some 
 slight idea of where The Briers was, or where I was 
 myself. At one side of the shed, and crossing the 
 track at right angles, ran a straight, narrow road that 
 quickly lost itself in an arbor of swamp-willows. Be- 
 yond the tree-tops rose the serrated line of the Blue 
 Hills, now touched with the twilight's tenderest ame- 
 thyst. Over there, in that direction somewhere, lay 
 Watson's domicile. 
 
 " What I ought to have done to-day," I reflected, 
 "was to stay in bed. This is one of the days when I 
 am unfitted to move among my fellow-men, and cope 
 with the complexities of existence." 
 
 Just then my ear caught the sound of a cart-wheel 
 grating on an un oiled axle. It was a withered farmer 
 in a rickety open wagon slowly approaching the rail- 
 road track, and going toward the hills — my own in- 
 tended destination. I stopped the man and explained 
 my dilemma. He was willing, after a suspicious in- 
 ventory of my person, to give me a lift to the end of 
 the Green Lodge road. There I could take the old 
 turnpike. He believed that the Watson place was half 
 a mile or so down the turnpike toward Milton way. I 
 climbed up beside him with alacrity. 
 
 Beyond giving vent to a sneeze or two left over from 
 the previous winter, the old man made no sign of life 
 as we drove along. He seemed to be in a state of sus- 
 pended animation. I was as little disposed to talk. 
 
36 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 It was a balmy evening, the air was charged with 
 sweet wood-scents, and here and there a star half 
 opened an eyelid on the peaceful dusk. After the 
 frets of the day, it was soothing thus to be drawn at a 
 snail's pace through the fragrance and stillness of that 
 fern-fringed road, with the night weaving and unweav- 
 ing its mysteries of light and shade on either side. 
 Now and then the twitter of an oriole in some pendent 
 nest overhead added, as it were, to the silence. I was 
 yielding myself up wholly to the glamour of the time 
 and place, when suddenly I thought of Goliath. At 
 that moment Goliath was probably prowling about 
 Watson's front yard seeking whom he might devour; 
 and I was that predestined nourishment. 
 
 I knew what sort of watch-dog Watson would be 
 likely to keep. There was a tough streak in Watson 
 himself, a kind of thoroughbred obstinacy — the way 
 he had held on to that coupe months before illustrated 
 it. An animal with a tenacious grip, and on the verge 
 of hydrophobia, was what would naturally commend 
 itself to his liking. He had specified Goliath, but may 
 be he had half a dozen other dragons to guard his hill- 
 side Hesperides. I had depended on Watson meeting 
 me at the station, and now, when I was no longer ex- 
 pected, I was forced to invade his premises in the dark- 
 ness of the night, and run the risk of being torn limb 
 from limb before I could make myself known to the 
 family. I recalled Watson's inane remark, " You and 
 Goliath ought to meet — David and Goliath ! " It now 
 struck me as a most unseemly and heartless pleasantry. 
 
 These reflections were not calculated to heighten 
 my enjoyment of the beauties of nature. The gather- 
 ing darkness, with its few large, liquid stars, which a 
 moment before had seemed so poetical, began to fill 
 
GOLIATH 37 
 
 me with apprehension. In the daylight one has re- 
 sources, but what on earth was I going to do in the 
 dark with Goliath, and, likely enough, a couple of 
 bloodhounds at my throat? I wished myself safely 
 back among the crowded streets and electric lights of 
 the city. In a few minutes more I was to be left alone 
 and defenceless on a dismal highway. 
 
 When we reached the junction of the Green Lodge 
 road and the turnpike, I felt that I was parting from 
 the only friend I had in the world. The man had not 
 spoken two words during the drive, and now rather 
 gruffly refused my proffered half-dollar ; but I would 
 have gone home with him if he had asked me. I hinted 
 that it would be much to his pecuniary advantage if 
 he were willing to go so far out of his course as the 
 door-step of Mr. Watson's house ; but either because 
 wealth had no charms for him, or because he had 
 failed to understand my proposition, he made no an- 
 swer, and, giving his mare a slap with the ends of the 
 reins, rattled off into space. 
 
 On turning into the main road I left behind me a 
 cluster of twinkling lights emitted from some dozen 
 or twenty little cottages, which, as I have since been 
 told, constitute the village of Ponkapog. It was ap- 
 parently alive with dogs. I heard them going off, one 
 after another, like a string of Chinese crackers, as the 
 ancient farmer with his creaking axle passed on 
 through the village. I was not reluctant to leave so 
 alert a neighborhood, whatever destiny awaited me 
 beyond. 
 
 Fifteen or twenty minutes later I stood in front of 
 what I knew at a glance to be The Briers, for Watson 
 had described it to me. The three sharp gables of his 
 description had not quite melted into the blackness 
 
38 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 which was rapidly absorbing every object ; and there 
 too, but indistinct, were the twin stone gateposts with 
 the cheerful Grecian vases on top, like the entrance 
 to a cemetery. 
 
 I cautiously approached the paling and looked over 
 into the enclosure. It was gloomy with shrubbery, 
 dwarf spruces, and Norway pines, and needed nothing 
 but a few obelisks and lachrymal urns to complete the 
 illusion. In the centre of the space rose a circular 
 mound of several yards in diameter, piled with rocks, 
 on which probably were mosses and nasturtiums. It 
 was too dark to distinguish anything clearly ; even the 
 white gravel walk encircling the mound left one in 
 doubt. The house stood well back on a slight eleva- 
 tion, with two or three steps leading down from the 
 piazza to the walk. Here and there a strong light illu- 
 mined a lattice-window. I particularly noticed one on 
 the ground floor in an ell of the building, a wide win- 
 dow with diamond-shaped panes — the dining-room. 
 The curtains were looped back, and I could see the 
 pretty housemaid in her cap coming and going. She 
 was removing the dinner things: she must have long 
 ago taken away my unused plate. 
 
 The contrast between a brilliantly lighted, luxuri- 
 ous interior and the bleak night outside is a contrast 
 that never appeals to me in vain. I seldom have any 
 sympathy for the outcast in sentimental fiction until 
 the inevitable moment when the author plants her 
 against the area-railing under the windows of the 
 paternal mansion. I like to have this happen on an 
 inclement Christmas or Thanksgiving eve — and it 
 always does. 
 
 But even on a pleasant evening in early June it is 
 not agreeable to find one's self excluded from the 
 
GOLIATH 39 
 
 family circle, especially wlien one has travelled fifteen 
 miles to get there. I regarded the inviting facade of 
 Watson's villa, and then I contemplated the sombre 
 and unexplored tract of land which I must needs tra- 
 verse in order to reach the door-step. How still it was ! 
 The very stillness had a sort of menace in it. My im- 
 agination peopled those black interstices under the 
 trees with " Gorgons and Hydras and Chimaeras dire." 
 There certainly was an air of latent dog about the 
 place, though as yet no dog had developed. However, 
 unless I desired to rouse the inmates from their beds, 
 I saw that I ought to announce myself without much 
 further delay. I softly opened the gate, which, hav- 
 ing a heavy ball-and-chain attachment, immediately 
 slipped from my hand and slammed to with a bang as 
 I stepped within. 
 
 I was not surprised, but I was paralyzed all the 
 same, at instantly hearing the familiar sound of a 
 watch-dog suddenly rushing from his kennel. The 
 kennel in this instance was on a piazza : a convenient 
 arrangement — for the dog — in case of visitors. 
 
 The next sound I heard was the scrabble of the 
 animal's four paws as he landed on the gravelled path- 
 way. There he hesitated, irresolute, as if he were mak- 
 ing up his diabolical mind which side of the mound 
 he would take. He neither growled nor barked in the 
 interim, being evidently one of those wide-mouthed, 
 reticent brutes that mean business and indulge in no 
 vain flourish. 
 
 I held my breath, and waited. Presently I heard 
 him stealthily approaching me on the left. I at once 
 hastened up the right-hand path, having tossed my 
 gripsack in his direction, with the hope that while 
 he was engaged in tearing it to pieces, I might pos- 
 
40 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 sibly be able to reach the piazza and ring the door- 
 bell. 
 
 My ruse failed, however, and the gripsack, which 
 might have served as a weapon of defence, had been 
 sacrificed. The dog continued his systematic approach, 
 and I was obliged to hurry past the piazza-steps. A 
 few seconds brought me back to the point of my de- 
 parture. Superficially considered, the garden- gate, 
 which now lay at my hand, offered a facile mode of 
 escape ; but I was ignorant of the fastenings ; I had 
 forgotten which way it swung; besides, it was unfor- 
 tunately, necessary that I should continue on my circu- 
 lar journey. 
 
 So far as I could judge, the dog was now about 
 three yards in my rear ; I was unable to see him, but 
 I could plainly detect his quick respiration, and his 
 deliberate footfalls on the gravel. I wondered why 
 he did not spring upon me at once ; but he knew he 
 had his prey, he knew I was afraid of him, and he was 
 playing with me as a cat plays with a mouse. In cer- 
 tain animals there is a refinement of cruelty which 
 sometimes makes them seem almost human. If I be- 
 lieved in the transmigration of souls, I should say that 
 the spirit of Caligula had passed into dogs, and that 
 of Cleopatra into cats. 
 
 It is easily conceivable that I made no such reflec- 
 tion at the moment, for by this time my brisk trot had 
 turned into a run, and I was spinning around the cir- 
 cle at the rate of ten miles an hour, with the dog at 
 my heels. Now I shot by the piazza, and now past the 
 gate, until presently I ceased to know which was the 
 gate and which the piazza. I believe that I shouted 
 "Watson!" once or twice, no doubt at the wrong 
 place, but I do not remember. At all events, I failed 
 
GOLIATH 41 
 
 to make myself heard. My brain was in such confusion 
 that at intervals I could not for the soul of me tell 
 whether I was chasing the dog, or the dog was chasing 
 me. Now I almost felt his nose at my heel, and now 
 I seemed upon the point of trampling him underfoot. 
 
 My swift rotatory movement, combined with the 
 dinner which I had not had, soon induced a sort of 
 vertigo. It was a purely unreasoning instinct that pre- 
 vented me from flying off at a tangent and plunging 
 into the shrubbery. Strange lights began to come into 
 my eyes, and in one of those phosphorescent gleams I 
 saw a shapeless black object lying, or crouching, in 
 my path. I automatically kicked it into the outer 
 darkness. It was only my derby hat, which had fallen 
 off on one of the previous trips. 
 
 I have spoken of the confused state of my mind. 
 The right lobe of my brain had suspended all natural 
 action, but with the other lobe I was enabled to spec- 
 ulate on the probable duration of my present career. 
 In spite of my terror, an ironical smile crept to my 
 lips as I reflected that I might perhaps keep this thing 
 up until sunrise, unless a midnight meal was one of 
 the dog's regular habits. A prolonged angry snarl now 
 and then admonished me that his patience was about 
 exhausted. 
 
 I had accomplished the circuit of the mound for the 
 tenth — possibly the twentieth — time (I cannot be 
 positive), when the front door of the villa was opened 
 with a jerk, and Watson, closely followed by the 
 pretty housemaid, stepped out upon the piazza. He 
 held in his hand a German student-lamp, which he 
 came within an ace of dropping as the light fell upon 
 my countenance. 
 
 " Good heavens ! Willis ; is this you ? Where did 
 
42 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 you tumble from? What 's become of your hat? How 
 did you get hereV 
 
 " Six o'clock train — Green Lodge — white horse — 
 old man — I — " 
 
 Suddenly the pretty housemaid descended the steps 
 and picked up from the gravelled path a little panting, 
 tremulous wad of something — not more than two hand- 
 fuls at most — which she folded tenderly to her bosom. 
 
 " What 's that ? " I asked. 
 
 " That 's Goliath," said Watson. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 herdic : — A kind of low-huug cab, named after Peter Her- 
 die, the inventor. 
 
 coup^: — A four-wheeled close carriage for two persons. 
 
 St. Botolph : — A Boston club-house. 
 
 David and Goliath : — The story of the j^outhful David's 
 fight with the giant Goliath is told in the Bible^ I Samuel, 17. 
 
 matador : — This is a Spanish word, meaning a killer ; the 
 matador is the man appointed to kill the bull, in a bull-fight. 
 
 Achilles : — One of the heroes of the Trojan war. It is re- 
 lated that Thetis, the mother of Achilles, dipped her child into 
 the River Styx, in order to make him immortal. She held him 
 by the heel, however, and that one spot was not touched by the 
 water ; hence Achilles was invulnerable (not to be wounded) in 
 all parts of his body except the heel. 
 
 The little dogs and all : — The quotation is from Shake- 
 speare's King Lear, Act III, Scene 6. 
 
 Cambridge : — This city in Massachusetts is the seat of Har- 
 vard University. 
 
 Neponset : — Marshes around the Neponset River, near Bos- 
 ton. 
 
 Hesperides : — The garden of the Hesperides (the daugh- 
 ters of Hesperus, or Night) was, according to Greek mythology, 
 a place where beautiful golden apples grew, guarded by a hide- 
 ous dragon. To secure some of these apples was one of the labors 
 of Hercules. 
 
 Gorgons and Hydras : — The line quoted is from the de- 
 
GOLIATH 43 
 
 scription of Hades, in the second book of Milton's Paradise Losty 
 line 628. 
 
 Caligula : — A wicked and cruel emperor of Kome (12-41 
 A. D.). 
 
 Cleopatra : — A queen of Egypt (b. c. 69-30). 
 
 ! 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Notice how tlie author introduces the story. What has the 
 weather to do with it ? How does the author bring in the refer- 
 ence to the dog ? Why does he say so much about dogs, and his 
 fear of them ? What kind of dog does the name Goliath suggest 
 to you ? What does Watson mean by speaking of David and 
 Goliath (see notes) ? What are the complications that make it 
 necessary for Mr. Willis to approach " The Briers " on foot ? 
 Do they all seem natural and possible ? Why are the beauties 
 of the evening described so specifically ? How does the author 
 make the reader feel the excitement of the adventure with the 
 dog ? Show how he has used suspense. Why does the story end 
 so abruptly ? In what ways do you consider the conclusion a 
 good one ? Could you write a short, humorous incident of this 
 type? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 A Chance Meeting of Old A Country Kailroad Station 
 
 Friends Finding My Friend's Home 
 A Walk along a Country Road Delayed by a Wreck 
 
 A House in the Country The Watch Dog 
 
 The Dog and his Master " No Trespassing Allowed '* 
 
 A Stranger in the Village Frightened 
 
 My Dog A Lonely Road at Night 
 
 Locked Out Some Dogs I Have Known 
 
 The Interloper A Series of Mishaps 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 Some Dogs I Have Kno"wn : — Think of two or three of 
 the most interesting dogs that you have known. Tell about one 
 of them — his appearance, his peculiarities, his temper. To 
 whom did he belong ? Was he well treated ? Did he behave 
 well ? Tell some of the amusing or interesting things that he 
 
44 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 
 
 did. What became of him ? Compare another dog with the first 
 one of which you have written. Kelate some anecdotes concern- 
 ing this second dog. Try to show by these stories how he differed 
 from the first. Finish your theme by telling about one or two 
 more interesting dogs and the things they did. 
 
 A Lonely Road at Night : — Explain the reason for taking 
 a trip through this lonely road. Tell what kind of night it was. 
 Describe the feelings of the person on the road. Did he have 
 any reason to be frightened ? What noises did he hear ? Did 
 anything really happen ? Tell how the person felt, and what he 
 did. Try to make use of suspense to keep up the reader's inter- 
 est. Tell how the adventure came out, and what resulted from 
 it. 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 The Story of a Bad Boy Thomas Bailey Aldrich 
 
 Marjorie Daw " " 
 
 The Stillwater Tragedy " " 
 
 My Cousin the Colonel " " 
 
 A Christmas Fantasy " " 
 
 The Little Violinist ....... " " 
 
 Quite So " " 
 
 For Bravery on the Field of Battle . « " 
 
 From Ponkapog to Pesth " " 
 
 Thomas Bailey Aldrich Ferris Greenslet 
 
 A Boy I Knew and Four Dogs . . . Laurence Hutton 
 
 A Boy I Knew and Some More Dogs " " 
 
 A Dog of Flanders Louise de la Ramde 
 
 Moufflon " " « " 
 
 Bob Son of Battle Alfred Ollivant 
 
 Bab and his Friends John Brown 
 
 The Call of the Wild ...... Jack London 
 
 White Fang " " 
 
 My Dogs in the Northland . . . . E. R. Young 
 
 Dogs of all Nations C. J. Miller 
 
 Wild Animals I Have Known (page 
 
 145 ; page 273) Ernest Thompson Seton 
 
 Lives of the Hunted (page 211) . . « « " 
 
 Krag and Johnny Bear (page 127) . " " " 
 
 Dogtown Mabel Osgood Wright 
 
 Dan Beard's Animal Book .... Dan Beard 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 
 
 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 A YOUNG fellow, a tobacco peddler by trade, was on 
 his way from Morristown, where he had dealt largely 
 with the Deacon of the Shaker settlement, to the vil- 
 lage of Parker's Falls, on Salmon River. He had a 
 neat little cart, painted green, with a box of cigars dg;- 
 gicted^on each side panel, and an Indian chief holding 
 a pipe and a golden tobacco-stalk on the rear.^The ped- 
 dler d r o ve a smart little mare and was a young man of 
 excellent character, keen at a bargain,. but none the 
 worse liked by the Yankees ; who, as I have heard them 
 say, would rather be shaved with a sharp razor than a 
 dull one. Especially was he beloved by the pretty girls 
 along the Connecticut, whose favor he used to court 
 by presents of the best smoking tobacco in his stock; 
 knowing well that the country lasses of New England 
 are generally great performers on pipes. Moreover, as 
 will be seen in the course of my story, the peddler was 
 inquisitive and something of a tattler, always itching to 
 hear the news, and anxious to tell it again. 
 
 After an early breakfast at Morristown the tobacco 
 peddler, whose name was Dominicus Pike, had traveled 
 seven miles through a solitary piece of woods without 
 speaking a word to anybody but himself and his little 
 gray mare. It being nearly seven o'clock, he was as 
 eager to hold a morning gossip as a city shopkeeper to 
 read the morning paper. An opportunity seemed at 
 hand, when after lighting a cigar with a sun-glass, he 
 looked up and perceived a man coming over the brow 
 
46 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 of the hill, at the foot of which the peddler had stopped 
 his green cart. Dominicus watched him as he de- 
 scended, and noticed that he carried a bundle over his 
 shoulder on the end of a stick, and traveled with a 
 weary yet determined pace. He did not look as if he 
 had started in the freshness of the morning, but had 
 footed it all night, and meant to do the same all day. 
 
 " Good morning, mister," said Dominicus, when 
 within speaking distance. " You go a pretty good 
 jog. What 's the latest news at Parker's Falls ? " 
 
 The man pulled the broad brim of a gray hat over 
 his eyes, and answered, rather sullenly, that he did not 
 come from Parker's Falls, which, as being the limit of 
 his own day's journey, the peddler had naturally men- 
 tioned in his inquiry. 
 
 " Well, then," reioined Dominicus Pike, "let 's have 
 the latest news wliere you did come from. I 'm not par- 
 ticular about Parker's Falls. Any place will answer." 
 
 Being thus importunedj the traveler — who was as 
 ill-looking a fellow as one would desire to meet in a sol- 
 itary piece of woods — appeared to hesitate a little, as 
 if he was either searching his memory for news, or 
 weighing the expediency;^of telling it. At last, mount- 
 ing on the step of the cart, he whispered in the ear of 
 Dominicus, though he might have shouted aloud, and 
 no other mortal would have heard him. 
 
 " I do remember one little trifle of news," said he. 
 " Old Mr. Higginbotham, of Kimballton, was murdered 
 in his orchard, at eight o'clock last night, by an Irish- 
 man and a nigger. They strung him up to the branch 
 of a St. Michael's pear-tree, where nobody would find 
 him till the morning." 
 
 As soon as this horrible intelligence was communi- 
 cated the stranger betook himself to his journey again, 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 47 
 
 with more speed than ever, not even turning his head 
 when Dominicus invited him to smoke a Spanish cigar 
 and relate all the particulars. The peddler whistled to 
 his mare and went up the hill, pondering on the dole- 
 ful fate of Mr. Higginbotham, whom he had known in 
 the way of trade, having sold him many a bunch of 
 long-nines and a great deal of pig-tail, lady's twist, and 
 fig tobacco. He was rather astonished at the rapidity 
 with which the news had spread. Kimballton was nearly 
 sixty miles distant in a straight line ; the murder had 
 been perp e ^ia^^d only at eight o'clock the preceding 
 night ; yet Dominicus had heard of it at seven in the 
 morning, when, in all probability, poor Mr. Higginbo- 
 tham's own family had but just discovered his corpse 
 hanging on the St. Michael's pear-tree. The stranger on 
 foot must have worn seven-league boots to travel at 
 such a rate. 
 
 "Ill news flies fast, they say," thought Dominicus 
 Pike ; " but this beats railroads. The fellow ought to 
 be hired to go express with the president's message." 
 
 The difficulty was solved by supposing that the nar- 
 rator had made a mistake of one day in the date of the 
 occurrence ; so that our friend did not hesitate to intro- 
 duce the story at every tavern and country store along 
 the road, expending a whole bunch of Spanish wrap- 
 pers among at least twenty horrified audiences. He 
 found himself invariably ^the first bearer of the in- 
 telligence, and was so pestered with questions that 
 he could not avoid filling up the outline till it be- 
 came quite a respectable narrative. He met with one 
 piece of corroborative evidence. Mr. Higginbotham 
 was a trader ; and a former clerk of his, to whom 
 Dominicus related the facts, testified that the old gen- 
 tleman was accustomed to return home through the 
 
48 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 orchard about nightfall, with the money and valuable 
 papers of the store in his pocket. The clerk manifested 
 but little grief at Mr. Higginbotham's catastrophe, 
 hinting, what the peddler had discovered in his own 
 dealings with him, that he was a cr ustyj ^ld fellow, as 
 close as a vis^ His property would descend to a pretty 
 niece who was now keeping school in Kimballton. 
 
 What with telling the news for the public good, and 
 driving bargains for his own, Dominions was so much 
 delayed on the road, that he chose to put up at a 
 tavern about five miles short of Parker's Falls. After 
 supper, lighting one of his prime cigars, he seated him- 
 self in the barroom, and went through the story of the 
 murder, which had grown so fast that it took him half 
 an hour to tell. There were as many as twenty people 
 in the room, nineteen of whom received it all for gospel. 
 But the twentieth was an elderly farmer who had ar- 
 rived on horseback a short time before, and was now 
 seated in a corner, smoking his pipe. When the story 
 was concluded, he rose up very deliberately, brought 
 his chair right in front of Dominions, and stared him 
 full in the face, puffing out the vilest tobacco smoke 
 the peddler had ever smelled. 
 
 " Will you make affidavij," demanded he, in the 
 tone of a country justice taking an examination, " that 
 old Squire Higginbotham, of Kimballton, was mur- 
 dered in his orchard the night before last, and found 
 hanging on his great pear-tree yesterday morning? " 
 
 " I tell the story as I heard it, mister," answered 
 Dominicus, dropping his half -burnt cigar ; " I don't say 
 that I saw the thing done. So I can't take my oath 
 that he was murdered exactly in that way." 
 
 " But I can take mine," said the farmer, " that if 
 Squire Higginbotham was murdered night before last, 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 49 
 
 I drank a glass of bitters with his ghost this morning. 
 Being a neighbor of mine, he called me into his store as 
 I was riding by, and treated me, and then asked me to 
 do a little business for him on the road. He didn't seem 
 to know any more about his own murder than I did.'* 
 
 " Why, then it can't be a fact ! " exclaimed Domini- 
 cus Pike. 
 
 ■• " I guess he 'd have mentioned it, if it was," said the 
 old farmer ; and he removed his chair back to the 
 corner, leaving Dominicus quite down in the mouth. 
 
 Here was a sad r esur rp.^tiii'^^ of old Mr. Higgin- 
 botham ! The peddler had no heart to mingle in the 
 conversation any more, but comforted himself with a 
 glass of gin and water and went to bed, where, all 
 night long, he dreamt of hanging on the St. Michael's 
 pear-tree. To avoid the old farmer (whom he so de- 
 tested, that his suspension would have pleased him 
 better than Mr. Higginbotham's), Dominicus rose in 
 the gray of the morning, put the little mare into the 
 green cart, and trotted swiftly away towards Parker's 
 Falls. The fresh breeze, the dewy road, and the pleas- 
 ant summer dawn revived his spirits, and might have 
 encouraged him to repeat the old story, had there been 
 anybody awake to hear it. But he met neither ox- 
 team, light wagon, chaise, horseman, nor foot-traveler, 
 till, just as he crossed Salmon River, a man came 
 trudging down to the bridge with a bundle over his 
 shoulder on the end of a stick. 
 
 " Good-morning, mister," said the peddler, reining 
 in his mare. " If you come from Kimballton or that 
 neighborhood, maybe you can tell me the real fact 
 about this affair of old Mr. Higginbotham. Was the 
 old fellow actually murdered two or three nights ago, 
 by an Irishman and a nigger ? " 
 
60 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 Dominicus had spoken in too great a hurry to ob- 
 serve, at first, that the stranger himself had a deep 
 tinge of negro blood. On hearing this sudden question, 
 the Ethiopian appeared to change his skin, its yellow 
 hue becoming a ghastly white, while, shaking and 
 stammering, he thus replied : — 
 
 " No ! no ! There was no colored man ! It was an 
 Irishman that hanged him last night, at eight o'clock. 
 I came away at seven ! His folks can't have looked 
 for him in the orchard yet." 
 
 Scarcely had the yellow man spoken, when he inter- 
 rupted himself, and, though he seemed weary enough 
 before, continued his journey at a pace which would 
 have kept the peddler's mare on a smart trot. Domin- 
 icus stared after him in great perplexity. If the mur- 
 der had not been committed till Tuesday night, who 
 was the prophet that had foretold it, in all its circum- 
 stances, on Tuesday morning? If Mr. Higginbo- 
 tham's corpse were not discovered by his own family, 
 how came the mulatto, at above thirty miles distance, 
 to know that he was hanging in the orchard, especially 
 as he had left Kimballton before the unfortunate man 
 was hanged at all? These ambiguous circumstances, 
 with the stranger's surprise and terror, made Domini- 
 cus think of raising a hue and cry after him, as an ac- 
 complice in the murder ; since a murder, it seemed, 
 had really been perpetrated. 
 
 " But let the poor devil go," thought the peddler. 
 " I don't want his black blood on my head ; and hang- 
 ing the nigger would n't unhang Mr. Higginbotham. 
 Unhang the old gentleman ! It 's a sin, I know ; but 
 I should hate to have him come to life a second time, 
 and give me the lie ! " 
 
 With these meditations, Dominicus Pike drove into 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 51 
 
 the street of Parker's Falls, which, as everybody 
 knows, is as thriving a village as three cotton factories 
 and a slitting-mill can make it. The machinery was 
 not in motion, and but a few of the shop-doors un- 
 barred, when he alighted in the stable yard of the 
 tavern, and made it his first business to order the 
 mare four quarts of oats. His second duty, of course, 
 was to impart Mr. Higginbotham's catastrophe to the 
 hostler. He deemed it advisabl§, however, not to be 
 too positive as to the date of the dir efuL fact. and also 
 to be uncertain whether it were perpetrated by an 
 Irishman and a mulatto, or by the son of [Erin alone. 
 Neither did he profess to relate it on his own author- 
 ity, or that of any one person ; but mentioned it as a 
 report generally diffused. 
 
 ^ The story ran through the town, like fire among 
 girdled trees, and became so much the universal talk 
 that nobody could tell whence it had ori urinated. Mr. 
 Higginbotham was as well known at Parker's Falls as 
 any citizen of the place, being part owner of the slit- 
 ting-mill, and a considerable stockholder of the cotton 
 factories. The inhabitants felt their own prosperity 
 interested in his fate. Such was the excitement that 
 the Parker's Falls Gazette anticipated its resfular day 
 of publication, and came out with half a form of blank 
 paper and a column of double pica, emphasized with 
 capitals, and headed HOREID MUEDER OF ME. 
 HIGGINBOTHAM! Among other dreadful details, 
 the printed account described the mark of the cord 
 round the dead man's neck, and stated the number 
 of thousand dollars of which he had been robbed; 
 there was much pathos also about the affliction of his 
 niece, who had gone from one fainting-fit to another, 
 ever since her uncle was found hanging on the St. 
 
52 > NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 Michaers pear-tree with his pockets inside out. The 
 village poet likewise commemorated the young lady's 
 grief in seventeen stanzas of a ballad. The selectmen 
 held a meeting, and, in consideration of Mr. Higgin- 
 botham's claims on the town, determined to issue 
 handbills offering a reward of five hundred dollars 
 for the apprehension of his murderers and the re- 
 covery of the stolen property. 
 
 Meanwhile the whole population of Parker's Falls, 
 consisting of shopkeepers, mistresses of boarding- 
 houses, factory-girls, millmen, and schoolboys, rushed 
 into the street and kept up such a terrible lo(^uacity:^ 
 as more than compensated for the silence of the cotton- 
 machines, which refrained from their usual din out of 
 respect to the ^jp^^a^eflU Had Mr. Higginbotham cared 
 about posthumous ^renown^. his untimely ghost would 
 have exulted in this tumult. Our friend Dominions, 
 in his vanity of heart, forgot his intended precautions^^ 
 and mounting on the town-pump, announced himself 
 as the bearer of the authentic intelligence which had 
 caused so wonderful a sensation. He immediately be- 
 came the great man of the moment, and had just begun 
 a^new edition of the narrative, with a voice like a 
 field-preacher, when the mail-stage drove into the vil- 
 lage street. It had traveled all night, and must have 
 shifted horses at Kimballton at three in the morning. 
 
 "Now we shall hear all the particulars," shouted 
 the crowd. 
 
 The coach rumbled up to the piazza of the tavern, 
 followed by a thousand people ; for if any man had 
 been minding his own business till then, he now left 
 it at sixes and sevens, to hear the news. The peddler, 
 foremost in the race, discovered two passengers, both 
 of whom had been startled from a comfortable nap to 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 53 
 
 find themselves in the center of a mob. Every man 
 assailing them with separate questions, all propounded 
 at once, the couple were struck speechless, though one 
 was a lawyer and the other a young lady. 
 
 " Mr. Higginbotham ! Mr. Higginbotham ! Tell us 
 the particulars about old Mr. Higginbotham ! " bawled 
 the mob. " What is the coroner's verdict ? Are the 
 murderers a^greh^o^cL? Is Mr. Higginbotham's niece 
 come out of her fainting-fits ? Mr. Higginbotham ! 
 Mr. Higginbotham ! " 
 
 The coachman said not a word, except to swear 
 awfully at the hostler for not bringing him a fresh 
 team of horses. The lawyer inside had generally his 
 wits about him, even when asleep ; the first thing he 
 did, after learning the cause of the excitement, was to 
 produce a large red pocketbook. Meantime Dominicus 
 Pike, being an extremely polite young man, and also 
 suspecting that a female tongue would tell the story 
 as glibly as a lawyer's, had handed the lady out of the 
 coach. She was a fine smart girl, now wide awake and 
 bright as a button, and had such a sweet pretty mouth 
 that Dominicus would almost as lief have heard a love- 
 
 ^ ,Jtale from it as a tale of murder. 
 
 f 'v " Gentlemen and ladies," said the lawyer to the 
 shopkeepers, the millmen, and the factory-girls, " I 
 
 \/\can assure you that some unaccountable mistake, or 
 more probably a willful falsehood maliciously con- 
 trived to injure Mr. Higginbotham's credit, has excited 
 this singular uproar. We passed through Kimballton 
 at three o'clock this morning, and most certainly 
 should have been informed of the murder, had any 
 been perpetrated. But I have proof nearly as strong 
 as Mr. Higginbotham's own oral testimony in the 
 negative. Here is a note relating to a suit of his in the 
 
54 NATHANIEL HAWTHOENE 
 
 Connecticut courts, which was delivered me from that 
 gentleman himself. I find it dated at ten o'clock last 
 evening." 
 
 So saying, the lawyer exhibited the date and signa- 
 ture of the note, which4^|;efragably proved, either that 
 this perverse Mr. Higginbotham was alive when he 
 wrote it, or — as some deemed the more probable case 
 of two doubtful ones — that he was so absorbed in 
 worldly business as to continue to transact it even after 
 his death. But unexpected evidence was forthcoming. 
 The young lady, after listening to the peddler's expla- 
 nation, merely seized a moment to smooth her gown 
 and put her curls in order, and then appeared at the 
 tavern door, making a modest signal to be heard. 
 
 " Good people," said she, " I am Mr. Higgmbo- 
 tham's niece." 
 
 A wondering murmur passed through the crowd on 
 beholding her so rosy and bright, that same unhappy 
 niece whom they had supposed, on the authority of the 
 Parker's Falls Gazette^ to be lying at death's door in 
 a fainting-fit. But some shrewd fellows had doubted 
 all along whether a young lady would be quite so des- 
 perate at the hanging of a rich old uncle. 
 
 "You see," continued Miss Higginbotham with a 
 smile, "that this strange story is quite unfounded as 
 to myself, and I believe I may affirm it to be equally 
 so in regard to my dear uncle Higginbotham. He has 
 the kindness to give me a home in his house, though 
 I contribute to my own support by teaching a school. 
 I left Kimballton this morning to spend the vacation 
 of commencement-week with a friend, about five miles 
 from Parker's Falls. My generous uncle, when he 
 heard me on the stairs, called me to his bedside, and 
 gave me two dollars and fifty cents to pay my stage- 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 55 
 
 fare, and another dollar for my extra expenses. He 
 then laid his pocketbook under his pillow, shook hands 
 with me, and advised me to take some biscuit in my 
 bag, instead of breakfasting on the road. I feel confi- 
 dent, therefore, that I left my beloved relative alive, 
 and trust that I shall find him so on my return." 
 
 The young lady courtesied at the close of her 
 speech, which was so sensible and well worded, and 
 delivered with such grace and propriety, that every- 
 body thought her fit to be preceptress of the best 
 academy in the state. But a stranger would have sup- 
 posed that Mr. Higginbotham was an object of abhor- 
 rence at Parker's Falls, and that a thanksgiving had 
 been proclaimed for his murder, so excessive was the 
 wrath of the inhabitants on learning their mistake. 
 The millmen resolved to bestow public honors on 
 Dominicus Pike, only hesitating whether to tar and 
 feather him, ride him on a rail, or refresh him with 
 an ablution at the town-pump, on the top of which he 
 had declared himself the bearer of the news. The se- 
 lectmen, by advice of the lawyer, spoke of prosecuting 
 him for a misdemeanoTj in circulating unfounded re- 
 ports, to the great disturbance of the peace of the 
 commonwealth. Nothing saved Dominicus either from 
 mob law or a court of justice but an eloquent appeal 
 made by the young lady in his behalf. Addressing a 
 few words of heartfelt gratitude to his benefactress, 
 he mounted the green cart and rode out of town, under 
 a discharge of artillery from the schoolboys, who 
 found plenty of ammunition in the neighboring clay- 
 pits and mud-holes. As he turned his head, to ex- 
 change a farewell glance with Mr. Higginbotham's 
 niece, a ball, of the consistence of hasty-pudding, hit 
 him slap in the mouth, giving him a most grim aspect. 
 
56 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 His whole person was so bespattered with the like 
 filthy missiles, that he had almost a mind to ride back 
 and guppHcatia-^for the threatened ablution at the town- 
 pump, for, though not meant in kindness, it would 
 have been a deed of charity. 
 
 However, the sun shone bright on poor Dominicus, 
 and the mud, an emblem of all stains of undeserved 
 opprobrium, was easily brushed off when dry. Being 
 a funny rogue, his heart soon cheered up; nor could 
 he refrain from a hearty laugh at the uproar which 
 his story had excited. The handbills of the selectmen 
 would cause the commitment of all the vagabonds in 
 the state ; the paragraph in the Parker's Falls Gazette 
 would be reprinted from Maine to Florida, and per- 
 haps form an item in the London newspapers; and 
 many a miser would tremble for his money-bags and 
 life, on learning the catastrophe of Mr. Higginbotham. 
 The peddler meditated with much fervor on the charms 
 of the young schoolmistress, and swore that Daniel 
 Webster never spoke nor looked so like an angel as 
 Miss Higginbotham while defending him from the 
 wrathful populace at Parker's Falls. 
 
 Dominicus was now on the Kimballton turnpike, bav- 
 ing all along determined to visit that place, though 
 business had drawn him out of the most direct road 
 from Morristown. As he approached the scene of the 
 supposed murder he continued to revolve the circum- 
 stances in his mind, and was astonished at the aspect 
 which the whole case assumed. Had nothing occurred 
 to corroborate the story of the first traveler, it might 
 now have been considered as a hoax ; but the yellow 
 man was evidently acquainted either with the report 
 or the fact, and there was a mystery in his dismayed 
 and guilty look on being abruptly questioned. When 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTKOPHE 57 
 
 to this singular combination of incidents it was added 
 that the rumor tallied exactly with Mr. Higginbo- 
 tham's character and habits of life ; and that he had an 
 orchard, and a St. Michael's pear-tree, near which he 
 always passed at nightfall; the circumstantial evidence 
 appeared so strong that Dominicus doubted whether 
 the autograph produced by the lawyer, or even the 
 niece's direct testimony, ought to be equivalent. Mak- 
 ing cautious inquiries along the road, the peddler fur- 
 ther learned that Mr. Higginbotham had in his service 
 an Irishman of doubtful character, whom he had hired 
 without a recommendation, on the score of economy. 
 
 " May I be hanged myself," exclaimed Dominicus 
 Pike aloud, on reaching the top of a lonely hill, " if 
 I '11 believe old Higginbotham is unhanged till I see 
 him with my own eyes, and hear it from his own 
 mouth ! And as he 's a real shaver, I '11 have the min- 
 ister, or some other responsible man, for an indorser." 
 
 It was growing dusk when he reached the toll- 
 house on Kimballton turnpike, about a quarter of a 
 mile from the village of this name. His little mare 
 was fast bringing him up with a man on horseback, 
 who trotted through the gate a few rods in advance of 
 him, nodded to the toll-gatherer, and kept on towards 
 the village. Dominicus was acquainted with the toll- 
 man, and while making change, the usual remarks on 
 the weather passed between them. 
 
 " I suppose," said the peddler, throwing back his 
 whiplash to bring it down like a feather on the mare's 
 flank, " you have not seen anything of old Mr. Hig- 
 ginbotham within a day or two ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the toll-gatherer. " He passed the 
 gate just before you drove up, and yonder he rides 
 now, if you can see him through the dusk. He 's been 
 
58 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 to Woodfield tMs afternoon, attending a sheriff's sale 
 there. The old man generally shakes hands and has a 
 little chat with me; but to-night he nodded, — as if 
 to say, ' Charge my toll,' — and jogged on ; for wher- 
 ever he goes, he must always be at home by eight 
 o'clock." 
 
 " So they tell me," said Dominicus. 
 
 " I never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the 
 squire does," continued the toll-gatherer. " Says I to 
 myself, to-night, he 's more like a ghost or an old 
 mummy than good flesh and blood." 
 
 The peddler strained his eyes through the twilight, 
 and could just discern the horseman now far ahead on 
 the village road. He seemed to recognize the rear of 
 Mr. Higginbotham ; but through the evening shadows, 
 and amid the dust from the horse's feet, the figure 
 appeared dim and unsubstantial ; as if the shape of 
 the mysterious old man were faintly molded of dark- 
 ness and gray light. Dominicus shivered. 
 
 *' Mr. Higginbotham has come back from the 
 other world, by way of the Kimballton turnpike," 
 thought he. 
 
 He shook the reins and rode forward, keeping about 
 the same distance in the rear of the gray old shadow, 
 till the latter was concealed by a bend of the road. 
 On reaching this point the peddler no longer saw the 
 man on horseback, but found himself at the head of 
 the village street, not far from a number of stores and 
 two taverns, clustered round the meeting-house steeple. 
 On his left was a stone wall and a gate, the boundary of 
 a wood-lot, beyond which lay an orchard, farther still 
 a mowing-field, and last of all a house. These were 
 the premises of Mr. Higginbotham, whose dwelling 
 stood beside the old highway, but had been left in the 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 69 
 
 background by tbe KImballton turnpike. Dominieus 
 knew the place ; and the little mare stopped short by 
 instinct ; for he was not conscious of tightening the 
 reins. 
 
 "For the soul of me, I cannot get by this gate! " 
 said he, trembling. " I shall never be my own man 
 again till I see whether Mr. Higginbothan is hanging 
 , on the St. Michael's pear-tree!" 
 
 He leaped from the cart, gave the rein a turn round 
 the gate-post, and ran along the green path of the 
 wood-lot as if Old Nick were chasing behind. Just 
 then the village clock tolled eight, and as each deep 
 stroke fell Dominions gave a fresh bound and flew 
 faster than before, till, dim in the solitary center of 
 the orchard, he saw the fated pear-tree. One great 
 branch stretched from the old contorted trunk across 
 the path, and threw the darkest shadow on that one 
 spot. But something seemed to struggle beneath the 
 branch ! 
 
 The peddler had never pretended to more courage 
 than befits a man of peaceable occupation, nor could 
 he account for his valor on this awful emergency. Cer- 
 tain it is, however, that he rushed forward, prostrated 
 a sturdy Irishman with the butt-end of his whip, and 
 found — not indeed hanging on the St. Michael's pear- 
 tree, but trembling beneath it, with a halter round his 
 neck — the old, identical Mr. Higginbotham ! 
 
 "Mr. Higginbotham," said Dominieus tremulously, 
 "you're an honest man, and I'll take your word for 
 it. Have you been hanged, or not?" 
 
 If the riddle be not already guessed, a few words 
 will explain the simple machinery by which this " com- 
 ing event" was made to "cast its shadow before." 
 Three men had plotted the robbery and murder of Mr. 
 
60 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 Higginbotham ; two of them successively lost courage 
 and fled, each delaying the crime one night, by their 
 disappearance ; the third was in the act of perpetra- 
 tion, when a champion, blindly obeying the call of fate 
 like the heroes of old romance, appeared in the person 
 of Dominicus Pike. 
 
 It only remains to say that Mr. Higginbotham took 
 the peddler into high favor, sanctioned his addresses 
 to the pretty schoolmistress, and settled his whole 
 property on their children, allowing themselves the 
 interest. In due time the old gentleman capped the 
 climax of his favors by dying a Christian death in bed, 
 since which melancholy event Dominicus Pike has re- 
 moved from Kimballton and established a large tobacco 
 manufactory in my native village. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Shaker settlement : — The Shakers are members of a reli- 
 gious society which emigrated to the United States, from Eng- 
 land, in 1774, under the leadership of Mother Ann Lee. 
 
 sun-glass : A convex lens for producing heat by bringing the 
 rays of the sun to a focus ; a burning-glass. 
 
 long-nines : — Cigars of a cheap quality. 
 
 pig-tail : — Twisted chewing tobacco. 
 
 lady's t-wist : — A kind of chewing tobacco. 
 
 fig tobacco : — Tobacco in small pieces. 
 
 Spanish wrappers : — Imported cigars. 
 
 the Ethiopian : — See the Bible, Jeremiah, 13 : 23. 
 
 slitting-mill : — A mill in which iron bars or plates are slit 
 into narrow strips. 
 
 double pica : — Very large type. 
 
 shaver : — A sharper. 
 
 f 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Do you like the way the story begins ? Notice the way in 
 which the story part (narrative) is mixed with description. Is 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 61 
 
 this a good way of carrying events along? Show the little 
 touches that make the character of Pike clear to us, even in the 
 first pages of the story. What effect on the reader is produced 
 by the tale of the murder, when it is first whispered by the trav- 
 eler ? Do you think that Pike ought to have spread the news ? 
 What contradictory stories are brought in to confuse the reader ? 
 Nearly all good stories have in them an entanglement or a mys- 
 tery of some sort: Notice how the author of this story manages 
 to keep the reader puzzled. Do you get a clear image of the 
 different persons that appear in the story ? Does the author de- 
 scribe each one completely ? Which one stands out most dis- 
 tinctly ? Of what use is the conversation with the toll-gatherer ? 
 What is the most exciting point (climax) of the story ? Does the 
 story end abruptly at this exciting point, or does it gradually 
 come to a stop ? Of what use is the last paragraph ? Do you 
 think that Dominicus Pike deserved his good fortune ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 The Peddler A False Alarm 
 
 Solving a Mystery A Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 How the Story Grew Was He the Thief ? 
 
 A Bit of Gossip -^ Finding the Lost Ring 
 
 Spreading the Alarm A Harmless Hoax 
 
 How the False Report Started Hunting the Imaginary Monster 
 
 Catching the Culprit. How Gossip Hurts 
 
 Who Hid the Book ? The Newspaper Report of My 
 
 How'^piey Learned Our Foot- Accident 
 
 ball Signals The Unjust Suspicion 
 
 How We Unraveled the Mystery 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 The Peddler : — Did you ever see a peddler ? When and 
 where ? Under what circumstances ? Can you write a vivid de- 
 scription of him (or her) ? Try to make your reader see the 
 exact appearance of the peddler — as to features (eyes, mouth, 
 hair, etc.), form (height, size, etc.), and clothing. How did he 
 walk ? Was he carrying something ? Did you see him try to sell 
 his wares ? To whom did he try to sell ? What did he say ? Can 
 you give some of his exact words ? How did his voice sound ? 
 What did he do while he was talking ? Did he show his goods ? 
 
62 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 What were they like ? Did his listeners give good attention ? 
 What conversation did they have with him ? Did they buy ? 
 What did the peddler say when he went away ? 
 
 The Mysterious Disappearance : — Can you write a little 
 story on this subject, drawing either upon what you have heard, 
 or what you have imagined ? Try to make the story very simple 
 and straightforward. Tell who the person was that disappeared, 
 and describe him sufficiently so that we can judge of his looks, 
 his habits, and his character. Tell what this person was doing 
 when he was last seen. When did his friends first realize that he 
 had disappeared ? In order to gain suspense, tell how his friends 
 felt, what they said, and what they did. Give some varying opin- 
 ions that his friends expressed, as to his whereabouts. Will it be 
 better in these passages to use direct or indirect quotations ? 
 Was the person ever found ? Tell under what circumstances. 
 Can you make the finding of the person the climax of your story ? 
 Do you think it well to add anything after the climax is reached ? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 The House of the Seven Gables . . Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
 
 The Blithedale Romance " " 
 
 The Marble Faun " " 
 
 Grandfather's Chair " " 
 
 Biographical Stories ' " " . 
 
 Tanglewood Tales " " , 
 
 A Wonder-Book for Girls and Boys . " " J 
 
 The Great Stone Face " « ' 
 
 The Great Carbuncle " « 
 
 The Ambitious Guest " " 
 
 Roger Malvin's Burial " ** 
 
 Drowne's Wooden Image .... " " 
 
 Ethan Brand « « 
 
 A Bell's Biography " " 
 
 Old Ticonderoga " ** 
 
 Little Daffydowndilly " « 
 
 The Antique Ring " " 
 
 My Kinsman Major Molineux ... " " 
 
 The Ghost of Doctor Harris .... " « 
 
 The Snow-Image ....... " *' 
 
 The Bald Eagle " " 
 
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE 
 
 63 
 
 The Duston Family ...... 
 
 My Visit to Niagara ..... 
 
 The Prophetic Pictures .... 
 
 The Gray Champion 
 
 The Gentle Boy 
 
 David Swan 
 
 Sights from a Steeple 
 
 Dr. Heidegger's Experiment . . . 
 A Rill from the Town Pump . . 
 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne and his Circle 
 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
 
 G. E. Woodberry. 
 Julian Hawthorne. 
 
THE WHISTLE 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 (To Madame Brillon) 
 
 Passy, November 10, 1779. 
 
 When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, 
 on a holiday, filled my pocket with coppers. I went 
 directly to a shop where they sold toys for children ; 
 and, being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that 
 I met by the way in the hands of another boy, I vol- 
 untarily offered and gave all my money for one. I then 
 came home, and went whistling all over the house, 
 much pleased with my whistle^ but disturbing all the 
 family. My brothers, and sisters, and cousins, under- 
 standing the bargain I had made, told me I had given 
 four times as much for it as it was worth ; put me in 
 mind what good things I might have bought with the 
 rest of the money; and laughed at me so much for 
 my folly, that I cried with vexation ; and the reflec- 
 tion gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me 
 pleasure. 
 
