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TALES FROM A 
 BOY'S FANCY 
 
 A VOLUME OF STORIES AND POEMS 
 
 —BY- 
 HARVEY SHAWMEKER 
 
 BURTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Publishers and Booksellers 
 
 Kansas City, - - Missouri 
 
ry 
 
 A 
 
 ■^^ 
 
 
 COPYRIGHTED 1916 
 BY 
 HARVEY SHAWMEKER 
 
 ©CI.A427788 
 
To the Man in the Moon this Book is most 
 cold y and distantly dedicated 
 
COTVTENTS 
 
 Change of Charm 9 
 
 Another Ichabod Crane 13 
 
 The Drunken Fairy 60 
 
 The Passing Goddess 68 
 
 The Boy and the Doves 91 
 
 In Frozen Armor 99 
 
 The Dewdrop and the Sunbeam 119 
 
 The Human Hoax 123 
 
 A Sunset Idyl 139 
 
 The Knight of the Black Garter 147 
 
 Mistress Gluppins and the Echo 167 
 
 The Eqnity of Nature 178 
 
 The Royal Poet and the Muses 182 
 
 Old Speck 190 
 
 Merely an Incident 241 
 
 A Fatal Quest 244 
 
 The Land of Might-Have-Been 258 
 
 The Second Deluge 260 
 
 7 
 
8 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Address to Luna 276 
 
 The Strange Case of Soloman Trudge 279 
 
 The Haunted House 290 
 
 An Infernal Dream 292 
 
 At the End of the Vista 300 
 
 The Discontented Pebble 303 
 
 The Power of Prayer 307 
 
 A Modern Fable .-09 
 
 The Poet's Response 314 
 
 The Shepherd's Request 317 
 
CHANGE OF CHARM. 
 
 I once did look upon the skies, 
 When I the stars would see; 
 
 But now I find my Lady's eyes 
 Are stars enough for me. 
 
 From Hesper, brighest of her kind, 
 To the dimmest points that bum ; 
 The whole galaxy there I find, 
 And from them seldom turn, 
 
 To view above the heav'nly fold. 
 So famed in song and story; 
 
 Neglected are my youthful haunts 
 Among the astral glory. 
 
 The changing moods that pass within, 
 
 Revealing each its story, 
 These make her face a zodiac. 
 
 And make her eyes so starry. 
 
10 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Sometimes she smiles, and when she does, 
 How brightly gleam her star-eyes! 
 
 And then I vow that they outstrip 
 The glory of the sunrise. 
 
 But anger-squalls sometimes o'er-cast, 
 Then how the sparks are rained! 
 
 And sometimes I am even doomed 
 To view their lustre tear-stained. 
 
 And while they may not constant be 
 As the changeless orbs on high ; 
 
 Yet still I somehow love their light, 
 And cannot pass it by. 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE. 
 
 There dwells in the southeastern part of Mis- 
 souri a man who is slowly but surely becoming a 
 hermit. He lives alone, except for his domestic 
 animals. At every encounter with man he ex- 
 hibits more and more repugnance. To quote ex- 
 perience; visitors to his home are given every in- 
 timation to make their stay as short as possible, 
 and no invitation to return is extended. He nevef 
 looks back at any one he meets or passes. That 
 peculiar personal magnetism which determines that 
 look back as often as you like, nine times in ten 
 you will find the other fellow looking at you, does 
 not operate on him. No, though the curse of 
 Sodom and Gomorrah should again fall out of 
 the heavens into his very back yard, he would be 
 thoroughly disinfected against the salification that 
 overtook the unfortunate Lot's wife. 
 
 The house in which he lives is a renaissance of 
 
 the order of architecture instituted by General 
 
 Charles Lee, of Revolutionary infamy, during his 
 
 retirement; the most prepossessing characteristic 
 
 11 
 
12 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 of which is its economical substitution of chalk- 
 marks on the floor for partitions. The chalk-mark 
 feature in particular is retained by him, though 
 most other people have discarded it as too im- 
 palpable. 
 
 I visited this individual, and my first impres- 
 sion on seeing him was that, whatever troubles he 
 might have, his tailor and barber bills at least w^ere 
 not burdensome. I was struck by the lack of 
 demarkation between the respective abodes of the 
 solitary human inhabitant, and his feathered and 
 quadrupedal domestics. They seemed all to live 
 together in a great state of social conglomeration, 
 — dogs, cats, and all other animals of a conven- 
 ient size, seeming to consider the inside of the 
 house as much their side as the outside. Nor 
 did these infringing inferiors seem to recognize 
 the mental walls stretching from the chalk-marks 
 to the ceiling. Doubtless, either the marks were 
 too faint, or their imaginations were not vivid 
 enough. 
 
 I talked with this singular gentleman, and the 
 formula of our conversation was about one word 
 of his to ten of mine. He seemed to be thoroughly 
 uninformed and equally unconcerned about every- 
 thing. I made a distant reference as to the cause 
 for his thus insulating himself from his kind, 
 whereupon, without a w^ord, he took up his hat 
 and knotty cedar staff, and walked forth into the 
 fields, leaving me to the mercy of his familiar 
 domestic retainers. As he had set no date for his 
 return, I, tiring of the efforts of his easy-man- 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 13 
 
 nered companions, left soon after him; and later, 
 not without some difficulty, collected from the 
 copper-colored natives neighboring round, the fol- 
 lowing story about him. 
 