 This, however, was afterwards of use to me, the im- 
 pression continuing on my mind; so that often, when 
 I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said 
 to myself, DonH give too much for the whistle; and I 
 saved my money. 
 
 As I grew up, came into the world, and observed 
 the actions of men, I thought I met with many, very 
 many, who gave too much for the whistle. 
 
 When I saw one too ambitious of court favour, sac- 
 
THE WHISTLE 65 
 
 rificing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, 
 his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to at- 
 tain it, I have said to myself. This man gives too much 
 for his whistle. 
 
 If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of com- 
 fortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, 
 all the esteem of his fellow citizens, and the joys of 
 benevolent friendship, for the sake of accumulating 
 wealth, I^oor man, said I, you pay too much for your 
 whistle. 
 
 If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine 
 houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his for- 
 tune, for which he contracts debts, and ends his career 
 in a prison, Alas! say I, he has paid dear, very dear^ 
 for his whistle. 
 
 In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries 
 of mankind are brought upon them by the false esti- 
 mates they have made of the value of things, and by 
 their giving too much for their whistles. 
 
 B. Franklin. 
 
FEANKLIN'S BOYHOOD 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 (From Chapter I of the Autobiography) 
 
 My elder brothers were all put to apprentices to 
 different trades. I was put to the grammar school at 
 eight years of age ; my father intending to devote me, 
 as the tithe of his sons, to the service of the Church. 
 My early readiness in learning to read, which must have 
 been very early, as I do not remember when I could 
 not read, and the opinion of all his friends that I should 
 certainly make a good scholar, encouraged him in this 
 purpose of his. My uncle Benjamin, too, approved of 
 it, and proposed to give me his short-hand volumes of 
 sermons, to set up with, if I would learn his short- 
 hand. /I continued, however, at the grammar school 
 rather less than a year, though in that time I had risen 
 gradually from the middle of the class of that year to 
 be at the head of the same class, and was removed into 
 the next class, whence I was to be placed in the third 
 at the end of the year. 
 
 But my father, burdened with a numerous family, 
 was unable, without inconvenience, to support the ex- 
 pense of a college education. Considering, moreover, 
 as he said to one of his friends, in my presence, the 
 little encouragement that line of life afforded to those 
 educated for it, he gave up his first intentions, took me 
 from the grammar school, and sent me to a school for 
 writing and arithmetic, kept by a then famous man, 
 Mr. George Brownwell. He was a skilful master, and 
 successful in his profession, employing the mildest and 
 
FRANKLIN'S BOYHOOD , 67 
 
 most encouraging methods. Under him I learned to 
 write a good hand pretty soon ; but I failed entirely 
 in arithmetic. At ten years old I was taken to help 
 my father in his business, which was that of a tallow- 
 chandler and soap-boiler ; a business to which he was 
 not bred, but had assumed on his arrival in New Eng- 
 land, because he found that his dyeing trade, being in 
 little request, would not maintain his family. Accord- 
 ingly, I was employed in cutting wicks for the candles, 
 filling the moulds for cast candles, attending the shop, 
 going of errands, etc. 
 
 I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination 
 to go to sea ; but my father declared against it. But, 
 residing near the water, I was much in it and on it. 
 I learned to swim well and to manage boats; and, 
 when embarked with other boys, I was commonly 
 allowed to govern, especially in any case of difficulty ; 
 and upon other occasions I was generally the leader 
 among the boys, and sometimes led them into scrapes, 
 of which I will mention one instance, as it shows an 
 early projecting public spirit, though not then justly 
 conducted. There was a salt marsh, which bounded 
 part of the millpond, on the edge of which, at high 
 water, we used to stand to fish for minnows. By much 
 trampling we had made it a mere quagmire. My pro- 
 posal was to build a wharf there for us to stand upon, 
 and I showed my comrades a large heap of stones 
 which were intended for a new house near the marsh, 
 and which would very well suit our purpose. Accord- 
 ingly in the evening, when the workmen were gone 
 home, I assembled a number of my playfellows, and 
 we worked diligently like so many emmets, sometimes 
 two or three to a stone, till we brought them all to 
 make our little wharf. The next morning the workmen 
 
68 BENJAMIN FRAlSTKLIN 
 
 were surprised at missing the stones, which had formed 
 our wharf. Inquiry was made after the authors of this 
 transfer ; we were discovered, complained of, and 
 corrected by our fathers ; and though I demonstrated 
 the utility of our work, mine convinced me that that 
 which was not honest could not be truly useful. 
 
 I suppose you may like to know what kind of a man 
 my father was. He had an excellent constitution, was 
 of a middle stature, well set and very strong. He could, 
 draw prettily, and was skilled a little in music. His 
 voice was sonorous and agreeable, so that when he 
 played on his violin and sung withal, as he was accus- 
 tomed to do after the business of the day was over, it 
 was extremely agreeable to hear. He had some know- 
 ledge of mechanics, and on occasion was very handy 
 with other tradesmen's tools. But his great excellence 
 was his sound understanding, and his solid judgment 
 in prudential matters, both in private and public affairs. 
 It is true he was never employed in the latter, the nu- 
 merous family he had to educate, and the straitness of 
 his circumstances, keeping him close to his trade, but I 
 remember well his being frequently visited by lead- 
 ing men, who consulted him for his opinion in public 
 affairs, and those of the church he belonged to ; and 
 who showed a great respect for his judgment and 
 advice. 
 
 H© was also much consulted by private persons 
 about their affairs, when any difficulty occurred, and 
 frequently chosen an arbitrator between contending 
 parties. At his table he liked to have, as often as he 
 could, some sensible friend or neighbor to converse 
 with, and always took care to start some ingenious or 
 useful topic for discourse, which might tend to improve 
 the minds of his children. By this means he turned 
 
FRANKLIN'S BOYHOOD 69 
 
 our attention to what was good, just, and prudent, in 
 the conduct of life, and little or no notice was ever taken 
 of what related to the victuals on the table ; whether 
 it was well or ill dressed, in or out of season, of good 
 or bad flavor, preferable or inferior to this or that 
 other thing of the kind ; so that I was brought up in 
 such a perfect inattention to those matters as to be 
 quite indifferent what kind of food was set before me. 
 Indeed, I am so unobservant of it, that to this day I 
 can scarce tell a few hours after dinner of what dishes 
 it consisted. This has been of great convenience to me 
 in traveling, where my companions have been some- 
 times very unhappy for want of a suitable gratification;/^ 
 of their more delicate, because better instructed, tastes 
 and appetites. 
 
 To return : I continued thus employed in my father's 
 business for two years, that is, till I was twelve years 
 old ; and my brother John, who was bred to that busi- 
 ness, having left my father, married, and set up for 
 himself at Rhode Island, there was every appearance 
 that I was destined to supply his place, and become a 
 tallow-chandler. But my dislike to the trade continu- 
 ing, my father had apprehensions that, if he did not 
 put me to one more agreeable, I should break loose 
 and go to sea, as my brother Josiah had done, to his 
 great vexation. In consequence, he took me to walk 
 with him and see joiners, brick-layers, turners, bra- 
 ziers, etc., at their work, that he might observe my 
 inclination, and endeavor to fix it on some trade or 
 profession that would keep me on land. It has ever 
 since been a pleasure to me to see good workmen 
 handle their tools. And it has been often useful to 
 me, to have learned so much by it, as to be able to 
 
70 . BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 do some trifling jobs in the house, when a workman 
 was not at hand, and to construct little machines for 
 my experiments, at the moment when the intention of 
 making these was warm in my mind. My father de- 
 termined at last for the cutler's trade, and placed me 
 for some days on trial with Samuel, son to my uncle 
 Benjamin, who was bred to that trade in London, and 
 had just established himself in Boston. But the sum 
 he exacted as a fee for my apprenticeship displeased 
 my father, and I was taken home again. 
 i From my infancy I was passionately fond of reading, 
 and all the money that came into my hands was laid 
 out in the purchasing of books. I was very fond' of voy- 
 ages. My first acquisition was Bunyan's work in sepa- 
 rate little volumes; I afterwards sold them to enable 
 me to buy E,. Burton's "Historical Collections." They 
 were small chapmen's books, and cheap ; forty volumes 
 in all. My father's little library consisted chiefly of 
 books in polemic divinity, most of which I read. I 
 have often regretted that, at a time when I had such 
 a thirst for knowledge, more proper books had not 
 fallen in my way, since it was resolved I should not be 
 bred to divinity. There was among them Plutarch's 
 "Lives," which I read abundantly, and I still think 
 that time spent to great advantage. There was also a 
 book of Defoe's, called " An Essay on Projects," and 
 another of Dr. Mather's, called "An Essay to do 
 Good," which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking, 
 that had an influence on some of the principal future 
 events of my life. 
 
 This bookish inclination at length determined my 
 father to make me a printer, though he had already 
 one son, James, of that profession. In 1717 my brother 
 James returned from England with a press and letters, 
 
FRANKLIN'S BOYHOOD 71 
 
 to set up his business in Boston. I liked it mucli better 
 than that of my father, but still had a hankering for 
 the sea. To prevent the apprehended effect of such an 
 inclination, my father was impatient to have me bound 
 to my brother. I stood out some time, but at last was 
 persuaded, and signed the indenture, when I was yet 
 but twelve years old. I was to serve an apprenticeship 
 till I was twenty-one years of age, only I was to be al- 
 lowed journeyman's wages during the last year. In a 
 little time I made great progress in the business, and 
 became a useful hand to my brother. I now had access 
 to better books. An acquaintance with the apprentices 
 of book-sellers enabled me sometimes to borrow a small 
 one, which I was careful to return soon, and clean. 
 Often I sat up in my chamber the greatest part of the 
 night, when the book was borrowed in the evening, 
 and to be returned in the morning, lest it should be 
 found missing. 
 
 After some time a merchant, an ingenious, sensible 
 man, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had a pretty collec- 
 tion of books, frequented our printing-office, took 
 notice of me, and invited me to see his library, and 
 very kindly proposed to lend me such books as I chose 
 to read. I now took a strong inclination for poetry, and 
 wrote some little pieces. My brother, supposing it 
 might turn to account, encouraged me, and induced 
 me to compose two occasional ballads. One was called 
 "The Lighthouse Tragedy," and contained an account 
 of the shipwreck of Captain Worthilake with his two 
 daughters ; the other was a sailor's song, on the tak- 
 ing of the famous " Teach," or " Blackbeard," the 
 pirate. They were wretched stuff, in street-ballad 
 style ; and when they were printed, my brother sent 
 me about the town to sell them. The first sold prodi- 
 
72 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 giously, the event being recent, and having made a 
 great noise. The success flattered my vanity ; but my 
 father discouraged me by criticising my performances, 
 and telling me verse-makers were generally beggars. 
 Thus I escaped being a poet, and probably a very 
 bad one; but as prose writing has been of very great 
 use to me in the course of my life, and was a principal 
 means of my advancement, I shall tell you how in such 
 a situation I acquired what little ability I may be sup- 
 posed to have in that way. 
 
 There was another bookish lad in the town, John 
 Collins by name, with whom I was intimately ac- 
 quainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond 
 we were of argument; and very desirous of confuting 
 one another ; which disputatious turn, by the way, is 
 apt to become a very bad habit, making people often 
 extremely disagreeable in company, by the contradic- 
 tion that is necessary to bring it into practice ; and 
 thence, besides souring and spoiling the conversation, 
 it is productive of disgusts, and perhaps enmities, with 
 those who may have occasion for friendship. I had 
 caught this by reading my father's books of dispute 
 on religion. Persons of good sense, I have since ob- 
 served, seldom fall into it, except lawyers, university 
 men, and generally men of all sorts who have been 
 bred at Edinburgh. , 
 
 A question was once, somehow or other, started be- 
 tween Collins and me, on the propriety of educating 
 the female sex in learning, and their abilities for 
 study. He was of opinion that it was improper, and 
 that they were naturally unequal to it. I took the 
 contrary side, perhaps a little for dispute's sake. He 
 was naturally more eloquent, having a greater plenty 
 of words, and sometimes, as I thought, I was van- 
 
FRANKLIN'S BOYHOOD 73 
 
 quished more by his fluency than by the strength of 
 his reasons. As we parted without settling the point, 
 and were not to see one another again for some time, 
 I sat down to put my arguments in writing, which I 
 copied fair and sent to him. He answered and I re- 
 plied. Three or four letters on a side had passed, 
 when my father happened to find my papers, and read 
 them. Without entering into the subject in dispute, 
 he took occasion to talk to me about my manner of 
 writing; observed that though I had the advantage 
 of my antagonist in correct spelling and pointing 
 (which he attributed to the printing-house), I fell far 
 short in elegance of expression, in method, and in per- 
 spicuity, of which he convinced me by several in- 
 stances. I saw the justice of his remarks, and thence' 
 grew more attentive to my manner of writing, and 
 determined to endeavor to improve my style. 
 
 About this time I met with an odd volume of the 
 ^Spectator. I had never before seen any of them. I 
 bought it, read it over and over, and was much de- 
 lighted with it. I thought the writing excellent, and 
 wished if possible to imitate it. With that view I took 
 some of the papers, and making short hints of the 
 sentiments in each sentence, laid them by a few days, 
 and then, without looking at the book, tried to com- 
 plete the papers again, by expressing each hinted sen- 
 timent at length, and as fully as it had been expressed 
 before, in any suitable words that should occur to me. 
 Then I compared my Spectator with the original, dis- 
 covered some of my faults, and corrected them. But 
 I found I wanted a stock of words, or a readiness in 
 recollecting and using them, which I thought I should 
 have acquired before that time, if I had gone on mak- 
 ing verses; since the continual search for words of the 
 
74 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 same import, but of different lengtli to suit the mea- 
 sure, or of different sound for the rhyme, would have 
 laid me under a constant necessity of searching for 
 variety, and also have tended to fix that variety in my 
 mind, and make me master of it. Therefore, I took 
 some of the tales in the Spectator^ and turned them 
 into verse ; and, after a time, when I had pretty well 
 forgotten the prose, turned them back again. 
 
 I also sometimes jumbled my collection of hints 
 into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to 
 reduce them into the best order before I began to form 
 the full sentences and complete the subject. This was 
 to teach me method in the arrangement of the thoughts. 
 By comparing my work with the original, I discovered 
 my faults, and corrected them; but I sometimes had 
 the pleasure to fancy that, in certain particulars of 
 small consequence, I had been fortunate enough to 
 improve the method or the language, and this encour- 
 aged me to think that I might in time come to be a 
 tolerable English writer, of which I was extremely 
 ambitious. The time I allotted for writing exercises, 
 and for reading, was at night, or before work began 
 in the morning, or on Sundays, when I contrived to 
 be in the printing-house, avoiding as much as I could 
 the constant attendance at public worship which my 
 father used to exact of me when I was under his care, 
 and which I still continued to consider a duty, though 
 I could not afford time to practise it. 
 
 When about sixteen years of age, I happened to 
 meet with a book, written by one Tryon, recommend- 
 ing a vegetable diet. I determined to go into it. 
 My brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, 
 but boarded himself and his apprentices in another 
 family. My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an incon- 
 
FRANKLIN'S BOYHOOD 75 
 
 venience, and I was frequently chid for my singular- 
 ity. I made myself acquainted with Try on' s manner 
 of preparing some of his dishes, such as boiling pota- 
 toes or rice, making hasty pudding and a few others, 
 and then proposed to my brother that if he would give 
 me weekly half the money he paid for my board, I 
 would board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I 
 presently found that I could save half what he paid 
 me. This was an additional fund for buying of books ; 
 but I had another advantage in it. My brother and 
 the rest going from the printing-house to their meals, 
 I remained there alone, and dispatching presently my 
 light repast (which was often no more than a biscuit, 
 or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins, or a tart from 
 the pastry-cook's, and a glass of water), had the rest 
 of the time, till their return, for study; in which I 
 made the greater progress from that greater clearness 
 of head and quicker apprehension which generally 
 attend temperance in eating and drinking. Now it 
 was that (being on some occasion made ashamed of 
 my ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed 
 learning when at school) I took Cocker's book on 
 " Arithmetic," and went through the whole by myself 
 with the greatest ease. I also read Seller's and Sturny's 
 book on "Navigation," which made me acquainted 
 with the little geometry it contains; but I never pro- 
 ceeded far in that science. I read about this time 
 Locke "On Human Understanding," and "The Art 
 of Thinking,'^ by Messrs. de Port Royal. 
 
 My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a 
 newspaper. It was the second that appeared in Amer- 
 ica, and was called the The New England Courant. 
 The only one before it was the Boston News Letter. 
 
76 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 I remember his being dissuaded by some of his friends 
 from the undertaking, as not likely to succeed, one 
 newspaper being in their judgment enough for Amer- 
 ica. At this time, 1771, there are not less than five and 
 twenty. He went on, however, with the undertaking. 
 I was employed to carry the papers to the customers, 
 after having worked in composing the types and print- 
 ing off the sheets. 
 
 He had some ingenious men among his friends, who 
 amused themselves by writing little pieces for this 
 paper, which gained it credit and made it more in de- 
 mand, and these gentlemen often visited us. Hearing 
 their conversations, and their accounts of the approba- 
 tion their papers were received with, I was excited to 
 try my hand among them. But, being still a boy, and 
 suspecting that my brother would object to printing 
 anything of mine in his paper, if he knew it to be mine, 
 I contrived to disguise my hand, and, writing an anony- 
 mous paper, I put it at night under the door of the 
 printing-house. It was found in the morning, and com- 
 municated to his writing friends when they called in 
 as usual. They read it, commented on it in my hear- 
 ing, and I had the exquisite pleasure of finding it met 
 with their approbation, and that, in their different 
 guesses at the author, none were named but men of 
 some character among us for learning and ingenuity. I 
 suppose that I was rather lucky in my judges, and that 
 they were not really so very good as I then believed 
 them to be. Encouraged, however, by this attempt, I 
 wrote and sent in the same way to the press several other 
 pieces, that were equally approved ; and I kept my se- 
 cret till all my fund of sense for such performances was 
 exhausted, and then discovered it, when I began to be 
 considered a little more by my brother's acquaintances. 
 
FRANKLIN'S BOYHOOD 77 
 
 However, tliat did not quite please him, as he thought 
 it tended to make me vain. This might be one occa- 
 sion of the differences we began to have about this time. 
 Though a brother, he considered himself as my master, 
 and me as his apprentice, and accordingly expected the 
 same services of me as he would from another, while I 
 thought he degraded me too much in some he required 
 of me, who from a brother expected more indulgence. 
 Our disputes were often brought before our father, and 
 I fancy I was either generally in the right, or else a bet- 
 ter pleader, because the judgment was generally in my 
 favor. But my brother was passionate, and had often 
 beaten me, which I took extremely amiss ; and, think- 
 ing my apprenticeship very tedious, I was continually 
 wishing for some opportunity of shortening it, which 
 at length offered in a manner unexpected. Perhaps this 
 harsh and tyrannical treatment of me might be a 
 means of impressing me with the aversion to arbi- 
 trary power, that has stuck to me through my whole 
 life. 
 
 One of the pieces in our newspaper on some politi- 
 cal point, which I have now forgotten, gave offence to 
 the Assembly. He was taken up, censured and impris- 
 oned for a month by the Speaker's warrant, I suppose 
 because he would not discover the author. I, too, was 
 taken up and examined before the Council ; but, though 
 I did not give them any satisfaction, they contented 
 themselves with admonishing me, and dismissed me, 
 considering me perhaps as an apprentice, who was 
 bound to keep his master's secrets. During my bro- 
 ther's confinement, which I resented a good deal not- 
 withstanding our private differences, I had the manage- 
 ment of the paper ; and I made bold to give our rulers 
 some rubs in it, which my brother took very kindly, 
 
78 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 while others began to consider me in an unfavorable 
 light, as a youth that had a turn for libeling and satire. 
 My brother's discharge was accompanied with an 
 order, and a very odd one, that " James Franldin 
 should no longer print the newspaper called The New 
 England Couranty On a consultation held in our 
 printing-office amongst his friends, what he should do 
 in this conjuncture, it was proposed to elude the order 
 by changing the name of the paper. But my brother, 
 seeing inconvenience in this, came to a conclusion, as 
 a better way, to let the paper in future be printed in 
 the name of Benjamin Franklin; and in order to 
 avoid the censure of the Assembly, that might fall on 
 him, as still printing it by his apprentice, he contrived 
 and consented that my old indenture should be returned 
 to me with a discharge on the back of it to show in case 
 of necessity ; and, in order to secure to him the benefit 
 of my service, I should sign new indentures for the re- 
 mainder of my time, which were to be kept private. A 
 very flimsy scheme it was ; however, it was immediately 
 executed, and the paper was printed accordingly, under 
 my name for several months. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Bunyan: — A famous English writer (1628-1688), author of 
 many sermons and tracts, and other religious articles. His best 
 known work is the allegory, Pilgrirn's Progress. 
 
 Plutarch's Lives : — Plutarch (40-120) was a Greek philoso- 
 pher and historian. His Lives of Celebrated Greeks and Romans 
 is a well-known and interesting book. 
 
 Defoe: — An English writer and journalist (1661-1731), the 
 author of Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 Dr. Mather: — ♦Cotton Mather, a famous Puritan preacher 
 of Boston (1663-1728). He took a leading part in the attack 
 on witchcraft. 
 
FRANKLIN'S BOYHOOD 79 
 
 ' the indenture: — The agreement between a master-work- 
 man and his apprentice, 
 
 the Spectator: — A journal published in London, 1711- 
 1712 ; it was written chiefly by Addison and Steele, who are 
 justly noted for the excellence of their work. 
 
 Locke: —An English philosopher (1632-1704). 
 
 Messrs. de Port Royal: — The expression il/essiewrs de Port 
 Royal means the gentlemen of Port Royal. Port Royal was an ab- 
 bey founded in 1626. The writings here referred to were by the 
 Jansenists of Port Royal — followers of Cornelis Jansen, a 
 Dutch Roman Catholic. 
 
 the Assembly: — The Colonial legislative body. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 What is an autobiography? Can you name any one besides 
 Franklin who has written one? Do you think it is an easy thing 
 to write? Why? Why are autobiographies not more common ? 
 What kind of man was Franklin's father? What qualities does 
 Benjamin Franklin seem to have got from his father, either by 
 inheritance or by training? Was Benjamin like the usual boy ? 
 Were the books that he read as a boy very suitable and attrac- 
 tive? Do you think that his father did right in discouraging his 
 sou to write poetry? How did Franklin's father help him in 
 learning to write prose? Explain carefully Benjamin Franklin's 
 way of teaching himself to write. Do you believe it a good one? 
 If it is, why is it not more commonly used in teaching and 
 studying composition? Would Franklin have been so successful 
 in his writing if he had not been in a printing-office? What are 
 the differences between his time and ours, as far as books, pa- 
 pers, and magazines are concerned? Try to give an account of 
 yourself and some of your early experiences. Keep your work 
 simple, as Franklin's is. 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 My Early Ambitions Doing the Chores 
 
 How I Helped My Father The First Books That I Read 
 
 An Incident of My Childhood Saving Money 
 
 My First Day at School Getting a Start in Life 
 
 Working in Vacation Time Why I Left School 
 
80 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 How I Learned to Make Bread A Tragedy of Childhood 
 
 When I Tried to Help Mother An Autobiography of a Bad Boy 
 
 How I Earned My First Money My First Evening at the Thea- 
 
 Why I Wanted to Be a Soldier tre 
 
 Learning to Sew Learning How to Work 
 
 My First Penny My First Dollar 
 
 t 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 My Early Ambitions : — What was the first ambition that 
 you ean remember? What suggested it? Did y6u look up to 
 some one as a person to be imitated? Did some story that was 
 told you give you an idea of what you would like to be? How 
 did you feel about the matter? Did you think about it much? 
 Did you tell any one of what you hoped to be when you grew 
 up? Did you do anything to make your wishes come true? If 
 so, did your attempts get you into trouble? When did your am- 
 bition begin to change? Why? How many times have your 
 ideas on the subject changed since then? Have you any real 
 ambition at the present time that you would care to tell? 
 
 The First Books That I Read : — Can you remember the 
 first books that you were interested in? Could you read them 
 through, or did you have help? What were they about? Which 
 one did you like best? Did any of them have any infliience upon 
 you? Tell about them in somewhat the same way as that in 
 which Franklin tells of the books that he read. 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 *> 
 
 Autobiography Benjamin Franklin 
 
 Home Life in Colonial Days . . . Alice Morse Earle 
 Customs and Fashions in Old New 
 
 England " " " 
 
 Costumes of Colonial Times . . . " " " 
 
 The Diary of Anna Green Winslow " " " (Ed.) 
 
 Colonial Days and Ways . . . . H. E. Smith 
 
 Colonial Days and Dames . . > . A, H. Wharton 
 
 Beneath Old Roof Trees .... A. E. Brown 
 
 How Our Grandfathers Lived . . A. B. Hart (Ed.) 
 
 Grandfather's Chair Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 Letters from Colonial Children . . E. M. Tappan 
 
FKANKLIN'S BOYHOOD 81 
 
 The New England Primer . . . Paul Leicester Ford (Ed.) 
 Where American Independence Be- 
 gan M. D. Wilson 
 
 Hugh Wynne S. Weir Mitchell 
 
 In the Valley Harold Frederic 
 
 In Colonial Times Mary Wilkins 
 
 Men Who Have Risen ..... Hamilton W. Mabie 
 
 Poor Boys Who Became Famous . Sarah K. Bolton 
 Girls Who Became Famous ... « « « 
 Famous American Statesmen ... « « « 
 
 The Making of an American . . . Jacob Kiis 
 
 Up from Slavery Booker T. Washington 
 
 The Story of My Life Helen Keller 
 
 The Story of a Child Pierre Loti 
 
 An Indian Boyhood Charles Eastman 
 
 The One I Knew Best of All . . . Frances Hodgson Burnett 
 
 Autobiography Joseph Jefferson 
 
 Autobiography (in Life of Scott, by 
 
 Lockhart) Walter Scott 
 
 A New England Girlhood .... Lucy Larcom 
 The Autobiography of a Tomboy . Jeannette Gilder 
 The Many-sided Franklin .... Paul Leicester Ford 
 The True Benjamin Franklin . . S. G. Fisher 
 The True Story of Benjamin Frank- 
 lin E. S. Brooks 
 
 Captains of Industry James Parton 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 (From The Sketch Book) 
 
 Lo, now ia come our joyful' st feast ! 
 
 Let every man be jolly, 
 Each roome with yvie leaves is drest, 
 And every post with holly. 
 
 Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, 
 And Christmas blocks are burning ; 
 
 Their ovens they with bak'd meats choke, 
 And all their spits are turning 
 
 Without the door let sorrow lie, 
 And if, for cold, it hap to die, 
 Wee '1 bury it in a Christmas pye, 
 And evermore be merry. 
 
 WiTHEES, Juvenilia. 
 
 I HAD finished my toilet, and was loitering with 
 Frank Bracebridge in the library, when he heard a 
 distant thwacking sound, which he informed me was a 
 signal for the serving up of the dinner. The 'Squire 
 kept up old customs in kitchen as well as hall; and the 
 rolling-pin struck upon the dresser by the cook, sum- 
 moned the servants to carry in the meats. 
 
 Just in this nick the cook knock'd thrice, 
 And all the waiters in a trice 
 
 His summons did obey ; 
 Each serving man, with dish in hand, 
 Marched boldly up, like our train band, 
 
 Presented, and away. 
 
 The dinner was served up in the great hall, where 
 the 'Squire always held his Christmas banquet. A 
 blazing crackling fire of logs had been heaped on to 
 warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went 
 sparkling and wreathing up the wide-mouthed chim- 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 83 
 
 ney. The great picture of tlie crusader and his white 
 horse had been profusely decorated with greens for 
 the occasion ; and holly and ivy had likewise been 
 wreathed round the helmet and weapons on the oppo- 
 site wall, which I understood were the arms of the 
 same warrior. I must own, by the bye, I had strong 
 doubts about the authenticity of the painting and 
 armor as having belonged to the crusader, they cer- 
 tainly having the stamp of more recent days; but I 
 was told that the painting had been so considered time 
 out of mind; and that, as to the armor, it had been 
 found in a lumber-room, and elevated to its present 
 situation by the 'Squire, who at once determined it to 
 be the armor of the family hero; and as he was abso- 
 lute authority on all such subjects in his own house- 
 hold, the matter had passed into current acceptation. 
 A sideboard was set out just under tbis chivalric 
 trophy, on which was a display of plate that might 
 have vied (at least in variety) with Belshazzar's parade 
 of the vessels of the temple; "flagons, cans, cups, 
 beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers"; the gorgeous 
 utensils of good companionship that had gradually 
 accumulated through many generations of jovial house- 
 keepers. Before these stood the two yule candles, beam- 
 ing like two stars of the first magnitude ; other lights 
 were distributed in branches, and the whole array 
 glittered like a firmament of silver. 
 
 We were ushered into this banqueting scene with, 
 the sound of minstrelsy ; the old barper being seated 
 on a stool beside the fireplace, and twanging his in- 
 strument with a vast deal more power than melody. 
 Never did Christmas board display a more goodly and 
 gracious assemblage of countenances ; those who were 
 not handsome, were, at least, happy ; and happiness is 
 
84 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 a rare improver of your hard-favored visage. I always 
 consider an old English family as well worth studying 
 as a collection of Holbein's portraits, or Albert Durer's 
 prints. There is much antiquarian lore to be acquired ; 
 much knowledge of the physiognomies of former times. 
 Perhaps it may be from having continually before 
 their eyes those rows of old family portraits, with 
 which the mansions of this country are stocked ; cer- 
 tain it is, that the quaint features of antiquity are often 
 most faithfully perpetuated in these ancient lines ; and 
 I have traced an old family nose through a whole pic- 
 ture gallery, legitimately handed down from genera- 
 tion to generation, almost from the time of the Con- 
 quest. Something of the kind was to be observed in 
 the worthy company around me. Many of their faces 
 had evidently originated in a Gothic age, and been 
 merely copied by succeeding generations; and there 
 was one little girl, in particular, of staid demeanor, 
 with a high Roman nose, and an antique vinegar as- 
 pect, who was a great favorite of the 'Squire's, being, 
 as he said, a Bracebridge all over, and the very coun- 
 terpart of one of his ancestors who figured in the Court 
 of Henry VIII. 
 
 The parson said grace, which was not a short famil- 
 iar one, such as is commonly addressed to the Deity 
 in these unceremonious days ; but a long, courtly, well- 
 worded one of the ancient school. There was now a 
 pause, as if something was expected ; when suddenly 
 the butler entered the hall with some degree of bustle ; 
 he was attended by a servant on each side with a large 
 wax-light, and bore a silver dish, on which was an 
 enormous pig's head, decorated with rosemary, with 
 a lemou in its mouth, which was placed with great 
 formality at the head of the table. The moment this 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 85 
 
 pageant made its appearance, the harper struck up a 
 flourish ; at the conclusion of which the young Oxo- 
 nian, on receiving a nod from the 'Squire, gave, with 
 an air of the most comic gravity, an old carol, the first 
 verse of which was as follows ; 
 
 Caput apri defero 
 
 Reddens laudes Domino. 
 
 The boar's head in hand bring I, 
 
 With garlands gay and rosemary. 
 
 I pray you all synge merily 
 
 Qui estis in convivio. 
 
 Though prepared to witness many of these little ec- 
 centricities, from being apprised of the peculiar hobby 
 of mine host, yet, I confess, the parade with which so 
 odd a dish was introduced somewhat perplexed me, 
 until I gathered from the conversation of the 'Squire 
 and the parson, that it was meant to represent the 
 bringing in of the boar's head — a dish formerly served 
 up with eeremony, and the sound of minstrelsy and 
 song, at great tables on Christmas day. " I like the old 
 custom," said the 'Squire, " not merely because it is 
 stately and pleasing in itself, but because it was ob- 
 served at the college at Oxford, at which I was edu- 
 cated. When I hear the old song chanted, it brings to 
 mind the time when I was young and gamesome — and 
 the noble old college hall — and my fellow-students 
 loitering about in their black gowns; many of whom, 
 poor lads, are now in their graves ! " 
 
 The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted 
 by such associations, and who was always more taken 
 up with the text than the sentiment, objected to the 
 Oxonian's version of the carol ; which he affirmed 
 was different from that sung at college. He went on, 
 with the dry perseverance of a commentator, to give 
 
86 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 the college reading, accompanied by sundry annota- 
 tions ; addressing himself at first to the company at 
 large ; but finding their attention gradually diverted 
 to other talk, and other objects, he lowered his tone as 
 his number of auditors diminished, until he concluded 
 his remarks in an under voice, to a fat-headed old 
 gentleman next him, who was silently engaged in the 
 discussion of a huge plateful of turkey. 
 
 The table was literally loaded with good cheer, and 
 presented an epitome of country abundance, in this 
 season of overflowing larders. A distinguished post was 
 allotted to " ancient sirloin," as mine host termed it ; 
 being, as he added, " the standard of old English hos- 
 pitality, and a joint of goodly presence, and of full ex- 
 pectation." There were several dishes quaintly deco- 
 rated, and which had evidently something traditional 
 in their embellishments ; but about which, as I did not 
 like to appear over-curious, I asked no questions. 
 
 I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificently 
 decorated with peacocks' feathers, in imitation of the 
 tail of that bird, which overshadowed a considerable 
 tract of the table. This, the 'Squire confessed, with 
 some little hesitation, was a pheasant pie, though a 
 peacock pie was certainly the most authentical ; but 
 there had been such a mortality among the peacocks 
 this season, that he could not prevail upon himself to 
 have one killed. 
 
 It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, 
 who may not have that foolish fondness for odd 
 and obsolete things to which I am a little given, were 
 I to mention the other makeshifts of this worthy old 
 humorist, by which he was endeavoring to follow up, 
 though at humble distance, the quaint customs of an- 
 tiquity. I was pleased, however, to see the respect 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 87 
 
 shown to his whims by his children and relatives ; who, 
 indeed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and 
 seemed all well versed in their parts ; having doubtless 
 been present at many a rehearsal. I was amused, too, 
 at the air of profound gravity with which the butler 
 and other servants executed the duties assigned them, 
 however eccentric. They had an old-fashioned look ; 
 having, for the most part, been brought up in the 
 household, and grown into keeping with the antiquated 
 mansion, and the humors of its lord; and most prob- 
 ably looked upon all his whimsical regulations as the 
 established laws of honorable housekeeping. 
 
 When the cloth was removed, the butler brought in 
 a huge silver vessel, of rare and curious workmanship, 
 which he placed before the 'Squire. Its appearance was 
 hailed with acclamation ; being the Wassail Bowl, so 
 renowned in Christmas festivity. The contents had 
 been prepared by the 'Squire himself ; for it was a bev- 
 erage, in the skilful mixture of which he particularly 
 prided himself ; alleging that it was too abstruse and 
 complex for the comprehension of an ordinary servant. 
 It was a potation, indeed, that might well make the 
 heart of a toper leap within him ; being composed of 
 the richest and raciest wines, highly spiced and sweet- 
 ened, with roasted apples bobbing about the surface. 
 
 The old gentleman's whole countenance beamed with 
 a serene look of indwelling delight, as he stirred this 
 mighty bowl. Having raised it to his lips, with a hearty 
 wish of a merry Christmas to all present, he sent it 
 brimming round the board, for every one to follow his 
 example according to the primitive style ; pronouncing 
 it "the ancient fountain of good feeling, where all 
 hearts met together." 
 
 There was much laughing and rallying, as the hon- 
 
88 WASHIN<iTON IRVING 
 
 est efmblem of Christmas joviality circulated, and was 
 kissed rather coyly by the ladies. But when it reached I 
 
 Master Simon, he raised it in both hands, and with 
 the air of a boon companion, struck up an old Wassail 
 Chanson : 
 
 The brown bowle, 
 
 The merry brown bowle, 
 
 As it goes round aboute-a, 
 
 Fill 
 
 Still, 
 Let the world say what it will, 
 And drink your fill all out-a. 
 
 The deep canne. 
 
 The merry deep canne. 
 
 As thou dost freely qua£E-a, 
 
 Sing 
 
 Fling, 
 Be as merry as a king. 
 And sound a lusty laugh-a. -^ 
 
 Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon 
 family topics, to which I was a stranger. There w^as, 
 however, a great deal of rallying of Master Simon 
 about some gay widow, with whom he was accused of 
 having a flirtation. This attack was commenced by the 
 ladies ; but it was continued throughout the dinner by 
 the fat-headed old gentleman next the parson, with the 
 persevering assiduity of a slow hound ; being one of 
 these long-winded jokers, who, though rather dull at 
 starting game, are unrivaled for their talents in hunting 
 it down. At every pause in the general conversation, he 
 renewed his bantering in pretty much the same terms ; 
 winking hard at me with both eyes, whenever he gave 
 Master Simon what he considered a home thrust. The 
 latter, indeed, seemed fond of being teased on the sub- 
 ject, as old bachelors are apt to be ; and he took occa- 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 89 
 
 sion to inform me, in an undertone, that the lady in 
 question was a prodigiously fine woman and drove her 
 own curricle. ''^ 
 
 The dinner-time passed away in this flow of inno- 
 cent hilarity, and though the old hall may have re- 
 sounded in its time with many a scene of broader rout 
 and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed more 
 honest and genuine enjoj'-ment. How easy it is for one 
 benevolent being to diffuse pleasure around him ; and 
 how truly is a kind heart a fountain of gladness, making 
 everything in its vicinity to freshen into smiles ! The 
 joyous disposition of the worthy 'Squire was perfectly 
 contagious ; he was happy himself, and disposed to make 
 all the world happy ; and the little eccentricities of his 
 humor did but season, in a manner, the sweetness of 
 his philanthropy. 
 
 When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as 
 usual, became still more animated. 
 
 The 'Squire told several long stories of early college 
 pranks and adventures, in some of which the parson 
 had been a sharer ; though in looking at the latter, it 
 required some effort of imagination to figure such a 
 little dark anatomy of a man, into the perpetrator of 
 a madcap gambol. Indeed, the two college chums pre- 
 sented pictures of what men may be made by their dif- 
 ferent lots in life : the 'Squire had left the university 
 to live lustily on his paternal domains, in the vigorous 
 enjoyment of prosperity and sunshine, and had flour- 
 ished on to a hearty and florid old age ; whilst the poor 
 parson, on the contrary, had dried and withered away, 
 among dusty tomes, in the silence and shadows of his 
 study. Still there seemed to be a spark of almost extin- 
 guished fire, feebly glimmering in the bottom of his 
 soul; and, as the 'Squire hinted at a sly story of the 
 
90 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 parson and a pretty milkmaid whom they once met on 
 the banks of the Isis, the old gentleman made an "al- 
 phabet of faces," which, as far as I could decipher his 
 physiognomy, I verily believe was indicative of laughter, 
 — indeed, I have rarely met with an old gentleman that 
 took absolute offence at the imputed gallantries of his 
 youth. 
 
 After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was 
 given up to the younger members of the family, who, 
 prompted to all kinds of noisy mirth by the Oxonian 
 and Master Simon, made its old walls ring with their 
 merriment, as they played at romping games. I delight 
 in witnessing the gambols of children, and particularly 
 at this happy holiday season, and could not help steal- 
 ing out of the drawing-room on hearing one of their 
 peals of laughter. I found them at the game of blind- 
 man's-buff. Master Simon, who was the leader of their 
 revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfill the office 
 of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule, was 
 blinded in the midst of the hall. The little beings were 
 as busy about him as the mock fairies about Falstaff ; 
 pinching him, plucking at the skirts of his coat, and 
 tickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed girl of 
 about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beautiful con- 
 fusion, her frolic face in a glow, her frock half torn off 
 her shoulders, a complete picture of a romp, was the 
 chief tormentor ; and from the slyness with which 
 Master Simon avoided the smaller game, and hemmed 
 this wild little nymph in corners, and obliged her to 
 jump shrieking over chairs, I suspected the rogue of 
 being not a whit more blinded than was convenient. 
 
 When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the 
 company seated round the fire, listening to the parson, 
 who was deeply ensconced in a high-backed oaken chair, 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 91 
 
 the work of some cunning artificer of yore, which had 
 been brought from the library for his particular accom- 
 modation. From this venerable piece of furniture, with 
 which his shadowy figure and dark weazen face so ad- 
 mirably accorded, he was dealing forth strange accounts 
 of the popular superstitions and legends of the sur- 
 rounding country, with which he had become acquainted 
 in the course of his antiquarian researches. I am in- 
 clined to think that the old gentleman was himself 
 somewhat tinctured with superstition, as men are very 
 apt to be, who live a recluse and studious life in a se- 
 questered part of the country, and pore over black-letter 
 tracts, so often filled with the marvellous and super- 
 natural. He gave us several anecdotes of the fancies 
 of the neighboring peasantry, concerning the effigy of 
 the crusader, which lay on the tomb by the church al- 
 tar. As it was the only monument of the kind in that 
 part of the country, it had always been regarded with 
 feelings of superstition by the good wives of the village. 
 It was said to get up from the tomb and walk the 
 rounds of the churchyard in stormy nights, particularly 
 when it thundered ; and one old woman whose cottage 
 bordered on the churchyard, had seen it through the 
 windows of the church, when the moon shone, slowly 
 pacing up and down the aisles. It was the belief that 
 some wrong had been left unredressed by the deceased, 
 or some treasure hidden, which kept the spirit in a 
 state of trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold 
 and jewels buried in the tomb, over which the spectre 
 kept watch ; and there was a story current of a sexton, 
 in old times, who endeavored to break his way to the 
 coffin at night ; but just as he reached it received a 
 violent blow f ron\ the marble hand of the effigy, which 
 stretched him senseless on the pavement. These tales 
 
92 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 were often laughed at by some of the sturdier among 
 the rustics ; yet, when night came on, there were many 
 of the stoutest unbelievers that were shy of venturing 
 alone in the footpath that led across the church- 
 yard. 
 
 From these and other anecdotes that followed, the 
 crusader appeared to be the favorite hero of ghost 
 stories throughout the vicinity. His picture, which 
 hung up in the hall, was thought by the servants to 
 have something supernatural about it : for they re- 
 marked that, in whatever part of the hall you went, 
 the eyes of the warrior wiere still fixed on you. The 
 old porter's wife, too, at the lodge, who had been born 
 and brought up in the family, and was a great gossip 
 among the maid-servants, affirmed, that in her young 
 days she had often heard say, that on Midsummer eve, 
 when it was well known all kinds of ghosts, goblins, 
 and fairies, become visible and walk abroad, the cru- 
 sader used to mount his horse, come down from his 
 picture, ride about the house, down the avenue, and 
 so to the church to visit the tomb ; on which occasion 
 the church door most civilly swung open of itself; not 
 that he needed it — for he rode through closed gates 
 and even stone walls, and had been seen by one of 
 the dairy-maids to pass between two bars of the 
 great park gate, making himself as thin as a sheet of 
 paper. 
 
 All these superstitions I found had been very much 
 countenanced by the 'Squire, who though not supersti- 
 tious himself, was very fond of seeing others so. He 
 listened to every goblin tale of the neighboring gossips 
 with infinite gravity, and held the porter's wife in 
 high favor on account of her talent for the marvellous. 
 He was himself a great reader of old legends and ro- 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 93 
 
 mances, and often lamented that he could not believe 
 in them ; for a superstitious person, he thought, must 
 live in a kind of fairy-land. 
 
 Whilst we were all attention to the parson's stories, 
 our ears were suddenly assailed by a burst of hetero- 
 geneous sounds from the hall, in which were mingled 
 something like the clang of rude minstrelsy, with the 
 uproar of many small voices and girlish laughter. The 
 door suddenly flew open, and a train came trooping 
 into the room, that might almost have been mistaken 
 for the breaking up of the court of Fairy. That inde- 
 fatigable spirit. Master Simon, in the faithful dis- 
 charge of his duties as Lord of Misrule, had conceived 
 the idea of a Christmas mummery, or masking ; and 
 having called in to his assistance the Oxonian and the 
 young officer, who were equally ripe for anything that 
 should occasion romping and merriment, they had car- 
 ried it into instant effect. The old housekeeper had 
 been consulted ; the antique clothes-presses and ward- 
 robes rummaged, and made to yield up the relics of 
 finery that had not seen the light for several genera- 
 tions : the younger part of the company had been pri- 
 vately convened from parlor and hall, and the whole 
 had been bedizened out, into a burlesque imitation of 
 an antique masque. 
 
 Master Simon led the van as " Ancient Christmas," 
 quaintly apparelled in a ruff, short cloak, which had 
 very much the aspect of one of the old housekeeper's 
 petticoats, and a hat that might have served for a vil- 
 lage steeple and must indubitablj^ have figured in the 
 days of the Covenanters. From under this, his nose 
 curved boldly forth, flushed with a frost-bitten bloom 
 that seemed the very trophy of a December blast. He 
 was accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished up as 
 
94 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 "Dame Mince Pie," in the venerable magnificence of 
 faded brocade, long stomacher, peaked hat and high- 
 heeled shoes. 
 
 The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, in a 
 sporting dress of Kendal green, and a foraging cap 
 with a gold tassel. 
 
 The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to 
 deep research, and there was an evident eye to the 
 picturesque natural to a young gallant in presence of 
 his mistress. The fair Julia hung on his arm in a 
 pretty rustic dress, as " Maid Marian." The rest of 
 the train had been metamorphosed in various ways ; 
 the girls trussed up in the finery of the ancient belles 
 of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings bewhiskered 
 with burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, 
 hanging sleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, to represent 
 the characters of Roast Beef, Plum Pudding, and 
 other worthies celebrated in ancient maskings. The 
 whole was under the control of the Oxonian, in the 
 appropriate character of Misrule ; and I observed that 
 he exercised rather a mischievous sway with his wand 
 over the smaller personages of the pageant. 
 
 The irruption of this motley crew, with beat of 
 drum, according to ancient custom, was the consum- 
 mation of uproar and merriment. Master Simon cov- 
 ered himself with glory by the stateliness with which, 
 as Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet with the 
 peerless, though giggling, Dame Mince Pie. It was 
 followed by a dance from all the characters, which, 
 from its medley of costumes, seemed as though the old 
 family portraits had skipped down from their frames 
 to join in the sport. Different centuries were figuring 
 at cross-hands and right and left ; the Dark Ages were 
 cutting pirouettes and rigadoons; and the days of 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 95 
 
 Queen Bess, jigging merrily down the middle, through 
 a line of succeeding generations. 
 
 The worthy 'Squire contemplated these fantastic 
 sports, and this resurrection of his old wardrobe, with 
 the simple relish of childish delight. He stood chuck- 
 ling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hearing a 
 word the parson said, notwithstanding that the latter 
 was discoursing most authentically on the ancient and 
 stately dance of the Pa von, or peacock, from which he 
 conceived the minuet to be derived. For my part, I 
 was in a continual excitement from the varied scenes 
 of whim and innocent gayety passing before me. It 
 was inspiring to see wild-eyed frolic and warm-hearted 
 hospitality breaking out from among the chills and 
 glooms of winter, and old age throwing off his apathy, 
 and catching once more the freshness of youthful en- 
 joyment. I felt also an interest in the scene, from the 
 consideration that these fleeting customs were posting 
 fast into oblivion, and that this was, perhaps, the only 
 family in England in which the whole of them were 
 still punctiliously observed. There was a quaintness, 
 too, mingled with all this revelry, that gave it a pecu- 
 liar zest : it was suited to the time and place ; and as 
 the old Manor-house almost reeled with mirth and 
 wassail, it seemed echoing back the joviality of long- 
 departed years. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Frank Bracebridge : — See Bracehridge Hall, by Irving. 
 'Squire: — Esquire ; a title of office and courtesy, 
 the Crusader : — See Christmas Eve in the Sketch Book. 
 Belshazzar : — Daniel, 5 : 1, 2, 3. 
 Holbein : — A German painter (1497-1543). 
 Albert Durer: — Usually spelled DUrer. A German painter 
 and engraver (1471-1528). 
 
96 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 Conquest : — The conquering of England by William of 
 Normandy, in 1066, generally known as the Norman Conquest. *" 
 
 Gothic : — Pertaining to the art of Western Europe in the 
 thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. 
 
 Oxonian : — A student or graduate of Oxford University, in 
 England. 
 
 Caput apri defero: — *' I bring in the head of the boar." 
 
 The old ceremony of serving up tlie boar's head on Christmas 
 Day is here referred to. 
 
 A peacock pie : — A peacock pie was in ancient times con- 
 sidered a most fitting dish for stately entertainments. The 
 crust was adorned with the plumage of the bird. 
 
 wassail : — A spiced drink used on festive occasions in Eng- 
 land, for the drinking of healths. Wassail means. Health to you ! 
 It is formed from the two Old English words, wees heel, — Be 
 thou healthy. Heel is an earlier form of the modern English 
 hale ; cf . hale and hearty. 
 
 chanson : — The French word for song. 
 
 the brown bowl : — From Poor Robin's Almanack. 
 
 Master Simon : — See Christmas Eve in the Sketch Book. 
 
 the banks of the Isis : — The Isis River in England. 
 
 the Lord of Misrule : — The master of the revels at 
 Christmas, in a nobleman's house. 
 
 Falstaff : — A fat and jolly, but greedy and selfish knight, 
 appearing in several of Shakespeare's plays. The incident here 
 referred to is found in the Merry Wives of Windsor, Act V, 
 S©ene 5. 
 
 black letter tracts : — Tracts or pamphlets printed in Old 
 English or Gothic lettering of very ancient style. 
 
 mummery : — Masking; frolic in disguise. 
 
 Covenanters : — Those who agreed to preserve the reformed 
 religion in Scotland, in 1638. 
 
 Robin Hood : — A famous English outlaw, whose exploits 
 have been the subject of many tales and ballads. 
 
 Kendal green : — A cloth colored green by dye used by 
 the Flemish weavers at Kendal, England. Robin Hood's men are 
 usually represented as wearing kendal green. 
 
 Maid Marian: — The wife of Robin Hood. 
 
 Dark Ages : — A period of ignorance and lack of progress, 
 lasting from (about) 500 A. D. to (about) 1500 A. D. 
 
 pirouettes and rigadoons : — A pirouette is a turning or 
 
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 97 
 
 twisting of the toes in dancing. A rigadoou is a gay, lively dance 
 for one couple. 
 
 Queen Bess : — Queen Elizabeth, who ruled England from 
 1558 to 1603. 
 
 pavon : — Pavo (gen. pavonis) is the Latin word for peacock. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Do you get a good idea of the banquet hall ? Is the picture 
 made clearer by the remarks concerning the crusader and his 
 portrait ? Of what value are these lines ? Does the author give 
 a straightforward account of the situation, or does he digress 
 (wander away) occasionally ? Is his method good or bad? What 
 kind of man is the 'Squire ? The parson ? What is the meaning 
 of " ancient " as applied to the sirloin ? What is the connection 
 with the word " standard " in the next line ? Do you get any 
 idea of the character of Master Simon ? What parts of the 
 Christmas celebration particularly suggest the olden time ? Do 
 you think it a good thing to copy the customs of the past ? Why, 
 and why not ? Does there seem to be any plan about the selec- 
 tion ? What are its good qualities ? Is it clear ? lively ? vivid ? 
 humorous ? interesting ? Can you describe some Christmas fes- 
 tivities that you have seen ? 
 
 THE^IE SUBJECTS 
 
 Hiding the Christmas Tree Preparing the Christmas Din- 
 Our Family Reunion at Christ- ner 
 
 mas A Christmas Party 
 
 How We Trimmed the Tree Getting the Presents Ready 
 
 My First Recollections of Santa The Christmas Tree at Our 
 
 Claus Sunday School 
 
 How I Spent the Holidays In the Kitchen at Christmas 
 A Christmas Visit Time 
 
 When the Tree Caught Fire Christmas at Home 
 
 Seeing the Old Year Out An Old-Fashioned Christmas 
 
 The Night before Christmas How We Celebrated New 
 How We Decorated the Church Year's Day 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 In the Kitchen at Christmas Time : — What are the first 
 preparations made for the Christmas dinner ? How does the 
 
98 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 kitchen look when the supplies all come in ? What part of the 
 cooking is done first ? Who does it ? How does this person look 
 and talk while at work ? What persons help, and what do 
 they do ? Give an idea of the confusion in the kitchen. Describe, 
 in their order, the process of getting the things ready. How do 
 they look, and smell and taste ? When the dinner is all ready, 
 how does the kitchen look ? How do the cooks feel about it ? 
 
 The Christmas Tree at Our Sunday School: — Tell 
 about some particular Christmas tree at your Sunday School. 
 What persons prepared it ? Where was the tree placed ? Did 
 you see it while it was being decorated, or after all the decora- 
 tions were on ? How did it look ? Tell us as much about it as 
 you can, trying by means of picture-words to give a complete 
 idea of the tree. What did the children say about it ? Mention 
 one or two children in particular. Did the little ones wait pa- 
 tiently while the songs were being sung, and the pieces spoken? 
 Give an idea of the services and the people who took part. Did 
 anything funny happen ? Give as clear a picture as you can of 
 the distributing of the presents. Tell what the children received, 
 and what they said and did. Close your description with the de- 
 parture of the people from the church. 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 See the list of books by Washington Irving, page 120 
 
 Christmas Books William M. Thackeray 
 
 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 A Christmas Carol .... 
 
 The First Christmas Tree . . 
 
 The Other Wise Man . . . 
 
 Christmas Eve on Lonesome . 
 
 Betty Leicester's Christmas 
 
 Santa Clans' s Partner . . . 
 
 A Little Book of Profitable Tales 
 
 Colonel Carter's Christmas . . 
 
 A Christmas Wreck and Other Stories Frank R. Stockton 
 
 Christmas Jenny (in A New England 
 
 Nun) Mary E. Wilkins 
 
 The Birds' Christmas Carol . . . Kate Douglas Wiggin 
 
 A Suitable Child Norman Duncan 
 
 Christmas Sermon Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 Charles Dickens 
 it « 
 
 Henry van Dyke 
 (< ti « 
 
 John Fox 
 
 Sarah Orne Jewett 
 
 Thomas Nelson Page 
 
 Eugene Field 
 
 F. Hopkinson Smith 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 (From Tales of a Traveller) 
 
 It was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by 
 mules, slowly toiled its way up one o£ 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 mil- 
 itary travelling dress, and a foraging cap trimmed 
 with fur, though the gray locks which stole from 
 under it hinted that his fighting days were over. Be- 
 side 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 
 schnurrbart or pair of mustaches, bristling from under 
 his nose, and altogether the air of an old soldier. 
 
 It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman ; 
 a wreck of one of those princely families which had 
 lived with almost oriental magnificence, but had been 
 broken down and impoverished by the disasters of 
 Poland. The Count, like many other generous spirits, 
 had been found guilty of the crime of patriotism, and 
 was, in a manner, an exile from his country. He had 
 
100 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 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 
 society, where her beauty and her accomplishments 
 had gained her many admirers; and had she not been 
 the daughter of a poor broken-down Polish nobleman, 
 it is more than probable many would have contended 
 for her hand. Suddenly, however, her health had be- 
 come delicate and drooping ; her gayety fled with the 
 roses of her cheek, and she sank into silence and de- 
 bility. The old Count saw the change with the solici- 
 f tude of a parent. " We must try a change of air and 
 i scene," said he ; and in a few days the old family car- 
 I riage was rumbling 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 counte- 
 nance. 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 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 moun- 
 tains, along the edge of a tumbling stream. The 
 scenery was lonely and savage. The rocks often 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 101 
 
 beetled over the road, with flocks of white goats 
 browsing on their brinks, and gazing down upon the 
 travellers. They had between two or three leagues yet 
 to go before they could reach any village ; yet the 
 muleteer, Pietro, a tippling old fellow, who had re- 
 freshed himself at the last halting-place with a more 
 than ordinary quantity of wine, sat singing and talk- 
 ing 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 the maledictions of Caspar. 
 
 The clouds began to roll in heavy masses along the 
 mountains, shrouding their summits from the view. 
 The air of these heights, too, 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. 
 
 "Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pile 
 of buildings 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 explana- 
 tions 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 would fall lame ; they 
 would never be able to reach the village. And then 
 what could his Eccellenza wish for better than the 
 inn ; a perfect castello — a palazzo — and such people ! 
 — and such a larder ! — and such beds ! — His Eccel- 
 
102 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 lenza might fare as sumptuously and sleep as soundly 
 there as a prince ! " 
 
 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 hunt- 
 ing-seat for one of the Italian princes. There was 
 space enough within its walls and its out-buildings 
 to have accommodated 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 
 scowling in their expression. They all knew old Pietro, 
 however, and gave him a welcome as he entered, sing- 
 ing and talking, and almost whooping, into the gate- 
 way. 
 
 The hostess of the inn waited, herself, on the Count 
 and his daughter, to show them the apartments. 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. Everythiog, however, had a wretched, 
 squalid look. The walls were damp and bare, except- 
 ing that here and there hung some great painting, large 
 enough for a chapel, and blackened out of all distinc- 
 tion. 
 
 They chose two bedrooms, one within another; the 
 inner one for the daughter. The bedsteads were mas- 
 sive and misshapen^ but on examining the beds 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 103 
 
 so vaunted by old Pietro they found tliem stuffed 
 with fibres of hemp knotted in great lumps. The 
 Count shrugged his shoulders, but there was no 
 choice left. 
 
 The chilliness of the apartment 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 chimney. A quantity of green wood had 
 just been thrown on, which puffed out volumes of 
 smoke. The room corresponded to the rest of the man- 
 sion. 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. She was a 
 slattern, of course ; yet her garments, though dirty and 
 negligent, were of costly materials. 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 remains of beauty, yet there was something in the 
 expression of her countenance that inspired the young 
 lady with singular aversion. She was officious and ob- 
 sequious 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 having, 
 either through negligence or design, subjected his mas- 
 ter and mistress to such quarters ; and vowed by his 
 mustaches to have revenge on the old varlet the mo- 
 ment 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 expres- 
 
104 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 sion with which she regarded the travellers from under 
 her strong dark eyebrows. 
 
 As to the Count, he was a good-humored, passive 
 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 only repaid by thicker puffs of smoke, 
 which almost overcame the good gentleman's pa- 
 tience. He would draw back, cast a look upon his deli- 
 cate daughter, then upon the cheerless, squalid apart- 
 ment, and, shrugging his shoulders, would give a 
 fresh stir to the fire. 
 
 Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, 
 there is none greater than sulky attendance : the good 
 Count for some time bore the smoke in silence, rather 
 than address himself to the scowling servant-maid. At 
 length he was compelled to beg for drier firewood. 
 The woman retired muttering. On re-entering 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 handkerchief. It was such 
 an attention as any woman of ordinary feeling would 
 have yielded ; but perhaps 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 ministered to by such hands. 
 
THE BELATED TKAVELLBRS 105 
 
 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, Signora!" 
 exclaimed she. 
 
 A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. It was 
 a Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. 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 the moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar 
 muttered Polish maledictions enough to agonize an 
 Italian ear ; but it was impossible to convince the host- 
 ess of the superiority of his old master and young mis- 
 tress to the whole nobility of Spain. 
 
 The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter 
 to the window just as the newcomers 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 a sparkling black 
 eye ; she was richly and gayly dressed, and walked with 
 the assistance of a gold-headed cane as high as herself. 
 The young man was tall and elegantly formed. The 
 Count's daughter shrank back at sight of him, though 
 the deep frame of the window screened her from obser- 
 vation. She gave a heavy sigh as she closed the case- 
 ment. 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 case- 
 ment 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 
 
106 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 cheek in the palm of her hand, and looked mournfully 
 into the fire. 
 
 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 appeared, with 
 her usual obsequiousness, apologizing for showing in 
 the newcomers ; 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 en- 
 tered, 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 Eome 
 and Naples ; and at whose conversaziones, 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 daughter and himself at the villa of a noble- 
 man 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 Princess had 
 been a belle in her youth, and a woman of fashion all 
 her life, and liked to be attended to. 
 
 The young man approached the daughter, and be- 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 107 
 
 gan 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 confitures 
 brought from one of her carriages ; for she was a vet- 
 eran 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 offering at the holy shrine. . . . 
 
 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 con- 
 versation 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 
 
108 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 daughter ; bmt she leaned over her plate, and her 
 tresses cast a shade over her countenance. 
 
 When supper was over, they drew their chairs 
 about the great fireplace. The flame and smoke had 
 subsided, and a heap of glowing embers diffused 
 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 lit- 
 tle music before parting for the night ? " demanded 
 she. 
 
 The Count was proud of his daughter's accomplish- 
 ment, and joined in the request. The young man made 
 an effort of politeness, and taking up the guitar, pre- 
 sented it, though in an embarrassed manner, to the 
 fair musician. She would have declined it, but was too 
 much confused to do so ; indeed, she was so nervous 
 and agitated, that she dared not trust her voice to 
 make an excuse. She touched the instrument with a 
 faltering hand, and after preluding a little, accompa- 
 nied herself in several Polish airs. Her father's eyes 
 glistened as he sat gazing on her. Even the crusty 
 Caspar lingered in the room, partly through a fondness 
 for the music of his 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 fastidious ears. The little Princess 
 nodded her head and tapped her hand to the music, 
 though exceedingly 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 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 109 
 
 your laDguage ; though she has been a sad girl and 
 neglected it of late." 
 
 The color flushed the pale cheek of the daughter. 
 She hesitated, murmured something ; but with sudden 
 effort, collected herself, struck the guitar boldly, and 
 began. It was a Spanish romance, with something of 
 love and melancholy in it. She gave the first stanza 
 with great expression, for the tremulous melting tones 
 of her voice went to the heart ; but her articulation 
 failed, her lip quivered, the song died away, and she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 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 chamber, 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. "Some- 
 thing is the matter with that child," said he, " which I 
 cannot divine. She has lost all health and spirits lately. 
 She was always a tender 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 I " said the little Princess, 
 with a shrewd nod of the head. 
 
 " Impossible ! " replied the good Count, artlessly. 
 " She has never mentioned a word of such a thing tome." 
 
 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. 
 
110 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 When she found herself alone in her chamber, the 
 feelings of the young lady, so long restrained, broke 
 forth with violence. She opened the casement that the 
 cool air might blow upon her throbbing temples. Per- 
 haps there was some little pride or pique mingled with 
 her emotions ; though her gentle nature did not seem 
 calculated to harbor any such angry inmate. 
 
 "He saw me weep!" said she, with a sudden man- 
 tling 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 window, showed that they were conducting 
 the Princess to her apartments, which were in the op- 
 posite wing of the inn ; and she distinctly saw the figure 
 of the nephew as he passed one of the casements. 
 
 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 what will become of the poor young lady ? " 
 said a voice, which she recognized for that of the ser- 
 vant-woman. 
 
 " Pooh, she must take her chance," was the reply 
 from old Pietro. 
 
 " But cannot she be spared ? " asked the other en- 
 treatingly ; " 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 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 111 
 
 got so far from the window that the Polonaise could 
 hear nothing further. 
 
 / There was something in this fragment of conversa- 
 tion 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 indis- 
 tinctly ; 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 
 startled by a low knocking 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 an- 
 swered in the voice of the female domestic. On open- 
 ing the door, the woman stood before it pale and 
 agitated. She entered softly, laying her finger upon 
 her lips in sign of caution and secrecy. 
 
 " Fly ! " said she : " leave this house instantly, or 
 you are lost ! " 
 
 The young lady, trembling with alarm, demanded 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 his room, 
 
112 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 and told him of the fearful warning she had received. 
 The Count returned with her into her chamber, fol- 
 lowed by Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth 
 out of the embarrassed answers of the woman. The inn 
 was beset by robbers. They were to be introduced after 
 midnight, 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 our- 
 selves," said the Count. 
 
 " What ! when the people of the inn were in league 
 with the banditti ? " 
 
 " How then are we to escape ? Can we not order out 
 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 dismounted who has 
 been to summon the aid of a part of the band who 
 were at a distance." 
 
 " One horse ; and there are three of us ! " said the 
 Count. 
 
 "And the Spanish Princess!" cried the daughter 
 anxiously — "How can she be extricated from the 
 danger?" 
 
 " Diavolo ! what is she to me ? " said the woman in 
 sudden passion. " It is you I come to save, and you 
 will betray me, and we shall all be lost ! Hark ! " con- 
 tinued she, " I am called — I shall be discovered — 
 one word more. This door leads by a staircase to the 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 113 
 
 courtyard. Under 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 recollect, 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 agitated con- 
 sultation 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 si- 
 lence, and leave her to be massacred ! " — A shudder- 
 ing seized her at the very thought. The gallantry of 
 the Count, too, revolted at the idea. He could not con- 
 sent to turn his back upon a party of helpless travel- 
 lers, 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 
 tumult ? What may happen to her in a chance-medley 
 affray?" 
 
 Here the feelings of the father were roused ; he 
 looked upon his lovely, helpless child, and trembled 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 Prin- 
 cess know her danger." She was willing to share it 
 with her. 
 
 At length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a faith- 
 
114 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 ful 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 assistance. 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 agita- 
 tion — "There is a young cavalier with the Prin- 
 cess — her nephew — perhaps he may — " 
 
 " I understand you. Mademoiselle," replied old Cas- 
 par 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 had 
 not anticipated being so thoroughly understood by the 
 blunt old servant. 
 
 " That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. 
 She would have added something, or made some ex- 
 planation, 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, fastened 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 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 115 
 
 pointed out. Many a fearful and an anxious look did 
 the daughter cast back upon the gloomy pile of build- 
 ings ; the lights which had feebly twinkled through 
 the dusky casements were one by one disappearing, a 
 sign that the house was gradually sinking to repose; 
 and she trembled with impatience, lest succor should 
 not arrive until that repose had been fatally inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 They passed silently and safely along the skirts of 
 the rocks, protected from observation by their over- 
 hanging 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 for- 
 ward and seized the bridle. The horse became restive, 
 started back, and reared, and had not the young lady 
 clung to her father, she would have been 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 aroused ; but such was the 
 awe in which the banditti were held, that the inhabit- 
 ants shrank at the idea of encountering them. A des- 
 perate band had for some time infested that pass 
 through the mountains, and the inn had long been sus- 
 pected of being one of those horrible places where the 
 unsuspicious wayfarer is entrapped and silently dis- 
 
116 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 posed of. The rich ornaments worn by the slatternly 
 hostess of the inn had excited heavy suspicions. Sev- 
 eral instances had occurred of small parties of travel- 
 lers disappearing mysteriously on that road, who, it i 
 was supposed at first, had been carried off by the rob- I 
 bers for the sake 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 situation. 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 agoniz- 
 ing. Fortunately there was a body of-, gensdarmes 
 resting at the village. A number of the young villagers l 
 volunteered to accompany them, and the little army 
 was put in motion. The Count, having desposited his 
 daughter in a place of safety, was too 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 awaiting the result. 
 
 The party arrived at the inn just in time. The rob- 
 bers, finding their plans discovered, and the travellers 
 prepared for their reception, had become open and 
 furious in their attack. The Princess's party had bar- 
 ricaded themselves in one suite of apartments, and re- 
 pulsed the robbers from the doors and windows. Cas- 
 par 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 ex- 
 hausted, and they would have found it difficult to hold 
 out much longer, when a discharge from the musketry 
 of the gensdarmes gave them the joyful tidings of suc- 
 cor. 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 117 
 
 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 desperate 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 of ways. 
 Suffice it to say, the robbers were defeated ; several of 
 them killed, and several taken prisoners ; which last, 
 together with the people of the inn, were either exe- 
 cuted or sent to the galleys. 
 
 I picked up these particulars in the course of a jour- 
 ney which I made some time after the event had taken 
 place. I passed by the very inn. It was then disman- 
 tled, excepting one wing, in which a body of gensdarmes 
 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?" in- 
 quired 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 inter- 
 val 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 rapture, and fainted. Happily, however, she 
 
118 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 soon recovered, and what is more, was married shortly 
 afterwards to the young cavalier, and the whole party 
 accompanied the old Princess in her pilgrimage to Lo- 
 retto, where her votive* offerings may still be seen in 
 the treasury of the Santa Casa." 
 
 NOTES 
 
 the Apennines : — The great mountain range of Italy. 
 
 schnurrbart: — The German word for mustache. 
 
 the disasters of Poland: — There were three divisions of 
 Poland (called the partitions of Poland) during the latter part 
 of the 18th century. Large tracts of country were parceled out 
 to different nations. 
 
 Pietro: — Peter. 
 
 Ecoellenza: — Excellency. 
 
 Castello : — Castle. 
 
 palazzo : — Palace. 
 
 Polonaise: — The French name for a Polish woman. 
 
 San Francesco: — Saint Francis. 
 
 conversaziones: — Literary gatherings. 
 
 Loretto : — A famous shrine in Ancona. 
 
 peccadilloes: — Small sins. 
 
 Cospetto: — An exclamation of impatience, " Plague on it!" 
 
 gensdarmes: — Armed policemen. 
 
 the Englishman: — One of the party at the inn, where the 
 story of The Belated Travellers was told. 
 
 Santa Casa: — The Holy House; i. e., the house of the Vir- 
 gin Mary, reputed to have been miraculously brought from Naz- 
 areth to Loretto. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 How much of the first four paragraphs is description? How 
 much is narration? Are the two kinds of writing well combined? 
 What reason is given for the journey that is being taken by the 
 nobleman and his daughter? What effect is produced by the de- 
 scription of the inn and the persons who lived in it? What does 
 one expect, from the description? What does the awkward fall 
 of the servant have to do with the story? What does the arrival 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 119 
 
 of another party of travelers have to do with it? Do you think 
 that the author would bring in these incidents if they were not 
 important? Why does the daughter of the nobleman appear dis- 
 turbed? What is the meaning of the incident relating to the 
 guitar? Have the young girl and the Princess's nephew known 
 each other before? Who are the people who talk under the 
 young lady's window? When plans are being made for escape, 
 about whom is the young lady concerned? Why? What is the 
 most exciting point in the story? Does the story close abruptly, 
 or gradually? What is the purpose of the last conversation? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 An Adventure on the Road The Highwayman 
 
 When I Thought I Heard a The Secret Passage 
 
 Burglar Chasing the Thieves 
 
 Night among the Hills When the Store Was Robbed 
 
 The Country Hotel The Gypsy Camp 
 
 A Gloomy Room Searching the Haunted House 
 
 Supper at the Inn Frightened by a Ghost 
 
 An Exciting Adventure How We Routed the Tramps 
 A Country Road at Night 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 An Adventure on the Road; — Try to write in a few hun- 
 dred words, a little story based either on reality or on what you 
 have imagined. Decide, before you begin, just what the story 
 is to contain. It must be simple, or you will find it getting so 
 long that you will become confused. In a short story, such as 
 you are writing, do you think you ought to have so long a de- 
 scriptive introduction as Irving has in his ? Try to let the reader 
 know, very early in the story, the time and place in which the 
 incident occurs; also, who the travelers are, how they look, how 
 they are traveling, and where they are going. Give some of 
 their conversation, if you can. If you think it wise, you might 
 tell one or two minor incidents that happen to the travelers: 
 this will gain suspense. Go on, and tell, in as lively a way as 
 possible, the adventure that takes place. Remember that di- 
 rectly quoted conversation makes a story lively. Tell what 
 each person does and says. Decide what is the climax of your 
 story, and try to make that the strongest point. Do you think 
 
120 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 that there should be much material added, after the climax is 
 reached? 
 
 A Gloomy Room: — Tell where the room is, that you are 
 describing. Can you give a general idea of how it looks as you 
 enter the door? Describe the details that help to make it look 
 dark and uninviting. Can you explain how one feels when he is 
 in this particular room? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 Tales of a Traveller Washington Irving 
 
 The Sketch Book « « 
 
 Knickerbocker's History of New 
 
 York « « 
 
 The Alhambra « " 
 
 Astoria " " 
 
 Bracebridge Hall " " 
 
 Adventures of Captain Bonneville . " " 
 
 Wolfert's Roost " « 
 
 Monsieur Beaucaire Booth Tarkington 
 
 The King of the Mountains . . . E. About (Trans. Mrs. 
 
 Kingsbury) 
 
 Buccaneers and Pirates of Our Coast Frank R. Stockton 
 
 The Express Messenger .... Cy Warman 
 
 Held for Orders F. H. Spearman 
 
 Washington Irving CD. Warner 
 
THE HOUSE AT WALDEN 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 (From Chapter I of Walden) 
 
 Near tlie end of March, 1845, I borrowed an axe 
 and went down to the woods by Walden Pond, nearest 
 to where I intended to build my house, and began to 
 cut down some tall arrowy white pines, still in their 
 youth, for timber. It is difficult to begin without bor- 
 rowing, but perhaps it is the most generous course thus 
 to permit your fellow-men to have an interest in your 
 enterprise. The owner of the axe, as he released his 
 hold on it, said that it was the apple of his eye ; but I 
 returned it sharper than I received it. It was a pleasant 
 hillside where I worked, covered with pine woods, 
 through which I looked out on the pond, and a small 
 open field in the woods where pines and hickories 
 were springing up. The ice in the pond was not yet 
 dissolved, though there were some open spaces, and it 
 was all dark colored and saturated with water. There 
 were some slight flurries of snow during the days that 
 I worked there ; but for the most part when I came 
 out on to the railroad, on tiiy way home, its yellow sand 
 heap stretched away gleaming in the hazy atmosphere, 
 and the rails shone in the spring sun, and I heard the 
 lark and pewee and other birds already come to com- 
 mence another year with us. They were pleasant spring 
 days, in which the winter of man's discontent was thaw- 
 ing as well as the earth, and the life that had lain tor- 
 pid began to stretch itself. One day, when my axe had 
 come off and I had cut a green hickory for a wedge, 
 
122 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 driving it with a stone, and had placed the whole to 
 soak in a pond hole in order to swell the wood, I saw a 
 striped snake run into the water, and he lay on the 
 bottom, apparently without inconvenience, as long as 
 I staid there, or more than a quarter of an hour ; per- 
 haps because he had not fairly come out of the torpid 
 state. It appeared to me that for a like reason men re- 
 main in their present low and primitive condition ; but 
 if they should feel the influence of the spring of springs 
 arousing them, they would of necessity rise to a higher 
 and more ethereal life. I had previously seen the snakes 
 in frosty mornings in my path with portions of their 
 bodies still numb and inflexible, waiting for the sun to 
 thaw them. On the 1st of April it rained and melted 
 the ice, and in the early part of the day, which was 
 very foggy, I heard a stray goose groping about over 
 the pond and cackling as if lost, or like the spirit of 
 the fog. ' 
 
 So I went on for some days cutting and hewing tim- 
 ber, and also studs and rafters, all with my narrow 
 axe, not having many communicable or scholar-like 
 thoughts, singing to myself, — 
 
 Men say they know many things, 
 
 But lo ! they have taken wings — 
 
 The arts and sciences, 
 
 And a thousand appliances j 
 
 The wind that blows 
 
 Is all that any body knows. 
 
 I hewed the main timbers six inches square, most of 
 the studs on two sides only, and the rafters and floor 
 timbers on one side, leaving the rest of the bark on, so 
 that they were just as straight and much stronger than 
 sawed ones. Each stick was carefully mortised or ten- 
 oned by its stump, for I had borrowed other tools by 
 
JHE HOUSE AT WALDEN 123 
 
 this time. My days in the woods were not very long 
 ones ; yet I usually carried my dinner of bread and 
 butter, and read the newspaper in which it was wrapped, 
 at noon, sitting amid the green pine boughs which I 
 had cut off, and to my bread was imparted some of their 
 fragrance, for my hands were covered with a thick coat 
 of pitch. Before I had done I was more the friend than 
 the foe of the pine tree, though I had cut down some 
 of them, having become better acquainted with it. 
 Sometimes a rambler in the wood was attracted by the 
 sound of my axe, and we chatted pleasantly over the 
 chips which I had made. 
 
 By the middle of April, for I made no haste in my 
 work, but rather made the most of it, my house was 
 framed and ready for the raising. I had already bought 
 the shanty of James Collins, an Irishman who worked 
 on the Fitchburg Eailroad, for boards. James Collins' 
 shanty was considered an uncommonly fine one. When 
 I called to see it he was not at home. I walked about 
 the outside, at first unobserved from within, the window 
 was so deep and high. It was of small dimensions, with 
 a peaked cottage roof, and not much else to be seen, the 
 dirt being raised five feet all around as if it were a 
 compost heap. The roof was the soundest part, though 
 a good deal warped and made brittle by the sun. Door- 
 * sill there was none, but a perennial passage for the hens 
 under the door board. Mrs. C. came to the door and 
 asked me to view it from the inside. The hens were 
 driven in by my approach. It was dark, and had a dirt 
 floor for the most part, dank, clammy, and aguish, only 
 here a board and there a board which would not bear 
 removal. She lighted a lamp to show me the inside of the 
 roof and the walls, and also that the board floor extend- 
 ed under the bed, warning me not to step into the cellar, 
 
124 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 a sort of dust hole two feet deep. In her own words, 
 they were "good boards overhead, good boards all 
 around, and a good window," — of two whole squares 
 originally, only the cat had passed out that way lately. 
 There was a stove, a bed, and a place to sit, an infant 
 in the house where it was born, a silk parasol, gilt- 
 framed looking-glass, and a patent new coffee mill 
 nailed to an oak sapling, all told. The bargain was 
 soon concluded, for James had in the meanwhile re- 
 turned. I to pay four dollars and twenty-five cents to- 
 night, he to vacate at five to-morrow morning, selling 
 to nobody else meanwhile : I to take possession at six. It 
 were well, he said, to be there early, and anticipate cer- 
 tain indisdinct but wholly unjust claims on the score of 
 ground rent and fuel. This he assured me was the only 
 encumbrance. At six I passed him and his family on 
 the road. One large bundle held their all, — bed, coif ee- 
 mill, looking-glass, hens, — all but the cat, she took to 
 the woods and became a wild cat, and, as I learned 
 afterward, trod in a trap set for woodchucks, and so 
 became a dead cat at last. 
 
 I took down this dwelling the same morning, draw- 
 ing the nails, and removed it to the pond side by small 
 cart-loads, spreading the boards on the grass there to 
 bleach and warp back again in the sun. One early thrush 
 gave me a note or two as I drove along the woodland 
 path. I was informed treacherously by a young Pat- 
 rick that neighbor Seeley, an Irishman, in the intervals 
 of the carting, transferred the still tolerable, straight, 
 and drivable nails, staples, and spikes to his pocket, 
 and then stood when I came back to pass the time of 
 day, and look freshly up, unconcerned, with spring 
 thoughts, at the devastation; there being a dearth of 
 work, as he said. He was there to represent spectator- 
 
THE HOUSE AT WALDEN 125 
 
 dom, and help make this seemingly insignificant event 
 one with the removal of the gods of Troy. 
 
 I dug my cellar in the side of a hill sloping to the 
 south, where a woodchuck had formerly dug his bur- 
 row, down through sumach and blackberry roots, and 
 the lowest stain of vegetation, six feet square by seven 
 deep, to a fine sand where potatoes would not freeze in 
 any winter. The sides were left shelving, and not stoned; 
 but the sun having never shone on them, the sand still 
 keeps its place. It was but two hours' work. I took 
 particular pleasure in this breaking of ground, for in al- 
 most all latitudes men dig into the earth for an equable 
 temperature. Under the most splendid house in the 
 city is still to be found the cellar where they store their 
 roots as of old, and long after the superstructure has 
 disappeared posterity remark its dent in the earth. The 
 house is still but a sort of porch at the entrance of a 
 burrow. 
 
 At length, in the beginning of May, with the help 
 of some of my acquaintances, rather to improve so good 
 an occasion for neighborliness than from any necessity, 
 I set up the frame of my house. No man was ever 
 more honored in the character of his raisers than I. 
 They are destined, I trust, to assist at the raising of 
 loftier structures one day. I began to occupy my house 
 on the 4th of July, as soon as it was boarded and 
 roofed, for the boards were carefully feather-edged and 
 lapped, so that it was perfectly impervious to rain ; but 
 before boarding, I laid the foundation of a chimney at 
 one end, bringing two cartloads of stones up the hill 
 from the pond in my arms. I built the chimney after 
 my hoeing in the fall, before a fire became necessary 
 for warmth, doing my cooking in the meanwhile out 
 of doors on the ground, early in the morning: which 
 
126 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 mode I still think is in some respects more convenient 
 and agreeable than the usual one. When it stormed be- 
 fore my bread was baked, I fixed a few boards over 
 the fire, and sat under them to watch my loaf, and 
 passed some pleasant hours in that way. In those days, 
 when my hands were much employed, I read but 
 little, but the least scraps of paper which lay on the 
 ground, my holder, or tablecloth, afforded me as much 
 entertainment, in fact, answered the same purpose as 
 the Iliad. 
 
 Before winter, I built a chimney, and shingled the 
 sides of my house, which were already impervious to 
 rain, with imperfect and sappy shingles made of the 
 first slice of the log, whose edges I was obliged to 
 straighten with a plane. 
 
 I have thus a tight shingled and plastered house, ten 
 feet wide by fifteen long, and eight-feet posts, with a 
 garret and a closet, a large window on each side, two 
 trap doors, one door at the end, and a brick fireplace 
 opposite. The exact cost of my house, paying the usual 
 price for such materials as I used, but not counting the 
 work, all of which was done by myself, was as follows ; 
 and I give the details because very few are able to tell 
 exactly what their houses cost, and fewer still, if any, 
 the separate cost of the various materials which com- 
 pose them : — 
 
 Boards $8.03^, mostly shanty boards. 
 
 Refuse shingles for x'oof and sides . 4.00 
 
 Laths 1.25 
 
 Two second-hand windows with glass 2.43 
 
 One thousand old brick 4.00 
 
 Two casks of lime 2.40 That was high. 
 
 Hair 0.31 More than I needed. 
 
 Mantle-tree iron 0.15 
 
 Nails 3.90 
 
THE HOUSE AT WALDEN 127 
 
 Hinges and screws ....... 0.14 »»• 
 
 Latch 0.10 
 
 Chalk 0.01 
 
 Transportation 140 j. I carried a good part 
 
 ^ ) on my back. 
 
 In all $28.12^ 
 
 These are all the materials exceptiDg the timber, 
 stones and sand, which I claimed by squatter's right. 
 I have also a small wood-shed adjoining, made chiefly 
 of the stuff which was left after building the house. 
 
 I intend to build me a house which will surpass any 
 on the main street in Concord in grandeur and luxury, 
 as soon as it pleases me as much and will cost me no 
 more than my present one. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 I borro-wed an axe : — The axe was borrowed from Mr. 
 Amos Bronson Alcott. 
 
 Walden Pond : — A small lake near Concord, Massachu- 
 setts. The land in which Thoreau " squatted " belonged to Emer- 
 son. 
 
 the gods of Troy : — Troy, an ancient city in Asia Minor, 
 figures in the Greek story of the Iliad. 
 
 some of my acquaintances : — A. B. Alcott, Edmund 
 Hosmer, G. W. Curtis, Ralph Waldo Emerson, W. E. Channing, 
 and others. 
 
 the Iliad : — The famous Greek poem dealing with the ten 
 years' siege of Ilium (Troy) by the confederated states of 
 Greece. 
 
 Concord : — A town seventeen miles from Boston ; the home 
 of a number of noted literary persons, — Thoreau, Emerson, 
 Hawthorne, the Alcotts, and others. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 What do you think of Thoreau for borrowing an axe with 
 which to begin his house ? Why did he not buy one ? Do you 
 consider it " generous " to borrow, as the author suggests ? What 
 
128 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 do you learn from the fact that he returned the axe sharper than 
 he found it ? Why does the author stop to describe the weather 
 and the scenery ? Explain what he means by comparing people 
 to the snake that he saw in the pond. Why did Thoreau " make 
 the most " of his work instead of hurrying with it ? Do you think, 
 judging from the dates given, that he got along rapidly, or 
 slowly ? What kind of house do you think could be made from 
 James Collins's shanty ? When Thoreau's house is finished, does 
 it seem to you an attractive one ? How do the prices of materials 
 compare with present prices ? What is the meaning of the last 
 paragraph in the selection ? What should you judge to be the 
 character of Thoreau, from reading what he says of building this 
 cottage at Walden ? Can you find out what his neighbors thought 
 of him ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 Building a Shack The Hermit 
 
 When the Ice Breaks Up Some of Thoreau's Friends 
 
 How One May Live Simply Our Play House 
 
 A Visit to a Squatter's Cabin The Barn-Raising 
 
 Putting Up a Tent Watching the Carpenters 
 
 The Old Trapper's Shack How Our House Was Built 
 
 How I Built a Dog Kennel Putting Up a Sky Scraper 
 
 Thoreau's Life at Walden How Concrete Is Used for 
 
 Building a Chicken Coop Buildings. 
 
 How I Made a Piece of Furniture. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 HoTV I Made a Piece of Furniture : — What piece of fur- 
 niture did you make ? Why did you make it ? Was there any 
 conversation over it, before you began ? What persons did the 
 talking, and what did they say ? What wood did you choose for 
 your work ? Why did you choose that particular kind ? Where 
 did you get your tools ? How did you begin ? Go on and describe 
 the making of the article. How did you finish it up ? Was there 
 any conversation about it when it was finished ? Were you satis- 
 fied with it ? What was its cost to you in materials ? in time ? 
 in labor ? What did you do with it, after it was done ? 
 
THE HOUSE AT WALDEN 129 
 
 Thoreau's Life at Walden : * — Have you read any more of 
 Thoreau's Walden than the selection in this book ? Can you find 
 out how Thoreau lived, virhile he was in his little shack on the 
 edge of the pond ? How many rooms had this house ? What fur- 
 niture did he have ? What food did he eat ? How did he prepare 
 it ? How did he occupy his time ? Did he have any guests ? Who 
 were they, and what did they come for ? How long did Thoreau 
 live at Walden ? Was he happy there ? What do you think that 
 his life there shows of the man himself ? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 See List of Books by Thoreau, page 142. 
 
 Wilderness Homes Oliver Kemp 
 
 Rudder Grange Frank R. Stockton. 
 
 Roof-Tree (in Signs and Seasons, Chapter 
 
 XIII) John Burroughs 
 
 1 The teacher might read to the class some of the more interesting 
 and appropriate passages from the Walden ; also some brief selections 
 from the various biographies of Thoreau. 
 
NEIGHBORS OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 ^^ (From Chapter XII of TFaWen) 
 
 The mice which haunted my house were not the 
 common ones, which are said to have been introduced 
 into the country, but a wild native kind not found in 
 the village. I sent one to a distinguished naturalist, 
 and it interested him much. When I was building, 
 one of these had its nest underneath the house, and 
 before I had laid the second floor, and swept out the 
 shavings, would come out regularly at lunch time and 
 pick up the crumbs at my feet. It probably had never 
 seen a man before ; and it soon became quite familiar, 
 and would run over my shoes and up my clothes. It 
 could readily ascend the sides of the room by short 
 impulses, like a squirrel, which it resembled in its mo- 
 tions. At length, as I leaned with my elbow on the 
 bench one day, it ran up my clothes, and along my 
 sleeve, and round and round the paper which held my 
 dinner, while I kept the latter close, and dodged and 
 played at bo-peep with it ; and when at last I held still 
 a piece of cheese between my thumb and finger, it 
 came and nibbled it, sitting in my hand, and afterward 
 cleaned its face and paws, like a fly, and walked away. 
 
 A phoebe soon built in my shed, and a robin for 
 protection in a pine which grew against the house. In 
 June the partridge (^Tetrao imihelhis^, which is so 
 shy a bird, led her brood past my windows, from the 
 woods in the rear to the front of my house, clucking 
 and calling to them like a hen, and in all her behavior 
 
NEIGHBORS OF THE WILDERNESS 131 
 
 proving herself tlie hen of the woods. The young sud- 
 denly disperse on your approach, at a signal from the 
 mother, as if a whirlwind had swept them away, and 
 they so exactly resemble the dried leaves and twigs 
 that many a traveller has placed his foot in the midst 
 of a brood, and heard the whir of the old bird as she 
 flew off, and her anxious calls and mewing, or seen her 
 trail her wings to attract his attention, without sus- 
 pecting their neighborhod. The parent will sometimes 
 roll and spin round before you in such a dishabille, 
 that you cannot, for a few moments, detect what kind 
 of creature it is. The young squat still and flat, often 
 running their heads under a leaf, and mind only their 
 mother's directions given from a distance, nor will your 
 approach make them run again and betray themselves. 
 You may even tread on them, or have your eyes on 
 them for a minute, without discovering them. I have 
 held them in my open hand at such a time, and still 
 their only care, obedient to their mother and their in- 
 stinct, was to squat there without fear or trembling. 
 So perfect is this instinct, that once, when I had laid 
 them on the leaves again, and one accidentally fell on 
 its side, it was found with the rest in exactly the same 
 position ten minutes afterward. They are not caEow 
 like the young of most birds, but more perfectly de- 
 veloped and precocious even than chickens. The re- 
 markably adult yet innocent expression of their open 
 and serene eyes is very memorable. All intelligence 
 seems reflected in them. They suggest not merely the 
 purity of infancy, but a wisdom clarified by experi- 
 ence. Such an eye was not born when the bird was, 
 but is coeval with the sky it reflects. The woods do 
 not yield another such a gem. The traveller does not 
 often look into such a limpid well. The ignorant or 
 
132 HENRY D. TBOREAU 
 
 reckless sportsman often shoots the parent at such a 
 time, and leaves these innocents to fall a prey to some 
 prowling beast or bird, or gradually mingle with the 
 decaying leaves which they so much resemble. It is 
 said that when hatched by a hen they will directly dis- 
 perse on some alarm, and so are lost, for they never 
 hear the mother's call which gathers them again. These 
 were my hens and chickens. 
 
 It is remarkable how many creatures live wild and 
 free though secret in the woods, and still sustain them- 
 selves in the neighborhood of towns, suspected by hunt- 
 ers only. How retired the otter manages to live here ! 
 He grows to be four feet long, as big as a small boy, 
 perhaps without any human being getting a glimpse 
 of him. I formerly saw the raccoon in the woods behind 
 where my house is built, and probably still heard their 
 whinnering at night. Commonly I rested an hour or 
 two in the shade at noon, after planting, and ate my 
 lunch, and read a little by a spring which was the 
 source of a swamp and of a brook, oozing from under 
 Brister's Hill, half a mile from my field. The approach 
 to this was through a succession of descending grassy 
 hollows, full of young pitch pines, into a larger wood 
 about the swamp. There, in a very secluded and shaded 
 spot, under a spreading white-pine, there was yet a 
 clean firm sward to sit on. I had dug out the spring 
 and made a well of clear gray water, where I could 
 dip up a pailful without roiling it, and thither I went 
 for this purpose almost every day in midsummer, when 
 the pond was warmest. Thither too the woodcock led 
 her brood, to probe the mud for worms, flying but a 
 foot above them down the bank, while they ran in a 
 troop beneath ; but at last, spying me, she would leave 
 her young and circle round and round me, nearer and 
 
NEIGHBORS QE.THE WILDERNESS 133 
 
 nearer till within four or five feet, pretending broken 
 wings and legs, to attract my attention, and get off her 
 young, who would already have taken up their march, 
 with faint wiry peep, single file through the swamp, 
 as she directed. Or 1 heard the peep of the young when 
 I could not see the parent bird. There too the turtle 
 doves sat over the spring, or fluttered from bough to 
 bough of the soft white pines over my head; or the 
 red squirrel, coursing down the nearest bough, was 
 particularly familiar and inquisitive. You only need sit 
 still long enough in some attractive spot in the woods 
 that all its inhabitants may exhibit themselves to you 
 by turns. 
 
 I was witness to events of a less peaceful character. 
 One day when I went out to my wood-pile, or rather 
 my pile of stumps, I observed two large ants, the one 
 red, the other much larger, nearly half an inch long, 
 and black, fiercely contending with one another. Hav- 
 ing once got hold they never let go, but struggled and 
 wrestled and rolled on the chips incessantly. Looking 
 farther, I was surprised to find that the chips were 
 covered with such combatants, that it was not a duellum^ 
 but a helium^ a war between two races of ants, the red 
 always pitted against the black, and frequently two 
 red ones to one black. The legions of these Myrmidons 
 covered all the hills and vales in my wood-yard, and 
 the ground was already strewn with the dead and dy- 
 ing, both red and black. It was the only battle-field 
 which I have ever witnessed, the only battle-field I 
 ever trod while the battle was raging ; internecine war ; 
 the red republicans on the one hand, and the black im- 
 perialists on the other. On every side they were en- 
 gaged in deadly combat, yet without any noise that I 
 could hear, and human soldiers never fought so reso- 
 
134 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 lutely. I watched a couple that were fast locked in 
 each other's embraces, in a little sunny valley amid the 
 chips, now at noon-day prepared to fight till the sun 
 went down, or life went out. The smaller red champion 
 had fastened himself like a vice to his adversary's front, 
 and through all the tumblings on that field never for 
 an instant ceased to gnaw at one of his feelers near the 
 root, having already caused the other to go by the 
 board; while the stronger black one dashed him from 
 side to side, and, as I saw on looking nearer, had al- 
 ready divested him of several of his members. They 
 fought with more pertinacity than bull-dogs. Neither 
 manifested the least disposition to retreat. It was evi- 
 dent that their battle-cry was " Conquer or die." In the 
 mean while there came along a single red ant on the 
 hill- side of this valley, evidently full of excitement, 
 who either had despatched his foe, or had not yet 
 taken part in the battle ; probably the latter, for he 
 had lost none of his limbs ; whose mother had charged 
 him to return with his shield or upon it. Or perchance 
 he was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath 
 apart, and had now come to avenge or rescue 'his Pa- 
 troclus. He saw this unequal combat from afar, — for 
 the blacks were nearly twice the size of the red, — he 
 drew near with rapid pace till he stood on his guard 
 within half an inch of the combatants ; then, watching 
 his opportunity, he sprang upon the black warrior, and 
 commenced his operations near the root of his right 
 foreleg, leaving the foe to select among his own mem- 
 bers ; and so there were three united for life, as if a 
 new kind of attraction had been invented which put 
 all other locks and cements to shame. I should not 
 have wondered by this time to find that they had their 
 respective musical bands stationed on some eminent 
 
NEIGHBORS OF THE WILDERNESS 135 
 
 chip, and playing their national airs the while, to ex- 
 cite the slow and cheer the dying combatants. I was 
 myself excited somewhat even as if they had been men. 
 The more you think of it, the less the difference. And 
 certainly there is not the fight recorded in Concord his- 
 tory, at least, if in the history of America, that will 
 bear a moment's comparison with this, whether for 
 the numbers engaged in it, or for the patriotism and 
 heroism displayed. For numbers and for carnage it 
 was an Austerlitz or Dresden. Concord Fight! Two 
 killed on the patriots' side, and Luther Blanchard 
 wounded ! Why here every ant was a Buttrick, — 
 " Fire ! for God's sake fire ! " — and thousands shared 
 the fate of Davis and Hosmer. There was not one hire- 
 ling there. I have no doubt that it was a principle they 
 fought for, as much as our ancestors, and not to avoid 
 a three-penny tax on their tea ; and the results of this 
 battle will be as important and memorable to those 
 whom it concerns as those of the battle of Bunker Hill, 
 at least. 
 
 I took up the chip on which the three I have parti- 
 cularly described were struggling, carried it into my 
 house, and placed it under a tumbler on my window-sill, 
 in order to see the issue. Holding a microscope to the 
 first-mentioned red ant, I saw that, though he was as- 
 siduously gnawing at the near fore-leg of his enemy, 
 having severed his remaining feeler, his own breast was 
 all torn away, exposing what vitals he had there to the 
 jaws of the black warrior, whose breast-plate was ap- 
 parently too thick for him to pierce ; and the dark car- 
 buncles of the sufferer's eyes shone with ferocity such 
 as war only could excite. They struggled half an hour 
 longer under the tumbler, and when I looked again the 
 black soldier had severed the heads of his foes from 
 
136 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 their bodies, and the still living heads were hanging on 
 either side of him like ghastly trophies at his saddle- 
 bow, still apparently as firmly fastened as ever, and he 
 was endeavoring with feeble struggles, being without 
 feelers and with only the remnant of a leg, and I know 
 not how many other wounds, to divest himself of them; 
 which at length, after half an hour more, he accom- 
 plished. I raised the glass, and he went off over the 
 window-sill in that crippled state. Whether he finally 
 survived that combat, and spent the remainder of his 
 days in some Hotel des Invalides, I do not know ; but 
 I thought that his industry would not be worth much 
 thereafter. I never learned which party was victorious, 
 nor the cause of the war ; but I felt for the rest of that 
 day as if I had had my feelings excited and harrowed 
 by witnessing the struggle, the ferocity and carnage, 
 of a human battle before my door. 
 
 In the fall the loon ( Colymbus glacialis) came, as 
 usual, to moult and bathe in the pond, making the 
 woods ring with his wild laughter before I had risen. 
 At rumor of his arrival all the Mill-dam sportsmen 
 are on the alert, in gigs and on foot, two by two and 
 three by three, with patent rifles and conical balls and 
 spy- glasses. They come rustling through the woods 
 like autumn leaves, at least ten men to one loon. Some 
 station themselves on this side of the pond, some on 
 that, for the poor bird cannot be omnipresent ; if he 
 dive here he must come up there. But now the kind 
 October wind rises, rustling the leaves and rippling 
 the surface of the water, so that no loon can be heard 
 or seen, though his foes sweep the pond with spy- 
 glasses, and make the woods resound with their dis- 
 
NEIGHBORS OF THE WILDERNESS 137 
 
 charges. The waves generously rise and dash angrily, 
 taking sides with all waterfowl, and our sportsmen 
 must beat a retreat to town and shop and unfinished 
 jobs. But they were too often successful. When I went 
 to get a pail of water early in the morning I frequently 
 saw this stately bird sailing out of my cove within a 
 few rods. If I endeavored to overtake him in a boat, 
 in order to see how he would manoeuvre, he would dive 
 and be completely lost, so that I did not discover him 
 again, sometimes, till the latter part of the day. But 
 I was more than a match for him on the surface. He 
 commonly went off in a rain. 
 
 As I was paddling along the north shore one very 
 calm October afternoon, for such days especially they 
 settle on to the lakes, like the milkweed down, having 
 looked in vain over the pond for a loon, suddenly one, 
 sailing out from the shore toward the middle a few 
 rods in front of me, set up his wild laugh and betrayed 
 himself. I pursued with a paddle and he dived, but 
 when he came up I was nearer than before. He dived 
 again, but I miscalculated the direction he would take, 
 and we were fifty rods apart when he came to the sur- 
 face this time, for I had helped to widen the interval ; 
 and again he laughed loud and long, and with more 
 reason than before. He manoeuvred so cunningly that 
 I could not get within half a dozen rods of him. Each 
 time, when he came to the surface, turning his head 
 this way and that, he coolly surveyed the water and the 
 land, and apparently chose his course so that he might 
 come up where there was the widest expanse of water 
 and at the greatest distance from the boat. It was 
 surprising how quickly he made up his mind and put 
 his resolve into execution. He led me at once to the 
 widest part of the pond, and could not be driven from 
 
138 - HENKY D. THOREAU 
 
 it. While he was thinking one thing in his brain, I 
 was endeavoring to divine his thought in mine. It was 
 a pretty game, played on the smooth surface of the 
 pond, a man against a loon. Suddenly your adver- 
 sary's checker disappears beneath the board, and the 
 problem is to place yours nearest to where his will ap- 
 pear again. Sometimes he would come up unexpect- 
 edly on the opposite side of me, having apparently 
 passed directly under the boat. So long-winded was he 
 and so unweariable, that when he had swum farthest 
 he would immediately plunge again, nevertheless ; and 
 then no wit could divine where in the deep pond, be- 
 neath the smooth surface, he might be speeding his 
 way like a fish, for he had time and ability to visit the 
 bottom of the pond in its deepest part. It is said that 
 loons have been caught in the New York lakes eighty 
 feet beneath the surface, with hooks set for trout, — 
 though Walden is deeper than that. How surprised 
 must the fishes be to see this ungainly visitor from an- 
 other sphere speeding his way amid their schools ! Yet 
 he appeared to know his course as surely under water 
 as on the surface, and swam much faster there. Once 
 or twice I saw a ripple where he approached the sur- 
 face, just put his head out to reconnoitre, and instantly 
 dived again. I found that it was as well for me to rest 
 on my oars and wait his reappearing as to endeavor to 
 calculate where he would rise; for again and again, 
 when I was straining my eyes over the surface one 
 way, I would suddenly be startled by his unearthly 
 laugh behind me. But why, after displaying so much 
 cunning, did he invariably betray himself the moment 
 he came up by that loud laugh? Did not his white 
 breast enough betray him ? He was indeed a silly loon, 
 I thought. I could commonly hear the plash of the 
 
NEIGHBORS OF THE WILDERNESS 139 
 
 water when he came up, and so also detected him. But 
 after an hour he seemed as fresh as ever, dived as will- 
 ingly and swam yet farther than at first. It was sur- 
 prising to see how serenely he sailed off with unruffled 
 breast when he came to the surface, doing all the work 
 with his webbed feet beneath. His usual note was this 
 demoniac laughter, yet somewhat like that of a water- 
 fowl; but occasionally, when he had balked me most 
 successfully and come up a long way off, he uttered a 
 long-drawn unearthly howl, probably more like that 
 of a wolf than any bird; as when a beast puts his 
 muzzle to the ground and deliberately howls. This was 
 his looning, — perhaps the wildest sound that is ever 
 heard here, making the woods ring far and wide. I 
 concluded that he laughed in derision of my efforts, 
 confident of his own resources. Though the sky was 
 by this time overcast, the pond was so smooth that I 
 could see where he broke the surface when I did not 
 hear him. His white breast, the stillness of the air, 
 and the smoothness of the water were all against him. 
 At length, having come up fifty rods off, he uttered 
 one of those prolonged howls, as if calling on the god 
 of loons to aid him, and immediately there came a 
 wind from the east and rippled the surface, and filled 
 the whole air with misty rain, and I was impressed as 
 if it were the prayer of the loon answered, and his 
 god was angry with me ; and so I left him disappear- 
 ing far away on the tumultuous surface. 
 
 For hours, in fall days, I watched the ducks cun- 
 ningly tack and veer and hold the middle of the pond, 
 far from the sportsman ; tricks which they will have 
 less need to practice in Louisiana bayous. When com- 
 pelled to rise they would sometimes circle round and 
 round and over the pond at a considerable height, from 
 
140 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 which they could easily see to other ponds and the river, 
 like black motes in the sky ; and, when I thought they 
 had gone off thither long since, they would settle down 
 by a slanting flight of a quarter of a mile on to a dis- 
 tant part which was left free ; but what beside safety 
 they got by sailing in the middle of Walden I do not 
 know, unless they love its water for the same reason 
 that I do. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 duellum: — A duel. 
 
 bellum: — A war. 
 
 Myrmidons : — The men whom Achilles led in the Trojan 
 War. 
 
 Tvith his shield or upon it: — Without disgrace whether 
 dead or alive. 
 
 Achilles : — A Greek warrior ; the hero of the Iliad, and the 
 slayer of Hector. 
 
 Patroclus : — The intimate friend of Achilles. Patroclus, 
 fighting in the armor of Achilles, is slain by Hector. 
 
 Austerlitz : — A town in Moravia, Austria-Hungary, where 
 in 1805 the French under Napoleon overturned the Russo- Aus- 
 trian army. The French had 60,000 men; the Austrians 80,000. 
 
 Dresden : — The capital of the kingdom of Saxony. In 1813 
 the French under Napoleon defeated the Allies at Dresden. The 
 French army numbered 120,000; that of the allies, 200,000. 
 
 Concord fight : — The fight between the British and the 
 colonial minute-men, which took place at Concord, Massachu- 
 setts, April 19, 1775. 
 
 Buttrick : — Commander (with Colonel Barrett) of three 
 hundred Provincial troops that met the British at Concord, April 
 19, 1775. 
 
 Hotel des Invalides (o tel' da zan val ed') : — A great estab- 
 lishment founded in 1670 at Paris, for disabled and infirm sol- 
 diers. 
 
 plectrum : — A small piece of wood or ivory, used in playing 
 upon a stringed instrument. 
 
 lingua vernacula : — Native language. 
 
NEIGHBORS OF THE WILDERNESS 141 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Does it seem strange to you that any one should take the trou- 
 ble to watch mice, and write about them ? Have you ever heard 
 anything similar to what is told here about the partridge? Is the 
 language here easy to follow? Do you think that the author ap- 
 proved of hunting game? Did you ever hear of ants fighting in 
 the manner described? What do you think of comparing the bat- 
 tle of the ants to certain battles fought by men ? How does the 
 author make you feel the excitement of the battle ? What good 
 points has the account of the chase after the loon ? Could you 
 write a brief account of a chase after some bird or animal ? What 
 does the whole selection show as to the interests and the charac- 
 ter of the author ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 A Robin's Nest How the Ants Work 
 
 How a Gull Catches Fish Catching the Gopher in the Garden 
 
 Trying to Shoot a Loon A Shy Animal 
 
 Life in an Ant-Hill How We Caught the 'Coon 
 
 A Muskrat An Ant's View of the World 
 
 My Pet Crow Catching the Rat 
 
 Marsh Hens and Snipes How My Dog Defends Himself 
 
 A Fight between Animals Tracking a Rabbit 
 Making Friends with the Birds 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 Making Friends with the Birds: — Did you ever try to 
 make friends with the birds ? What kind of birds were they ? 
 Where did they have their nests ? Were they shy, or bold ? Did 
 they come to your home, or did you go to them ? What method 
 did you first use for attracting them ? Why ? How did they 
 receive your advances ? Tell how they acted, and what they did. 
 Did you try any other methods ? Were you successful ? Show 
 just how friendly the birds became. Did you enjoy your acquain- 
 tance with them ? Should you advise any one else to try to make 
 friends with the birds ? Why ? 
 
 A Shy Animal : — Give an account of some experience which 
 you have had in watching a shy animal. See how Thoreau ex- 
 plains the habits and peculiar tricks of animals. Can you do some- 
 
142 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 thing of the kind in your theme ? Notice how Thoreau enlivens 
 his narrative, and at the same time makes his descriptions more 
 vivid, by comparisons with human traits and situations. See if 
 you can do this. Use, in your analogies, familiar traits of 
 people, or a well-known incident or two drawn from history or 
 fiction ; but be sure that your analogies or allusions really enforce 
 your writing. 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 The Maine Woods . Henry D. Thoreau 
 
 A Week on the Concord and Merrimack 
 
 Rivers « " " 
 
 Walden " " 
 
 Excursions " " " 
 
 Behind the Scenes with Wild Animals . . Ellen Velvin 
 
 The Training of Wild Animals .... Frank Bostock 
 
 Wild Animals I Have Known Ernest Thompson 
 
 Seton 
 
 The House in the Water C. G. D. Roberts 
 
 The Kindred of the Wild " « 
 
 The Watchers of the Trails ...... « « 
 
 The Heart of the Ancient Wood . . . . « « 
 
 Red Fox « « 
 
 Little People of the Sycamore " " 
 
 The Haunters of the Silences " " 
 
 Squirrels and Other Fur-Bearers .... John Burroughs 
 
 Wild Neighbors Ernest Ingersoll 
 
 Beasts of the Field W. J. Long 
 
 Wilderness Ways . . " " " 
 
 Ways of Wood Folk " « « 
 
 Wood Folk at School " « « 
 
 A Watcher in the Woods Dallas Lore Sharp 
 
 Wild Life near Home " " " 
 
 My Woodland Intimates E. Bignell 
 
 Mooswa W. A. Eraser 
 
 The Outcasts « « « 
 
 Flash- Lights on Nature Grant Allen 
 
 W^ild Animals at Work and Play .... C. J. Cornish 
 
 Eye Spy ... W. H. Gibson 
 
 Sharp Eyes « " « 
 
NEIGHBORS OF THE WILDERNESS 143 
 
 The Call of the Wild Jack London 
 
 Before Adam « " 
 
 White Fang « " 
 
 Ants, Bees, and Wasps Sir John Lubbock 
 
 Up and Down the Brooks . . , . . M. E. Bamford 
 
 Wasps, Social and Solitary . . . . G. W. and E. Peckham 
 
 Spiders « « « « 
 
 Dan Beard's Animal Book Dan Beard 
 
 Thoreau Frank B. Sanborn 
 
 Thoreau Annie R. Marble 
 
ROSY BALM 
 
 ALICE BROWN 
 
 (In The County Road) 
 
 Miss Arletta was seeing the minister out through 
 the kitchen, because he had tied his horse at the barn, 
 and it was easier to go that way. He was a tall, stoop- 
 ing man with thin gray hair and a long, benevolent 
 face. Miss Arietta, behind him, looked very small; 
 yet she was a woman of good height, though of excep- 
 tional thinness. Her little face showed all its bones 
 pathetically, and a perpetual smile dwelt upon it and 
 behind the glitter of her gold-bowed spectacles. People 
 said she wore off her flesh by being spry. 
 
 Midway in the large kitchen, comfortably lighted by 
 pale winter sunlight, the minister paused. He sniffed 
 a little, and his mild face took on a look of pleasure. 
 
 " Why, Miss Arietta, I smell flowers." 
 
 Miss Arietta laughed. 
 
 " No," she said, " it 's rose water. I 've be'n fixin' it up 
 with glycerine an' some other trade I know, to put on my 
 hands. They git terrible chapped, this winter weather." 
 
 " Yes," the minister agreed, " so my wife says." 
 
 " Why, look here ! " called Miss Arietta, her hand 
 upon the door. *' You wait a minute, an' I'll fill a vial 
 for her ; I got some right here." 
 
 " Well," said the minister hesitatingly ; but he 
 threw back his coat again, and loosed his comforter, 
 while Arietta ran to the cellar way for her bottle, and, 
 after much rinsing and peering through it at the sun, 
 proceeded to fill it from her larger store. 
 
ROSY BALM 145 
 
 " You tell Mis' Hardy to put it on nights, an' after 
 she 's washed her hands," she counseled. " Tell her I'll 
 drop in an' see how 't works. Tell her I 've enjoyed 
 your call ; but she must n't leave off comin' now it 's 
 cold." 
 
 " She would have come," the minister explained 
 again, " I have no doubt ; but this question of the 
 missionary fund keeps her much occupied." 
 
 " Poor little creatur's ! " said Miss Arietta. Her 
 mind had flown to the heathen on foreign shores. 
 " Don't seem 's if there could be anybody these times 
 without gospel privileges. Makes me terrible ashamed 
 to think I ain't got more 'n that poor miserable dollar 
 to give." 
 
 " The widow's mite," said the minister kindly. Miss 
 Arietta was wrapping the bottle in a piece of newspaper. 
 " It is not the size of the offering that renders it blessed, 
 Miss Arietta. Remember the parable." 
 
 "There! " said she. "Don't ye tip it over in your 
 pocket. That cork ain't none too good. You tell Mis' 
 Hardy, if she likes it there'll be more where that come 
 from." 
 
 The minister spoke his gentle thanks, and now Miss 
 Arietta opened the door. The December wind blew up 
 an outer fringe of her thin hair, and the minister also 
 bent his head to its inclemency. 
 
 "I am obliged. Miss Arietta," he called back. " You 
 ought not to be so generous with your recipe. You 
 might sell it." 
 
 Arietta, nodding and smiling, watched him out of 
 the yard, and then shut the door and turned back to 
 the warmth of her still house. She liked people. Visitors 
 were like the wind itself : they brought vigor and tid- 
 ings. But she was always glad when the wind was over 
 
146 ALICE BROWN 
 
 and the visitors had gone. After she had tucked a 
 stick of wood into the kitchen stove, and warmed her 
 hands there, she went into the sitting-room and took 
 her low rocker by the window. She was turning sheets 
 that day. They were scarcely worn at all ; but it was 
 pretty work, and she did it more times a year than she 
 would have liked to tell. Presently she dropped her 
 sewing in her lap and began musing over unhappy 
 India as the minister had described it. Miss Arietta 
 would not have been altogether willing to tell the min- 
 ister how hard it was to keep from dwelling, in keen 
 delight, on his picture of foreign lands, nor how easy 
 to forget the pity of it that suffering should invade 
 that paradise of bloom. She remembered the heathen's 
 godless state, and said, " Poor creatur's ! " But even 
 at the utterance, she knew this was the guilty protest 
 of a mind secretly in love with heathendom itself. She 
 prized her gospel privileges, but she liked also to be 
 warm, and her irrepressible fancy cast up before her 
 the picture of wintry Sundays in church when hot 
 soapstones cooled with the feet that sought them, and 
 heaven itself was nothing but a sizzling coral strand. 
 Yet that way stretched a dangerous latitude. She 
 caught herself back to the old dutiful regret that she 
 could give so little, and took up her sewing. But sud- 
 denly she dropped the work again into her lap, and 
 spoke aloud : 
 
 " My land ! mebbe that 's the way." 
 
 Immediately she saw herself making a lotion for 
 the hands and selling it broadcast. Arietta's mind 
 always moved by leaps, straight for the brightest 
 goal. In that moment of conception, she saw her 
 scheme full grown. She was making the lotion by 
 quarts, by gallons, in vats and reservoirs. Her house. 
 
ROSY BALM 147 
 
 her clothes, were redolent of rose-water and sweet 
 essences. Bottles with printed labels were on drug- 
 gists' shelves all over the country, and ladies with 
 chapped hands were crowding counters in throngs, all 
 asking, " Have you Rosy Balm ? " That was to be 
 its name. And all the profits that came flowing in 
 would be put scrupulously into the bank, and, at the 
 end of every month, sent off to India for the breaking 
 of error's chain. 
 
 That night Miss Arietta slept intermittently ; but 
 she dreamed of rose-gardens and dusky maidens on 
 sea-beaches where the pebbles were pink beads, and she 
 awoke to action. When her breakfast dishes were 
 done, she ran across the field and asked Tommy Beale 
 to harness up and take her to town ; and there she 
 drew five dollars out of the savings-bank, and at the 
 wondering druggist's stocked up with glycerine and 
 rosewater and the rest. 
 
 For two days Miss Arietta's kitchen smelled di- 
 vinely to her, as she mixed and measured. She seemed 
 to be living in an enchanted spot, and doing something 
 that was going to turn out very precious and wonder- 
 ful. She had always made her lotion with a zealous 
 care, but now she wrought with a nicety proportionate 
 to the greatness of her task. She began to think of 
 precious ointment, and got out the big picture Bible to 
 read the story, as if her own little every-day Testa- 
 ment were not enough. And one morning, when the 
 sun fell on the winter crust and turned it into a dazzle, 
 she started forth, carrying a bag filled with small bot- 
 tles, all alike and neatly labeled in her fine old-fash- 
 ioned hand. Arietta took the Lower Road because the 
 houses there were nearer together, and she was im- 
 patient to begin to sell. She could not remember having 
 
148 ALICE BROWN 
 
 felt so happy for years, nor so full of youth. She was on 
 a track, she felt, that might lead anywhere. 
 
 The first place on the Lower Road was Lawrence 
 Gilson's, a little one-story house, unpainted, but in 
 summer a picture of beauty in the midst of vines and 
 tangles. Now it was a part of the cold rigor of the 
 time, and when Mrs. Gilson came to the door, Miss 
 Arietta was ready to say, with a shiver : 
 
 " My ! ain't this winter weather ? " 
 
 "I guess 't is," said Mrs. Gilson, "an we've all been 
 down sick with colds. Come right in. I 'm terrible glad 
 to see ye." 
 
 There was no one in the kitchen but little Anna 
 May, and she sat in a high chair at the table, packing 
 six raisins into a small round box and then taking 
 them out and packing them over again. There was a 
 clove apple before her, and an Infant Samuel in 
 plaster. 
 
 " I let her have 'em out o' the best room," Mrs. 
 Gilson explained, as Miss Arietta paused to admire 
 these trophies. " She 's jest gettin' over her cold, an' 
 much as she can do to find anything to take up her 
 mind." She was tucking a stick of wood into the 
 stove, and now she turned to Miss Arietta with a newly 
 welcoming smile. " Take your things right off," she 
 bade her. " Now, don't you say you ain't come to pass 
 the day." 
 
 " I '11 unpin my shawl," said Arietta. " No, I can't 
 stop more 'n a minute. I was only goin' by, an' I 
 thought I 'd drop in. She 's be'n real sick, ain't she?" 
 
 They exchanged a sympathetic glance over Anna 
 May. She was a pathetic little picture, with her wan 
 face, her flaxen pigtails, and her painstaking intent- 
 ness over the raisins. Mrs. Gilson nodded. 
 
ROSY BALM 149 
 
 " Her cough 's be'n the worst of any of us," she said 
 proudly. " ' Most tore her to pieces. I thought one time 
 't was whoopin'-cough, but the doctor says it 's spas- 
 motic." 
 
 They talked on for a time, while the wood blazed 
 and the stove reddened, and finally Miss Arietta pinned 
 her shawl and rose to go. Then she opened her bag. 
 Anna May was looking at her for the first time. Her 
 blue eyes glistened with something like expectation. 
 In spite of herself, Miss Arietta spoke and said the 
 word she had not premeditated. 
 
 " What do you s'pose I got in this bag ? " she asked 
 softly. Her own eyes gleamed as brightly as the 
 child's. 
 
 Anna May shook her head. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Arietta, " I got a little bottle o' 
 suthin' I fixed up to rub on folks' hands. I 'm goin' to 
 give it to you. Mebbe you '11 let mother have a mite 'fore 
 she goes to bed, an' when you git out slidin', it '11 be nice 
 for yoH, too. It smells real good." She set the bottle on 
 the table beside the Infant Samuel, and hurried out. 
 
 " Now, ain't you kind ! " Mrs. Gilson was calling 
 after her, down the path ; but Miss Arietta only waved 
 her mittened hand and hurried on. She was muttering 
 to herself: 
 
 " If I ain't a fool ! Poor little creatur', though ! 
 Well, it 's only one bottle, anyways. I 've got plenty 
 left." She put up her head again and quickened her 
 steps. 
 
 Old Rhody came next. She lived alone in another 
 little house, one that was adorned neither by summer 
 nor winter. There was no answer to Miss Arietta's 
 knock, and she went in. Old Rhody sat by the fire, 
 gaunt and gray. 
 
150 ALICE BROWN 
 
 She began at once, in her high voice full of wailing 
 circumflexes : 
 
 " I says to myself, there won't be a soul come into 
 the house this day. I dunno' what possessed you to 
 start out this weather, but now you 're here, Arietta 
 Black, you jest set down there in that chair an' tell me 
 what 's goin' on in the world. I dunno' no more 'n if 
 this was the tomb an' I was walled up in it." 
 
 Miss Arietta threw off her shawl at once and put 
 down her bag. 
 
 " You pretty lame, Rhody ? " she inquired warmly. 
 
 " Pretty lame ? I guess I be. I 'm so lame I can't 
 git from kitchen to pantry without hoUerin' right out, 
 as if somebody 's jabbin' a knife into me. Took me two 
 hours by the clock this mornin' to get my work done 
 up, an' you can guess how much I have, livin' alone 
 so." 
 
 Miss Arietta was beaming through her glasses. 
 
 " Ain't there suthin' I can do, now I 'm here ? " she 
 inquired. " Stir up some biscuits or a batch o' pies?" 
 
 " No ! no! makes me nervous as a witch to have any- 
 body messin' round amongst my things. No, you se' 
 down an' tell me what 's goin' on in the world. I might 
 as well be dead, for all I hear." 
 
 Miss Arietta began with the upper end of the town^ 
 and took the houses in turn. She told about Jabez 
 Lane's steer, and Mary Dwight's new melodeon. She 
 had plenty of news, for her own house was a centre of 
 social intercourse. Khody listened greedily. No one 
 came to see her, as she said, and she was too poor to 
 take the county paper. At the end of an hour Miss 
 Arietta rose and threw on her shawl. 
 
 " Mebbe I '11 be in again next week," she said. 
 "You heard from Lucy lately?" 
 
ROSY BALM 151 
 
 " She writes pretty reg'lar," said Rhody gloomily. 
 ** But I dunno' when 't '11 stop. She 's nothin' but a 
 niece by marriage, an' you can't expect folks to act as 
 if they were your own. Last Christmas she sent me 
 a half a dozen handkerchers, as nice as ever you see, 
 with a letter worked in the corner. I don't look for 
 nothin' this year. Don't expect nothin', I say, an' ye 
 won't be disappointed." 
 
 Miss Arietta opened her bag with a snap. Her 
 mouth curled scornfully, but that was for her own in- 
 firmity of purpose. 
 
 " 'T ain't quite Christmas," she said rapidly, as if 
 she were ashamed, "but mebbe I shouldn't git round 
 jest then. So I brought you this little vial, Rhody. 
 Mebbe 't '11 keep your hands kinder nice an' smooth, 
 doin' your housework an' all." 
 
 Rhody took the neat bottle and looked at it with a 
 softened gaze. 
 
 " Well, if that ain't complete ! " she said. "You 're 
 real good. Arietta. What made you think on 't ? " 
 
 Miss Arietta was getting out at the door as fast as 
 possible. 
 
 " I '11 be over next week," she called. " I '11 bring 
 my knittin' an' we '11 have a dish o' discourse." 
 ''4^ This section of the Lower Road was familiarly 
 known as Lonesome Hill, because each of the four 
 houses had but one inmate. The next was Uncle 
 Blake's, and there Miss Arietta was sure of a response. 
 Uncle Blake came at once to the door, and she hesi- 
 tated, seeing his white shirtfront and scrupulous silk 
 stock. 
 
 " You got company ? " she asked. 
 
 Uncle Blake laughed, a little dry note. He was a 
 tall old man with a noble profile. 
 
152 ALICE BROWN 
 
 " No, no," he answered. " Walk right in. You see I 
 was dressed up, did n't ye ? Well, so I be. Se' down, 
 an' I '11 tell ye what put it into my head." 
 
 She took the Boston rocker by the hearth, and 
 Uncle Blake sank into his own armchair. The room 
 was beautiful in its cleanliness and order. 
 
 " Ye see," he continued, " passon asked me to come 
 over to dinner to-day ; but that wa'n't why I dressed 
 up. I done it the minute I got my chores done up. I 
 kinder wanted to. Arietta Black," — he rose, and looked 
 down upon her in a proud dignity, — " Arietta Black, 
 I 'm eighty-five year old to-day." 
 
 Miss Arietta also rose. She put out her hand, and 
 he shook it solemnly. Then, having pledged the day, 
 they sat gravely down again. 
 
 " Eighty-five ! " repeated the old man. His face took 
 on the musing look, reflected from his meditations of 
 the hour before. "I've seen a good deal. Arietta." 
 
 *' I guess you have." Miss Arietta's eyes were wet. 
 She thought of the dead days she had loved, and knew 
 that he also had been a neighborly witness of them. 
 " Well, I hope you'll have a good spell yet." 
 
 "I dunno' why I shouldn't," said the old man. 
 "I'm as lively as a cricket. I fried me some cakes this 
 mornin', for my breakfast, an' I eat 'era, too. Mebbe 
 I shall see a good many more winters. Mebbe I shan't. 
 I 'm livin' on borrered time. But I 'm thankful for 't, 
 Arietta. I 'm thankful. " 
 
 " You remember grandsir, don't you ? " asked Miss 
 Arietta. " He was older 'n you be, by a good ten year, 
 as I remember him. He 'd kep' everything but his 
 hearin'." 
 
 Uncle Blake's face creased into a reminiscent smile. 
 
 " 'T was he that used to set up 'most all night to see 
 
ROSY BALM 153 
 
 what time I went home from Adelaide True's," he re- 
 joined. " I used to do 'most every which way to out- 
 wit him. Well, he needn't ha' troubled himself. I 
 never got her." 
 
 " She married Elder Hale, did n't she? " asked Miss 
 Arietta, swaying back and forth, in a pleasant muse 
 of recollection. " 'T was her grandson that preached 
 down to Sudleigh, t' other Sunday." 
 
 "Yes," agreed the old man, — "yes. There ain't 
 nobody to carry on my name. But I '11 carry it my- 
 self," he added presently, looking up with his warm 
 smile. " I ain't hurt it much yet, an' I don't believe I 
 shall now. It '11 last as long as my headstone does, an' 
 mebbe somebody '11 be glad to hear it in the next 
 world." 
 
 They went hand in hand over the backward track 
 of the town life. Miss Arietta had heard so many 
 stories of the olden time that it seemed to her as if she 
 were of an equal age with him, and that they were 
 walking along a pleasant road among shadowy scenes, 
 unchanging now forever, and so incapable of hurting 
 them any more. For they could reject the ill of those 
 ultimate times and revive only the good. The clock 
 struck, and Miss Arietta rose. 
 
 " If you 're goin' to passon's," she said, " you '11 
 have to be gittin' along. So must I, too. See here, 
 Uncle Blake, I dunno 's you care anything about birth- 
 day presents. I never had but one in my life. That 's 
 when I was seventeen, an' I set the world by it. Here, 
 you take this. It 's a kind of a lotion for your hands. 
 I gi'n Mis' Hardy some jest like it, t' other day. You 
 tell her you 've got some, too." 
 
 "Well," said Uncle Blake, " I never! " He stood 
 there in the middle of the room, the bottle in his hand. 
 
154 ALICE BROWN 
 
 Miss Arietta, who had meant only to be kind, was 
 amazed at finding that she had been something more 
 to a degree she could not understand. " I don't know," 
 continued Uncle Blake slowly, " as I 've had such a 
 present sence I was twenty-one. I had one then. Ade- 
 laide True was out by the wall that day, when I went 
 by, an' she reached over an' gi'n me a Provence rose. 
 This — I believe to my soul, Arietta, you 've put rose 
 into this, too." 
 
 The tears were in Arietta's eyes. 
 
 " It 's Rosy Balm," she said, with a brisk cheerful- 
 ness. "That's what I call it — Rosy Balm. You use 
 it. Uncle Blake. Good-by. Le' 's shake hands once 
 more, for sake of old times. Good-by." 
 
 Hurrying along the road, with her head down, she 
 took up a corner of her shawl and wiped her eyes. 
 
 " Law ! " she said, smiling and crying at once. " I 
 should think I wa'n't more 'n two year old. — Why, 
 Jane Dunham, that you ? " 
 
 Jane lived in the next house, but she was speeding 
 along in her best bonnet and shawl, a small neat woman 
 with a round face and young, pathetic eyes. Jane 
 caught Arietta's hand, as it lay under her shawl, and 
 held it. She was all sensibility, and quick tears came 
 into her eyes. Why she did not know, nor did Ar- 
 ietta : but every one was used to Jane Dunham's kindly 
 tears. 
 
 "You comin' to pass the day, 'Letta?" she asked. 
 " I was goin' on down to the Corners to git me some 
 samples, but I 'd ruther by half turn back home an' 
 set with you." 
 
 "No, no, I'm full o' business. I've talked away 
 most o' the mornin' a'ready. Look-a-here, Jane. I got 
 suthin' here in my bag." She made her way out into 
 
ROSY BALM 155 
 
 the snow by the side of the road, and set her bag on a 
 stump, to open it. Jane was instantly by her side, her 
 bright eyes questioning. 
 
 " Eosy Balm ! " she read, taking the bottle and 
 holding it at a comfortable distance. " Land sakes, 
 'Letta! what's that?" 
 
 Arietta's eyes were shining. Now at last she seemed 
 to have entered on the fruitage of her plan. 
 
 " It 's some trade I mixed up for chapped hands," 
 she explained. " It 's got glycerine in it an' rose- 
 water — " 
 
 "'T ain't that old receipt Aunt Silvy used to be so 
 private about ! " 
 
 " Yes, 't is. I found it in her desk, arter she died. 
 Did n't I tell you that ? Well, I found it, an' I used 
 it, an' mine's jest as good as her'n." 
 
 They looked at each other in a knowing triumph. 
 They had both had long experience of Aunt Silvy. It 
 had not seemed that the cleverest could outwit her, 
 even after death. 
 
 " You remember how we used to go there to tea? " 
 asked Jane. " Little mites we were, an' scared eena- 
 most to death, she was so toppin' with us. There was 
 one arternoon we made poppy dolls an' tea sets in the 
 gardin an' she ketched us — " 
 
 " An' said them were the very poppies she was savin' 
 for seed ! " 
 
 Their faces creased into a wrinkled mirth. They 
 were two staid elderly women lingering by a snow- 
 bank, with the mind's eye fixed upon a sunny past. 
 
 " You remember the time when she told you to git 
 me a cooky out o' the parlor cluset — " 
 
 " An' I went in an' sliced us both off a junk o' fruit 
 cake an' hid it under my tier! I guess I do." 
 
 '^^v-^J^ 
 
 /yt . . 
 
156 ALICE BROWN 
 
 " If ever there was two tykes, 'Letta," said Jane, 
 with relish, " 't was you an' me. To think you 've got 
 that receipt, too, arter all these years." 
 
 Arietta spoke immediately, and it seemed to her 
 that her voice came forth without her will : 
 
 " You take it, Jane. You take this vial. 'T will 
 kinder bring back old times, an' it '11 keep your hands 
 good, too." She shut her bag, and strode out in the 
 road again. 
 
 Jane followed. Her eyes were wet with tears. 
 
 " You didn't come 'way up here to give this to me, 
 'Letta? " she asked meltingly. 
 
 " You keep it," Arietta counseled, moving on her 
 way. " It 's got a real good smell. I guess 't will bring 
 back some o' them old times." 
 
 "Come down next week," Jane was calling, and 
 Arietta nodded and waved her hand. 
 
 At this point Arietta omitted to scorn herself. She 
 tried to act as if she had meant to do nothing in the 
 world but come out and give away bottles that were 
 made to sell. Arrived at the Yeaseys' house, she 
 passed it with a fleeting glance. They were old-maid 
 sisters who would skin a flint or split a shilling. Then 
 there was Miss Susannah Means, who lived alone with 
 her brother and did good works. She was sitting by the 
 window, a faded little woman with an eager glance, and 
 all one sandy color from hair to skin. Arietta opened 
 the side door and walked in upon her, and Susannah 
 glanced up warmly without moving otherwise. 
 
 "Set right down," she said, in her high treble. 
 " Lay off your things. I ain't got a minute to give, or 
 I'd take 'em for ye." 
 
 "For the land sake, Susannah," said Arietta, ad- 
 vancing upon her, " what you doin' ? " 
 
ROSY BALM 157 
 
 Scraps of coarse lace lay in Susannah's lap, with 
 knots of bright-red worsted. 
 
 "I'mrunnin' up some candy-bags for the tree," she 
 explained, stabbing her needle in and out. " Do lay off 
 your things. I 'm worried to death, too. They say there 's 
 two families — them miserable Hendersons landed at 
 the poor-farm this week, an' six child'en between 'em, 
 an' if they go to the tree like 's not there won't be a 
 present for 'em, less'n we can scrape up suthin'." 
 
 Miss Arietta's mittened hand was at her bag. Her 
 eyes gleamed defiantly behind their glasses. 
 
 "Law, Susannah, don't you be concerned," she 
 said. " Here 's suthin'. You look-a-here." One after 
 another she took out six bottles, and pushing back the 
 worsted on the table, ranged them there in a soldierly 
 row. Susannah looked up over her glasses, and then 
 took one of them in her hand. 
 
 "Rosy Balm," she read. "What kind o' trade is 
 that. Arietta?" 
 
 " It 's a nice scented wash to put on your hands," 
 returned Arietta proudly. "You can tie some slips o' 
 paper on 'em an' mark 'em for them poor little crea- 
 tur's that ain't got nothin' else. Mebbe they 'd like a 
 jumpin'-jack or a doll ; but ye have to give what ye 
 can, an' I made this, an' I can't make nothin' else. 
 Good-day, Susannah." 
 
 But Susannah was sitting in a pleasant dream, hold- 
 ing the bottle in her hand and saying to herself , ■ — 
 
 " Rosy Balm ! Forever ! Rosy Balm ! " 
 
 Arietta saw that there were visions before her of 
 little paupers in winter quarters, soothing rough hands 
 and smelling at the bottles. She had done well. Yet 
 again she tried not to jeer at herself, though her bag 
 was very light. Arietta stopped at the fence on the 
 
168 ALICE BROWN 
 
 way out, and rested the bag there while she sought 
 within it. 
 
 "One bottle!" she ejaculated. "Well, if I'd ha' 
 known " — but if she had known, would it have been 
 different? Her mouth widened in a whimsical smile, 
 and again she spoke : " I might as well give this away, 
 quick 's ever I can, so 's not to break my record. No, 
 I won't, either. I '11 be whipped if I will. I '11 sell it, 
 or I '11 die for V 
 
 "Kide?" called Cap'n Tom. 
 
 He pulled up at the gate, in his shabby old wagon, 
 and waited for her. The cap'n was a thin man with a 
 lean face, a satirical mouth, and about his eyes certain 
 lines that nobody liked. Yet they liked the cap'n. He 
 had a great fund of dry humor ; but he was a stingy 
 man. He owned it frankly. 
 
 "I set the world by money," he often said. "I like 
 to see it roll up same 's a boy loves to roll a snowball. 
 'T ain't much importance, snow nor money neither, but 
 it's terrible excitin' to see 'em grow." His title came 
 from that, and clung to him. He was a captain of swift 
 enterprise. 
 
 " I 'm goin' along home," said Arietta, pausing with 
 her foot on the step. 
 
 "So 'm I. Git in. How are ye, 'Letta?" he asked, 
 when they were jogging along. 
 
 "I dunno'," returned Arietta recklessly. "I'm 
 pretty well in health, but I've got reason to think my 
 mind 's affected. I guess I 'm a born fool." 
 
 The cap'n flicked his horse and chuckled. 
 
 "Common complaint," said he. 
 
 "Cap'n," began Arietta, out of the fullness of ex- 
 perience, "I'm goin' to tell you suthin', an' if you ever 
 pass it on to anybody else, I'll set your barn afire. 
 
ROSY BALM 159 
 
 My brother Tom used to say you was the closest- 
 mouthed feller in the county." 
 
 "I guess that's right," said the cap'n, with pride. 
 "Close-fisted an' close-mouthed. That's right." 
 
 Then Miss Arietta began and told him the story of 
 her day. He did not speak, and she turned and looked 
 at him. The cap'n was, shaking silently. 
 
 "I s'pose you think it's funny," said Arietta, smil- 
 ing herself unwillingly. "Well, mebbe 't is ; but if you 
 was the one to do it, you 'd laugh out o' t' other side 
 o' your mouth." 
 
 " Took 'em out to sell, did ye ? " asked the cap'n. 
 
 " Yes, I took 'em out to sell." 
 
 "An' gi'n 'em all away?" 
 
 " All but one bottle. You need n't ask for 't, cap'n. 
 I wouldn't give it away for love nor money." 
 
 The cap'n was silent for a moment. Then he said : 
 "You take the reins, Arietta." He unbuttoned his 
 coat, thrust a hand deep into his pocket, and brought 
 out a roll of bills. "Arietta," said the cap'n slowly, 
 " last week I sold a yoke of oxen. To-day I driv' over 
 to git my pay. You pass me out that trade." 
 
 He took the reins, and Arietta sought within her 
 bag and gave him her last vial. The cap'n took it 
 gravely, held it far off and read the title, "Rosy 
 Balm." Then he put it in his pocket, pulled a bank- 
 note from his roll, and passed it to her. After that he 
 tucked the money into his pocket and buttoned it up 
 again. "I dunno. Arietta," said he, "as I ever give 
 any money to foreign missions ; but if you want to turn 
 that in, you can. I dunno 's ever I heerd anything 
 that pleased me more 'n your goin' out peddlin' ; I 'm a 
 close man, but it's wuth that amount o' money to me." 
 
 Arietta sat looking at the bill, in bright amaze. 
 
160 ALICE BROWN 
 
 "My land, cap'n," she said at length, "you know 
 what you've gi'n me? It's a five-dollar bill." 
 
 Instinctively he turned to look at it, and Arietta 
 laid her hand upon the reins. 
 
 " Here," she called, in high excitement, " you le' me 
 git right out an' go in an' hand it over to passon." 
 She was out over the wheel before the horse had 
 stopped. There she faced the cap'n, flushed and smil- 
 ing. " I dunno 's I could ha' trusted ye through that 
 strip o' woods, cap'n," she called. " You might ha' re- 
 pented an' ketched it away from me. Much obleeged 
 to ye. Good -by." 
 
 She sped up the path to the minister's door, and the 
 cap'n drove on chuckling. He was the poorer by five 
 dollars, and there was a small sore spot in his heart. 
 But he reflected on the story, and laughed again. 
 
 "Rosy Balm!" he wheezed, and pondered. "Rosy 
 Balm!" 
 
 NOTES 
 
 trade : — A colloquial New England expression meaning stuff, 
 or material. 
 
 the widow's mite : — See Mark, 12 : 41-44. 
 
 the breaking of error's chain : — This is a partial quotation 
 from a line in a well-known missionary hymn, From Greenland's 
 Icy Mountains. The stanza that Miss Arietta was thinking of runs 
 thus : 
 
 From Greenland's icy mountains, 
 
 From India's coral strand ; 
 Where Afric's sunny fountains 
 
 Roll down their golden sand ; 
 From many an ancient river, 
 
 From many a palmy plain. 
 They call us to deliver 
 
 Their land from error's chain. 
 
 precious ointment : — See Matthew, 26 : 6-13. 
 an Infant Samuel in plaster : — A plaster of paris statuette 
 of Samuel ; see I Samuel, 3 : 1-12. 
 
ROSY BALM 161 
 
 QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 What has the minister to do with the story ? What idea of 
 Miss Arietta do you get from the first two pages ? What do you 
 think of her plan for making money for the heathen ? How does 
 the author make you see little Anna May clearly ? Why are the 
 characters in the story made to talk so ungrammatically ? Do 
 you think that the author ought to use such language ? Did Miss 
 Arietta intend to give the " Rosy Balm " to Anna May ? Who 
 are the other people to whom she gives the bottles ? Can you 
 picture them clearly to yourself ? How does the author make 
 you understand what sort of people they are ? Which one of 
 them do you like best ? Do you think the gifts appropriate ? 
 Why does " Cap'n Tom " give Miss Arietta the five dollars ? 
 What is meant by the " small sore spot in his heart " ? How do 
 you like the way the story ends ? Try to think out the best 
 words with which to describe Miss Arietta's character. One of 
 the best things about the story is the vividness with which each 
 person's character is brought out by what he says and does. Can 
 you, in a smaller way, do something of the same kind ? Try to 
 make each person's conversation lively and suitable. 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 A Winter Walk '" The Parade of the Veterans 
 
 Making Calls in the Country How We Raised Money for the 
 A Call from the Minister Church 
 
 Selling Tickets for Our Enter- Making Candy for the Church 
 
 tainment Fair 
 
 An Old Man That I Know Coloring the Easter Eggs 
 
 Aunt Susan Children in the " Heathen " 
 
 A Queer Present Lands 
 
 Getting Ready for the Christ- A Woman Peddler 
 
 mas Tree Talking Over Old Times 
 
 What I Think about Miss Arietta 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 Making Calls in the Country : — Did you ever have any 
 occasion to go from house to house in a country district ? Can 
 you write something about the different homes that you saw ? 
 
162 ALICE BROWN 
 
 Tell who came to the door, and how these persons looked and 
 acted. What did they say ? Did they speak carefully and gram- 
 matically ? Describe several of the rooms that you were in. Tell 
 about some of the people. Were there children ? What did they 
 say and do ? Did anything funny happen ? Were you successful 
 in your errand ? Tell how you finished your round of calls, and 
 how you felt when you were through. 
 
 Coloring the Easter Eggs : — Who helped you to color the 
 Easter eggs ? Were you doing it for some little children, or for 
 the Sunday School ? Was there any secret about it ? Did you 
 hunt for the eggs yourself, or did you buy them ? Where did 
 you get the coloring matter ? Tell how you put the ingredients 
 together, and how you colored the eggs. Was there any conver- 
 sation while you were doing the work ? How did the kitchen 
 look ? Was anybody cross about it ? How did the eggs " turn 
 out " ? What did you do with them ? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 Meadow Grass Alice Brown 
 
 Tiverton Tales " « 
 
 Country Neighbors " ** 
 
 The County Road « « 
 
 By Oak and Thorn « « 
 
 A New England Nun Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman 
 
 A Humble Romance and Other 
 
 Stories « " " " 
 
 Jerome : A Poor Man « « m u 
 
 Six Trees « " " «* 
 
 The Debtor « " " " 
 
 The Wind in the Rosebush ... «« " " « 
 
 Historic Towns of New England . Lyman P. Powell 
 
 The Romance of Old New England 
 
 Roof Trees Mary C. Crawford 
 
 Quaint Nantucket W. R. Bliss 
 
 Old Paths and Legends of the New 
 England Border (for illustra- 
 tions) Katharine M. Abbott 
 
 Glimpses of Old New England 
 
 Life : Legends of Old Bedford . A. E. Brown 
 
ROSY BALM 163 
 
 The Story of Concord, Told by 
 
 Concord Writers Josephine L. Swayne (Ed.) 
 
 Sketches from Concord and Apple- 
 
 dore Frank P. Stearns 
 
 Old Concord ; Her Highways and 
 
 Byways Margaret Sidney 
 
 The Country School in New Eng- 
 land Clifton Johnson 
 
 Aunt Jane of Kentucky .... Eliza C. Hall 
 
 See also the list of New England stories by Sarah Orne Jew- 
 
 ett, page 202. 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 
 
 FRANCIS PABKMAN 
 
 (From Chapter XIV of The Oregon Trail) 
 
 This is hardly the place for portraying the mental 
 features of the Indians. The same picture, slightly 
 changed in shade and coloring, would serve with very 
 few exceptions for all the tribes north of the Mexican 
 territories. But with this similarity in their modes of 
 thought, the tribes of the lake and ocean shores, of the 
 forests and of the plains, differ greatly in their manner 
 of life. Having been domesticated for several weeks 
 among one of the wildest of the hordes that roam over 
 the remote prairies, I had unusual opportunities of ob- 
 serving them, and flatter myself that a sketch of the 
 scenes that passed daily before my eyes may not be 
 devoid of interest. They were thorough savages. Nei- 
 ther their manners nor their ideas were in the slightest 
 degree modified by contact with civilization. They knew 
 nothing of the power and real character of the white 
 men, and their children would scream in terror when 
 they saw me. Their religion, superstitions, and preju- 
 dices were the same handed down to them from im- 
 memorial time. They fought with the weapons that 
 their fathers fought with, and wore the same garments 
 of skins. They were living representatives of the 
 " stone age " ; for though their lances and arrows were 
 tipped with iron procured from the traders, they still 
 used the rude stone mallet of the primeval world. 
 
 Great changes are at hand in that region. With the 
 stream of emigration to Oregon and California, the 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 165 
 
 buffalo will dwindle away, and the large wandering 
 communities who depend on them for support must be 
 broken and scattered. The Indians will soon be abased 
 by whiskey and overawed by military posts ; so that 
 within a few years the traveler may pass in tolerable 
 security through their country. Its danger and its charm 
 will have disappeared together. 
 
 As soon as Raymond and I discovered the village 
 from the gap in the hills, we were seen in our turn ; 
 keen eyes were constantly on the watch. As we rode 
 down upon the plain, the side of the village nearest us 
 was darkened with a crowd of naked figures. Several 
 men came forward to meet us. I could distinguish 
 among them the green blanket of the Frenchman Rey- 
 nal. When we came up the ceremony of shaking hands 
 had to be gone through in due form, and then all were 
 eager to know what had become of the rest of my 
 party. I satisfied them on this point, and we all moved 
 together towards the village. 
 
 " You 've missed it," said Reynal ; " if you 'd been 
 here day before yesterday, you 'd have found the whole 
 prairie over yonder black with buffalo as far as you 
 could see. There were no cows, though ; nothing but 
 bulls. We made a ' surround ' every day till yesterday. 
 See the village there ; don't that look like good liv- 
 
 ing 
 
 ?" 
 
 In fact I could see, even at that distance, long cords 
 stretched from lodge to lodge, over which the meat, cut by 
 the squaws into thin sheets, was hanging to dry in the 
 sun. I noticed too that the village was somewhat smaller 
 than when I had last seen it, and I asked Reynal the 
 cause. He said that old Le Borgne had felt too weak 
 to pass over the mountains, and so had remained be- 
 hind with all his relations, including Mahto-Tatonka 
 
166 FRANCIS PAKKMAN 
 
 and his brothers. The Whirlwind too had been un- 
 willing to come so far, because, as Reynal said, he was 
 afraid. Only half a dozen lodges had adhered to 
 him, the main body of the village setting their chief's 
 authority at naught, and taking the course most agree- 
 able to their inclinations. 
 
 " What chiefs are there in the village now ? " 
 asked I. 
 
 "Well," said Keynal, "there's old Ked- Water, and 
 the Eagle-Feather, and the Big Crow, and the Mad 
 Wolf, and The Panther, and the White Shield, and — 
 what's his name ? — the half-breed Shienne." 
 
 So, still followed by a crowd of Indians, Raymond 
 and I rode up to the entrance of the Big Crow's lodge. 
 A squaw came out immediately and took our horses. 
 I put aside the leather flap that covered the low open- 
 ing, and stooping, entered the Big Crow's dwelling. 
 There I could see the chief in the dim light, seated at 
 one side, on a pile of buffalo-robes. He greeted me 
 with a guttural " How, cola ! " I requested Reynal to 
 tell him that Raymond and I were come to live with 
 him. The Big Crow gave another low exclamation. 
 The announcement may seem intrusive, but, in fact, 
 every Indian in the village would have deemed himself 
 honored that white men should give such preference 
 to his hospitality. 
 
 The squaw spread a buffalo-robe for us in the guest's 
 place at the head of the lodge. Our saddles were 
 brought in, and scarcely were we seated upon them be- 
 fore the place was thronged with Indians, crowding in 
 to see us. The Big Crow produced his pipe and filled 
 it with the mixture of tobacco and shongsasha^ or red 
 willow bark. Round and round it passed, and a lively 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 167 
 
 conversation went forward. Meanwhile a squaw placed 
 before the two guests a wooden bowl of boiled buffalo- 
 meat; but unhappily this was not the only banquet 
 destined to be inflicted on us. One after another, boys 
 and young squaws thrust their heads in at the opening, 
 to invite us to various feasts in different parts of the 
 village. For half an hour or more we were actively 
 engaged in passing from lodge to lodge, tasting in each 
 of the bowl of meat set before us, and inhaling a whiff 
 or two from our entertainer's pipe. A thunder-storm 
 that had been threatening for some time now began 
 in good earnest. We crossed over to ReynaFs lodge, 
 though it hardly deserved the name, for it consisted 
 only of a few old buffalo-robes, supported on poles, 
 and was quite open on one side. Here we sat down, 
 and the Indians gathered round us. 
 
 " What is it," said I, " that makes the thunder ? '* 
 
 " It 's my belief," said Reynal, " that it 's a big stone 
 rolling over the sky." 
 
 " Very likely," I replied ; " but I want to know 
 what the Indians think about it." 
 
 So he interpreted my question, which produced some 
 debate. There was a difference of opinion. At last old 
 Mene-Seela, or Red- Water, who sat by himself at one 
 side, looked up with his withered face, and said he 
 had always known what the thunder was. It was a great 
 black bird ; and once he had seen it, in a dream, swoop- 
 ing down from the Black Hills, with its loud roaring 
 wings ; and when it flapped them over a lake, they 
 struck lightning from the water. 
 
 " The thunder is bad," said another old man, who 
 sat muffled in his buffalo-robe ; " he killed my brother 
 last summer." 
 
 Reynal. at my request, asked for an explanation ; 
 
168 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 but the old man remained doggedly silent, and would 
 not look up. Some time after, I learned hem the acci- 
 dent occurred. The man who was killed belonged to 
 an association which, among other mystic functions, 
 claimed the exclusive power and privilege of fighting 
 the thunder. Whenever a storm which they wished 
 to avert was threatening, the thunder-fighters would 
 take their bows and arrows, their guns, their magic 
 drum, and a sort of whistle, made out of the wing-bone 
 of the war-eagle, and, thus equipped, run out and fire 
 at the rising cloud, whooping, yelling, whistling, and 
 beating their drum, to frighten it down again. One 
 afternoon, a heavy black cloud was coming up, and 
 they repaired to the top of a hill, where they brought 
 all their magic artillery into play against it. But the 
 undaunted thunder, refusing to be terrified, darted out 
 a bright flash, which struck one of the party dead as 
 he was in the very act of shaking his long iron-pointed 
 lance against it. The rest scattered and ran yelling 
 in an ecstasy of superstitious terror back to their lodges. 
 The lodge of my host Kongra-Tonga, or the Big 
 Crow, presented a picturesque spectacle that evening. 
 A score or more of Indians were seated around it in a 
 circle, their dark naked forms just visible by the dull 
 light of the smouldering fire in the middle. The pipe 
 glowed brightly in the gloom as it passed from hand 
 to hand. Then a squaw would drop a piece of buffalo- 
 fat on the dull embers. Instantly a bright flame would 
 leap up, darting its light to the very apex of the tall con- 
 ical structure, where the tops of the slender poles that 
 supported the covering of hide were gathered together. 
 It gilded the features of the Indians, as with animated 
 gestures they sat around it, telling their endless stories 
 of war and hunting, and displayed rude garments of 
 
^THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 169 
 
 skins that hung around the lodge ; the bow, quiver, 
 and lance, suspended over the resting-place of the 
 chief, and the rifles and powder-horns of the two white 
 guests. For a moment all would be bright as day ; then 
 the flames would die out ; fitful flashes from the em- 
 bers would illumine the lodge, and then leave it in 
 darkness. Then the light would wholly fade, and the 
 lodge and all within it be involved again in obscurity. 
 
 When feasting is in question, one hour of the day 
 serves an Indian as well as another. My entertainment 
 came off at about eleven o'clock. At that hour, Reynal 
 and Raymond walked across the area of the village, 
 to the admiration of the inhabitants, carrying the two 
 kettles of dog meat slung on a pole between them. 
 These they placed in the centre of the lodge, and then 
 went back for the bread and the tea. Meanwhile I had 
 put on a pair of brilliant moccasins, and substituted 
 for my old buck-skin frock a coat which I had brought 
 with me in view of such public occasions. I also made 
 careful use of the razor, an operation which no man 
 will neglect who desires to gain the good opinion, 
 of Indians. Thus attired, I seated myself between 
 Reynal and Raymond at the head of the lodge. Only 
 a few minutes elapsed before all the guests had come 
 in and were seated on the ground, wedged together in 
 a close circle. Each brought with him a wooden bowl 
 to hold his share of the repast. When all were assem- 
 bled, two of the officials, called " soldiers " by the 
 white men, came forward with ladles made of the horn 
 of the Rocky Mountain sheep, and began to distribute 
 the feast, assigning a double share to the old men and 
 chiefs. The dog vanished with astonishing celerity, and 
 each guest turned his dish bottom upward to show that 
 
170 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 all was gone. Then the bread was distributed in its turn, 
 and finally the tea. As the " soldiers " poured it out 
 into the same wooden bowls that had served for the 
 substantial part of the meal, I thought it had a par- 
 ticularly curious and uninviting color. 
 
 "Oh," said Keynal, "there was not tea enough, so 
 I stirred some soot in the kettle, to make it look 
 strong." 
 
 Fortunately an Indian's palate is not very discrimi- 
 nating. The tea was well sweetened, and that was all 
 they cared for. 
 
 Now, the feast being over, the time for speech-mak- 
 ing was come. The Big Crow produced a flat piece of 
 wood on which he cut up tobacco and shongsasha, and 
 mixed them in due proportions. The pipes were filled 
 and passed from hand to hand around the company. 
 Then I began my speech, each sentence being inter- 
 preted by Reynal as I went on, and echoed by the 
 whole audience with the usual exclamations of assent 
 and approval. As nearly as I can recollect, it was as 
 follows : — 
 
 "I had come," I told them, "from a country so far 
 distant, that at the rate they travel, they could not 
 reach it in a year." 
 
 " How ! how ! " 
 
 " There the Meneaska were more numerous than 
 the blades of grass on the prairie. The squaws were 
 far more beautiful than any they had ever seen, and 
 all the men were brave warriors." 
 
 "How ! how ! how ! " 
 
 I was assailed by twinges of conscience as I uttered 
 these last words. But I recovered myself and began 
 again. 
 
 " While I was living in the Meneaska lodges, I had 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 171 
 
 heard of the Ogillallah, how great and brave a nation 
 they were, how they loved the whites, and how well 
 they could hunt the buffalo and strike their enemies. 
 I resolved to come and see if all that I heard was 
 true." 
 
 " How ! how ! how ! how ! " 
 
 " As I had come on horseback through the moun- 
 tains, I had been able to bring them only a very few 
 presents." 
 
 " How ! " 
 
 " But I had enough tobacco to give them all a small 
 piece. They might smoke it and see how much better 
 it was than the tobacco which they got from the trad- 
 ers." 
 
 "How! how! how!" 
 
 " I had plenty of powder, lead, knives, and tobacco 
 at Fort Laramie. These I was anxious to give them, 
 and if any of them should come to the fort before I 
 went away, I would make them handsome presents." 
 
 " How ! how ! how ! how ! " 
 
 Raymond then cut up and distributed among them 
 two or three pounds of tobacco, and old Mene-Seela 
 began to make a reply. It was long, but the following 
 was the pith of it. 
 
 " He had always loved the whites. They were the 
 wisest people on earth. He believed they could do any- 
 thing, and he was always glad when any of them came 
 to live in the Ogillallah lodges. It was true I had not 
 made them many presents, but the reason of it was 
 plain. It was clear that I liked them, or I never should 
 have come so far to find their village." 
 
 Several other speeches of similar import followed, 
 and then this more serious matter being disposed of, 
 there was an interval of smoking, laughing, and con- 
 
172 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 versation. Old Mene-Seela suddenly interrupted it 
 with a loud voice : — 
 
 "Now is a good time," lie said, "when all the old 
 men and chiefs are here together, to decide what the 
 people shall do. We came over the mountains to make 
 our lodges for next year. Our old ones are good for 
 nothing, they are rotten and worn out. But we have 
 been disappointed. We have killed buffalo-bulls 
 enough, but we have found no herds of cows, and the 
 skins of bulls are too thick and heavy for our squaws 
 to make lodges of. There must be plenty of cows about 
 the Medicine Bow Mountain. We ought to go there. 
 To be sure it is farther westward than we have ever 
 been before, and perhaps the Snakes will attack us, 
 for those hunting-grounds belong to them. But we 
 must have new lodges at any rate ; our old ones will 
 not serve for another year. We ought not to be afraid 
 of the Snakes. Our warriors are brave, and they are 
 all ready for war. Besides, we have three white men 
 with their rifles to help us." 
 
 This speech produced ^ good deal of debate. As 
 Reynal did not interpret what was said, I could only 
 judge of the meaning by the features and gestures of 
 the speakers. At the end of it however the greater 
 number seemed to have fallen in with Mene-Seela's 
 opinion. A short silence followed, and then the old man 
 struck up a discordant chant, which I was told was a 
 song of thanks for the entertainment I had given them. 
 
 "Now," said he, "let us go and give the white men 
 a chance to breathe." 
 
 So the company all dispersed into the open air, and 
 for some time the old chief was walking round the 
 village, singing his song in praise of the feast, after 
 the custom of the nation. 
 
THE OGILL ALLAH VILLAGE 173 
 
 At last the day drew to a close, and as the sun went 
 down the horses came trooping from the surrounding 
 plains to be picketed before the dwellings of their re- 
 spective masters. Soon within the great circle of lodges 
 appeared another concentric circle of restless horses ; 
 and here and there fires glowed and flickered amid the 
 gloom, on the dusky figures around them. I went over 
 and sat by the lodge of Reynal. The Eagle-Feather, 
 who was a son of Mene-Seela, and brother of my host 
 the Big Crow, was seated there already, and I asked 
 him if the village would move in the morning. He 
 shook his head, and said that nobody could tell, for 
 since old Mahto-Tatonka had died, the people had 
 been like children that did not know their own minds. 
 They were no better than a body without a head. So 
 I, as well as the Indians themselves, fell asleep that 
 night without knowing whether we should set out in 
 the morning towards the country of the Snakes. 
 
 At daybreak however, as I was coming up from the 
 river after my morning's ablutions, I saw that a move- 
 ment was contemplated. Some of the lodges were re- 
 duced to nothing but bare skeletons of poles ; the 
 leather covering of others was flapping in the wind as 
 the squaws pulled it off. One or two chiefs of note had 
 resolved, it seemed, on moving ; and so having set their 
 squaws at work, the example was followed by the rest 
 of the village. One by one the lodges were sinking 
 down in rapid succession, and where the great circle 
 of the village had been only a few moments before, 
 nothing now remained but a ring of horses and In- 
 dians, crowded in confusion together. The ruins of the 
 lodges were spread over the ground, together with ket- 
 tles, stone mallets, great ladles of horn, buffalo-robes, 
 and cases of painted hide, filled with dried meat. 
 
174 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Squaws bustled about in busy preparation, tbe old 
 hags screaming to one another at the stretch of their 
 leathern lungs. The shaggy horses were patiently 
 standing while the lodge-poles were lashed to their 
 sides, and the baggage piled upon their backs. The 
 dogs, with tongues lolling out, lay lazily panting, and 
 waiting for the time of departure. Each warrior sat on 
 the ground by the decaying embers of his fire, un- 
 moved amid the confusion, holding in his hand the 
 long trail-rope of his horse. 
 
 As their preparations were completed, each family 
 moved off the ground. The crowd was rapidly melting 
 away. I could see them crossing the river, and passing 
 in quick succession along the profile of the hill on the 
 farther side. When all were gone, I mounted and set 
 out after them, followed by Raymond, and, as we 
 gained the summit, the whole village came in view at 
 once, straggling away for a mile or more over the bar- 
 ren plains before us. Everywhere glittered the iron 
 points of lances. The sun never shone upon a more 
 strange array. Here were the heavy-laden pack-horses, 
 some wretched old woman leading them, and two or 
 three children clinging to their backs. Here were mules 
 or ponies covered from head to tail with gaudy trap- 
 pings, and mounted by some gay young squaw, grin- 
 ning bashf ulness and pleasure as the Meneaska looked 
 at her. Boys with miniature bows and arrows wan- 
 dered over the plains, little naked children ran along 
 on foot, and numberless dogs scampered among the feet 
 of the horses. The young braves, gaudy with paint and 
 feathers, rode in groups among the crowd, often gal- 
 loping two or three at once along the line, to try the 
 speed of their horses. Here and there you might see a 
 rank of sturdy pedestrians stalking along in their white 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 175 
 
 buffalo-robes. These were the dignitaries of the village, 
 the old men and warriors, to whose age and experience 
 that wandering democracy yielded a silent deference. 
 With the rough prairie and the broken hills for its 
 background, the restless scene was striking and pic- 
 turesque beyond description. Days and weeks made 
 me familiar with it, but never impaired its effect upon 
 my fancy. 
 
 As we moved on, the broken column grew yet more 
 scattered and disorderly, until, as we approached the 
 foot of a hill, I saw the old men before mentioned 
 seating themselves in a line upon the ground, in 
 advance of the whole. They lighted a pipe and 
 sat smoking, laughing, and telling stories, while the 
 people, stopping as they successively came up, were 
 soon gathered in a crowd behind them. Then the old 
 men rose, drew their buffalo-robes over their shoulders, 
 and strode on as before. Gaining the top of the hill, 
 we found a steep declivity before us. There was not a 
 minute's pause. The whole descended in a mass, amid 
 dust and confusion. The horses braced their feet as 
 they slid down, women and children screamed, dogs 
 yelped as they were trodden upon, while stones and 
 earth went rolling to the bottom. In a few moments 
 I could see the village from the summit, spreading 
 again far and wide over the plain below. 
 
 Our encampment that afternoon was not far from a 
 spur of the Black Hills, whose ridges, bristling with 
 fir-trees, rose from the plains a mile or two on our 
 right. That they might move more rapidly towards 
 their proposed hunting-grounds, the Indians deter- 
 mined to leave at this place their stock of dried meat 
 and other superfluous articles. Some left even their 
 
176 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 lodges, and contented themselves witli carrying a few 
 hides to make a shelter from the sun and rain. Half 
 the inhabitants set out in the afternoon, with loaded 
 pack-horses, towards the mountains. Here they sus- 
 pended the dried meat upon trees, where the wolves 
 and grizzly bears could not get at it. All returned 
 at evening. Some of the young men declared that they 
 had heard the reports of guns among the mountains to 
 the eastward, and many surmises were thrown out as 
 to the origin of these sounds. For my part, I was in 
 hopes that Shaw and Henry Chatillon were coming to 
 join us. I little suspected that at that very moment 
 my unlucky comrade was lying on a buffalo-robe at 
 Fort Laramie, fevered with ivy poison, and solacing 
 his woes with tobacco and Shakespeare. 
 
 As we moved over the plains on the next morn- 
 ing, several young men rode about the country as 
 scouts ; and at length we began to see them occasion- 
 ally on the tops of the hills, shaking their robes as 
 a signal that they saw buffalo. Soon after, some bulls 
 came in sight. Horsemen darted away in pursuit, 
 and we could see from the distance that one or two 
 of the buffalo were killed. Raymond suddenly became 
 inspired, 
 
 "This is the country for me ! " he said ; " if I could 
 only carry the buffalo that are killed here every month 
 down to St. Louis, I 'd make my fortune in one winter. 
 I 'd grow as rich as old Papin, or Mackenzie either. I 
 call this the poor man's market. When I 'm hungry, 
 I 've only got to take my rifle and go out and get bet- 
 ter meat than the rich folks down below can get, with 
 all their money. You won't catch me living in St. Louis 
 another winter." 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 177 
 
 Here he interrupted himself with an oath, and ex- 
 claimed : " Look! look ! The ' Panther ' is running an 
 antelope ! " 
 
 The Panther, on his black and white horse, one of 
 the best in the village, came at full speed over the hill 
 in hot pursuit of an antelope, that darted away like 
 lightning before him. The attempt was made in mere 
 sport and bravado, for very few are the horses that can 
 for a moment compete in swiftness with this little ani- 
 mal. The antelope ran down the hill towards the main 
 body of the Indians, who were moving over the plain 
 below. Sharp yells were given, and horsemen galloped 
 out to intercept his flight. At this he turned sharply to 
 the left, and scoured away with such speed that he dis^ 
 tanced all his pursuers, even the vaunted horse of The 
 Panther himself. A few moments after, we witnessed 
 a more serious sport. A shaggy buffalo-bull bounded 
 out from a neighboring hollow, and close behind him 
 came a slender Indian boy, riding without stirrups or 
 saddle, and lashing his eager little horse to full speed. 
 Yard after yard he drew closer to his gigantic victim, 
 though the bull, with his short tail erect and his tongue 
 lolling out a foot from his foaming jaws, was straining 
 his unwieldy strength to the utmost. A moment more, 
 and the boy was close alongside. It was our friend the 
 Hail-Storm. He dropped the rein on his horse's neck, 
 and jerked an arrow like lightning from the quiver at 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " I '11 tell you," said Reynal, " that in a year's time 
 that boy will match the best hunter in the village. 
 There, he has given it to him ! — and there goes an- 
 other ! You feel well, now, old bull, don't you, with 
 two arrows stuck in your lights ! There, he has given 
 him another I Hear how the Hail-Storm yells when he 
 
178 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 shoots ! Yes, jump at him ; try it again, old fellow ! 
 You may jump all day before you get your horns into 
 that pony I " 
 
 The bull sprang again and again at his assailant, 
 but the horse kept dodging with wonderful celerity. 
 At length the bull followed up his attack with a furi- 
 ous rush, and the Hail- Storm was put to flight, the 
 shaggy monster following close behind. The boy clung 
 in his seat like a leech, and secure in the speed of his 
 little pony, looked round towards us and laughed. In 
 a moment he was again alongside the bull, who was now 
 driven to desperation. His eyeballs glared through his 
 tangled mane, and the blood flew from his mouth and 
 nostrils. Thus, still battling with each other, the two 
 enemies disappeared over the hill. 
 
 Many of the Indians rode at full gallop towards the 
 spot. We followed at a more moderate pace, and soon 
 saw the bull lying dead on the side of the hill. The 
 Indians were gathered around him, and several knives 
 were already at work. These little instruments were 
 plied with such wonderful address, that the twisted 
 sinews were cut apart, the ponderous bones fell asunder 
 as if by magic, and in a moment the vast carcass was 
 reduced to a heap of bloody ruins. 
 
 "We encamped that night, and marched westward 
 through the greater part of the following day. On the 
 next morning we again resumed our journey. It was 
 the seventeenth of July, unless my note-book misleads 
 me. At noon we stopped by some pools of rain-water, 
 and in the afternoon again set forward. This double 
 movement was contrary to the usual practice of the 
 Indians, but all were very anxious to reach the hunt- 
 ing-ground, kill the necessary number of buffalo. 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 179 
 
 and retreat as soon as possible from the dangerous 
 neighborhood. I pass by for the present some curious 
 incidents that occurred during these marches and en- 
 campments. Late in the afternoon of the last-mentioned 
 day we came upon the banks of a little sandy stream, 
 of which the Indians could not tell the name ; for they 
 were very ill acquainted with that part of the country. 
 So parched and arid were the prairies around, that they 
 could not supply grass enough for the horses to feed 
 upon, and we were compelled to move farther and far- 
 ther up the stream in search of ground for encamp- 
 ment. The country was much wilder than before. The 
 plains were gashed with ravines and broken into hol- 
 lows and steep declivities, which flanked our course, 
 as, in long scattered array, the Indians advanced up 
 the side of the stream. Mene-Seela consulted an ex- 
 traordinary oracle to instruct him where the buffalo 
 were to be found. When he with the other chiefs sat 
 down on the grass to smoke and converse, as they often 
 did during the march, the old man picked up one of 
 those enormous black and green crickets, which the 
 Dahcotah called by a name that signifies " They who 
 point out the buffalo." The " Root-Diggers," a wretched 
 tribe beyond the mountains, turn them to good account 
 by making them into a sort of soup, pronounced by 
 certain unscrupulous trappers to be extremely rich. 
 Holding the bloated insect respectfully between his 
 fingers and thumb, the old Indian looked attentively 
 at him and inquired, *' Tell me, my father, where must 
 we go to-morrow to find the buffalo ? " The cricket 
 twisted about his long horns in evident embarrass- 
 ment. At last he pointed, or seemed to point, them 
 westward. Mene-Seela, dropping him gently on the 
 grass, laughed with great glee, and said that if we 
 
180 FRANCIS PAEKMAN 
 
 went that way in the morning we should be sure to 
 kill plenty of game. 
 
 Towards evening we came upon a fresh green meadow, 
 traversed by the stream, and deep-set among tall sterile 
 bluffs. The Indians descended its steep bank ; and as 
 I was at the rear, I was one of the last to reach this 
 point. Lances were glittering, feathers fluttering, and 
 the water below me was crowded with men and horses 
 passing through, while the meadow beyond swarmed 
 with the restless crowd of Indians. The sun was just 
 setting, and poured its softened light upon them through 
 an opening in the hills. 
 
 I remarked to Reynal, that at last we had found a 
 good 'camping-ground. 
 
 " Oh, it 's very good," replied he, ironically, " espe- 
 cially if there is a Snake war-party about, and they take 
 it into their heads to shoot down at us from the top of 
 these hills. It 's no plan of mine, 'camping in such a 
 hole as this." 
 
 The Indians also seemed anxious. High up on the 
 top of the tallest bluff, conspicuous in the bright even- 
 ing sunlight, sat a naked warrior on horseback, look- 
 ing around over the neighboring country ; and Ray- 
 mond told me that many of the young men had gone 
 out in different directions as scouts. 
 
 The shadows had reached to the very summit of the 
 bluffs before the lodges were erected, and the village 
 reduced again to quiet and order. A cry was suddenly 
 raised, and men, women, and children came running 
 out with animated faces, and looked eagerly through 
 the opening in the hills by which the stream entered 
 from the westward. I could discern afar off some dark, 
 heavy masses, passing over the sides of a low hill. They 
 disappeared, and then others followed. These were 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 181 
 
 bands of buffalo-cows. The hunting-ground was reached 
 at last, and everything promised well for the morrow's 
 chase. Being fatigued and exhausted, I lay down in 
 Kongra-Tonga's lodge, when Raymond thrust in his 
 head, and called upon me to come and see some sport. 
 A number of Indians were gathered, laughing, along 
 the line of lodges on the western side of the village, 
 and at some distance, I could plainly see in the twilight 
 two huge black monsters stalking, heavily and solemnly, 
 directly towards us. They were buffalo-bulls. The wind 
 blew from them to the village, and such was their 
 blindness and stupidity, that they were advancing upon 
 the enemy without the least consciousness of his pre- 
 sence. Raymond told me that two young men had 
 hidden themselves with guns in a ravine about twenty 
 yards in front of us. The two bulls walked slowly on, 
 heavily swinging from side to side in their peculiar 
 gait of stupid dignity. They approached within four 
 or five rods of the ravine where the Indians lay in 
 ambush. Here at last they seemed conscious that some- 
 thing was wrong, for they both stopped and stood 
 perfectly still, without looking either to the right or to 
 the left. Nothing of them was to be seen but two black 
 masses of shaggy mane, with horns, eyes, and nose in 
 the centre, and a part of hoofs visible at the bottom. 
 At last the more intelligent of them seemed to have 
 concluded that it was time to retire. Very slowly, and 
 with an air of the gravest and most majestic delibera- 
 tion, he began to turn round, as if he were revolving 
 on a pivot. Little by little his ugly brown side was 
 exposed to view. A white smoke sprang out, as it were 
 from the ground ; a sharp report came with it. The 
 old bull gave a very undignified jump, and galloped 
 off. At this his comrade wheeled about with consider- 
 
182 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 able expedition. The other Indian shot at him from 
 the ravine, and then both the bulls ran away at full 
 speed, while half the juvenile population of the village 
 raised a yell and ran after them. The first bull soon 
 stopped, and while the crowd stood looking at him at 
 a respectful distance, he reeled and rolled over on his 
 side. The other, wounded in a less vital part, galloped 
 away to the hills and escaped. 
 
 In half an hour it was totally dark. I lay down to 
 sleep, and ill as I was, there was something very ani- 
 mating in the prospect of the general hunt that was to 
 take place on the morrow. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Ogillallah : — A tribe of Western Indians. 
 
 the " stone age " : — A state of savagery in which men use 
 stone weapons, not having learned the use of metals. 
 
 Raymond : — A Western hunter who was in Parkman's party 
 in the journey here described. See page 116 (Chapter X) of The 
 Oregon Trail. 
 
 Reynal : — "A vagrant Indian trader," as Parkman says on 
 page 116 of The Oregon Trail. 
 
 Le Borgne : — An old Indian described in Chapter XI of The 
 Oregon Trail. 
 
 Mahto Tatonka : — A young nephew of Le Borgne. The 
 Mahto Tatonka mentioned further on is the old chief of the 
 same name as the young warrior, his son. At the time of which 
 Parkman writes, old Mahto Tatonka was dead. See Chapter XI 
 of The Oregon Trail. 
 
 Shienne : — Cheyenne, the name of a tribe of Indians. 
 
 Meneaska : — An Indian word for white men. 
 
 Medicine Bow Mountain : — A range of the Rocky Moun- 
 tains, in Wyoming and Colorado. It forms the southwestern 
 boundary of the Laramie Plain. 
 
 Snakes : — A tribe of war-like Western Indians. 
 
 Shaw and Henry Chatillon : — Quincy Adams Shaw, a 
 relative of Parkman, took the trip with the author. See page 1 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 183 
 
 of The Oregon Trail. Henry Chatillon was Parkman's guide. He 
 is described at length in Chapter II. 
 
 Fort Laramie : — A fort in the territory which is now the 
 State of Wyoming. See Chapter IX of The Oregon Trail. 
 
 Papin : — Parkman says on page 69 of The Oregon Trail that 
 Papin was " the boss of Fort Laramie." 
 
 Mackenzie : — Possibly this is Roderick Mackenzie, a fur- 
 trader, connected with the Northwest Fur Company, He lived 
 during the latter part of the eighteenth and the first part of the 
 nineteenth century, but the exact dates of his birth and death 
 are unknown. 
 
 Hail-Storm: — A young Indian spoken of on page 116 of 
 The Oregon Trail. 
 
 QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 What is Parkman's purpose in giving the general sketch of In- 
 dian character, at first ? Have the changes that he prophesies in 
 the second paragraph already taken place ? What is the value of 
 the conversation that occurs as the travelers approach the vil- 
 lage ? What do you think of Parkman's method of sprinkling 
 conversation all through the piece ? Why does the author stop 
 to give the Indians' ideas about the thunder ? In what ways is 
 the description of the feast made clear and lively ? Pick out 
 what you think are the most striking details. How does Park- 
 man give an effect of confusion in the departure of the Indians 
 from camp ? In the account of the antelope-hunt, and the bison- 
 hunt, what method is used in order to make the reader feel the 
 liveliness of the events ? Pick out the words and expressions 
 that help to give an effect of rapidity and excitement in the ac- 
 tion. Go through the whole selection, and see, by looking at the 
 beginnings of the paragraphs, how Parkman leads the reader on 
 from one scene to another ; that is, take note of his use of transi- 
 tion. What is your general idea of the state of civilization in 
 which the Ogillallahs were at the time that Parkman visited 
 them? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 My Visit to an Indian Camp A Visit to the Indian Reserva- 
 
 The Indian in the City tion 
 
 The Gypsies' Camp The Pioneer and the Indians 
 
184 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 When the Indians Came to Town When the Indians Lived on 
 
 The Adventures of an Indian Boy the Site of Our Town 
 
 An Indian Peddler Smoking the Pipe of Peace 
 
 An Adventure with the Indians Playing Indian 
 
 The Indians at the Amusement How the White Men Have 
 
 Park Treated the Indians 
 The Wild West Show 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 When the Indians Came to To"wn : — Can you give an 
 idea of the point of view from which you caught your first 
 glimpse of the Indians at the time of which you are writing ? 
 Would it be better to speak first of the particular Indians, or of 
 the whole group ? Were you frightened, or amused ? In either 
 case, explain why. What sort of clothes and decorations did the 
 Indians wear ? Can you use some color-words that would make 
 your picture of them clear ? In speaking of individual Indians 
 can you show in what way they differed from others ? Did they 
 vrear peculiar garments, act strangely, or say anything particu- 
 larly interesting ? See if you can use one of the following ideas 
 for closing up your theme : The way the townspeople regarded 
 the Indians ; the last you saw of them ; the length of their stay; 
 their departure. 
 
 An Adventure -with the Indians: — Tell in your own 
 words an incident that you have heard, read, or imagined, about 
 some white person's adventure with Indians. Try to make clear 
 to your reader, at the very first, the time and the place of the 
 occurrence, and the circumstances that led up to it. Tell what 
 each person said, in the first part of the adventure. Explain how 
 the Indians looked, and what they said and did. See if you can 
 make your picture of the Indians as striking and vivid as Park- 
 man makes his ; and try to make the actions of the Indians show 
 their characters. Keep before the reader, as much as possible, 
 the person who is having the adventure. Do not let him be for- 
 gotten while you are describing the Indians. Tell what he 
 thought, felt, said, and did. Show clearly his state of mind, 
 especially as to whether he was frightened or not. Go on and 
 tell what happened, and how the adventure came out. Finish by 
 telling how the hero felt when it was over. 
 
THE OGILLALLAH VILLAGE 185 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 The Oregon Trail Francis Parkmaii 
 
 The Conspiracy of Pontiac ... " " 
 
 The Jesuits in North America . . " '* 
 
 La Salle and the Discovery of the 
 
 Great West « " 
 
 Pioneers of France in the New 
 
 World « ««. 
 
 The Old Regime in Canada ..." « 
 
 A Half-Century of Conflict ..." « 
 
 Heroes of the Middle West . . . Mary Hartwell Catherwood 
 
 Rocky Mountain Exploration . . Reuben G. Thwaites 
 
 Wisconsin " " 
 
 The Discorery of the Old North- 
 west James Baldwin 
 
 French Pathfinders in North Amer- 
 ica W. H. Johnson 
 
 The Romance of Discovery . . . W. E. Griffis 
 
 American Indians Frederick Starr 
 
 The Master of the Stronghearts . E. S. Brooks 
 
 The Magic Forest Stewart Edward White 
 
 The Wampum Belt Hezekiah Butterworth 
 
 An Indian Boyhood Charles Eastman 
 
 Indian Story and Song . . . . A. C. Fletcher 
 
 Indians of To-day G. B. Grinnell 
 
 Blackfoot Lodge Tales ...."" « 
 The Story of the Indian ....«« " 
 The Great Salt Lake Trail . . . Inman and Cody 
 The Old Santa ¥4 Trail . . . . H. Inman 
 The Expedition of Lewis and 
 
 Clark J. K. Hosmer 
 
 The Trail of Lewis and Clark . . O. D. Wheeler 
 
 Boots and Saddles E. Custer 
 
 Tenting on the Plains . . . . " " 
 Following the Guidon ...."" 
 
 Far West Sketches Jessie B. Fremont 
 
 Pony Tracks Frederic Remington 
 
 Across the Plains R. L. Stevenson 
 
 The Land of Little Rain . . . Mary Austin 
 Old Indian Legends Zitkala-Sa 
 
186 FRANCIS PARKMAN" 
 
 The Book of Legends .... Horace E. Scudder 
 
 Indian History for Young Folks F. S. Drake 
 
 The Last of the Mohicans . . . James Fenimore Cooper 
 
 The Prairie « « « 
 
 Francis Parkman H. D. Sedgwick 
 
 Francis Parkman E. H. Farnham 
 
A WHITE HERON 
 
 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 (From A White Heron and Other Stories) 
 
 I 
 
 / The woods were already filled with shadows one ] 
 / June evening, just before eight o'clock, though a bright / 
 
 sunset still glimmered faintly among the trunks of the 
 
 S trees. A little girl was driving home her cow, a plod- 
 
 /ding, dilatory, provoking creature in her behavior, but 
 
 / a valued companion for all that. They were going away 
 
 j from whatever light there was, and striking deep into 
 
 the woods, but their feet were familiar with the path, 
 
 and it was no matter whether their eyes could see it or 
 
 not. 
 
 There was hardly a night the summer through when 
 the old cow could be found waiting at the pasture 
 bars; on the contrary, it was her greatest pleasure to 
 hide herself away among the huckleberry bushes, and 
 though she wore a loud bell she had made the discov- 
 ery that if one stood perfectly still it would not ring. 
 So Sylvia had to hunt for her until she found her, and 
 call Co' ! Co' ! with never an answering Moo, until her 
 childish patience was^ quite spent. If the creature had 
 not given good milk and plenty of it, the case would 
 have seemed very different to her owners. Besides, 
 Sylvia had all the time there was, and very little use to 
 make of it. Sometimes in pleasant weather it was a con- 
 solation to look upon the cow's pranks as an intelligent 
 attempt to play hide and seek, and as the child had no 
 playmates she lent herself to this amusement with a 
 
188 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 good deal of zest. Though this chase had been so long 
 that the wary animal herself had given an unusual sig- 
 nal of her whereabouts, Sylvia had only laughed when 
 she came upon Mistress MooUy at the swampside, and 
 urged her affectionately homeward with a twig of birch 
 leaves. The old cow was not inclined to wander farther ; 
 she even turned in the right direction for once as they 
 left the pasture, and stepped along the road at a good 
 pace. She was quite ready to be milked now, and seldom 
 stopped to browse. Sylvia wondered what her grand- 
 mother would say because they were so late. It was a 
 great while since she had left home at half -past five 
 o'clock, but everybody knew the difficulty of making 
 this errand a short one. Mrs. Tilley had chased the 
 horned torment too many summer evenings herself to 
 blame anyone else for lingering, and was only thank- 
 ful as she waited that she had Sylvia, nowadays, to 
 give such valuable assistance. The good woman sus- 
 pected that Sylvia loitered occasionally on her own ac- 
 count; there never was such a child for straying about 
 out-of-doors sine© the world was made ! Everybody 
 said that it was a good change for a little maid who 
 had tried to grow for eight years, in a crowded manu- 
 facturing town, but, as for Sylvia herself, it seemed as 
 if she never had been alive at all before she came to 
 live at the farm. She thought often with wistful com- 
 passion of a wretched geranium that belonged to a town 
 neighbor. 
 
 " ' Afraid of folks,' " old Mrs. Tilley said to herself, 
 with a smile, after she had made the unlikely choice 
 of Sylvia from her daughter's houseful of children, 
 and was returning to the farm. " ' Afraid of folks,' 
 they said ! I guess she won't be troubled no great with 
 'em up to the old place ! " When they reached the 
 
A WHITE HERON 189 
 
 door of the lonely house and stopped to unlock it, and 
 the cat came to purr loudly, and rub against them, a 
 deserted pussy, indeed, but fat with young robins, 
 Sylvia whispered that this was a beautiful place to live 
 in, and she never should wish to go home. 
 
 The companions followed the shady wood-road, the 
 cow taking slow steps and the child very fast ones. 
 The cow stopped long at the brook to drink, as if the 
 pasture were not half a swamp, and Sylvia stood still 
 and waited, letting her bare feet cool themselves in 
 the shoal water, while the great twilight moths struck 
 softly against her. She waded on through the brook 
 as the cow moved away, and listened to the thrushes 
 with a heart that beat fast with pleasure. There was 
 a stirring in the great boughs overhead. They were 
 full of little birds and beasts that seemed to be wide 
 awake, and going about their world, or else saying 
 good-night to each other in sleepy twitters. Sylvia her- 
 self felt sleepy as she walked along. However, it was 
 not much farther to the house, and the air was soft 
 and sweet. She was not often in the woods so late as 
 this, and it made her feel as if she were a part of the 
 gray shadows and the moving leaves. She was just 
 thinking how long it seemed since she first came to 
 the farm a year ago, and wondering if everything went 
 on in the noisy town just the same as when she was 
 there ; the thought of the great red-faced boy who used 
 to chase and frighten her made her hurry along the 
 path to escape from the shadow of the trees. 
 
 Suddenly this little woods-girl was horror-stricken 
 to hear a clear whistle not very far away. Not a bird's- 
 whistle, which would have a sort of friendliness, but a 
 boy's whistle, determined, and somewhat aggressive. 
 
190 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 Sylvia left the cow to whatever sad fate might await 
 her, and stepped discreetly aside into the bushes, but 
 she was just too late. The enemy had discovered her, 
 and called out in a very cheerful and persuasive tone, 
 " Halloa, little girl, how far is it to the road ? " and 
 trembling Sylvia answered almost inaudibly, " A good 
 ways." 
 
 She did not dare to look boldly at the tall young 
 man, who carried a gun on his shoulder, but she came 
 out of her bush and again followed the cow, while he 
 walked alongside. 
 
 " I have been hunting for some birds," the stranger 
 said kindly, " and I have lost my way, and need a friend 
 very much. Don't be afraid," he added gallantly. 
 " Speak up and tell me what your name is, and whether 
 you think I can spend the night at your house, and go 
 out gunning early in the morning." 
 
 Sylvia was more alarmed than before. Would not 
 her grandmother consider her much to blame ? But 
 who could have foreseen such an accident as this? It 
 did not seem to be her fault, and she hung her head 
 as if the stem of it were broken, but managed to an- 
 swer " Sylvy," with much effort when her companion 
 again asked her name. 
 
 Mrs. Tilley was standing in the doorway when the 
 trio came into view. The cow gave a loud moo by way 
 of explanation. 
 
 "Yes, you'd better speak up for yourself, you old 
 trial ! Where 'd she tucked herself away this time, 
 Sylvy ? " But Sylvia kept an awed silence ; she knew 
 by instinct that her grandmother did not comprehend 
 the gravity of the situation. She must be mistaking 
 the stranger for one of the farmer-lads of the region. 
 
 The young man stood his gun beside the door, and 
 
A WHITE HERON 191 
 
 dropped a lumpy game-bag beside it ; tben he bade 
 Mrs. Tilley good-evening, and repeated his wayfarer's 
 story, and asked if he could have a night's lodging. 
 
 " Put me anywhere you like," he said. " I must 
 be off early in the morning, before day ; but I am very 
 hungry, indeed. You can give me some milk at any 
 rate, that 's plain." 
 
 " Dear sakes, yes," responded the hostess, whose 
 long slumbering hospitality seemed to be easily awak- 
 ened. " You might fare better if you went out to the 
 main road a mile or so, but you 're welcome to what 
 we 've got. I '11 milk right off, and you make yourself 
 at home. You can sleep on husks or feathers," she prof- 
 fered graciously. " I raised them all myself. There 's 
 good pasturing for geese just below here towards the 
 ma'sh. Now step round and set a plate for the gentle- 
 man, Sylvy ! " And Sylvia promptly stepped. She was 
 glad to have something to do, and she was hungry 
 herself. 
 
 It was a surprise to find so clean and comfortable a 
 little dwelling in this New England wilderness. The 
 young man had known the horrors of its most primi- 
 tive housekeeping, and the dreary squalor of that level 
 of society which does not rebel at the companionship 
 of hens. This was the best thrift of an old-fashioned 
 farmstead, though on such a small scale that it seemed 
 like a hermitage. He listened eagerly to the old 
 woman's quaint talk, he watched Sylvia's pale face 
 and shining gray eyes with ever growing enthusiasm, 
 and insisted that this was the best supper he had eaten 
 for a month, and afterward the new-made friends sat 
 down in the door-way together while the moon came 
 up. 
 
 Soon it would be berry-time, and Sylvia was a great 
 
192 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 help at picking. The cow was a good milker, though a 
 plaguy thing to keep track of, the hostess gossiped 
 frankly, adding presently that she had buried four 
 children, so Sylvia's mother, and a son (who might be 
 dead) in California were all the children she had left. 
 " Dan, my boy, was a great hand to go gunning," she 
 explained sadly. " I never wanted for pa'tridges or gray 
 squer'ls while he was to home. He 's been a great 
 wand'rer, I expect, and he 's no hand to write letters. 
 There, I don't blame him, I 'd ha' seen the world my- 
 self if it had been so I could." 
 
 " Sylvy takes after him," the grandmother contin- 
 ued affectionately, after a minute's pause. " There ain't 
 a foot o' ground she don't know her way over, and the 
 wild creaturs counts her one o' themselves. Squer'ls 
 she '11 tame to come an' feed right out o' her hands, 
 and all sorts o' birds. Last winter she got the jaybirds 
 to bargeing here, and I believe she 'd 'a' scanted her- 
 self of her own meals to have plenty to throw out 
 amongst 'em, if I had n't kep' watch. Anything but 
 crows, I tell her, I 'm willin' to help support — though 
 Dan he had a tamed one o' them that did seem to have 
 reason same as folks. It was round here a good spell 
 after he went away. Dan an' his father they did n't 
 hitch, — but he never held up his head ag'in after 
 Dan had dared him an' gone off." 
 
 The guest did not notice this hint of family sorrows 
 in his eager interest in something else. 
 
 " So Sylvy knows all about birds, does she ? " he 
 exclaimed, as he looked round at the little girl who 
 sat, very demure but increasingly sleepy, in the moon- 
 light. " I am making a collection of birds myself. I 
 have been at it ever since I was a boy." (Mrs. Tilley 
 smiled.) " There are two or three very rare ones I 
 
A WHITE HERON 193 
 
 have been hunting for these five years. I mean to 
 get them on my own ground if they can be found." 
 
 "Do you cage 'em up? " asked Mrs. Tilley doubt- 
 fully, in response to this enthusiastic announcement. 
 
 " Oh no, they 're stuffed and preserved, dozens and 
 dozens of them," said the ornithologist, " and I have 
 shot or snared every one myself. I caught a glimpse 
 of a white heron a few miles from here on Saturday, 
 and I have followed it in this direction. They have 
 never been found in this district at all. The little 
 white heron, it is," and he turned again to look at 
 Sylvia with the hope of discovering that the rare bird 
 was one of her acquaintances. 
 
 But Sylvia was watching a hop-toad in the narrow 
 footpath. 
 
 " You would know the heron if you saw it," the 
 stranger continued eagerly. " A queer, tall white bird 
 with soft feathers and long thin legs. And it would 
 have a nest perhaps in the top of a high tree, made 
 of sticks, something like a hawk's nest." 
 
 Sylvia's heart gave a wild beat; she knew that 
 strange white bird, and had once stolen softly near 
 where it stood in some bright green swamp grass, 
 away over at the other side of the woods. There was 
 an open place where the sunshine always seemed 
 strangely yellow and hot, where tall, nodding rushes 
 grew, and her grandmother had warned her that she 
 might sink in the soft black mud underneath and 
 never be heard of more. Not far beyond were the salt 
 marshes just this side the sea itself, which Sylvia 
 wondered and dreamed much about, but never had 
 seen, whose great voice could sometimes be heard 
 above the noise of the woods on stormy nights. 
 
 " I can't think of anything I should like so much as 
 
194 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 to find tliat heron's nest," the handsome stranger was 
 saying. " I would give ten dollars to anybody who 
 could show it to me," he added desperately, " and I 
 mean to spend my whole vacation hunting for it if need 
 be. Perhaps it was only migrating, or had been chased 
 out of its own region by some bird of prey." 
 
 Mrs. Tilley gave amazed attention to all this, but 
 Sylvia still watched the toad, not divining, as she 
 might have done at some calmer time, that the creature 
 wished to get to its hole under the door-step, and was 
 much hindered by the unusual spectators at that hour 
 of the evening. No amount of thought, that night, 
 could decide how many wished-for treasures the ten 
 dollars, so lightly spoken of, would buy. 
 
 The next day the young sportsman hovered about 
 the woods, and Sylvia kept him company, having lost 
 her first fear of the friendly lad, who proved to be 
 most kind and sympathetic. He told her many things 
 about the birds and what they knew and where they 
 lived and what they did with themselves. And he gave 
 her a jack-knife, which she thought as great a treasure 
 as if she were a desert-islander. All day long he did 
 not once make her troubled or afraid except when he 
 brought down some unsuspecting singing creature from 
 its bough. Sylvia would have liked him vastly better 
 without his gun ; she could not understand why he 
 killed the very birds he seemed to like so much. But 
 as the day waned, Sylvia still watched the young man 
 with loving admiration. She had never seen anybody 
 so charming and delightful ; the woman's heart, asleep 
 in the child, was vaguely thrilled by a dream of love. 
 Some premonition of that great power stirred and 
 swayed these young creatures who traversed the solemn 
 
A WHITE HERON 195 
 
 woodlands with soft-footed silent care. They stopped 
 to listen to a bird's song ; they pressed forward again 
 eagerly, parting the branches — speaking to each other 
 rarely and in whispers ; the young man going first and 
 Sylvia following, fascinated, a few steps behind, with 
 her gray eyes dark with excitement. 
 
 She grieved because the longed-for white heron was 
 elusive, but she did not lead the guest, — she only fol- 
 lowed, and there was no such thing as speaking first. 
 The sound of her own unquestioned voice would have 
 terrified her, — it was hard enough to answer yes or 
 no when there was need of that. At last evening began 
 to fall, and they drove the cow home together, and 
 Sylvia smiled with pleasure when they came to the 
 place where she heard the whistle and was afraid only 
 the night before. 
 
 II 
 
 Half a mile from home, at the farther edge of the 
 woods, where the land was highest, a great pine- 
 tree stood, the last of its i;g^ne ration. Whether it was 
 left for a boundary mark, or for what reason, no one 
 could say '; the woodchoppers who had felled its mates 
 were dead and gone long ago, and a whole forest of 
 sturdy trees, pines and oaks and maples, had grown 
 again. But the stately head of this old pine towered 
 above them all and made a landmark for sea and shore 
 miles and miles away. Sylvia knew it well. She had 
 always believed that whoever climbed to the top of it 
 could see the ocean; and the little girl had often laid 
 her hand on the great rough trunk and looked up 
 >^istfully at those dark boughs that the wind always 
 stirred, no matter how hot and still the air might be 
 below. Now she thought of the tree with a new excite- 
 
196 SARAH OENE JEWETT 
 
 ment, for why, if one climbed it at break of day, could 
 not one see all the world, and easily discover from 
 whence the white heron flew, and mark the place, and 
 find the hidden nest? 
 
 What a spirit of adventure, what wild ambition! 
 What fancied triumph and delight and glory for the 
 later morning when she could make known the secret ! 
 It was almost too real and too great for the childish 
 heart to bear. 
 
 All night the door of the little house stood open and 
 the whippoorwills came and sang upon the very step. 
 The young sportsman and his old hostess were sound 
 asleep, but Sylvia's great design kept her broad awake 
 and watching. She forgot to think of sleep. The short 
 summer night seemed as long as the winter darkness, 
 and at last when the whippoorwills ceased, and she 
 was afraid the morning would after all co.me too soon, 
 she stole out of tHenouse and followed the pasture 
 path through the woodsy ha;stening_jtQward the open 
 ground beyond^ listening with a~sens€~o£-CQmf ort^andr^ 
 companionship to tKe drowsy^^witterof -a hall-awakened 
 bird, whose perch she had jarred in passing. Alas, if 
 the^great wave of_human:interest which flooded f or the^^ 
 first time this dull little life should sweep away th^ 
 satisfactions oFaiTexktencehe^rtJbo heart with^afure 
 and the dumb life of the forest ! / 
 
 There was the huge -tree asleep yet inr-the_^alin§— 
 moonlight, and small and silly Sylvia began with ut- 
 most bravery to mount to the top of it, with tingling, 
 eager blood coursing the channels of her whole frame, 
 and with her bare feet and fingers, that pinched and 
 held like bird's claws to the monstrous ladder reaching 
 up, up, almost to the sky itself. First she must mount 
 the white oak tree that grew alongside, where she was 
 
A WHITE HERON 197 
 
 almost lost among the dark branches and the green 
 leaves heavy and wet with dew ; a bird fluttered off 
 its nest, and a red squirrel ran to and fro and scolded 
 pettishly at the harmless house-breaker. Sylvia felt her 
 way easily. She had often climbed there, and knew that 
 higher still one of the oak's upper branches chafed 
 against the pine trunk, just where its lower boughs were 
 set close together. There, when she made the dangerous 
 pass from one tree to the other, the great enterprise 
 would really begin. 
 
 She crept out along the swaying oak limb at last, 
 and took the daring step across into the old pine tree. 
 The way was harder than she thought ; she must reach 
 far and hold fast, the sharp dry twigs caught and held 
 her and scratched her like angry talons, the pitch made 
 her thin little fingers clumsy and sliSTas she went round 
 and round the tree's great stem, higher and higher up- 
 ward. The sparrows and robins in the woods below 
 were beginning to wake and twitter to the dawn, yet it 
 seemed much lighter there aloft in the pine tree, and 
 the child knew she must hurry if her project were to 
 be of any use. ** i,^ 
 
 The tree seemed to lengthen itself out as she went 
 up, and to reach farther and farther upward. It was 
 like a great main-mast to the voyaging earth; it must 
 truly have been amazed that morning through all its 
 ponderous frame as it felt this determined spark of 
 human spirit wending its way from higher branch to 
 branch. Who l^nows "How steadily the least twigs held 
 themselves to advantage this light, weak creature on 
 her way ! The old pine must have loved his new de- 
 pendent. More than all the hawks, and bats, and 
 moths, and even the sweet-voiced thrushes, was the 
 brave, beating heart of the solitary gray-eyed child. 
 
198 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 And the tree stood still and frowned away the winds 
 that June morning while the dawn grew bright in the 
 east. 
 
 Sylvia's face was like a pale star, if one had seen it 
 from the ground, when the last thorny bough was past, 
 and she stood trembling and tired but wholly tri- 
 umphant, high in the treetop. Yes, there was the sea 
 with the dawning sun making a golden dazzle over it, 
 and toward that glorious east flew two hawks with slow- 
 moving jginions. How low they looked in the air from 
 that heightwhen one had only seen them before far 
 up, and dark against the blue sky. Their gray feathers 
 were as soft as moths ; they seemed only a little way 
 from the tree, and Sylvia felt as if she too could go 
 flying away among the clouds. Westward, the wood- 
 lands and farms reached miles and miles into the dis- 
 tance ; here and there were church steeples, white vil- 
 lages ; truly it was a vast and awesgme world ! 
 
 The birds sang louder and louder. At last the sun 
 came up bewilderingly bright. Sylvia could see the 
 white sails of sEips out"a^ "sea, and the clouds that were 
 purple and rose-colored and yellow at first began to 
 fade away. Where was the white heron's nest in the 
 sea of green branches, and was this wonderful sight 
 and pageant of the world the only reward for having 
 climbed to such a giddy height ? Now look down again, 
 Sylvia, where the green marsh is set among the shining 
 birches and dark hemlocks ; there where you saw the 
 white heron once you will see him again ; look, look ! 
 a white spot of him like a single floating feather comes 
 up from the dead hemlock and grows larger, and rises, 
 and comes close at last, and goes by the landmark pine 
 with steady sweep of wing and outstretched slender 
 neck and crested head. And wait! wait! do not move 
 
A WHITE HERON 199 
 
 a foot or a finger, little girl, do not send an arrow of 
 light and consciousness from your two eager eyes, for 
 the heron has perched on a pine bough not far beyond 
 yours, and cries back to his mate on the nest and 
 plumes his feathers for the new day ! 
 
 The child gives a long sigh a minute later when a 
 company of shouting cat-birds come also to the tree, 
 and vexed by their fluttering and lawlessness the 
 solemn heron goes away. She knows his secret now, 
 the wild, light, slender bird that floats and wavers, and 
 goes back like an arrow presently to his home in 
 the green world beneath. Then Sylvia, well satisfied, 
 makes her perilous way down again, not daring to look 
 far below the branch she stands on, ready to cry some- 
 times because her fingers ache and her lamed feet slip ; 
 wondering over and over again what the stranger 
 would say to her, and what he would think when she 
 told him how to find his way straight to the heron's 
 nest. 
 
 " Sylvy, Sylvy ! " called the busy old grandmother 
 again and again, but nobody answered, and the small 
 husk bed was empty and Sylvia had disappeared. 
 
 The guest waked from a dream, and remembering 
 his day's pleasure hurried to dress himself that it 
 might sooner begin. He was sure from the way the shy 
 little girl looked once or twice yesterday that she had 
 at least seen the white heron, and now she must really 
 be made to tell. Here she comes now, paler than ever, 
 and her worn old frock is torn and tattered, and 
 smeared with pine pitch. The grandmother and the 
 sportsman stand in the door together and question her, 
 and the splendid moment has come to speak of the 
 dead hemlock-tree by the green marsh. 
 
200 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 But Sylvia does not speak after all, though the old 
 grandmother fretfully rebukes her, and the young 
 man's kind, appealing eyes are looking straight in her 
 own. He can make them rich with money ; he has 
 promised it, and they are poor now. He is so well 
 worth making happy, and he waits to hear the story 
 she can tell. 
 
 No, she must keep silence ! What is it that suddenly 
 forbids her and makes her dumb? Has she been nine 
 years growing and now, when the great world for the 
 first time puts out a hand to her, must she thrust it 
 aside for a bird's sake? The murmur of the pine's 
 green branches is in her ears, she remembers how the 
 white heron came flying through the golden air and 
 how they watched the sea and the morning together, 
 and Sylvia cannot speak; she cannot tell the heron's 
 secret and give its life away. 
 
 Dear loyalty, that suffered a sharp pang as the guest 
 went away disappointed later in the day, that could 
 have served and followed him and loved him as a dog 
 loves ! Many a night Sylvia heard the echo of his whis- 
 tle haunting the pasture path as she came home with 
 the loitering cow. She forgot even her sorrow at the 
 sharp report of his gun and the sight of thrushes and 
 sparrows dropping silent to the ground, their songs 
 hushed and their pretty feathers stained and wet with 
 blood. Were the birds better friends than their hunter 
 might have been, — who can tell? Whatever treasures 
 were lost to her, woodlands and summer-time, remem- 
 ber ! Bring your gifts and graces and tell your secrets 
 to this lonely country child ! 
 
A WHITE HERON 201 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 In the first three paragraphs what do you learn about Sylvia 
 and her grandmother ? Do you know what the name Sylvia 
 means ? Why should the author choose it for the little girl in 
 the story ? How old was the stranger ? How did he look ? What 
 is your first idea of him ? What does the old woman's talk tell 
 you about herself ? About Sylvia ? Why does Mrs. Tilley smile 
 when the stranger says, "ever since I was a boy " ? Do you think 
 that the author tells enough of what happened the next day ? 
 Why does Sylvia not tell the young man what she knows about 
 the heron ? Why does she go so secretly to the old pine tree ? 
 Is this an important part of the story ? Does Sylvia find out what 
 she wishes to ? What is meant by " The splendid moment is 
 come " ? Why does Sylvia not tell the young man what she has 
 discovered ? Do you think she wanted the money ? Do you think 
 she cared about pleasing the stranger ? What diflference would 
 it have made in her life if she had told where the heron's nest 
 was ? Do you think that she did right not to tell ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 Early Morning in the Woods The Autobiography of a Heron 
 When I Was Lost in the Woods Meeting a Stranger in the Woods 
 The Sights from the Top of the A Morning with a Bird Class 
 
 Hill Sylvia's Trip to Town 
 
 Going for the Cows A Girl's Life on the Farm 
 
 Evening in the Woods When I Got Up Early 
 
 A Visit to a Lonely Farm House Another of Sylvia's Adventures 
 Early Morning in the City What I Saw from the Tree Top 
 
 Did Sylvia Choose Rightly ? Sylvia's New Friend 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 Another of Sylvia's Adventures: — Can you imagine some- 
 thing very pleasant that might have happened to Sylvia ? Try 
 to tell it in the form of a little story. Imagine Sylvia at work 
 about the house, doing some task for her grandmother, A 
 stranger arrives, or a neighbor, bringing a message or a letter 
 for Sylvia. What is the appearance of the person who has just 
 come ? What does he (or she) say ? What does Mrs. Tilley say ? 
 
202 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 What does Sylvia say, and how does she feel ? Tell what hap- 
 pens next. If Sylvia is going somewhere, tell what preparations 
 she makes. Try to make the conversation tell as much as possi- 
 ble ; try, too, to make each person speak as he would in real life. 
 Go on and tell the rest of the story, making it as lively and in- 
 teresting as possible. Do not forget that Sylvia is the chief char- 
 acter, and that her actions and feelings are more important than 
 any one's else. How does the story " come out " ? Does this event 
 that you are writing about make any difference in Sylvia's life ? 
 Can you show this, without telling too much about it, and making 
 your story move slowly ? What is a good way to end the story ? 
 Read your story through, after you have finished it, or read it to 
 some one, and see if you have made it clear. Is Sylvia before the 
 reader all the time ? Could you improve the story by any more 
 conversation ? By any little touches of description ? Have you 
 given the impression that something really pleasant has hap- 
 pened to Sylvia, and that she is happy about it ? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 A White Heron and Other Stories . Sarah Orne Jewett 
 
 The Country of the Pointed Firs . . " " « 
 
 Tales of New England " « « 
 
 A Country Doctor " " « 
 
 The Queen's Twin and Other Stories " " « 
 The King of Folly Island and Other 
 
 People " « " 
 
 Deephaven " " " 
 
 A Marsh Island « " « 
 
 Betty Leicester's Christmas ..." " " 
 
 Betty Leicester " « « 
 
 A Native of Winby and Other Tales " " " 
 
 Country By- Ways « « " 
 
 The Story of the Sand Hill Stag . . Ernest Thompson Seton 
 
 How to Attract the Birds .... Neltje Blanchan 
 
 Little Brothers of the Air .... Olive Thorne Miller 
 
 A Bird-Lover in the West . . . . « « « 
 
 In Nesting Time' « " " 
 
 The Story of a Bird-Lover . . . . W. E. D. Scott 
 
 Fowls of the Air W. J. Long 
 
 The Woodpeckers F. H. Eckstorm 
 
A WHITE HERON 203 
 
 Everyday Birds Bradford Torrey 
 
 Birds in the Bush " " 
 
 Birds and Bees John Burroughs 
 
 Citizen Bird Mabel Osgood Wright 
 
 The Lord of the Air Charles G. D. Roberts 
 
 Sarah Orne Jewett. Critic, 39 : 292, Oct. 1901 (Portrait) ; New 
 
 England Magazine, 22 : 737, Aug. 1900 ; Outlook, 69 : 423. 
 
 An article helpful to the teacher may be found in the Atlantic 
 Monthly, 94 : 485. 
 
 A brief sketch of Miss Jewett's life is given in Little Pilgrim- 
 ages among the Women Who Have Written Famous Books, by 
 E. F. Harkins and C. H. L. Johnston. 
 
CANOEING^ 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 (From An Inland Voyage) 
 
 Before nine next morning the two canoes were 
 installed on alight country cart at Etreux; and we were 
 soon following them along the side of a pleasant 
 valley full of hop-gardens and poplars. Agreeable 
 villages lay here and there on the slope of the hill: 
 notably, Tupigny, with the hop poles hanging their 
 garlands in the very street, and the houses clustered 
 with grapes. There was a faint enthusiasm on our 
 passage ; weavers put their heads to the windows ; 
 children cried out in ecstasy: at sight of the two 
 "boaties " — harquettes ; and bloused pedestrians, who 
 were acquainted with our charioteer, jested with him 
 on the nature of his freight. 
 
 We had a shower or two, but light and flying. 
 The air was clean and sweet among all these green 
 fields and green things growing. There was not a 
 touch of autumn in the weather. And when, at Vaden- 
 court, we launched from a little lawn opposite a mill, 
 the sun broke forth and set all the leaves shining in 
 the valley of the Oise. 
 
 The river was swollen with the long rains. From 
 Yadencourt all the way to Origny it ran with ever- 
 quickening speed, taking fresh heart at each mile, 
 and racing as though it already smelt the sea. The 
 water was yellow and turbulent, swung with an angry 
 eddy among half- submerged willows, and made a noisy 
 ^ By courtesy of Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 
CANOEING 205 
 
 clatter along stony shores. The course kept turning and 
 turning in a narrow and well-timbered valley. Now the 
 river would approach the side, and run gliding along 
 the chalky base of the hill, and show us a few open colza 
 fields among the trees. Now it would skirt the garden- 
 walls of houses, where we might catch a glimpse 
 through a doorway and see a priest pacing in the 
 checkered sunlight. Again, the foliage closed so 
 thickly in front that there seemed to be no issue ; only a 
 thicket of willows overtopped by elms and poplars, 
 under which the river ran flush and fleet, and where a 
 king-fisher flew past like a piece of the blue sky. On 
 these different manifestations the sun poured its clear 
 and catholic looks. The shadows lay as solid on the swift 
 surface of the stream as on the stable meadows. The 
 light sparkled golden in the dancing poplar leaves, and 
 brought the hills into communion with our eyes. And 
 all the while the river never stopped running or took 
 breath ; and the reeds along the whole valley stood 
 shivering from top to toe. 
 
 There should be some myth (but if there is, I know 
 it not) founded on the shiverings of the reeds. There 
 are not many things in nature more striking to man's 
 eye. It is such an eloquent pantomime of terror ; and 
 to see such a number of terrified creatures taking 
 sanctuary in every nook along the shore is enough 
 to infect a silly human with alarm. Perhaps they are 
 only acold, and no wonder, standing waist deep in 
 the stream. Or, perhaps, they have never got accus- 
 tomed to the speed and fury of the river's flux, or the 
 miracle of its continuous body. Pan once played upon 
 their forefathers ; and so by the hands of his river, he 
 still plays upon these later generations down all the 
 valleys of the Oise ; and plays the same air, both 
 
206 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 sweet and shrill, to tell us of the beauty and the terror 
 of the world. 
 
 The canoe was like a leaf in the current. It took it 
 up and shook it, and carried it masterfully away, like a 
 Centaur carrying off a nymph. To keep some command 
 on our direction required hard and diligent plying 
 of the paddle. The river was in such a hurry for the 
 sea ! Every drop of water ran in a panic, like so many 
 people in a frightened crowd. But what crowd was 
 ever so numerous or so single-minded ? All the objects 
 of sight went by at a dance measure; the eyesight 
 raced with the racing river ; the exigencies of every 
 moment kept the pegs screwed so tight that our beings 
 quivered like a well-tuned instrument, and the blood 
 shook off its lethargy, and trotted through all the 
 highways and byways of the veins and arteries, and 
 in and out of the heart, as if circulation were but a 
 holiday journey and not the daily moil of three-score 
 years and ten. The reeds might not nod their heads in 
 warning, and with tremendous gestures tell how the 
 river was as cruel as it was strong and cold, and how 
 death lurked in the eddy underneath the willows. But 
 the reeds had to stand where they were; and those who 
 stand still are always timid advisers. As for us, we 
 could have shouted aloud. If this lively and beautiful 
 river were, indeed, a thing of death's contrivance, the 
 old ashen rogue had famously outwitted himself with us. 
 I was living three to the minute. I was scoring points 
 against him every stroke of my paddle, every turn of 
 the stream. I have rarely had better profit of my life. 
 
 Towards the afternoon we got fairly drunken with 
 the sunshine and the exhilaration of the pace. We 
 could no longer contain ourselves in our content. The 
 
CANOEING ' 207 
 
 canoes were too small for us ; we must be out and 
 stretcli ourselves on shore. And so in a green meadow 
 we bestowed our limbs on the grass, and smoked dei- 
 fying tobacco, and proclaimed the world excellent. It 
 was the last good hour of the day, and I dwelt upon it 
 with extreme complacency. 
 
 On one side of the valley, high upon the chalky 
 summit of the hill, a ploughman with his team ap- 
 peared and disappeared at regular intervals. At each 
 revelation he stood still f@r a few seconds against the 
 sky, for all the world (as the Cigarette declared) like 
 a toy Burns who had just ploughed up the Mountain 
 Daisy. He was the only living thing within view, un- 
 less we are to count the river. 
 
 On the other side of the valley a group of red roofs 
 and a belfry showed among the foliage. Thence some 
 inspired bell-ringer made the afternoon musical on a 
 chime of bells. There was something very sweet and 
 taking in the air he played, and we thought we had 
 never heard bells speak so intelligibly or sing so me- 
 lodiously as these. It must have been in some such 
 measure that the spinners and young maids sang, 
 " Come away. Death," in the Shakespearian Illyria. 
 There is so often a threatening note, something blatant 
 and metallic in the voice of bells, that I believe we 
 have fully more pain than pleasure from hearing them ; 
 but these as they sounded abroad, now high, now low, 
 now with a plaintive cadence that caught the ear like 
 the burden of a popular song, were always moderate and 
 tunable, and seemed to fall in with the spirit of still, 
 rustic places, like the noise of a waterfall or the babble 
 of a rookery in spring. I could have asked the bell-ringer 
 for his blessing, good, sedate old man, who swung the 
 rope so gently to the time of his meditations. I could 
 
208 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 have blessed the priest or the heritors, or whoever may- 
 be concerned with such affairs in France, who had left 
 these sweet old bells to gladden the afternoon, and not 
 held meetings, and made collections, and had their 
 names repeatedly in the local paper, to rig up a peal 
 of brand-new, brazen, Birmingham-hearted substitutes, 
 who should bombard their sides to the provocation of 
 a brand-new bell-ringer, and fill the echoes of the valley 
 with terror and riot. 
 
 At last the bells ceased, and with their note the sun 
 withdrew. The piece was at an end ; shadow and silence 
 possessed the valley of the Oise. We took to the pad- 
 dle with glad hearts, like people who have sat out a 
 noble performance and return to work. The river was 
 more dangerous here ; it ran swifter, the eddies were 
 more sudden and violent. All the way down we had had 
 our fill of difficulties. Sometimes it was a weir which 
 could be shot, sometimes one so shallow and full of 
 stakes that we must withdraw the boats from the water 
 and carry them round. But the chief sort of obstacle 
 was a consequence of the late high winds. Every two 
 or three hundred yards a tree had fallen across the 
 river, and usually involved more than another in its 
 fall. Often there was free water at the end, and we 
 could steer round a leafy promontory and hear the 
 water sucking and bubbling among the twigs. Often, 
 again, when the tree reached from bank to bank, there 
 was room, by lying close, to shoot through underneath, 
 canoe and all. Sometimes it was necessary to get out 
 upon the trunk itself and pull the boats across ; and 
 sometimes, where the stream was too impetuous for 
 this, there was nothing for it but to land and " carry 
 over." This made a fine series of accidents in the day's 
 career, and kept us aware of ourselves. 
 
CANOEING 209 
 
 Shortly after our re-embarkation, while I was leading 
 by a long way, and still full of a noble, exulting spirit 
 in honor of the sun, the swift pace, and the church 
 bells, the river made one of its leonine pounces round 
 a corner, and I was aware of another fallen tree within 
 a stone's-cast. I had my back-board down in a trice, 
 and aimed for a place where the trunk seemed high 
 enough above the water, and the branches not too thick 
 to let me slip below. When a man has just vowed 
 eternal brotherhood with the universe he is not in a 
 temper to take great determinations coolly, and this, 
 which might have been a very important determination 
 for me, had not been taken under a happy star. The 
 tree caught me about the chest, and while I was yet 
 struggling to make less of myself and get through, the 
 river took the matter out of my hands and bereaved me 
 of my boat. The Arethusa swung around broadside 
 on, leaned over, ejected so much of me as still remained 
 on board, and, thus disencumbered, whipped under the 
 tree, righted, and went merrily away down stream. 
 
 I do not know how long it was before I scrambled 
 on to the tree to which I was left clinging, but it was 
 longer than I cared about. My thoughts were of a grave 
 and almost sombre character, but I still clung to my 
 paddle. The stream ran away with my heels as fast 
 as I could pull up my shoulders, and I seemed, by the 
 weight, to have all the water of the Oise in my trou- 
 sers pocket. You can never know, till you try it, what 
 a dead pull a river makes against a man. Death him- 
 self had me by the heels, for this was his last ambus- 
 cade, and he must now join personally in the fra^ 
 "ffird* still I held to my paddle. At last I dragged my- 
 self on to my stomach on the trunk, and lay there a 
 breathless sop, with a mingled sense of humor and 
 
210 KOBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 injustice. A poor figure I must have presented to 
 Burns upon the hill-top with his team. But there was 
 the paddle in my hand. On my tomb, if ever I have 
 one, I mean to get these words inscribed : " He clung 
 to his paddle." 
 
 The Cigarette had gone past a while before ; for, as 
 I might have observed, if I had been a little less pleased 
 with the universe at the moment, there was a clear way 
 around the tree-top at the farther side. He had offered 
 his services to haul me out, but, as I was then already 
 on my elbows, I had declined, and sent him down- 
 stream after the truant Arethusa. The stream was too 
 rapid for a man to mount with one canoe, let alone 
 two, upon his hands. So I crawled along the trunk to 
 shore and proceeded down the meadow by the river- 
 side. I was so cold that my heart was sore. I had 
 now an idea of my own why the reeds so bitterly shiv- 
 ered. I could have given any of them a lesson. The 
 Cigarette remarked, facetiously, that he thought I was 
 " taking exercises " as I drew near, until he made out 
 for certain that I was only twittering with cold. I had 
 a rub-down with a towel, and donned a dry suit from 
 the india-rubber bag. But I was not my own man 
 again for the rest of the voyage. I had a queasy sense 
 that I wore my last dry clothes upon my body. The 
 struggle had tired me ; and, perhaps, whether I knew 
 it or not, I was a little dashed in spirit. The devour- 
 ing elements of the universe had leaped out against 
 me, in this green valley quickened by a running stream. 
 The bells were all very pretty in their way, but I had 
 heard some of the hollow notes of Pan's music. Would 
 the wicked river drag me down by the heels, indeed? 
 and look so beautiful all the time ? Nature's good hu- 
 mor was only skin deep, after all. 
 
CANOEING 211 
 
 There was still a long way to go by the winding 
 course of the stream, and darkness had fallen, and a 
 late bell was ringing in Origny Sainte-Benoite when 
 we arrived. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 In 1876, Stevenson in company with his friend Sir Walter 
 Simpson, took a canoeing trip from Antwerp to Pontoise. The 
 events of the journey are told in Stevenson's book, An Inland 
 Voyage. 
 
 Etreux : — Etreux, Tupigny, and Vadencourt are small places 
 on the Oise River in France. 
 
 Oise : — (Pronounced waz). A river in France flowing into the 
 Seine. 
 
 Origny, later, page 211, Origny Sainte-Benoite (o reen yee' 
 sant beh nwat') : — A town in France on the Oise River. 
 
 catholic : — The word here (note that it begins with a small 
 letter) means free, or liberal. 
 
 Pan : — Pan, in the Greek mythology, was the god of pas- 
 tures, forests, and flocks. Sudden terror without apparent cause 
 was supposed to be due to his influence. He was said to have in- 
 vented the shepherd's pipe (a kind of flute) by cutting and blow- 
 ing through reeds. 
 
 the Cigarette : — This was the name of the boat that was 
 paddled by Stevenson's companion, Sir Walter Simpson. Here 
 the name is used as if it were that of Simpson himself. 
 
 the Mountain Daisy: — The Scottish poet, Robert Burns, 
 wrote a poem. To a Mountain Daisy, in which he speaks of the 
 daisy as having been ploughed up by a farmer, in the field. 
 
 Come away, Death : — See the Song in Act II, Scene 4, of 
 Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. The setting of Twelfth Night is, 
 nominally, the country called Illyria, a part of Austria. 
 
 Birmingham-hearted : — Birmingham, in England, is one of 
 the chief centres of the world for brass, iron, and other metallic 
 wares. It is frequently taken as the type of the modern large 
 manufacturing centre. 
 
 Arethusa : — The canoe in which Stevenson rode was called 
 the Arethusa. 
 
212 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Notice how simply and easily Stevenson gives you the whole 
 situation, — the time and the place, together with the persons, 
 the scene, and the action. What phrases does he use to suggest 
 the pleasantness of the day, and the first scenes ? Notice care- 
 fully how he makes you feel the rapid flowing of the river. What 
 words like racing^ swung ^ etc., does he use to carry out this effect 
 of the swiftness of the water ? Do you understand what he says 
 about Pan and the reeds ? Does Stevenson make the action clear 
 when he tells of the landing, and the resting on the bank ? What 
 is the use of the passage about the bells ? Notice how he intro- 
 duces the story of his accident by explaining about the fallen 
 trees. Read carefully the story of the accident. What are the 
 clearest sentences, and those that tell the most ? How much does 
 the author tell of his own feelings ? How does he make you un- 
 derstand how cold he was ? Does the reading of the incident leave 
 you distressed, or amused ? Which effect do you think that the 
 author intended ? Go through the selection and pick out the clear 
 little pictures that Stevenson has scattered through it. 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 When the Canoe Upset 
 Paddling around the Snags 
 How We Crossed the Portage 
 A Narrow Escape 
 On the Lake in a Storm 
 Along the Banks of the River 
 Carried Away by the Current 
 When the Gasoline Engine 
 Stopped 
 
 When I Learned to Swim 
 Adrift without Oars 
 My First Dip in the Oceau 
 Going Sixty Miles an Hour 
 When We Broke through the 
 
 Ice 
 Glimpses of the Country from 
 
 the Train 
 Floating down the Stream 
 
 At the Mercy of the Waves 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 A Narrcw Escape : — Think of some accident that has 
 happened to you, or to some one you know, and that you can 
 write about for this theme. Tell clearly just when and where 
 the accident took place. Notice how Stevenson gets an effect of 
 contrast by describing the peacefulness of the country. See if 
 
CANOEING 213 
 
 you can do the same thing. Notice, also, how unsuspecting the vic- 
 tim is before the accident ; he is thinking of very pleasant things. 
 Can you represent the victim in your story as feeling pleasant 
 and happy, and then being overtaken by his accident? Tell in a 
 lively way just what occurred. Explain clearly what was said 
 and done, and how the person concerned in the accident felt. 
 Show how the escape was brought about. Express, in a clear, 
 brief way, the feeling of the persons involved, after the affair 
 was all over. 
 
 Floating do-wn the Stream : — Notice what vivid interest- 
 ing little pictures Stevenson has given of the country through 
 which he passed in his canoe. Can you do something of the same 
 kind, describing scenes that you know, along some river or 
 small stream ? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 An Inland Voyage Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 The Ebb Tide " « " 
 
 Treasure Island " " " 
 
 Kidnapped « « « 
 
 David Balfour « « « 
 
 The Black Arrow " « " 
 
 St. Ives « " « 
 
 New Arabian Nights " " " 
 
 The Merry Men « « « 
 
 The Master of Ballantrae . . . . " " " 
 
 Across the Plains " " " 
 
 Travels with a Donkey " " " 
 
 The Silverado Squatters " " " 
 
 In the South Seas « " " 
 
 The Wrong Box . " " " 
 
 The Wrecker . " " " 
 
 Little Rivers Henry van Dyke 
 
 The Conjurer's House Stewart Edward White 
 
 Pepacton John Burroughs 
 
THE ARCHERY CONTEST 
 
 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 (From Ivanhoe, Chapter XIII) 
 
 The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those spec- 
 tators who had already begun to leave the field ; and 
 proclamation was made that Prince John, suddenly 
 called by high and ^peremptoi^ public duties, held 
 himself obliged to discontinue the entertainments of 
 to-morrow's festival: nevertheless, that, unwilling so 
 many good yeomen should depart without a trial of 
 skill, he was pleased to appoint them, before leaving 
 the ground, presently to execute the competition of ar- 
 chery intended for the m^row. To the best archer a 
 prize was to be awarded, being a bugle-horn, mounted 
 with silver, and a silver baldric richly ornamented with 
 a medallion of St. Hubert, the patron of silvan sport. 
 
 More than thirty yeomen at first presented them- 
 selves as competitors, several of whom were rangers 
 and under-keepers in the royal forests of Needwood 
 and Charnwood. When, however, the archers under- 
 stood with whom they were to be matched, upwards of 
 twenty withdrew themselves from the contest, unwill- 
 ing to encounter the dishonour of almost certain de- 
 feat. For in those days the skill of each celebrated 
 marksman was as well known for many miles round 
 him, as the qualities of a horse trained at Newmarket 
 are familiar to those who frequent that well-known 
 
 meetmg. 
 
 The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame still 
 amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from his royal 
 
THE ARCHERY CONTEST 215 
 
 seat to view more nearly the persons of these chosen 
 yeomen, several of whom wore the royal livery. Hav- 
 ing satisfied his curiosity by this investigation, he looked 
 for the object of his res entm^ t, whom he observed 
 standing on the same spot, and with the same composed 
 countenance which he had exhibited upon the preced- 
 ing day. 
 
 "Fellow," said Prince John, "I guessed by thy in- 
 solent babble thou wert no true lover of the long-bow, 
 and I see thou darest not adventure thy skill among 
 such merry-men as stand yonder." 
 
 "Under favour, sir," replied the yeoman, "I have 
 another reason for refraining to shoot, besides the fear- 
 ing discomfiture and disgrace." 
 
 " And what is thy other reason ? " said Prince John, 
 who, for some cause which perhaps he could not him- 
 self have explained, felt a painful curiosity respecting 
 this individual. 
 
 " Because," replied the woodsman, " I know not if 
 these yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same 
 marks ; and because, moreover, I know not how your 
 Grace might relish the winning of a third prize by one 
 who has unwittingly fallen under your displeasure." 
 
 Prince John coloured as he put the question, " What 
 is thy name, yeoman ? " 
 
 " Locksley," answered the yeoman. 
 
 "Then, Locksley," said Prince John, "thou shalt 
 shoot in thy turn, when these yeomen have displayed 
 their skill. If thou carriest the prize, I will add to it 
 twenty nobles ; but if thou losest it, thou shalt be stript 
 of thy Lincoln green, and scourged out of the lists 
 with bowstrings, for a wordy and insolent braggart." 
 
 " And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wasrer ? " 
 said the yeoman. — "Your Grace's power, supported, 
 
216 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 as it is, by so many men-at-arms, may indeed easily strip 
 and scourge me, but cannot compel me to bend or to 
 draw my bow." 
 
 " If thou refusest my fair proffer," said the Prince, 
 " the provost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break 
 thy bow and arrows, and expel thee from the presence 
 as a faint-hearted craven." 
 
 " This is no fair cKance you put on me, proud Prince," 
 said the yeoman, " to compel me to peril myself against 
 the best archers of Leicester and Staffordshire, under 
 the penalty of infamy if they should overshoot me. 
 Nevertheless, I will obey your pleasure." 
 
 " Look to him close, men-at-arms," said Prince John, 
 " his heart is sinking ; I am jealous lest he attempt 
 to escape the trial. — And do you, good fellows, shoot 
 boldly round ; a buck and a butt of wine are ready for 
 your refreshment in yonder tent, when the prize is 
 won." 
 
 A target was placed at the upper end of the southern 
 avenue which led to the lists. The contending archers 
 took their station in turn, at the bottom of the south- 
 ern access, the distance between that station and the 
 mark allowing full distance for what was called a shot 
 at rovers. The archers, having previously determined 
 by lot their order of precedence, were to shoot each 
 three shafts in succession. The sports were regulated 
 by an officer of inferior rank, termed the Provost of 
 the Games ; for the high rank of the marshals of the 
 lists would have been held degraded, had they conde- 
 scended to superintend the sports of the yeomanry. 
 
 One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered 
 their shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four 
 arrows, shot in succession, ten were fixed in the target, 
 and the others ranged so near it, that, considering the 
 
THE ARCHERY CONTEST 217 
 
 distance of the mark, it was accounted good archery. 
 Of the ten shafts which hit the target, two within the 
 inner ring were shot by Hubert, a forester in the ser- 
 vice of Malvoisin, who was accordingly pronounced 
 victorious. 
 
 " Now, Locksley," said Prince John to the bold yeo- 
 man, with a bitter smile, "wilt thou try conclusions 
 with Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow, baldric, and 
 quiver, to the Provost of the sports ? " 
 
 "§ith it be no better," said Locksley, " I am eon- 
 tent to try my fortune; on condition that when I 
 have shot two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert's, 
 he shall be bound to shoot one at that which I shall 
 propose." 
 
 " That is but fair," answered Prince John, " and it 
 shall not be refused thee. If thou dost beat this brag- 
 gart, Hubert, I will fill the bugle with silver-pennies 
 for thee." 
 
 " A man can do but his best," answered Hubert ; 
 " but my grandsire drew a good long bow at Hastings, 
 and I trust not to dishonour his memory." 
 
 The former target was now removed, and a fresh 
 one of the same size placed in its room. Hubert, who, 
 as victor in the first trial of skill, had the right to shoot 
 first, took his aim with great deliberation, long meas- 
 uring the distance with his eye, while he held in his 
 hand his bended bow, with the arrow placed on the 
 string. At length he made a step forward, and raising 
 the bow at the full stretch of his left arm, till the 
 centre or grasping- place was nigh level with his face, 
 he drew his bowstring to his ear. The arrow whistled 
 through the air, and lighted within the inner ring of 
 the target, but not exactly in the centre. 
 
 " You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert," said 
 
218 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 his antagonist, bending his bow, " or that had been a 
 better shot." 
 
 So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to 
 pause upon his aim, Locksley stept to the appointed 
 station, and shot his arrow as carelessly in appearance 
 as if he had not even looked at the mark. He was 
 speaking almost at the instant that the shaft left the 
 bowstring, yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer 
 to the white spot which marked the centre than that 
 of Hubert. 
 
 " By the light of heaven ! " said Prince John to Hu- 
 bert, " an thou suffer that rynagatetknave to overcome 
 thee, thou art worthy of the gallows ! " 
 
 Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. 
 
 " An your highness were to hang me," he said, " a 
 man can do but his best. Nevertheless, my grandsire 
 drew a good bow" — 
 
 " The foul %nd on thy grandsire and all his gen- 
 eration ! " interrupted John, " shoot, knave, and shoot 
 thy best, or it shall be the worse for thee! " 
 
 Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not 
 neglecting the caution which he had received from his 
 adversary, he made the necessary allowance for a very 
 light air of wind, which had just arisen, and shot so 
 successfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre 
 of the target. 
 
 " A Hubert ! a Hubert ! " shouted the populace, 
 more interested in a known person than in a stranger. 
 " In the clout ! — in the clout ! — a Hubert for ever ! " 
 
 " Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley," said 
 the Prince, with an insulting smile. 
 
 "I will notch his shaft for him, however," replied 
 Locksley. 
 
 And letting fly his arrow with a little more precau- 
 
THE ARCHERY CONTEST 219 
 
 tion than before, it lighted right upon that of hi s com- 
 petitor, which it split to shivers. The people who stood 
 around were so astonished at his wonderful dexterity, 
 that they could not even give vent to their surprise in 
 their usual clamour. " This must be the devil, and no 
 man of flesh and blood," whispered the yeomen to each 
 other ; " such archery was never seen since a bow was 
 first bent in Britain." 
 
 "And now," said Locksley, "I will^^jgje your 
 Grace's permission to plant such a mark as is used in 
 the North Country ; and welcome every brave yeoman 
 who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from the bonny 
 lass he loves best." 
 
 He then turned to leave the lists. " Let your guards 
 attend me," he said, " if you please — I go but to cut 
 a rod from the next willow-bush." 
 
 Prince John made a signal that some attendants 
 should follow him in case of his escape : but the cry 
 of " Shame ! shame ! " which burst from the multitude, 
 induced him to alter his UJftg^^J^pilS purpose. 
 
 Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow 
 wand about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and 
 rather thicker than a man's thumb. He began to peel 
 this with great composure, observing at the same time, 
 that to ask a good woodsman to shoot at a target so 
 broad as had hitherto been used, was to put shame 
 upon his skill. " For his own part," he said, " and in 
 the land where he was bred, men would as soon take 
 for their mark King Arthur's round-table, which held 
 sixty knights around it. A child of seven years old,'* 
 he said, " might hit yonder target with a headless 
 shaft; but," added he, walking deliberately to the 
 other end of the lists, and sticking the willow wand 
 upright in the ground, " he that hits that rod at five- 
 
220 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 score yards, I call him an archer fit to bear both bow 
 and quiver before a king, an it were the stout King 
 Richard himself." 
 
 "My grandsire," said Hubert, "drew a good bow at 
 the battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a mark 
 in his life — and neither will I. If this yeoman can 
 cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers — or rather, 
 I yield to the devil that is in his jerkin, and not to any 
 human skill ; a man can but do his best, and I will not 
 shoot where I am sure to miss. I might as well shoot 
 at the edge of our parson's whittle, or at a wheat 
 straw, or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak 
 which I can hardly see." 
 
 "Cowardly dog!" said Prince John. — "Sirrah 
 Locksley, do thou shoot ; but, if thou hittest such a 
 mark, I will say thou art the first man ever did so. 
 Howe'er it be, thou shalt not crow over us with a mere 
 show of superior skill." 
 
 " I will do my best, as Hubert says," answered 
 Locksley, " no man can do more." 
 
 So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present 
 occasion looked with attention to his weapon, and 
 changed the string, which he thought was no longer 
 truly round, having been a little frayed by the two 
 former shots. He then took his aim with some delib- 
 eration, and the multitude awaited the event in breath- 
 less silence. The archer vindicated their opinion of his 
 skill : his arrow split the willow rod against which it 
 was aimed. A jubilee of acclamations followed ; and 
 even Prince John, in admiration of Locksley's skill, 
 lost for an instant his dislike to his person. " These 
 twenty nobles," he said, " which, with the bugle, thou 
 hast fairly won, are thine own ; we will make them 
 fifty, if thou wilt take livery and service with us as a 
 
THE ARCHERY CONTEST 221 
 
 yeoman of our body guard, and be near to our person. 
 For never did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so true 
 an eye direct a shaft." 
 
 '^ Pardon me, noble Prince," said Locksley ; " but I 
 have vowed, that if ever I take service, it should be 
 with your royal brother King Richard. These twenty 
 nobles I leave to Hubert, who has this day drawn as 
 brave a bow as his grandsire did at Hastings. Had his 
 modesty not refused the trial, he would have hit the 
 wand as well as I." 
 
 Hubert shook his head as he received with reluc- 
 tance the bounty of the stranger, and Locksley, anxious 
 to escape further observation, mixed with the crowd, 
 and was seen no more. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Prince John : — Son of Henry II and brother of King Richard ; 
 was ruling during Richard's absence on the Crusades and was 
 hostile to him and his followers. See Ivanhoe, Chapter YII. 
 
 St. Hubert : — A bishop of Liege, who died in 727. He was 
 the traditional patron of hunters. 
 
 Newmarket : — A town fifty-five miles northeast of Lon- 
 don, where horse races have been held annually for three hun- 
 dred years. 
 
 the object of his resentment: — See Chapter VII of Ivan- 
 hoe, in which the following description occurs : " The complaints 
 of the old man, however, excited the indignation of the bystand- 
 ers. One of these, a stout, well-set yeoman, arrayed in Lincoln 
 green, having twelve arrows stuck in his belt, with a baldric and 
 badge of silver, and a bow of six feet length in his hand, 
 turned short round; . . . his countenance, which his constant ex- 
 posure to weather had rendered as brown as a hazel nut, grew 
 darker with anger." 
 
 Locksley: — A name for Robin Hood, who is said to have 
 been born at Locksley, Nottinghamshire, about the year 1160. 
 
 t-wenty nobles: — A noble was an old English coin, worth 
 about ^1.60. 
 
222 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 Lincoln green: — A woolen cloth of a green color, made in 
 Lincoln, England, and worn by foresters. 
 
 a good long bow at Hastings : — At the battle of Senlac, 
 or Hastings, Oct. 14, 1066, William the Norman defeated the 
 English under Harold. Much of the best fighting was done by 
 archers with " long bows." 
 
 King Arthur's round table : — A table made by the ma- 
 gician Merlin, for Uther Pendragon, who gave it to the father 
 of Guinevere, from whom Arthur received it with 100 knights, 
 as a wedding gift. It would seat 150 knights. Century Dictionary. 
 
 King Richard : — Richard I, of England, called Richard 
 Cceur de Lion, or Lion Heart, was born about 1157 and died in 
 1199. He was king for ten years, from 1189 to the time of his 
 death. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 What details are given for the purpose of explaining the situ- 
 ation ? What is your first idea of Prince John ? Why should he 
 feel " a painful curiosity " concerning the yeoman ? Why does 
 he say thou to Locksley ? How does Locksley answer ? Why ? 
 What effect is produced by Hubert's repeated reference to his 
 grandfather ? What is gained by mixing conversation and de- 
 scription in the manner here shown ? Show how each man's talk 
 is made to give us an idea of the man himself. What do you 
 notice about the length of the sentences, in the paragraph be- 
 ginning, "So saying" ? Why does Locksley refuse the money ? 
 Do you think that Prince John would be pleased by the mention 
 of King Richard ? What is your opinion of Locksley's character ? 
 What have you learned from this selection as to the way in which 
 the story of a contest might be told ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 The Touch-down That Won How He Kicked the Goal from 
 
 the Game the Field 
 
 The Last Five Minutes of the Lost in the Tenth Inning 
 
 Basket Ball Game On the Rifle Range 
 
 How the Winning Run was The Bowling Match 
 
 Made Winning the Pennant 
 
 Losing the Hockey Contest The Hundred Yard Dash 
 
 The Skating Race The Finish of the Race 
 
THE ARCHERY CONTEST 223 
 
 Winning the Golf Match Shooting at the Target 
 
 A Wrestling Match The Declamatory Contest 
 
 Why Our Teani Lost In the Days of Robin Hood 
 
 When Skill Beat Strength The High-School Debate 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 The Hundred Yard Dash: — Tell what event in the track 
 meet has just been finished, explaining as simply and briefly as 
 possible what schools are competing. Why is the hundred-yard 
 dash especially important ? What boys are to take part in it ? 
 Notice how the conversation in Scott's account of the contest 
 makes the piece lively and interesting. Can you bring in some 
 conversation, in writing your theme, telling what certain people 
 say ? Can you bring in a person who scoffs, and predicts that 
 your side will lose — as John does in the selection ? Describe 
 the " getting set " — the appearance of the racers, and the silence 
 of the crowd. Tell the story of the race, making clear just who 
 is ahead, at different times, who drops out, etc. Tell what the 
 crowd is doing in the meantime. Describe quickly and briefly 
 the winning of the race. Tell how the spectators feel, and what 
 they say and do. 
 
 The Declamatory Contest: — Try to tell of a declamatory 
 contest, making your reader feel the rivalry between the schools, 
 or among the particular persons taking part. Give a clear picture 
 of the crowd and the speakers. Can you make use of class or 
 school yells in telling of the excitement ? Give briefly the pro- 
 gress of the contest, until the most important speakers are 
 reached. Then explain more in detail how they looked and acted. 
 Tell how the listeners felt. Make the announcement of the 
 judges' decision as lively and true to life as possible. 
 
 * COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 See list of books by Scott, pages 242 and 243. 
 The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood . . Howard Pyle 
 
 Tom Brown's School Days Thomas Hughes 
 
 Tom Brown at Oxford " " 
 
 For the Honor of the School R. H. Barbour 
 
 The Half Back « « « 
 
224 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 The Captain of the Crew R. H. Barbour 
 
 The Prize Cup J. T. Trowbridge 
 
 Princeton Stories Jesse L. Williams 
 
 Robin Hood and Sherwood Forest 
 
 (in Crayon Miscellany) Washington Irving 
 
 The New Boy Arthur Stanwood Pier 
 
 Harding of St. Timothy's " « " 
 
 The Contest on the Green (in The 
 
 Camp-Fire of Mad Anthony) . . Everett T. Tomlinson 
 The Lobsters and Ropemakers (in 
 
 Daughters of the Revolution) . . Charles Carleton Coffin 
 The Snow Fort on Slatter's Hill (in 
 
 The Story of a Bad Boy) .... Thomas Bailey Aldrich 
 The Charming Sally, Privateer 
 
 Schooner of New York .... James Otis 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 
 
 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 (From Ivanhoe, Chapter XII) 
 
 Morning arose in unclouded splendour, and ere the 
 sun was much above the horizon, the idlest or the most 
 eager of the spectators appeared on the common, mov- 
 ing to the lisls^'asTo a general centre, in order to secure 
 a favourable situation for viewing the continuation of 
 the expected games. 
 
 The marshals and their attendants appeared next on 
 the field, together with the heralds, for the purpose of 
 receiving the names of the knights who intended to 
 jou^with the side which each chose to espouse. This 
 was a necessary precaution, in order to secure equality 
 betwixt the two bodies who should be opposed to each 
 other. 
 
 According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight 
 was to be considered as leader of the one body, while 
 Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had been rated as having 
 done second-best in the preceding day, was named first 
 champion of the other band. Those who had conc^rgcL 
 in the challenge adhered to his party of course, except- 
 ing only Ralph de Vipont, whom his fall had rendered 
 unfit so soon to put on his armour. There was no want 
 of distinguished and noble candidates to fill up the 
 ranks on either side. 
 
 In fact, although the general tournament, in which all 
 knights fought at once, was more dangerous than single 
 encounters, they were, nevertheless, more frequente,^ 
 and practised by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, 
 
226 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 who had not sufficient comfidence in their own skill to 
 defy a single adversary of high reputation, were, never- 
 theless, desir6u§t)f°dtsplay in g their valour in the general 
 combat, where they might meet others with whom they 
 "were more upon an equality. On the present occa- 
 ssion, about fifty knights were inscribed as desirous of 
 combating upon each side, when the marshals declared 
 that no more could be admitted, to the disappointment 
 of several who were too late in preferring their claim 
 to be included. 
 
 About the hour of ten o'clock, the whole plain was 
 crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passen- 
 gers hastening to the tournament ; and shortly after, a 
 grand flourish of trumpets announced Prince John and 
 his retinue,"altended by many of those knights who 
 meant to take share in the game, as well as others who 
 had no such intention. 
 
 About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with 
 the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. 
 This Saxon Lord had arrayed his tall and strong person 
 in armour, in order to take his place among the com- 
 batants ; and, considerably to the surprise of Cedric, 
 had chosen to enlist himself on the part of the Knight 
 Templar. The Saxon, indeed, had remonstrajted strongly 
 with his friend upon the injudicious choice he had made 
 of his party; but he had only received that sort of answer 
 usually given by those who are more obstinate in fol- 
 lowing their own course, than strong in justifying it. 
 
 His best, if not his only reason, for adhering to the 
 party of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the 
 prudence to keep to himself. Though his apathy of dis- 
 position prevented his taking any means to recommend 
 himself to the Lady Rowena, he was, nevertheless, by 
 no means insensible to her charms, and considered his 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 227 
 
 union with her as a matter already fixed beyond doubt, 
 by the assent of Cedric and her other friends. It had 
 therefore been with smothered displeasure that the 
 proud though indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld 
 the victor of the preceding day select Eowena as the 
 object of that honour which it became his privilege to 
 confer. In order to punish him for a preference which 
 seemed to interfere with his own suit, Athelstane, con- 
 fident of his strength, and to whom his flatterers, at 
 least, ascribed great skill in arms, had determined not 
 only to deprive the Disinherited Knight of his powerful 
 succour, but, if an opportunity should occur, to make 
 him feel the weight of his battle-axe. 
 
 DeBracy,and other knights attached to Prince John, 
 in obedience to a hint from him, had joined the party 
 of the challengers, John being desirous to secure, if 
 possible, the victory to that side. On the other hand, 
 many other knights, both English and Norman, natives 
 and strangers, took part against the challengers, the 
 more readily that the opposite band was to be led by 
 so distinguished a champion as the Disinherited Knight 
 had approved himself. 
 
 As soon as Prince John observed that the destined 
 Queen of the day had arrived upon the field, assuming 
 that air of courtesy which sat well upon him when he 
 was pleased to exhibit it, he rode forward to meet her, 
 doffed his bonnet, and, alighting from his horse, as- 
 sisted the Lady Rowena from her saddle, while his fol- 
 lowers uncovered at the same time, and one of the 
 most distinguished dismounted to hold her palfrey. 
 
 " It is thus," said Prince John, " that we set the 
 beautiful example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and 
 Beauty, and are ourselves her guide to the throne which 
 she must this day occupy. — Ladies," he said, " attend 
 
228 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 your Queen, as you wish in your turn to be distin- 
 guished by like honours." 
 
 So saying, the Prince marshalled Rowena to the seat 
 of honour opposite his own, while the fairest and most 
 distinguished ladies present crowded after her to obtain 
 places as near as possible to their temporary sover- 
 eign. 
 
 No sooner was Kowena seated, than a burst of music, 
 half drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted 
 her new dignity. Meantime, the sun shone fierce and 
 bright upon the polished arms of the knights of either 
 side, who crowded the opposite extremities of the lists, 
 and held eager conference together concerning the best 
 mode of arranging their line of battle, and supporting 
 the conflict. 
 
 The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws 
 of the tourney should be rehearsed. These were calcu- 
 lated in some degree to abate the dangers of the day ; 
 a precaution the more necessary, as the conflict was to 
 be maintained with sharp swords and pointed lances. 
 
 The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust 
 with the sword, and were confined to striking. A 
 knight, it was announced, might use a mace or battle- 
 axe at pleasure, but the dagger was a prohibited 
 weapon. A knight unhorsed might renew the fight on 
 foot with any other on the opposite side in the same 
 predicament ; but mounted horsemen were in that 
 case forbidden to assail him. When any knight could 
 force his antagonist to the extremity of the lists, so as 
 to touch the palisade with his person or arms, such op- 
 ponent was obliged to yield himself vanquished, and 
 his armour and horse were placed at the disposal of 
 the conqueror. A knight thus overcome was not per- 
 mitted to take further share in the combat. If any com- 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 229 
 
 batant was struck down, and unable to recover his feet, 
 his squire or page might enter the lists, and drag his 
 master out of the press ; but in that case the knight was 
 adjudged vanquished, and his arms and horse declared 
 forfeited. The combat was to cease as soon as Prince 
 John should throw down his leading staff, or truncheon ; 
 another precaution usually taken to prevent the un- 
 necessary effusion of blood by the too long endurance of 
 a sport so desperate. Any knight breaking the rules 
 of the tournament, or otherwise transgressing the rules 
 of honourable chivalry, was liable to be stript of his 
 arms, and, having his shield reversed, to be placed in 
 that posture astride upon the bars of the palisade, and 
 exposed to public derision, in punishment of his un- 
 knightly conduct. Having announced these precautions 
 the heralds concluded with an exhortation to each good 
 knight to do his duty, and to merit favour from the 
 Queen of Beauty and Love. 
 
 The proclamation having been made, the heralds 
 withdrew to their stations. The knights, entering at 
 either end of the lists in long procession, arranged 
 themselves in a double file, precisely opposite to each 
 other, the leader of each party being in the centre of 
 the foremost rank, a post which he did not occupy until 
 each had carefully arranged the ranks of his party, 
 and stationed every one in his place. 
 
 It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, sight, 
 to behold so many gallant champions, mounted bravely, 
 and armed richly, stand ready prepared for an encoun- 
 ter so formidable, seated on their war-saddles like so 
 many pillars of iron, and awaiting the signal of en- 
 counter with the same ardour as their generous steeds, 
 which, by neighing and pawing the ground, gave signal 
 of their impatience. 
 
230 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 As yet the knights held their long lances upright, 
 their bright points glancing to the sun, and the stream- 
 ers with which they were decorated fluttering over the 
 plumage of the helmets. Thus they remained while the 
 marshals of the field surveyed their ranks with the ut- 
 most exactness, lest either party had more or fewer 
 than the appointed number. The tale was found ex- 
 actly complete. The marshals then withdrew from the 
 lists, and William de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, 
 pronounced the signal words — Laissez alter! The 
 trumpets sounded as he spoke — the spears of the cham- 
 pions were at once lowered and placed in the rests — 
 the spurs were dashed into the flanks of the horses, 
 and the two foremost ranks of either party rushed upon 
 each other in full gallop, and met in the middle of the 
 lists with a shock, the sound of which was heard at a 
 mile's distance. The rear rank of each party advanced 
 at a slower pace to sustain the defeated, and follow up 
 the success of the victors of their party. 
 
 The consequences of the encounter were not instantly 
 seen, for the dust raised by the trampling of so many 
 steeds darkened the air, and it was a minute ere the 
 anxious spectators could see the fate of the encoun- 
 ter. When the fight became visible, half the knights 
 on each side were dismounted, some by the dexterity of 
 their adversary's lance, — some by the superior weight 
 and strength of opponents, which had borne down both 
 horse and man, — some lay stretched on earth as if never 
 more to rise, — some had already gained their feet, and 
 were closing hand to hand with those of their antag- 
 onists who were in the same predicament, — and several 
 on both sides, who had received wounds by which they 
 were disabled, were stopping their blood by their scarfs, 
 and endeavouring to extricate themselves from the 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 231 
 
 tumult. The mounted knights, whose lances had been 
 almost all broken by the fury of the encounter, were 
 now closely engaged with their swords, shouting their 
 war-cries, and exchanging buffets, as if honour and life 
 depended on the issue of the combat. 
 
 The tumult was presently increased by the advance 
 of the second rank on either side, which, acting as a 
 reserve, now rushed on to aid their companions. The 
 followers of Brian de Bois-Guilbert shouted, — " Ha ! 
 Beau-seant ! Beau-seant ! — For the Temple — For 
 the Temple ! " The opposite party shouted in answer 
 — " Desdichado ! Desdichado ! " — which watchword 
 they took from the motto upon their leader's shield. 
 
 The champions thus encountering each other with 
 the utmost fury, and with alternate success, the tide of 
 battle seemed to flow now toward the southern, now 
 toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the one 
 or the other party prevailed. Meantime the clang of 
 the blows, and the shouts of the combatants, mixed 
 fearfully with the sound of the trumpets, and drowned 
 the groans of those who fell, and lay rolling defenceless 
 beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armour 
 of the combatants was now defaced with dust and 
 blood, and gave way at every stroke of the sword and 
 the battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the crests, 
 drifted upon the breeze like snow-flakes. All that was 
 beautiful and graceful in the martial array had disap- 
 peared, and what was now visible was only calculated 
 to awake terror or compassion. 
 
 Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vul- 
 gar spectators, who are naturally attracted by sights 
 of horror, but even the ladies of distinction, who 
 crowded the galleries, saw the conquest with a thrill- 
 ing interest certainly, but without a wish to withdraw 
 
232 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 their eyes from a sight so terrible. Here and there, 
 indeed, a fair cheek might turn pale, or a faint scream 
 might be heard, as a lover, a brother, or a husband 
 was struck from his horse. But, in general, the ladies 
 around encouraged the combatants, not only by clap- 
 ping their hands and waving their veils and kerchiefs, 
 but even by exclaiming, "Brave lance! Good sword!" 
 when any successful thrust or blow took place under 
 their observation. 
 
 Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this 
 bloody game, that of the men is the more easily under- 
 stood. It showed itself in loud acclamations upon every 
 change of fortune, while all eyes were so riveted on 
 the lists, that the spectators seemed as if they them- 
 selves had dealt and received the blows which were 
 there so freely bestowed. And between every pause 
 was heard the voice of the heralds, exclaiming, " Fight 
 on, brave knights ! Man dies, but glory lives ! — Fight 
 on — death is better than defeat! — Fight on, brave 
 knights ! — for bright eyes behold your deeds ! " 
 
 Amid the fortunes of the combat, the eyes of 
 all endeavoured to discover the leaders of each band, 
 who, mingling in the thick of the fight, encouraged 
 their companions both by voice and example. Both 
 displayed great feats of gallantry, nor did either Bois- 
 Guilbert or the Disinherited Knight find in the ranks 
 opposed to them a champion who could be termed their 
 unquestioned match. They repeatedly endeavoured to 
 single out each other, spurred by mutual animosity, 
 and aware that the fall of either leader might be con- 
 sidered as decisive of victory. Such, however, was the 
 crowd and confusion, that, during the earlier part of 
 the conflict, their efforts to meet were unavailing, and 
 they were repeatedly separated by the eagerness of 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 233 
 
 their followers, each of whom was anxious to win hon- 
 our, by measuring his strength against the leader of 
 the opposite party. 
 
 But when the field became thin by the numbers on 
 either side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had 
 been compelled to the extremity of the lists, or been 
 otherwise rendered incapable of continuing the strife, 
 the Templar and the Disinherited Knight at length 
 encountered hand to hand, with all the fury that mor- 
 tal animosity, joined to rivalry of honour, could inspire. 
 Such was the address of each in parrying and striking, 
 that the spectators broke forth into a unanimous and 
 involuntary shout, expressive of their delight and ad- 
 miration. 
 
 But at this moment the party of the Disinherited 
 Knight had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de- 
 Boeuf on the one flank, and the ponderous strength of 
 Athelstane on the other, bearing down and dispersing 
 those immediately exposed to them. Finding them- 
 selves freed from their immediate antagonists, it seemed 
 to have occurred to both these knights at the same 
 instant, that they would render the most decisive ad- 
 vantage to their party, by aiding the Templar in his 
 contest with his rival. Turning their horses, therefore, 
 at the same moment, the Norman spurred against the 
 Disinherited Knight on the one side, and the Saxon 
 on the other. It was utterly impossible that the object 
 of this unequal and unexpected assault could have sus- 
 tained it, had he not been warned by a general cry 
 from the spectators, who could not but take interest in 
 one exposed to such disadvantage. 
 
 " Beware ! beware ! Sir Disinherited ! " was shouted 
 so universally, that the knight became aware of his 
 danger ; and, striking a full blow at the Templar, he 
 
234 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 reined back his steed in the same moment, so as to 
 escape the charge of Athelstane and Front-de-Boeuf. 
 These knights, therefore, their aim being thus eluded, 
 rushed from opposite sides betwixt the object of their 
 attack and the Templar, almost running their horses 
 against each other ere they could stop their career. 
 Recovering their horses, however, and wheeling them 
 round, the whole three pursued their united purpose 
 of bearing to the earth the Disinherited Knight. 
 
 Nothing could have saved him, except the remark- 
 able strength and activity of the noble horse which he 
 had won on the preceding day. 
 
 This stood him in the more stead, as the horse o£ 
 Bois-Guilbert was wounded, and those of Front-de- 
 Boeuf and Athelstane were both tired with the weight 
 of their gigantic masters, clad in complete armour, 
 and with the preceding exertions of the day. The 
 masterly horsemanship of the Disinherited Knight, 
 and the activity of the noble animal which he mounted, 
 enabled him for a few minutes to keep at sword's point 
 his three antagonists, turning and wheeling with the 
 agility of a hawk upon the wing, keeping his enemies 
 as far separate as he could, and rushing now against 
 the one, now against the other, dealing sweeping blows 
 with his sword, without waiting to receive those which 
 were aimed at him in return. 
 
 But although the lists rang with the applauses of 
 his dexterity, it was evident that he must at last be 
 overpowered ; and the nobles around Prince John im- 
 plored him with one voice to throw down his warder, 
 and to save so brave a knight from the disgrace of be- 
 ing overcome by odds. 
 
 " Not I, by the light of Heaven ! " answered Prince 
 John ; " this same springal, who conceals his name, 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 235 
 
 and despises our proffered hospitality, hath already 
 gained one prize, and may now afford to let others 
 have their turn." As he spoke thus, an unexpected 
 incident changed the fortune of the day. 
 
 There was among the ranks of the Disinherited 
 Knight a champion in black armour, mounted on a 
 black horse, large of size, tall, and to all appearance 
 powerful and strong, like the rider by whom he was 
 mounted. This knight, who bore on his shield no de- 
 vice of any kind, had hitherto evinced very little in- 
 terest in the event of the fight, beating off with seeming 
 ease those combatants who attacked him, but neither 
 pursuing his advantages, nor himself assailing any one. 
 In short, he had hitherto acted the part rather of a 
 spectator than of a party in the tournament, a circum- 
 stance which procured him among the spectators, the 
 name of Le Noir Faineant^ or the Black Sluggard. 
 
 At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, 
 when he discovered the leader of his party so hard 
 bested ; for, setting spurs to his horse, which was quite 
 fresh, he came to his assistance like a thunderbolt, 
 exclaiming, in a voice like a trumpet-call, ''^ Desdi- 
 chado^ to the rescue ! " It was high time ; for, while 
 the Disinherited Knight was pressing upon the Tem- 
 plar, Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh to him with his 
 uplifted sword ; but ere the blow could descend, the 
 Sable Knight dealt a stroke on his head, which, glanc- 
 ing from the polished helmet, lighted with violence 
 scarcely abated on the cJiamfron of the steed, and 
 Front-de-Bceuf rolled on the ground, both horse and 
 man equally stunned by the fury of the blow. Le Noir 
 Faineant then turned his horse upon Athelstane of 
 Coningsburgh; and his own sword having been broken 
 in his encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched 
 
236 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 from the hand of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe 
 which he wielded, and, like one familiar with the use 
 of the weapon, bestowed him such a blow upon the 
 crest, that Athelstane also lay senseless on the field. 
 Having achieved this double feat, for which he was 
 the more highly applauded that it was totally unex- 
 pected from him, the knight seemed to resume the 
 sluggishness of his character, returning calmly to the 
 northern extremity of the lists, leaving his leader to 
 cope as he best could with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 
 This was no longer matter of so much difficulty as 
 formerly. The Templar's horse had bled much, and 
 gave way under the shock of the Disinherited Knight's 
 charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbert rolled on the field, 
 encumbered with the stirrup, from which he was 
 unable to draw his foot. His antagonist sprung from 
 horseback, waved his fatal sword over the head of his 
 adversary, and commanded him to yield himself ; when 
 Prince John, more moved by the Templar's dangerous 
 situation than he had been by that of his rival, saved 
 him the mortification of confessing himself vanquished, 
 by casting down his warder, and putting an end to 
 the conflict. 
 
 It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the 
 fight which continued to burn ; for of the few knights 
 who still continued in the lists, the greater part had, 
 by tacit consent, forborne the conflict for some time, 
 leaving it to be determined by the strife of the 
 leaders. 
 
 The squires, who had found it a matter of danger 
 and difficulty to attend their masters during the en- 
 gagement, now thronged into the lists to pay their 
 dutiful attendance to the wounded, who were removed 
 with the utmost care and attention to the neighbouring 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 237 
 
 pavilions, or to the quarters prepared for them in the 
 adjoining village. 
 
 Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la- 
 Zouche, one of the most gallantly contested tourna- 
 ments of that age ; for although only four knights, in- 
 cluding one who was smothered by the heat of his ar- 
 mour, had died upon the field, yet upwards of thirty 
 were desperately wounded, four or ^ye of whom never 
 recovered. Several more were disabled for life ; and 
 those who escaped best carried the marks of the con- 
 flict to the grave with them. Hence it is always men- 
 tioned in the old records, as the Gentle and Joyous 
 Passage of Arms of Ashby. 
 
 It being now the duty of Prince John to name the 
 knight who had done best, he determined that the 
 honour of the day remained with the knight whom the 
 popular voice had termed Le JVoir Faineant. It was 
 pointed out to the Prince, in impeachment of this de- 
 cree, that the victory had been in fact won by the Dis- 
 inherited Knight, who, in the course of the day, had 
 overcome six champions with his own hand, and who 
 had finally unhorsed and struck down the leader of 
 the opposite party. But Prince John adhered to his 
 own opinion, on the ground that the Disinherited 
 Knight and his party had lost the day but for the 
 powerful assistance of the Knight of the Black Ar- 
 mour, to whom, therefore, he persisted in awarding the 
 prize. 
 
 To the surprise of all present, however, the knight 
 thus preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left 
 the lists immediately when the conflict ceased, and had 
 been observed by some spectators to move down one 
 of the forest glades with the same slow pace and list- 
 less and indifferent manner which had procured him 
 
238 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 the epithet of the Black Sluggard. After he had been 
 summoned twice by sound of trumpet, and proclama- 
 tion of the heralds, it became necessary to name an- 
 other to receive the honours which had been assigned 
 to him. Prince John had now no further excuse for 
 resisting the claim of the Disinherited Knight, whom, 
 therefore, he named the champion of the day. 
 
 Through a field slippery with blood, and encumbered 
 with broken armour and the bodies of slain and 
 wounded horses, the marshals of the lists again con- 
 ducted the victor to the foot of Prince John's throne. 
 
 " Disinherited Knight," said Prince John, " since 
 by that title only you will consent to be known to us, 
 we a second time award to you the honours of this 
 tournament, and announce to you your right to claim 
 and receive from the hands of the Queen of Love and 
 Beauty, the Chaplet of Honour which your valour has 
 justly deserved." The Knight bowed low and grace- 
 fully, but returned no answer. 
 
 While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds 
 strained their voices in proclaiming honour to the 
 brave and glory to the victor — while ladies waved 
 their silken kerchiefs and embroidered veils, and while 
 all ranks joined in a clamorous shout of exultation, 
 the marshals conducted the Disinherited Knight across 
 the lists to the foot of that throne of honour which was 
 occupied by the Lady Rowena. 
 
 On the lower step of this throne the champion was 
 made to kneel down. Indeed his whole action since the 
 fight had ended, seemed rather to have been upon the 
 impulse of those around him than from his own free 
 will; and it was observed that he tottered as they 
 guided him the second time across the lists. Rowena, 
 descending from her station with a graceful and dig- 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 239 
 
 nified step, was about to place the chaplet which she 
 held in her hand upon the helmet of the champion, 
 when the marshals exclaimed with one voice, " It must 
 not be thus — his head must be bare." The knight 
 muttered faintly a few words, which were lost in the 
 hollow of his helmet, but their purport seemed to be a 
 desire that his casque might not be removed. 
 
 Whether from love of form, or from curiosity, the 
 marshals paid no attention to his expressions of reluc- 
 tance, but unhelmed him by cutting the laces of his 
 casque, and undoing the fastening of his gorget. When 
 the helmet was removed, the well-formed, yet sun-burnt 
 features of a young man of twenty-five were seen, 
 amidst a profusion of short fair hair. His countenance 
 was as pale as death, and marked in one or two places 
 with streaks of blood. 
 
 Kowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered 
 a faint shriek ; but at once summoning up the energy 
 of her disposition, and compelling herself, as it were, 
 to proceed, while her frame yet trembled with the vio- 
 lence of sudden emotion, she placed upon the drooping 
 bead of the victor the splendid chaplet which was the 
 destined reward of the day, and pronounced, in a clear 
 and distinct tone, these words : " I bestow on thee this 
 chaplet. Sir Knight, as the meed of valour assigned 
 to this day's victor." Here she paused a moment, and 
 then firmly added, " And upon brows more worthy 
 could a wreath of chivalry never be placed! " 
 
 The knight stooped his head, and kissed the hand of 
 the lovely Sovereign by whom his valour had been re- 
 warded; and then, sinking yet farther forward, lay 
 prostrate at her feet. 
 
 There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had 
 been struck mute by the sudden appearance of his ' 
 
240 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 banished son, now rushed forward, as if to separate 
 him from Rowena. But this had been already accom- 
 plished by the marshals of the field, who, guessing the 
 cause of Ivanhoe's swoon, had hastened to undo his 
 armour, and found that the head of a lance had pene- 
 trated his breastplate, and inflicted a wound in his 
 side. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 the lists : — The enclosed field used for the tournament. For 
 a description of the lists on this particular occasion, see Chapter 
 VII of Ivanhoe. 
 
 the Disinherited Knight: — Previously described in Chap- 
 ters VIII, IX, and X of Ivanhoe. 
 
 Prince John : — Son of Henry II of England ; he was born 
 about 1167, and died in 1216. At the time of which the story 
 tells, John was acting in place of his brother, King Richard, who 
 was away on a crusade. See the opening paragraphs of Chapter 
 VII of Ivanhoe. 
 
 Cedric ; Rcwena ; Athelstane : — Saxons of high rank who 
 figure in the preceding parts of the story. 
 
 The Lord of Coningsburgh : — Athelstane. 
 
 the tale : — The number. 
 
 Laissez aller : — Let go ! Start ! 
 
 Beau-seant : — Beau-seant was the name of the Templars' 
 banner, which was half black, half white, to show that the Tem- 
 plars were fair and kindly toward Christians, but black and ter- 
 rible toward infidels. 
 
 Desdichado (des de tchah' do) : — The Spanish word for 
 unfortunate, or miserable; applied here to the Disinherited Knight. 
 In Chapter VIII, the following description occurs : "His suit of 
 armour was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the de- 
 vice of his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, 
 with the Spanish word Desdichado, signifying Disinherited." 
 
 chamf ron : — The armor in front of a war horse's head. 
 
 casque : — A piece of armor covering the head. 
 
 gorget : — A piece of armor protecting the neck. 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 241 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Of what use are the opening paragraphs ? What information 
 do they give ? What do you learn about Athelstane in the para- 
 graph beginning, " His best " ? Who is the " destined Queen of 
 the day," mentioned in the paragraph beginning, " As soon as 
 Prince John " ? What kind of person does Prince John seem to 
 be ? Of what value is the long paragraph beginning, " The cham- 
 pions were therefore prohibited " ? Why was this material not 
 put with the other explanations at the first of the piece ? What 
 paragraphs include a general account of the struggle ? Where 
 does the story begin to tell about particular men ? What is the 
 effect on the reader's interest ? Where in this selection is the 
 Disinherited Knight first mentioned? Show how the author keeps 
 up our interest in him. Why is the Black Sluggard not mentioned 
 earlier ? What good qualities has the account of his part in the 
 fight ? Does the account of the tournament come to an end ab- 
 ruptly, or gradually ? Do you think that the method used is a 
 good one ? Do you think that the author shows any skill in the 
 way he ends his chapter ? Go through the piece and see how much 
 of it gives a picture, and how much tells a story. When conver- 
 sation occurs, does it help the picture, or story? Have you learned 
 anything from the selection as to how narration, description, and 
 conversation can be mixed to produce a good effect ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 Our Track Meet The Black Knight at a Football 
 
 Scoring the Only Run Game 
 
 How He Made the Winning The Horse Race 
 
 Touch-down How the Little Jockey Won 
 
 An Automobile Race Sailing on the Winning Yacht 
 
 Why We Lost the Cup A Motor Boat Contest 
 
 A Polo Game Finishing Last 
 
 How the Hurdle Race Was Lost The Race is Not Always to the 
 When the Lighter Team Won Swift 
 
 The End of the Basket Ball How We Entertained the Team 
 
 Game The Wild West Show 
 
 A Twentieth Century Tourna- The Circus in Our Town 
 
 ment The Regatta 
 
242 WALTER SCOTT 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 The End of the Basket Ball Game : — Do you think that, 
 in this account of a game, you should try to write a long descrip- 
 tive passage, as an introduction ? Can you begin in a livelier way, 
 — by telling what somebody said, or by giving a quick account 
 of the early part of the game ? Tell briefly what teams were 
 playing, and why the rivalry was great. Who were the best 
 players ? How did the on-lookers regard these players ? Tell 
 what was said about them. Relate, in a lively way, the succession 
 of plays made, being careful to keep clear the advantage or loss 
 to each side. What kind of sentences would be best for this pur- 
 pose ? Explain what the spectators said and did. Tell how the 
 important players looked. Go on with your account of the plays, 
 up to the end, taking care not to tell so much that you weary 
 your reader. Bring out clearly the play that decided the game. 
 Tell what remarks were made as the game was ended, — or what 
 the players and the spectators did. 
 
 If you have been in an exciting basket ball game, you might 
 tell the story from the standpoint, not of a spectator, but of one 
 who took part in the game. 
 
 The Circus in Our Town : Describe the circus procession, 
 being careful to pick out the details that give interest and vivid- 
 ness to the scene. See how color words and sound words can help 
 you in your attempt to make a clear description. 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 Ivanhoe . Sir Walter Scott 
 
 The Talisman " 
 
 Quentin Durward " 
 
 Kenilworth " 
 
 The Pirate " 
 
 The Fortunes of Nigel ** 
 
 Rob Roy " 
 
 Guy Mannering " 
 
 Peveril of the Peak " 
 
 Anne of Geierstein " 
 
 Men of Iron Howard Pyle 
 
 Otto of the Silver Hand „ " " 
 
 The Story of King Arthur « « 
 
THE TOURNAMENT 243 
 
 Champions of the Round Table . . . Howard Pyle 
 
 Chivalric Days E. S. Brooks 
 
 Heroes of Chivalry and Romance . . . A. J. Church 
 
 The Story of Roland James Baldwin 
 
 The Boy's King Arthur Sidney Lanier 
 
 The Boy's Mabinogion " " 
 
 Froissart: Chronicles " " 
 
 The Chronicles of Sir John Froissart . A. Singleton 
 
 Stories from Froissart Henry Newbolt 
 
 With Spurs of Gold Greene and Kirk 
 
 The Queen's Story Book G. L. Gomme (Ed.) 
 
 The King's Story Book " " " 
 
 The Prince's Story Book « « « 
 
 The Princess's Story Book " " « 
 
 Stories of Early England E. M. Wilmot-Buxton 
 
 The Story of Don Quixote Judge Parry 
 
 Don Quixote M. Cervantes 
 
 Sir Walter Scott R. H. Hutton 
 
 Life of Walter Scott J. G. Lockhart 
 
 The Scott Country W. S. Crockett 
 
A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 
 
 JOHN BURROUGHS 
 
 (From Riverby) 
 
 Most country boys, I fancy, know the marsh hawk. 
 It is he you see flying low over the fields, beating about 
 bushes and marshes and dipping over the fences, with 
 his attention directed to the ground beneath him. He 
 is a cat on wings. He keeps so low that the birds and 
 mice do not see him till he is fairly upon them. The 
 hen-hawk swoops down upon the meadow-mouse from 
 his position high in air, or from the top of a dead 
 tree ; but the marsh hawk stalks him and comes sud- 
 denly upon him from over the fence, or from behind 
 a low bush or tuft of grass. He is nearly as large 
 as the hen-hawk, but has a much larger tail. When 
 I was a boy I used to call him the long-tailed hawk. 
 The male is a bluish slate color ; the female a red- 
 dish brown, like the hen-hawk, with a white rump. 
 
 Unlike the other hawks, they nest on the ground in 
 low, thick marshy places. For several seasons a pair 
 have nested in a bushy marsh a few miles back of me, 
 near the house of a farmer friend of mine, who has a 
 keen eye for the wild life about him. Two years ago 
 he found the nest, but when I got over to see it the 
 next week, it had been robbed, probably by some boys 
 in the neighborhood. The past season, in April or 
 May, by watching the mother bird, he found the nest 
 again. It was in a marshy place, several acres in 
 extent, in the bottom of a valley, and thickly grown 
 
A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 245 
 
 with hardback, prickly ash, smilax, and other low 
 thorny bushes. My friend brought me to the brink of 
 a low hill, and pointed out to me in the marsh below 
 us, as nearly as he could, just where the nest was lo- 
 cated. Then we crossed the pasture, entered upon the 
 marsh, and made our way cautiously toward it. The 
 wild thorny growths, waist high, had to be carefully 
 dealt with. As we neared the spot I used my eyes the 
 best I could, but I did not see the hawk till she 
 sprang into the air not ten yards away from us. She 
 went screaming upward, and was soon sailing in a 
 circle far above us. There, on a coarse matting of 
 twigs and weeds, lay five snow-white eggs, a little more 
 than half as large as hens' eggs. My companion said 
 the male hawk would probably soon appear and join 
 the female, but he did not. She kept drifting away to 
 the east, and was soon gone from our sight. 
 
 We soon withdrew and secreted ourselves behind 
 the stone wall, in hopes of seeing the mother hawk re- 
 turn. She appeared in the distance, but seemed to 
 know she was being watched, and kept away. About 
 ten days later we made another visit to the nest. An 
 adventurous young Chicago lady also wanted to see a 
 hawk's nest, and so accompanied us. This time three 
 of the eggs were hatched, and as the mother hawk 
 sprang up, either by accident or intentionally, she threw 
 two of the young hawks some feet from the nest. 
 She rose up and screamed angrily. Then, turning 
 toward us, she came like an arrow straight at the 
 young lady, a bright plume in whose hat probably 
 drew her fire. The damsel gathered up her skirts about 
 her and beat a hasty retreat. Hawks were not so pretty 
 as she thought they were. A large hawk launched 
 at one's face from high in the air is calculated to make 
 
246 JOHN BURROUGHS 
 
 one a little nervous. It is such a fearful incline down 
 which the bird comes, and she is aiming exactly to- 
 ward your eye. When within about thirty feet of you, 
 she turns upward with a rushing sound, and, mounting 
 higher, falls toward you again. She is only firing blank 
 cartridges, as it were ; but it usually has the desired 
 effect, and beats the enemy off. 
 
 After we had inspected the young hawks, a neigh- 
 bor of my friend offered to conduct us to a quail's 
 nest. Anything in the shape of a nest is always wel- 
 come, — it is such a mystery, such a centre of interest 
 and affection, and, if upon the ground, is usually 
 something so dainty and exquisite amid the natural 
 wreckage and confusion. A ground-nest seems so ex- 
 posed, too, that it always gives a little thrill of plea- 
 surable surprise to see the group of frail eggs resting 
 there behind so slight a barrier. I will walk a long dis- 
 tance any day just to see a song sparrow's nest amid 
 the stubble or under a tuft of grass. It is a jewel in a 
 rosette of jewels, with a frill of weeds or turf. A quail's 
 nest I had never seen, and to be shown one within 
 the hunting-ground of this murderous hawk would 
 be a double pleasure. Such a quiet, secluded, grass- 
 grown highway as we moved along was itself a rare 
 treat. Sequestered was the word that the little val- 
 ley suggested, and peace the feeling the road evoked. 
 The farmer, whose fields lay about us, half grown with 
 weeds and bushes, evidently did not make stir or noise 
 enough to disturb anything. Beside this rustic high- 
 way, bounded by old mossy stone walls, and within a 
 stone's throw of the farmer's barn, the quail had made 
 her nest. It was just under the edge of a pr ostrate 
 thorn-bush. 
 
 " The nest is right there," said the farmer, pausing 
 
A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 247 
 
 within ten feet of it, and pointing to the spot with his 
 stick. 
 
 In a moment or two we could make out the mottled 
 brown plumage of the sitting bird. Then we ap- 
 proached her cautiously till we bent above her. 
 
 She never moved a feather. 
 
 Then I put my cane down in the brush behind her. 
 We wanted to see the eggs, yet did not want rudely 
 to disturb the sitting hen. 
 
 She would not move. 
 
 Then I put down my hand within a few inches of 
 her ; still she kept her place. Should we have to lift 
 her off bodily ? 
 
 Then the young lady put down her hand, probably 
 the prettiest and the whitest hand the quail had ever 
 seen. At least it started her, and off she sprang, uncov- 
 ering such a crowded nest of eggs as I had never before 
 beheld. Twenty-one of them ! a ring or disk: of white 
 like a china tea-saucer. You could not help saying 
 how pretty, how cunning, like baby hens' eggs, as if 
 the bird was playing at sitting as children play at 
 housekeeping. 
 
 If I had known how crowded her nest was, I should 
 not have dared disturb her, for fear she would break 
 some of them. But not an egg suffered harm by her 
 sudden flight ; and no harm came to the nest afterward. 
 Every egg hatched, I was told, and the little chicks, 
 hardly bigger than bumblebees, were led away by the 
 mother into the fields. 
 
 In about a week I paid another visit to the hawk's 
 nest. The eggs were all hatched, aud the mother bird 
 was hovering near. I shall never forget the curious 
 expression of those young hawks sitting there on the 
 ground. The expression was not one of youth, but of 
 
248 JOHN BURROUGHS 
 
 extreme age. Such an ancient, infirm look as they had, 
 — the sharp, dark, and shrunken look about the face 
 and eyes, and their feeble, tottering motions ! They 
 sat upon their elbows and the hind part of their bodies, 
 and their pale, withered legs and feet extended before 
 them in the most helpless fashion. Their angular bod- 
 ies were covered with a pale yellowish down, like that 
 of a chicken ; their heads had a plucked, seedy appear- 
 ance ; and their long, strong, naked wings hung down 
 by their sides till they touched the ground : power and 
 ferocity in the first rude draught, shorn of everything 
 but its sinister ugliness. Another curious thing was 
 the gradation oJ the young in size ; they tapered down 
 regularly from the first to the fifth, as if there had 
 been, as probably there was, an interval of a day or 
 two between the hatching of each. 
 
 The two older ones showed some signs of fear on 
 our approach, and one of them threw himself upon his 
 back, and put up his jmpotent legs, and glared at us 
 with open beak. The two smaller ones regarded us not 
 at all. Neither of the parent birds appeared during our 
 stay. 
 
 When I visited the nest again, eight or ten days 
 later, the birds were much grown, but of as marked a 
 difference in size as before, and with the same look of 
 extreme old age, — old age in men of the aquiline type, 
 nose and chin coming together, and eyes large and 
 sunken. They now glared upon us with a wild, savage 
 look, and opened their beaks threateningly. 
 
 The next week, when my friend visited the nest, the 
 larger of the hawks fought him savagely. But on^e of 
 the brood, probably the last to hatch, had made but 
 little growth. It appeared to be on the point of starva- 
 tion. The mother hawk (for the male seemed to have 
 
A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 249 
 
 disappeared) had doubtless found her family too large 
 for her, and was deliberately allowing one of the num- 
 ber to perish ; or did the larger and stronger young 
 devour all the food before the weaker member could 
 obtain any ? Probably this was the case. 
 
 Arthur brought the feeble nestling away, and the 
 same day my little boy got it and brought it home, 
 wrapped in a woolen rag. It was clearly a starved bant-, 
 ling. It cried feebly, but would not lift up its head. 
 
 We first poured some warm milk down its throat, 
 which soon revived it, so that it would swallow small 
 bits of flesh. In a day or two we had it eating raven- 
 ously, and its growth became noticeable. Its voice had 
 the sharp whistling character of that of its parents, 
 and was stilled only when the bird was asleep. We 
 made a pen for it, about a yard square, in one end of 
 the study, covering the floor with several thicknesses 
 of newspapers ; and here, upon a bit of brown woolen 
 blanket for a nest, the hawk waxed, strong day by day. 
 An uglier-looking pet, tested by all the rules we usu- 
 ally apply to such things, would have been hard to 
 find. There he would sit upon his elbows, his helpless 
 feet out in front of him, his great featherless wings 
 touching the floor, and shrilly cry for more food. For 
 a time we gave him water daily from a stylograph-pen 
 filler, but the water he evidently did not need or relish. 
 Fresh meat, and plenty of it, was his demand. And 
 we discovered that he liked game, such as mice, squir- 
 rels, birds, much better than butcher's meat. 
 
 Then began a lively campaign on the part of my 
 little boy against all the vermin and small game in the 
 neighborhood to keep the hawk supplied. He trapped 
 and hunted, he enlisted his mates in his service, he 
 even robbed the cats to feed the hawk. His usefulness 
 
250 JOHN BURROUGHS 
 
 as a boy of all work was seriously impaired. " Where 
 
 is J ? " " Gone after a squirrel for his hawk." 
 
 And often the day would be half gone before his hunt 
 was successful. The premises were very soon cleared 
 of mice, and the vicinity of chipmunks and squirrels. 
 Farther and farther he was compelled to hunt the sur- 
 rounding farms and woods to keep up with the de- 
 mands of the hawk. By the time the hawk was ready 
 to fly he had consumed twenty-one chipmunks, four- 
 teen red squirrels, sixteen mice, and twelve English 
 sparrows, besides a lot of butcher's meat. 
 
 His plumage very soon began to show itself, crowd- 
 ing off the tufts of the down. The quills on his great 
 wings sprouted and grew apace. What a ragged, un- 
 canny appearance he presented ! but his look of ex- 
 treme age gradually became modified. What a lover 
 of the sunlight he was ! We would put him out upon 
 the grass in the full blaze of the morning sun, and he 
 would spread his wings and bask in it with the most 
 intense enjoyment. In the nest the young must be ex- 
 posed to the full power of the midday sun during our 
 first heated terms in June and July, the thermometer 
 often going up to ninety-three or ninety-five degrees, 
 so that sunshine seemed to be a need of his nature. 
 He liked the rain equally well, and when put out in 
 a shower would sit down and take it as if every drop 
 did him good. 
 
 His legs developed nearly as slowly as his wings. 
 He could not stand steadily upon them till about ten 
 days before he was ready to fly. The talons were limp 
 and feeble. When we came with food he would hobble 
 along toward us like the worst kind of a cripple, drop- 
 ping and moving his wings, and treading upon his legs 
 from the foot back to the elbow, the foot remaining 
 
A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 251 
 
 closed and useless. Like a baby learning to stand, he 
 made many trials before he succeeded. He would rise 
 up on his trembling legs only to fall back again. 
 
 One day, in the summer-house, I saw him for the 
 first time stand for a moment squarely upon his legs 
 with the feet fully spread beneath them. He looked 
 about him as if the world suddenly wore a new aspect. 
 
 His plumage now grew quite rapidly. One red 
 squirrel per day, chopped fine with an axe, was his 
 ration. He began to hold his game with his foot while 
 he tore it. The study was full of his shed down. His 
 dark brown mottled plumage began to grow beautiful. 
 The wings drooped a little, but gradually he got con- 
 trol of them, and held them in place. 
 
 It was now the 20th of July, and the hawk was 
 about five weeks old. In a day or two he was walking 
 or jumping about the ground. He chose a position un- 
 der the edge of a Norway spruce, where he would sit 
 for hours dozing, or looking out upon the landscape. 
 When we brought him game he would advance to meet 
 us with wings slightly lifted, and uttering a shrill cry. 
 Toss him a mouse or sparrow, and he would seize it 
 with one foot and hop off to his cover, where he would 
 bend above it, spread his plumage, look this way and 
 that, uttering all the time the most exultant and satis- 
 fied chuckle. 
 
 About this time he began to practice striking with 
 his talons, as an Indian boy might begin practicing 
 with his bow and arrow. He would strike at a dry leaf 
 in the grass, or at a fallen apple, or at some imaginary 
 object. He was learning the use of his weapons. His 
 wings also, — he seemed to feel them sprouting from his 
 shoulder. He would lift them straight up and hold them 
 expanded, and they would seem to quiver with excite- 
 
252 JOHN BURROUGHS 
 
 ment. Every hour in the day he would do this. The 
 pressure was beginning to centre there. Then he would 
 strike playfully at a leaf or a bit of wood, and keep 
 his wings lifted. 
 
 The next step was to spring into the air and beat 
 his wings. He seemed now to be thinking entirely of 
 his wings. They itched to be put to use. 
 
 A day or two later he would leap and fly several 
 feet. A pile of brush ten or twelve feet below the bank 
 was easily reached. Here he would perch in true hawk 
 fashion, to the bewilderment and scandal of all the 
 robins and catbirds in the vicinity. Here he would 
 dart his eye in all directions, turning his head over 
 and glancing it up into the sky. 
 
 H^e was now a lovely creature, fully fledged, and as 
 tame as a kitten. But he was not a bit like a kitten in 
 one respect, — he could not bear to have you stroke or 
 even touch his plumage. He had a horror of your 
 hand, as if it would hopelessly defile him. But he 
 would perch upon it, and allow you to carry him 
 about. If a dog or cat appeared, he was ready to give 
 battle instantly. He rushed up to a little dog one day, 
 and struck him with his foot savagely. He was afraid 
 of strangers, and of any unusual object. 
 
 The last week in July he began to fly quite freely, 
 and it was necessary to clip one of his wings. As the 
 clipping embraced only the ends of his primaries, he 
 soon overcame the difficulty, and by carrying his 
 broad long tail more on that side, flew with consider- 
 able ease. He made longer and longer excursions into 
 the surrounding fields and vineyards, and did not al- 
 ways return. On such occasions we would go find him 
 and fetch him back. 
 
 Late one rainy afternoon he flew away into the vine- 
 
\ 
 
 A YOUNG MARSH HAWK 253 
 
 yard, and when, an hour later, I went after him, he 
 could not be found, and we never saw him again. We 
 hoped hunger would soon drive him back, but we have 
 had no clew to him from that day to this. 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Does the quail's nest have anything to do with the hawks ? 
 Why is it put in ? Do you think that the author's method here 
 is a good one ? Is the description of the young hawks clear and 
 truthful ? What details with regard to the pet hawk are men- 
 tioned from time to time ? Are they important ? Do you think 
 that the conclusion of the selection is good ? Why ? Look through 
 the piece : Are there any long, hard words, or any long, tangled 
 sentences ? What should you say of the way in which the author 
 writes ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 My Pet Bird When Our Canary Flew Away 
 
 A Ground Sparrow's Nest Taking Care of the Young Tur- 
 How a Bird Learns to Fly keys 
 
 An Owl in Captivity When the Chicks Were Hatched 
 
 The Tame Crow An Odd Nest 
 
 How I Trained Our Canary Feeding Sparrows in Winter 
 
 Just Out of the Nest The Home of the Martins 
 
 The Young Pigeon How Swallows Build Their Nests 
 
 Watching the Little Robins Some Winter Birds 
 
 An Ugly Duckling The Birds at the Zoo 
 Caring for Incubator Chickens 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 "Watching the Little Robins : — Did you ever see a family 
 of newly hatched robins in the nest ? How did they look when 
 you first saw them ? Were they pleasing to look at ? Were they 
 quiet and well-behaved ? Did you try to feed them ? Can you 
 describe the change in their appearance as you looked at them 
 from time to time ? Did you see them when they were learning 
 to fly ? Tell how they looked and acted. Did they all succeed in 
 learning to fly ? What became of them at last ? 
 
4 
 
 254 JOHN BURROUGHS ' 
 
 My Pet Bird : — Tell where you got the bird, and how it 
 looked when it first came into your possession. Where did you 
 put it, and how did it like its new home ? What did you feed it ? 
 Did it change any in appearance while it belonged to you ? Why ? 
 Did you ever forget to care for it ? What was the result of your 
 carelessness ? Did your bird ever escape ? Tell some of its adven- 
 tures. Did you try to train it, or teach it any tricks ? What be- 
 came of your bird ? 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 Riverby John Burroughs 
 
 Pepacton 
 
 Locusts and Wild Honey 
 
 Signs and Seasons 
 
 Wake-Robin 
 
 Winter Sunshine 
 
 Squirrels and Other Fur-Bearers 
 
 Camping and Tramping with Roosevelt . . 
 
 The Credible and Incredible in Natural History. Independent, 
 
 62 : 1344 (June, 1907). 
 Fake Natural History. Outing, 49 : 665 (Feb., 1907). Outing, 
 
 50: 124 (April, 1907). 
 
 See also Outing, 44 : 112 and 45 : 115; Harper's, 109 : 360; 
 Century, 45 : 509. 
 
 See the Reference List for Neighbors of the Wilderness, 
 page 142. 
 
 See also the books about birds in the reference list for A 
 White Heron, pages 202 and 203. 
 
 An interesting portrait of Mr. Burroughs is given in the Out- 
 look, 78 : 878 (Dec. 3, 1904). 
 
 An article by Washington Gladden, A Day at Slabsides 
 (Burroughs's home), appears in the Outlook, 66 : 351. 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 Nil sapientiae odiosius acumine nimio. 
 
 Seneca. 
 
 At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the 
 autumn of 18 — , I was enjoying the twofold luxury of 
 meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my 
 friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, or 
 book closet, au troisieme, No. 33 Rue Dunot, Fau- 
 bourg St. Germain. For one hour at least we had 
 maintained a profound silence ; while each, to any cas- 
 ual observer, might have seemed intently and exclu- 
 sively occupied with the curling eddies of smoke that 
 oppressed the atmosphere of the chamber. For myself, 
 however, I was mentally discussing certain topics which 
 had formed matter for conversation between us at an 
 earlier period of the evening ; I mean the affair of the 
 Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murder of 
 Marie Roget. I looked upon it, therefore, as something 
 of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was 
 thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance. Mon- 
 sieur G , the Prefect of the Parisian police. 
 
 We gave him a hearty welcome ; for there was nearly 
 half as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible 
 about the man, and we had not seen him for several 
 years. We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now 
 arose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down 
 
 again, without doing so, upon G 's saying that he 
 
 had called to consult us, or rather to ask the opinion 
 
256 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 of my friend, about some official business which had 
 occasioned a great deal of trouble. 
 
 " If it is any point requiring reflection," observed 
 Dupin, as he forbore to enkindle the wick, " we shall 
 examine it to better purpose in the dark." 
 
 " That is another of your odd notions," said the 
 Prefect, who had a fashion of calling everything " odd " 
 that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived 
 amid an absolute legion of " oddities." 
 
 " Very true," said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor 
 with a pipe, and rolled towards him a comfortable chair. 
 
 "And what is the difficulty now," I asked. "No- 
 thing more in the assassination way, I hope ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the 
 business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt 
 that we can manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but 
 then I thought Dupin would like to hear the details 
 of it, because it is so excessively ocZcZ." 
 
 " Simple and odd," said Dupin. 
 
 " Why, yes ; and not exactly that, either. The fact 
 is, we have all been a good deal puzzled because the 
 affair is so simple, and yet baffles us altogether." 
 
 "Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing 
 which puts you at fault," said my friend. 
 
 " What nonsense you do talk ! " replied the Prefect, 
 laughing heartily. 
 
 " Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain," said 
 Dupin. 
 
 " Oh, good Heavens ! who ever heard of such an 
 idea?" 
 
 " A little too self-evident." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ho ! ho ! ho ! " roared 
 our visitor, profoundly amused. " O Dupin, you will 
 be the death of me yet ! " 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 257 
 
 " And what after all is the matter on hand ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Why, I will tell you," replied the Prefect, as he 
 gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff, and set- 
 tled himself in his chair. " I will tell you in a few 
 words ; but, before I begin, let me caution you that 
 this is an affair demanding the greatest secrecy, and 
 that I should most probably lose the position I now 
 hold were it known that I confided it to any one." 
 
 " Proceed," said I. 
 
 " Or not," said Dupin. 
 
 " Well, then ; I have received personal informa- 
 tion from a very high quarter that a certain document 
 of the last importance has been purloined from the 
 royal apartments. The individual who purloined it is 
 known ; this beyond a doubt ; he was seen to take it. 
 It is known, also, that it still remains in his posses- 
 sion." 
 
 " How is this known ? " asked Dupin. 
 
 "It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from 
 the nature of the document, and from the non-appear- 
 ance of certain results which would at once arise from 
 its passing out of the robber's possession ; that is to 
 say, from his employing it as he must design in the 
 end to employ it." 
 
 " Be a little more explicit," I said. 
 
 "Well, I may venture so far as to say that the 
 paper gives its holder a certain power in a certain 
 quarter where such power is immensely valuable." 
 The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy. 
 
 " Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin. 
 
 " Ko ? well ; the disclosure of the document to a 
 third person, who shall be nameless, would bring in 
 question the honor of a personage of most exalted sta- 
 
258 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 tion ; and this fact gives the holder of the document 
 an ascendancy over the illustrious personage whose 
 honor and peace are so jeopardized." 
 
 " But this ascendancy," I interposed, " would de- 
 pend upon the robber's knowledge of the loser's know- 
 ledge of the robber. Who would dare — " 
 
 " The thief," said G , " is the Minister D , 
 
 who dares all things, those unbecoming as well as 
 those becoming a man. The method of the theft was 
 not less ingenious than bold. The document in ques- 
 tion — a letter, to be frank — had been received by 
 the personage robbed while alone in the royal boudoir. 
 During its perusal she was suddenly interrupted by 
 the entrance of the other exalted personage, from 
 whom especially it was her wish to conceal it. After a 
 hurried and vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, 
 she was forced to place it, open as it was, upon a 
 table. The address, however, was uppermost, and, the 
 contents thus exposed, the letter escaped notice. At 
 
 this juncture enters the Minister D . His lynx 
 
 eye immediately perceives the paper, recognizes the 
 handwriting of the address, observes the confusion of 
 the personage addressed, and fathoms her secret. After 
 some business transactions, hurried through in his or- 
 dinary manner, he produces a letter somewhat similar 
 to the one in question, opens it, pretends to read it, and 
 then places it in close juxtaposition to the other. Again 
 he converses for some fifteen minutes upon the public 
 affairs. At length in taking leave he takes also from 
 the table the letter to which he had no claim. Its right- 
 ful owner saw, but of course dared not call attention to 
 the act, in the presence of the third personage, who 
 stood at her elbow. The minister decamped, leaving his 
 own letter — one of no importance — upon the table." 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 259 
 
 " Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you have pre- 
 cisely what you demand to make the ascendancy com- 
 plete, — the robber's knowledge of the loser's know- 
 ledge of the robber." 
 
 "Yes," replied the Prefect; "and the power thus 
 attained has, for some months past, been wielded, for 
 political purposes, to a very dangerous extent. The 
 personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced, every 
 day, of the necessity of reclaiming her letter. But 
 this, of course, cannot be done openly. In fine, driven 
 to despair, she has committed the matter to me." 
 
 "Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect whirl- 
 wind of smoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I 
 suppose, be desired, or even imagined." 
 
 " You flatter me," replied the Prefect ; " but it is 
 possible that some such opinion may have been enter- 
 tained." 
 
 "It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the let- 
 ter is still in possession of the minister; since it is 
 this possession, and not any employment of the letter, 
 which bestows the power. With the employment the 
 power departs." 
 
 "True," said G ; "and upon this conviction I 
 
 proceeded. My first care was to make thorough search 
 of the minister's hotel ; and here my chief embarrass- 
 ment lay in the necessity of searching without his 
 knowledge. Beyond all things, I have been warned of 
 the danger which would result from giving him rea- 
 son to suspect our design." 
 
 " But," said I, " you are quite aufait in these in- 
 vestigations. The Parisian police have done this thing 
 often before." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and for this reason I did not despair. 
 The habits of the minister gave me, too, a great ad- 
 
260 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 vantage. He is frequently absent from home all night. 
 His servants are by no means numerous. They sleep 
 at a distance from their master's apartment, and, be- 
 ing chiefly Neapolitans, are readily made drunk. I 
 have keys, as you know, with which I can open any 
 chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a 
 night has not passed, during the greater part of which 
 I have not been engaged, personally, in ransacking 
 the D Hotel. My honor is interested, and, to men- 
 tion a great secret, the reward is enormous. So I did 
 not abandon the search until I had become fully sat- 
 isfied the thief is a more astute man than myself. I 
 fancy that I have investigated every nook and corner 
 of the premises in which it is possible that the paper 
 can be concealed." 
 
 " But is it not possible," I suggested, " that although 
 the letter may be in possession of the minister, as it 
 unquestionably is, he may have concealed it elsewhere 
 than upon his own premises ? " 
 
 "This is barely possible," said Dupin. "The pre- 
 sent peculiar condition of affairs at court, and espe- 
 cially of those intrigues in which D is known to 
 
 be involved, would render the instant availability of 
 the document — its susceptibility of being produced 
 at a moment's notice — a point of nearly equal impor- 
 tance with its possession." 
 
 "Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I. 
 
 " That is to say, of being destroy ed^^^ said Dupin. 
 
 " True," I observed ; " the paper is clearly then upon 
 the premises. As for its being upon the person of the 
 minister, we may consider that as out of the question." 
 
 "Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has been twice 
 waylaid, as if by footpads, and his person rigorously 
 searched under my own inspection." 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 261 
 
 "You might have spared yourself the trouble," said 
 
 Dupin. " D , I presume, is not altogether a fool, 
 
 and, if not, must have anticipated these waylayings 
 as a matter of course." 
 
 " Not altogether a fool," said G ; " but then he 's 
 
 a poet, which I take to be only one remove from a fool." 
 
 " True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful 
 whiff from his meerschaum, " although I have been 
 guilty of certain doggerel myself." 
 
 " Suppose you detail," said I, " the particulars of 
 your search." 
 
 " Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we 
 searched everywhere. I have had long experience in 
 these affairs. I took the entire building, room by 
 room, devoting the nights of a whole week to each. 
 We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment. 
 We opened every possible drawer; and I presume 
 you know that, to a properly trained police agent, such 
 a thing as a secret drawer is impossible. Any man is 
 a dolt who permits a 'secret' drawer to escape him in 
 a search of this kind. The thing is so plain. There 
 is a certain amount of bulk — of space — to be ac- 
 counted for in every cabinet. Then we have accurate 
 rules. The fiftieth part of a line could not escape us. 
 After the cabinets we took the chairs. The cushions 
 we probed with the fine long needles you have seen 
 me employ. From the tables we removed the tops." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly 
 arranged piece of furniture, is removed by the person 
 wishing to conceal an article ; then the leg is exca- 
 vated, the article deposited within the cavity, and the 
 top replaced. The bottoms and tops of bed-posts are 
 employed in the same way." 
 
262 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 " But could not the cavity be detected by sound- 
 ing?" I asked. 
 
 " By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a 
 sufficient wadding of cotton be placed around it. Be- 
 sides, in our case we were obliged to proceed without 
 noise." 
 
 " But you could not have removed — you could not 
 hafve taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which 
 it would have been possible to make a deposit in the 
 manner you mention. A letter may be compressed in 
 a thin spiral roll, not differing much in shape or bulk 
 from a large knitting-needle, and in this form it might 
 be inserted into the rung of a chair, for example. You 
 did not take to pieces all the chairs ! " 
 
 " Certainly not ; but we did better — we examined 
 the rungs of every chair in the hotel, and, indeed, the 
 jointings of every description of furniture, by the aid 
 of a most powerful microscope. Had there been any 
 traces of recent disturbance we should not have failed 
 to detect it instantly. A single grain of gimlet-dust, 
 for example, would have been as obvious as an apple. 
 Any disorder in the gluing — any unusual gaping in 
 the joints — would have sufficed to insure detection." 
 
 " I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the 
 boards and the plates, and you probed the beds and 
 the bedclothes, as well as the curtains and carpets ? " 
 
 " That, of course; and when we had absolutely com- 
 pleted every article of the furniture in this way, then 
 we examined the house itself. We divided its entire 
 surface into compartments, which we numbered, so 
 that none might be missed ; then we scrutinized each 
 individual square inch throughout the premises, in- 
 cluding the two houses immediately adjoining, with 
 the microscope, as before." 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 263 
 
 "The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you 
 must have had a great deal of trouble." 
 
 " We had ; but the reward offered is prodigious." 
 
 "You include the grounds about the houses?" 
 
 " All the grounds are paved with bricks. They gave 
 us comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss 
 between the bricks, and found it undisturbed." 
 
 " You looked among D 's papers, of course, and 
 
 into the books of the library?" 
 
 " Certainly ; we opened every package and parcel ; 
 we not only opened every book, but we turned over 
 every leaf in each volume, not contenting ourselves 
 with a mere shake, according to the fashion of some 
 of our police officers. We also measured the thickness 
 of every hook-cover^ with the most accurate admeasure- 
 ment, and applied to each the most jealous scrutiny of 
 the microscope. Had any of the bindings been recently 
 meddled with, it would have been utterly impossible 
 that the fact should have escaped observation. Some 
 five or six volumes, just from the hands of the binder, 
 we carefully probed, longitudinally, with the needles." 
 
 "You explored the floors beneath the carpets?" 
 
 " Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and ex- 
 amined the boards with the microscope." 
 
 " And the paper on the walls ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You looked into the cellars? " 
 
 " We did." 
 
 "Then," I said, " you have been making a miscalcu- 
 lation, and the letter is not on the premises, as you 
 suppose." 
 
 " I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. " And 
 now, Dupin, what would you advise me to do ? " 
 
 " To make a thorough re-search of the premises." 
 
264 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 "That is absolutely needless," replied G . "I 
 
 am not more sure that I breathe than I am that the 
 letter is not at the Hotel." 
 
 " I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. 
 " You have, of course, an accurate description of the 
 letter?" 
 
 " Oh, yes." And here the Prefect, producing a 
 memorandum-book, proceeded to read aloud a minute 
 account of the internal, and especially of the external 
 appearance of the missing document. Soon after finish- 
 ing the perusal of this description, he took his depart- 
 ure, more entirely depressed in spirits than I had ever 
 known the good gentleman before. 
 
 In about a month afterward he paid us another visit, 
 and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took 
 a pipe and a chair, and entered into some ordinary 
 conversation. At length I said: — 
 
 " Well, but G , what of the purloined letter ? 
 
 I presume you have at last made up your mind that 
 there is no such thing as overreaching the minister?" 
 
 " Confound him, say I — yes; I made the reexami- 
 nation, however, as Dupin suggested — but it was all 
 labor lost, as I knew it would be." 
 
 " How much was the reward offered, did you say ? " 
 asked Dupin. 
 
 " Why, a very great deal — a very liberal reward — 
 I don't like to say how much precisely ; but one thing 
 I will say, that I would n't mind giving my individual 
 check for fifty thousand francs to any one who could 
 obtain me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming of 
 more and more importance every day ; and the reward 
 has been lately doubled. If it were trebled, however, 
 I could do no more than I have done." 
 
 " Why, yes," said Dupin drawlingly, between the 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 265 
 
 whiffs of his meerschaum, " I really — think, G , 
 
 you have not exerted yourself — to the utmost in this 
 matter. You might — do a little more, I think, eh?" 
 
 " How ? in what way ? " 
 
 " Why (puff, puff), you might (puff, puff) employ 
 counsel in the matter, eh (puff, puff, puff) ? Do you 
 remember the story they tell of Abernethy?" 
 
 " No; hang Abernethy ! " 
 
 " To be sure ! hang him and welcome. But once 
 upon a time, a certain rich miser conceived the design 
 of sponging upon this Abernethy for a medical opin- 
 ion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary conver- 
 sation in a private company, he insinuated his case to 
 the physician, as that of an imaginary individual. 
 
 " ' We will suppose,' said the miser, ' that his symp- 
 toms are such and such ; now, doctor, what would you 
 have directed him to take ? ' 
 
 " ' Take ! ' said Abernethy, ' why, take advice, to be 
 sure.'" 
 
 " But," said the Prefect, a little discomposed, " I am 
 perfectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I 
 would really give fifty thousand francs to any one who 
 would aid me in the matter." 
 
 " In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer, 
 and producing a check-book, " you may as well fill me 
 up a check for the amount mentioned. When you have 
 signed it, I will hand you the letter." 
 
 I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely 
 thunderstricken. For some minutes he remained 
 speechless and motionless, looking incredulously at my 
 friend with open mouth, and eyes that seemed starting 
 from their sockets ; then, apparently recovering him- 
 self in some measure, he seized a pen, and after sev- 
 eral pauses and vacant stares, finally filled up and 
 
266 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 signed a check for fifty thousand francs, and handel 
 it across the table to Dupin. The latter examined it 
 carefully and deposited it in his pocketbook; then, un- 
 locking an escritoire, took thence a letter and gave it 
 to the Prefect. This functionary grasped it in a perfect 
 agony of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a 
 rapid glance at its contents, and then, scrambling and 
 struggling to the door, rushed at length unceremoni- 
 ously from the room and from the house, without hav- 
 ing uttered a syllable since Dupin had requested him 
 to fill up the check. 
 
 When he had gone, my friend entered into some ex- 
 planations. 
 
 " The Parisian police," he said, " are exceedingly 
 able in their way. They are persevering, ingenious, 
 cunning, and thoroughly versed in the knowledge 
 which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, when 
 G detailed to us his mode of searching the pre- 
 mises at the Hotel D , I felt entire confidence in 
 
 his having made a satisfactory investigation — so far 
 as his labors extended." 
 
 " So far as his labors extended ? " said I. 
 
 " Yes," said Dupin. " The measures adopted were 
 not only the best of their kind, but carried out to ab- 
 solute perfection. Had the letter been deposited within 
 the range of their search, these fellows would, beyond 
 a question, have found it." 
 
 I merely laughed — but he seemed quite serious in 
 all that he said. 
 
 " The measures, then," he continued, "were good in 
 their kind, and well executed ; their defect lay in their 
 being inapplicable to the case, and to the man. A cer- 
 tain set of highly ingenious resources are, with the 
 Prefect, a sort of Procrustean bed to which he forcibly 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 267 
 
 adapts his designs. But he perpetually errs by being 
 too deep or too shallow, for the matter in hand ; and 
 many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than he. I knew 
 one about eight years of age, whose success at guess- 
 ing in the game of ' even and odd' attracted universal 
 admiration. This game is simple, and is played with 
 marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of 
 these toys, and demands of another whether that num- 
 ber is even or odd. If the guess is right, the guesser 
 wins one ; if wrong, he loses one. The boy to whom I 
 allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he 
 had some principle of guessing ; and this lay in mere 
 observation and admeasurement of the astuteness of 
 his opponents. For example an arrant simpleton is his 
 opponent, and, holding up his closed hand asks, ' Are 
 they even or odd ? ' Our schoolboy replies, ' Odd,' and 
 loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then 
 says to himself, ' The simpleton had them even upon 
 the first trial, and his amount of cunning is just suf- 
 ficient to make him have them odd upon the second ; 
 I will therefore guess odd' ; he guesses odd, and wins. 
 Now, with a simpleton a degree above the first he 
 would have reasoned thus : ' This fellow finds that in 
 the first instance I guessed odd, and in the second he 
 will propose to himself, upon the first impulse, a sim- 
 ple variation from even to odd, as did the first simple- 
 ton ; but then a second thought will suggest that this 
 is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide 
 upon putting it even as before. I will therefore guess 
 even ' ; he guesses even, and wins. Now this mode of 
 reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows term 
 lucky' — what, in its last analysis, is it ? " 
 
 "It is merely," I said, "an identification of the 
 reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent." 
 
268 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 " It is,'' said Dupin ; " and, upon inquiring of the 
 boy by what means he effected the thorough identifica- 
 tion in which his success consisted, I received answer 
 as follows : ' When I wish to find out how wise, or how 
 stupid, or how good, or how wicked is any one, or what 
 are his thoughts at the moment, I fashion the expres- 
 sion of my face, as accurately as possible, in accordance 
 with the expression of his, and then wait to see what 
 thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart, as if 
 to match or correspond with the expression.' This re- 
 sponse of the schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the 
 spurious profundity which has been attributed to Roche- 
 foucauld, to La Bruyere, to Machiavelli, and to Cam- 
 panella." 
 
 "And the identification," I said, "of the reasoner's 
 intellect with that of his opponents, depends, if I un- 
 derstand you aright, upon the accuracy with which the 
 opponent's intellect is admeasured." 
 
 " For its practical value it depends upon this," re- 
 plied Dupin, " and the Prefect and his cohort fail so 
 frequently, first, by default of this identification, and 
 secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather through non- 
 admeasurement, of the intellect with which they are en- 
 gaged. They consider only their own ideas of ingenu- 
 ity ; and, in searching for anything hidden, advert only 
 to the modes in which they would have hidden it. They 
 are right in this much, — that their own ingenuity is a 
 faithful representative of that of the mass ; but when 
 the cunning of the individual felon is diverse in char- 
 acter from their own, the felon foils them, of course. 
 This always happens when it is above their own, and 
 very usually when it is below. They have no variation 
 of principle in their investigations ; at best, when urged 
 by some unusual emergency, by some extraordinary 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 269 
 
 reward, they extend or exaggerate their old modes of 
 practice^ without touching their principles. What, for 
 
 example, in this case of D , has been done to vary 
 
 the principle of action ? What is all this boring, and 
 probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with the mi- 
 croscope, and dividing the surface of the building into 
 registered square inches — what is it all but an exag- 
 geration of the application of the one principle or set 
 of principles of search, which are based upon the one 
 set of notions regarding human ingenuity, to which 
 the Prefect, in the long routine of his duty, has been 
 accustomed ? Do you not see he has taken it for granted 
 that all men proceed to conceal a letter — not exactly 
 in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair leg — but, at least, in 
 some out-of-the-way hole or corner suggested by the 
 same tenor of thought whi«h would urge a man to se- 
 crete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair leg ? 
 And do you not see, also, that such recJiercJies nooks 
 for concealment are adapted only for ordinary occasions 
 and would be adopted only by ordinary intellects ? for, 
 in all cases of concealment, a disposal of the article 
 concealed — a disposal of it in this recherche manner — 
 is, in the very first instance, presumable and presumed ; 
 and thus its discovery depends, not at all upon the acu- 
 men, but altogether upon the mere care, patience, and 
 determination of the seekers ; and where the case is of 
 importance — or, what amounts to the same thing in 
 policial eyes, when the reward is of magnitude — the 
 qualities in question have never been known to fail. 
 You will now understand what I meant in suggesting 
 that, had the purloined letter been hidden anywhere 
 within the limits of the Prefect's examination — in 
 other words, had the principle of its concealment been 
 comprehended within the principles of the Prefect, its 
 
270 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 discovery would have been a matter altogether beyond 
 question. This functionary, however, has been thor- 
 oughly mystified; and the remote source of his defeat 
 lies in the supposition that the minister is a fool be- 
 cause he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools are 
 poets ; this the Prefect/eeZs; and he is merely guilty 
 of a non distributio medii in thence inferring that all 
 poets are fools." 
 
 " But is this really the poet ? " I asked. " There are 
 two brothers, I know ; and both have attained reputa- 
 tion in letters. The minister, I believe, has written 
 learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He is a mathe- 
 matician and no poet." 
 
 " You are mistaken ; I know him well ; he is both. 
 As poet and mathematician he would reason well ; 
 as mere mathematician he could not have reasoned at 
 all, and thus would have been at the mercy of the 
 Prefect." 
 
 " You surprise me," I said, " by these opinions, 
 which have been contradicted by the voice of the 
 world. You do not mean to set at naught the well- 
 digested idea of centuries. The mathematical reason 
 has long been regarded as the reason par excellence,^^ 
 
 " I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely 
 laughed at his last observations, " that if the minister 
 had been no more than a mathematician the Prefect 
 would have been under no necessity of giving me this 
 check. I knew him, however, as both mathematician 
 and poet, and my measures were adapted to his capa- 
 city with reference to the circumstances by which he 
 was surrounded. I knew him as a courtier, too, and as 
 a bold intriguant. Such a man, I considered, could 
 not fail to be aware of the ordinary policial modes of 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 271 
 
 action. He could not have failed to anticipate — and 
 events have proved that he did not fail to anticipate — 
 the waylayings to which he was subjected. He must 
 have foreseen, I reflected, the secret investigations of 
 his premises. His frequent absences from home at 
 night, which were hailed by the Prefect as certain 
 aids to his success, I regarded only as ruses, to afford 
 opportunity for thorough search to the police, and 
 thus the sooner to impress them with the conviction 
 to which G , in fact, did finally arrive, — the con- 
 viction that the letter was not upon the premises. I 
 felt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I was 
 at some pains in detailing to you just now, concerning 
 the invariable principle of policial action in searches 
 for articles concealed — I felt that this whole train 
 of thought must necessarily pass through the mind 
 of the minister. It would imperatively lead him to 
 despise all the ordinary nooks of concealment. He 
 could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see that 
 the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel would 
 be as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the 
 probes, to the gimlets, and to the microscopes, of the 
 Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would be driven, as a 
 matter of couTse, to simplicity^ if not deliberately in- 
 duced to it as a matter of choice. You will remember, 
 perhaps, how desperately the Prefect laughed when I 
 suggested, upon our first interview, that it was just 
 possible this mystery troubled him so much on account 
 of its being so very self-evident." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " I remember his merriment well. 
 I really thought he would have fallen into convul- 
 sions." 
 
 " The material world," continued Dupin, " abounds 
 with very strict analogies to the immaterial ; and thus 
 
272 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 some color of truth has been given to the rhetorical 
 dogma, that metaphor, or simile, may be made to 
 strengthen an argument, as well as to embellish a 
 description. The principle of the vis inertiae, for 
 example, seems to be identical in physics and meta- 
 physics. It is not more true in the former, that a 
 large body is with more difficulty set in motion than 
 a smaller one, and that its subsequent momentum is 
 commensurate with this difficulty, than it is, in the 
 latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, while 
 more forcible, more constant, and more eventful in 
 their movements than those of inferior grade, are yet 
 the less readily moved, and more embarrassed and full 
 of hesitation in the first few steps of their progress. 
 Again : have you ever noticed which of the street 
 signs over the shop doors are the most attractive of 
 attention ? " 
 
 " I have never given the matter a thought," I said. 
 
 " There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, " which 
 is played upon a map. One party playing requires 
 another to find a given word, — the name of town, 
 river, state, or empire, — any word, in short, upon the 
 motley and perplexed surface of the chart. A novice 
 in the game generally seeks to embarrass his op- 
 ponents by giving them the most minutely lettered 
 names ; but the adept selects such words as stretch in 
 large characters, from one end of the chart to the 
 other. These, like the over-largely lettered signs and 
 placards of the street, escape observation by dint of 
 being excessively obvious ; and here the physical over- 
 sight is precisely analogous with the moral inappre- 
 hension by which the intellect suffers to pass unnoticed 
 those considerations which are too obtrusively and too 
 palpably self-evident. But this is a point, it appears, 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 273 
 
 somewliat above or beneath the understanding of the 
 Prefect. He never once thought it probable, or pos- 
 sible, that the minister had deposited the letter imme- 
 diately beneath the nose of the whole world, by way of 
 best preventing any portion of that world from per- 
 ceiving it. 
 
 " But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, 
 
 and discriminating ingenuity of D ; upon the fact 
 
 that the document must always have been at hand^ if 
 he intended to use it to good purpose ; and upon the 
 decisive evidence, obtained by the Prefect, that it was 
 not hidden within the limits of that dignitary's ordi- 
 nary search — the more satisfied I became that, to 
 conceal this letter, the minister had resorted to the 
 comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attempt- 
 ing to conceal it at all. 
 
 *' Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair 
 of green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite 
 
 by accident, at the ministerial hotel. I found D 
 
 at home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, 
 and pretending to be in the last extremity of ennui. 
 He is, perhaps, the most really energetic human being 
 now alive — but that is only when nobody sees him. 
 
 " To be even with him, I complained of my weak 
 eyes, and lamented the necessity of the spectacles, 
 under cover of which I cautiously and thoroughly sur- 
 veyed the whole apartment, while seemingly intent 
 only upon the conversation of my host. 
 
 " I paid especial attention to a large writing-table 
 near which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly 
 some miscellaneous letters and other papers, with one 
 or two musical instruments and a few books. Here, 
 however, after a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I 
 saw nothing to excite particular suspicion. 
 
274 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 " At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the 
 room, fell upon a trumpery filigree card-rack of paste- 
 board, that hung dangling, by a dirty blue ribbon, 
 from a little brass knob just beneath the middle of 
 the mantelpiece. In this rack, which had three or 
 four compartments, were five or six visiting cards 
 and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and 
 crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the mid- 
 dle — as if a design, in the first instance, to tear it 
 entirely up as worthless had been altered, or stayed, 
 in the second. It had a large black seal, bearing the 
 
 D cipher 'cery conspicuously, and was addressed, 
 
 in a diminutive female hand, to D , the minister 
 
 himself. It was thrust carelessly, and even, as it 
 seemed, contemptuously, into one of the uppermost 
 divisions of the rack. 
 
 " No sooner had I glanced at this letter than I con- 
 cluded it to be that of which I was in search. To be 
 sure, it was, to all appearance, radically different from 
 the one of which the Prefect had read us so minute a 
 description. Here the seal was large and black, with 
 
 the D cipher ; there it was small and red, with the 
 
 ducal arms of the S family. Here, the address, to 
 
 the minister, was diminutive and feminine ; there, the 
 superscription, to a certain royal personage, was mark- 
 edly bold and decided ; the size alone formed a point 
 of correspondence. But, then, the radicalness of these 
 differences, which was excessive ; the dirt, the soiled 
 and torn condition of the paper, so inconsistent with 
 the true methodical habits of D , and so sugges- 
 tive of a design to delude the beholder into an idea of 
 the worthlessness of the document ; these things, to- 
 gether with the hyper-obtrusive situation of this docu- 
 ment, full in the view of every visitor, and thus exactly 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 275 
 
 in accordance witli the conclusions to which I had pre- 
 viously arrived ; these things, I say, were strongly cor- 
 roborative of suspicion, in one who came with the in- 
 tention to suspect. 
 
 " I protracted my visit as long as possible, and while 
 I maintained a most animated discussion with the minis- 
 ter, upon a topic which I kne.w well had never failed 
 to interest and excite him, I kept my attention really 
 riveted upon the letter. In this examination, I com- 
 mitted to memory its external appearance and arrange- 
 ment in the rack ; and also fell, at length, upon a dis- 
 covery which set at rest whatever trivial doubt I might 
 have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges of the 
 paper, I observed them to be more chafed than seemed 
 necessary. They presented the hrohen appearance which 
 is manifested when a stiff paper, having been once 
 folded and pressed with a folder, is refolded in a re- 
 versed direction, in the same creases or edges which 
 had formed the original fold. This discovery was suffi- 
 cient. It was clear to me that the letter had been turned, 
 as a glove, inside out, re-directed, and resealed. I bade 
 the minister good-morning, and took my departure at 
 once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table. 
 
 " The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when 
 we resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the pre- 
 ceding day. While thus engaged, however, a loud re- 
 port, as if of a pistol, was heard immediately beneath 
 the windows of the hotel, and was succeeded by a se- 
 ries of fearful screams, and the shoutings of a mob. 
 
 D rushed to a casement, threw it open, and looked 
 
 out. In the meantime, I stepped to the card-rack, took 
 
 the letter, put it in my pocket, and replaced it by a 
 
 facsimile {^6 far as regards externals) which I had 
 
 carefully prepared at my lodgings — imitating the 
 
276 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 D cipher very readily by means of a seal formed 
 
 of bread. 
 
 " The disturbance in the street had been occasioned 
 by the frantic behavior of a man with a musket. He 
 had fired it among a crowd of women and children. It 
 proved, however, to have been without a ball, and the 
 fellow was suffered to go his way as a lunatic or a drunk- 
 ard. When he had gone, D came from the win- 
 dow, whither I had followed him immediately upon se- 
 curing the object in view. Soon afterwards I bade him 
 farewell. The pretended lunatic was a man in my own 
 pay." 
 
 "But what purpose had you," I asked, " in replacing 
 the letter by 2i facsimile? Would it not have been bet- 
 ter, at the first visit, to have seized it openly and de- 
 parted ? " 
 
 " D ," replied Dupin, " is a desperate man, and 
 
 a man of nerve. His hotel, too, is not without attendants 
 devoted to his interest. Had I made the wild attempt 
 you suggest, I might never have left the ministerial 
 presence alive. The good people of Paris might have 
 heard of me no more. But I had an object apart from 
 these considerations. You know my political preposses- 
 sions. In this matter I act as a partisan of the lady 
 concerned. For eighteen months the minister has had 
 her in his power. She has now him in hers — since, be- 
 ing unaware that the letter is not in his possession, he 
 will proceed with his exactions as if it was. Thus will 
 he inevitably commit himself at once to his political 
 destruction. His downfall, too, will not be more precipi- 
 tate than awkward. It is all very well to talk about the 
 facilis descensus Averni ; but in all kinds of climbing, 
 as Catalani said of singing, it is far more easy to get 
 up than to come down. In the present instance I have 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 277 
 
 no sympathy — at least no pity — for him who descends. 
 He is that monstrum horrendum^ an unprincipled man 
 of genius. I confess, however, that I should like very 
 well to know the precise character of his thoughts, 
 when, being defied by her whom the Prefect terms ' a 
 certain personage,' he is reduced to opening the letter 
 which I left for him in the card-rack." 
 
 " How ? Did you put anything particular in it ? " 
 " Why, it did not seem altogether right to leave the 
 
 interior blank — that would have been insulting. D , 
 
 at Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which I told 
 him quite good-humoredly, I should remember. So, 
 as I knew he would feel some curiosity in regard to the 
 identity of the person who had outwitted him, I thought 
 it a pity not to give him a clew. He is well acquainted 
 with my MS., and I just copied into the middle of the 
 blank sheet the words : — 
 
 ' — Un dessein si f uneste, 
 S'il n'est digne d'Atrde, est digne de Thyeste.' 
 
 They are to be found in Crebillon's ' Atree.' " 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Nil sapientiae odiosius acumine nimio : — Nothing is so 
 odious to wisdom as too great shrewdness. 
 
 Seneca : — A Roman philosopher. He died in 65 a. d. 
 
 au troisi^me : — Up three flights; that is, on the fourth floor. 
 
 Rue Morgue : — See the story by Poe, The Murders in the 
 Rue Morgue. The detective Dupin appears in this story. 
 
 Marie Roget : — See Poe's story, The Mystery of Marie 
 Roget, in which Monsieur G is one of the characters. 
 
 Prefect : — In France, a superintendent of a department. 
 
 the personage robbed : — The queen? 
 
 boudoir : — A private room. 
 
 the other exalted personage : — The king ? 
 
 au fait : — Fully informed ; expert. 
 
278 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 Neapolitans : — People from Naples, Italy. 
 
 hdtel : — Note that this word has the French meaning of 
 palace or mansion. 
 
 fifty thousand francs : — A franc is worth about twenty 
 cents of American money. 
 
 Abernethy : — John Abernethy, a celebrated English sur- 
 geon (1764-1831). 
 
 escritoire : — A writing desk. 
 
 Procrustean bed : — Procrustes was a notorious robber of 
 Attica who would tie his victims to a bed, and cut them to fit it 
 if they were too long, or stretch them if they were too short. 
 
 Rochefoucauld : — Francois, Due de la Rochefoucauld 
 (1613-1680), and Jean de la Bruy^re (1645-1696) were great 
 French moralists. Machiavelli (1469-1527) was a Florentine 
 statesman ; Campanella (1568-1639) was an Italian philosopher. 
 
 recherches : — Carefully sought out. 
 
 non distributio medii : — The fallacy which, in logic, is 
 known as " the undistributed middle." 
 
 par excellence : — chief, or most excellent. 
 
 intriguant : — A scheming person. 
 
 vis inertiae : — The force of inertia. 
 
 turned, as a glove : — At the time of which the author 
 writes, letters were not enclosed in envelopes, but were folded, 
 and sealed with wax or a wafer. 
 
 facsimile : — An exact copy. 
 
 facilis descensus Averni : — The descent to Avernus (hell) 
 is easy. 
 
 Catalani : — A celebrated Italian singer. 
 
 monstrum horrendum : — A monster to be shuddered at. 
 
 ITn dessein si funeste : — "So sinister a design, if it is not 
 worthy of Atreus, is worthy of Thyestes." 
 
 Cr^billon : — A French writer (1674-1762). 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 
 
 Why is purloined a better word than stolen, for the title of the 
 story ? How many facts necessary for the reader to know are 
 told in the first sentence ? What does the second sentence show, 
 concerning the two men in Dupin's room ? Why does Dupin not 
 
 light the lamp when G enters ? Why does the author choose 
 
 to reveal the situation by means of a conversation when he could 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 279 
 
 do It in so much less time by means of an explanation ? Does the 
 author wish us to admire the Prefect ? Who was the person 
 robbed ? Who was " the other exalted personage," from whom 
 
 she wished to conceal the theft ? Why does D (the thief) 
 
 not destroy the letter ? Do you think that a house could be so 
 thoroughly searched, in the manner described, that the letter in 
 question could not be overlooked ? What is the reason for hav- 
 ing a month elapse before the letter is found ? What is the 
 effect on the reader of the paragraph beginning, " In that case " ? 
 Do you think that the reader ought to have been told before 
 
 that Dupin had the letter ? Why does G not stay to hear 
 
 how it was discovered ? What is the most interesting point in the 
 story ? Why does the author not stop when the mystery is 
 solved ? Why does he use so many words in explaining how the 
 letter was found ? Could he have made his explanation briefer ? 
 How did Dupin reason, in working out the problem as to where 
 the stolen paper was concealed ? What is the object of this story ? 
 What do you think of Dupin ? Of the author of the tale ? 
 
 THEME SUBJECTS 
 
 Finding a Lost Article The Real Culprit 
 
 A Bit of Detective Work Tracing a Lost Trunk 
 
 The Mysterious Disappearance The Evidence against Him 
 
 How They Caught the Thief How the Ring Was Recovered 
 
 Finding the Owner of the Where to Hide a Christmas 
 
 Pocketbook Present 
 
 Convicted on Circumstantial When Father Played Detective 
 
 Evidence The Wrong Clew 
 
 The Telltale Footprints How a Detective Works 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR THEME-WRITING 
 
 The Evidence against Him : — Try to write a story about 
 a boy who is unjustly suspected of some wrong-doing. Suppose 
 that he is thought to have taken some money, or a valuable book, 
 or an important letter, from an office, or from some one's desk. 
 Think of a good way to begin your story. Can you begin it with 
 a conversation ? If you use conversation, try to make it tell the 
 important things that the reader must know. Try also to let it 
 tell something of the characters of the persons speaking. Tell 
 
280 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 why it is that the boy is suspected. Spend some time and thought 
 on the ways in which the evidence seemed to show that he was 
 the one who did the stealing. Did he have some reason for tak- 
 ing the article ? Did any one see him near the place where the 
 stealing occurred ? Was something belonging to him found near 
 the place ? Was he seen to have more money than usual, or a 
 book or a letter like the one in question ? Was there any hard 
 feeling between him and the person whose' property was taken ? 
 Bring out some of these ideas by means of a conversation, if you 
 can. Tell how the boy feels, and what he does. Try to make the 
 reader understand something of the boy's character. Tell how 
 the mystery is solved, and how the boy is proved innocent. 
 
 COLLATERAL READINGS 
 
 The Cask of Amontillado 
 
 The Gold-Bug 
 
 The Pit and the Pendulum . . . . 
 
 MS. Found in a Bottle 
 
 The Unparalleled Adventure of One 
 
 Hans Pfaall 
 
 A Descent into the Maelstrom . . . 
 The Fall of the House of Usher . . 
 
 William Wilson 
 
 The Man of the Crowd 
 
 The Oval Portrait 
 
 The Masque of the Red Death . . . 
 
 The Balloon Hoax 
 
 The Oblong Box 
 
 The Black Cat 
 
 The Murders in the Rue Morgue . . 
 
 The Tell-Tale Heart 
 
 Narrative of A. Gordon Pym . . . 
 Mystery and Detective Stories (6 vols.) 
 
 The Moonstone 
 
 In the Fog 
 
 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes . . 
 Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes . . . 
 
 The Sign of the Four 
 
 The Great K. & A. Robbery .... 
 Little Classics (Mystery) 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe 
 
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 Julian Hawthorne (Ed.) 
 Wilkie Collins 
 Richard Harding Davis 
 A. Conan Doyle 
 
 Paul Leicester Ford 
 R. Johnson (Ed.) 
 
LETTERS 
 
 CHARLES LAMB INTRODUCES A FRIEND 
 
 East India House, May 21, 1819. 
 
 Dear Eickman, — The gentleman who will pre- 
 sent this letter holds a situation of considerable im- 
 portance in the East India House, and is my very 
 good friend. He is desirous of knowing whether it is 
 too late to amend a mere error in figures which he 
 has just discovered in an account made out by him 
 and laid before the House yesterday. He will explain 
 to you what he means, and I am sure you will help 
 him to the best of your power. Phillips is too ill for 
 me to think of applying to him. 
 
 Why did we not see you last night ? 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Charles Lamb. 
 
 stevenson writes to a child 
 
 (To Thomas Archer) 
 Tautira, Island of Tahiti [November, 1888]. 
 
 Dear Tom archer, — This is a pretty state of 
 things ! seven o'clock and no word of breakfast ! And 
 I was awake a good deal last night, for it was full 
 moon, and they had made a great fire of cocoanut husks 
 down by the sea, and as we have no blinds or shutters, 
 this kept my room very bright. And then the rats had 
 a wedding or a school-feast under my bed. And then 
 I woke early, and I have nothing to read except Vir- 
 gil's ^neid^ which is not good fun on an empty 
 stomach, and a Latin dictionary, which is good for 
 
282 LETTERS 
 
 naught, and by some humorous accident, your dear 
 papa's article on Skerryvore. And I read the whole of 
 that, and very impudent it is, but you must not tell 
 your dear papa I said so, or it might come to a battle in 
 which you might lose either a dear papa or a valued 
 correspondent, or both, which would be prodigal. And 
 still no breakfast; so I said "Let's write to Tom- 
 archer." 
 
 This is a much better place for children than any I 
 have hitherto seen in these seas. The girls (and some- 
 times the boys) play a very elaborate kind of hop- 
 scotch. The boys play horses exactly as we do in Eu- 
 rope ; and have very good fun on stilts, trying to knock 
 each other down, in which they do not often succeed. 
 The children of all ages go to church and are allowed 
 to do what they please, running about the aisles, rolling 
 balls, stealing mamma's bonnet and publicly sitting on 
 it, and at last going to sleep in the middle of the floor. 
 I forgot to say that the whips to play horses, and the 
 balls to roll about the church, — at least I never saw 
 them used elsewhere, — grow ready-made on trees; 
 which is rough on toy-shops. The whips are so good 
 that I wanted to play horses myself ; but no such luck ! 
 my hair is grey, and I am a great, big, ugly man. The 
 balls are rather hard, but very light and quite round. 
 When you grow up and become offensively rich, you 
 can charter a ship in the port of London, and have it 
 come back to you entirely loaded with these balls, 
 when you could satisfy your mind as to their charac- 
 ter, and give them away when done with to your uncles 
 and aunts. But what I really wanted to tell you was 
 this : besides the tree-top toys (Hush-a-by, toy-shop, 
 on the tree-top!), I have seen some real made toys, 
 the first hitherto observed in the South Seas. 
 
LETTERS 283 
 
 This was how. You are to imagine a four-wheeled 
 gig ; one horse ; in the front seat two Tahiti natives, 
 in their Sunday clothes, blue coat, white shirt, kilt (a 
 little longer than the Scotch) of a blue stuff with big 
 white or yellow flowers, legs and feet bare ; in the 
 back seat me and my wife, who is a friend of yours ; 
 under our feet, plenty of lunch and things : among us 
 a great deal of fun in broken Tahitian, one of the na- 
 tives, the subchief of the village, being a great ally of 
 mine. Indeed we have exchanged names ; so that he is 
 now called Rui, the nearest they can come to Louis, 
 for they have no I and no s in their language. E,ui is 
 six feet three in his stockings, and a magnificent man. 
 We all have straw hats, for the sun is strong. We drive 
 between the sea, which makes a great noise, and the 
 mountains ; the road is cut through a forest mostly of 
 fruit trees, the very creepers, which take the place of 
 our ivy, heavy with a great and delicious fruit, bigger 
 than your head and far nicer, called Barbedine. Pre- 
 sently we came to a house in a pretty garden, quite by 
 itself, very nicely kept, the doors and windows open, 
 no one about, and no noise but that of the sea. It 
 looked like a fairy tale, and just beyond we must ford 
 a river, and there we saw the inhabitants. Just in the 
 mouth of the river, where it met the sea waves, they 
 were ducking and bathing and screaming together like 
 a covey of birds : seven or eight little naked brown 
 boys and girls as happy as the day was long ; and on the 
 banks of the stream beside them, real toys — toy ships, 
 full rigged, and with their sails set, though they were 
 lying in the dust on their beam ends. And then I knew 
 for sure they were all children in a fairy story, living 
 alone together in that lonely house with the only toys 
 in all the island; and that I had myself driven, in my 
 
284 LETTERS 
 
 four-wheeled gig, into a corner of the fairy story, and 
 the question was, should I get out again ? But it was 
 all right ; I guess only one of the wheels of the gig had 
 got into the fairy story ; and the next jolt the whole 
 thing vanished, and we drove on in our seaside forest 
 as before, and I have the honor to be Tomarcher's 
 valued correspondent, Teriitera, which he was previ- 
 ously known as 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 
 PRESIDENT LINCOLN ACKNOWLEDGES HIS ERROR TO 
 GENERAL GRANT 
 
 Executive Mansion, Washington, July 13, 1863. 
 
 Major-General Grant. 
 
 My Dear General, — I do not remember that you 
 and I ever met personally. I write this now as a grate- 
 ful acknowledgment for the almost inestimable service 
 you have done the country. I wish to say a word fur- 
 ther. When you first reached the vicinity of Vicks- 
 burg, I thought you should do what you finally did 
 — march the troops across the neck, run the batter- 
 ies with the transports, and thus go below ; and I never 
 had any faith, except a general hope that you knew 
 better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition and the 
 like could succeed. When you got below and took 
 Fort Gibson, Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I thought you 
 should go down the river and join General Banks, 
 and when you turned northward, east of the Big 
 Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make 
 the personal acknowledgment that you were right and 
 I was wrong. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 A. Lincoln. 
 
LETTERS 285 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING WRITES OF HIS VISIT TO 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 (To Peter Irving) 
 
 Abbotsford, Sept. 1, 1817. 
 
 My Dear Brother, — I have barely time to 
 scrawl a line before the gossoon goes off with the 
 letters to the neighboring postoffice. . . . 
 
 On Friday, in spite of sullen, gloomy weather, I 
 mounted the top of the mail coach, and rattled off to 
 Selkirk. It rained heavily in the course of the after- 
 noon, and drove me inside. On Saturday morning 
 early I took chaise for Melrose ; and on the way 
 stopped at the gate of Abbotsford, and sent in my 
 letter of introduction, with a request to know whether 
 it would be agreeable for Mr. Scott to receive a visit 
 from me in the course of the day. The glorious old 
 minstrel himself came limping to the gate, and took 
 me by the hand in a way that made me feel as if we 
 were old friends ; in a moment I was seated at his hos- 
 pitable board among his charming little family, and 
 here have I been ever since. I had intended certainly 
 being back to Edinburgh to-day (Monday), but Mr. 
 Scott wishes me to stay until Wednesday, that we 
 may make excursions to Dryburgh Abbey, Yarrow, 
 &c., as the weather has held up and the sun begins to 
 shine. I cannot tell how truly I have enjoyed the 
 hours I have passed here. They fly by too quick, yet 
 each is loaded with story, incident, or song ; and when 
 I consider the world of ideas, images, and impressions 
 that have been crowded upon my mind since I have 
 been here, it seems incredible that I should only have 
 been two days at Abbotsford. I have rambled about 
 
286 LETTERS 
 
 the hills with Scott ; visited the haunts of Thomas the 
 Khymer, and other spots rendered classic by border 
 tale and witching song, and have been in a kind of 
 dream or delirium. 
 
 As to Scott, I cannot express my delight at his 
 character and manners. He is a sterling golden-hearted 
 old worthy, full of the joyousness of youth, with an 
 imagination continually furnishing forth pictures, and 
 a charming simplicity of manner that puts you at ease 
 with him in a moment. It has been a constant source 
 of pleasure to me to remark his deportment towards 
 his family, his neighbors, his domestics, his very dogs 
 and cats; everything that comes within his influence 
 seems to catch a beam of that sunshine that plays 
 around his heart; but I shall say more of him here- 
 after, for he is a theme on which I shall love to 
 dwell. . . . 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 W.I. 
 
 P. S. — This morning we ride to Dryburgh Abbey 
 and see also the old Earl of Buchan — who, you 
 know, is a queer one. . . . 
 
 HAWTHORNE WRITES OF HIS LIFE AT BROOK FARM 
 
 Brook Farm, West Roxbury, May 3, 184L 
 
 As the weather precludes all possibility of plough- 
 ing, hoeing, sowing, and other such operations, I be- 
 think me that you may have no objections to hear 
 something of my whereabout and whatabout. You are 
 to know, then, that I took up my abode here on the 
 12th ultimo, in the midst of a snow-storm, which kept 
 
LETTERS 287 
 
 us all idle for a day or two. ... I have planted po- 
 tatoes and pease, cut straw and hay for the cattle, and 
 done various other mighty works. This very morning I 
 milked three cows, and I milk two or three every night 
 and morning. The weather has been so unfavorable that 
 we have worked comparatively little in the fields ; but, 
 nevertheless, I have gained strength wonderfully, — 
 grown quite a giant, in fact, — and can do a day's 
 work without the slightest inconvenience. In short, I 
 am transformed into a complete farmer. 
 
 This is one of the most beautiful places I ever saw 
 in my life, and as secluded as if it were a hundred 
 miles from any city or village. There are woods, in 
 which we can ramble all day without meeting anybody 
 or scarcely seeing a house. Our house stands apart 
 from the main road, so that we are not troubled even 
 with passengers looking at us. Once in a while we 
 have a transcendental visitor, such as Mr. Alcott ; but 
 generally we pass whole days without seeing a single 
 face, save those of the brethren. The whole fraternity 
 eat together ; and such a delectable way of life has 
 never been seen on earth since the days of the early 
 Christians. We get up at half-past four, breakfast at 
 half-past six, dine at half-past twelve, and go to bed 
 at nine. 
 
 The thin frock which you made for me is consid- 
 ered a most splendid article, and I should not wonder 
 if it were to become the summer uniform of the 
 Community. I have a thick frock, likewise ; but it is 
 rather deficient in grace, though extremely warm and 
 comfortable. I wear a tremendous pair of cowhide 
 boots, with soles two inches thick, — of course when I 
 come to see you I shall wear my farmer's dress. 
 
 We shall be very much occupied during mpst of 
 
288 LETTERS 
 
 this montli, ploughing and planting ; so that I doubt 
 whether you will see me for two or three weeks. You 
 have the portrait by this time, I suppose ; so you can 
 very well dispense with the original. When you write 
 to me (which I beg you will do soon), direct your 
 letter to West Roxbury, as there are two post-offices 
 in the town. I would write more, but William Allen 
 is going to the village, and must have this letter. 
 So good-by. —-^^^;^y^^ 
 
 Nath. HawthShne, Ploughman. 
 
 SUBJECTS FOR LETTERS 
 
 You have just arrived at home after a visit in the family of a 
 friend : Write an appropriate letter to your hostess — a " bread- 
 and-butter" letter. 
 
 You are sending a gift to a friend : Write a suitable note to 
 accompany it. 
 
 You have received a gift : Write a letter of thanks. 
 
 A friend of yours in another town has just won some honor or 
 distinction (taken a prize for declamation, secured first place in 
 a contest, broken a record in athletics, received an appointment 
 to the Naval School at Annapolis) : Write a letter of congratula- 
 tion. 
 
 The dramatic club to which you belong is to give a private per- 
 formance of The Merchant of Venice : Write a note inviting a 
 friend of your mother's. 
 
 Write the answer to the same. 
 
 Write to some man of local prominence, asking him to address 
 the school upon a certain date. Give him all necessary informa- 
 tion. 
 
 Write his reply. 
 
 Suppose that you are secretary of the Helping Hand Society : 
 Write a letter asking for a contribution for charitable purposes. 
 
 Last summer you worked for some one who has never paid you 
 what you earned : Write a letter asking for the money. 
 
 Write a reply to such a letter. 
 
 You are seeking a place to work : Write to the principal of 
 the high school, asking him for a recommendation. 
 
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