 His experiences as an anchoret were, I learned, 
 only some five or six years old. Up to that time, 
 he had lived a quiet unassuming life. He had 
 neither the mark of Cain upon him, nor an aureole 
 about his brow, to distinguish him as being par- 
 ticularly either good or bad. He was the son of 
 a prosperous farmer, as doubtless he still is, though 
 an uninitiated observer would never suspicion it. 
 Peter Wilson was his humble addition. He was 
 of a goodly size, with a small spherical head, well 
 thatched with yellow hair; two grey eyes, with 
 no great distance between them. His incipient cre- 
 dentials of manhood consisted of some half dozen 
 clumps of down, clustered about the bases of as 
 many pimples, like atolls. His nose was not quite 
 classically Roman, but was a kind of dog Latin 
 feature. With all the foregoing qualities, he was 
 bashful and awkward as a country hedgehog. 
 
 There lived within eyeshot of his father's house 
 a girl named Fanny Embers. She was his exact 
 opposite in everything. Slender, graceful, with 
 two blue eyes, lambent of vivacity, she was beau- 
 tiful as a fairy, seen at sunset, standing on the 
 drawbridge of an air-castle.. 
 
 Peter Wilson had courted Fanny Embers for a 
 long, long time, and everybody predicted the usual 
 result. The ecclesiastic horseman, i. e., the cir- 
 cuit rider, looked forward to the ceremony fee 
 
14 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 as a powerful reinforcement to his somewhat 
 scanty stipend. Impetuous young ladies, who were 
 hobbled in their desire to make record-breaking 
 time to the altar by more sober-paced sweethearts, 
 intended employing it as an effective incentive to 
 speed. While fast young men, with whom the case 
 was reversed, proposed to use it likewise. Every 
 old lady, at all versed in the necromancy of coffee- 
 grounds, or any other modern medium of divina- 
 tion, had already seen the "happy event," with all 
 the subsequent history of the participants, plainly 
 painted in the prescient sediment on the surfaces 
 of cups and saucers, or by whatever other means 
 the oracle chose to report. 
 
 And yet, strange to say, the occasion, thus 
 universally prognosticated hoped for and expected, 
 really never did occur; and from the following 
 story I leave the reader to gather the cause, merely 
 warning him that courting a coquette is in some 
 respects like eating peaches. As in the latter, one 
 often no sooner has his peach nicely peeled, and 
 the anticipative saliva has begun to trickle from all 
 its sources into its general reservoir, the mouth, 
 than slip! through your fingers and into the 
 dust it falls; so, in the former, it frequently hap- 
 pens that one of those queerly-constituted beings 
 called coquettes, no sooner has you jostling your 
 cranium against the stars, than adieu! she reposes 
 in the other fellow's arms, and you stand on the 
 barren brink of despair, with a heart and purse 
 empty as a peanut shell that has spent two minutes 
 in the hands of a small boy. And yet, in the first 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 15 
 
 as in the last, when no mishap attends, how sweet 
 the result! But perhaps this has nothing to do 
 with the story, which is now overdue. 
 
 The sun, a large ruddy coal, was slowly burn- 
 ing its way through the bosky rim of the horizon; 
 whence, it seemed, it would fall into unfathomable 
 oblivion. The birds were singing their farewell 
 notes, in a way to kill all hopes of an encore, until 
 morning — a requiem to the dying day — as Peter 
 Wilson, his left hand clasping his right arm just 
 below the elbow, behind his back, and his head 
 bowed in profound meditation, passed slowly along 
 the leaf -strewn lane for the weekly interview with 
 the turnkey of his happiness. 
 
 Arrived at her home, and no one visible, he 
 concludes that, instead of halloaing, he will just 
 walk in, and give her an instance of his impromptu 
 cleverness in a miniature surprise-party, as 
 the doors are invitingly open. He is so well known 
 that the old house-dog makes no complaint. 
 
 Peculiar are the feelings of one when he sits 
 unannounced in the home of another, however sure 
 he may be of his welcome. He interprets every 
 sound as the advent of some one, and when real 
 noises are scarce, imagination is not tardy in sup- 
 plying them. The sounds that reached Peter gave 
 evidence that the family was at supper; so he felt 
 free to attend to some personal matters. First, he 
 settled his celluloid collar, which had begun a tour 
 up the back of his neck, in consequence of a short- 
 age of collar-buttons in the rear, back into place. 
 He next examined his hat, which doubtless before 
 
16 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 he started had had its fibers severely tested at least 
 half a dozen times with the brush, for any evasive 
 atom of dust that might yet be lingering, or that 
 might have collected during his walk, on its glisten- 
 ing exterior, noting at the same time that the birds- 
 nest-like depression in the crown of it was made in 
 exact conformity with the rules that govern such 
 matters; for the contour of Peter's head, as you 
 already know, demanded the kind of hat, on the 
 crown of which if one would represent some por- 
 tion of the earth's surface, the crater of a volcano, 
 and not a longitudinal valley, is the proper caper. 
 Being reassured in these important trifles, Peter, 
 tilted back in his chair, placed his right ankle on 
 his left knee, and having disposed of the trouble- 
 some hat in the triangle thus formed, locked his 
 hands behind his head, with an air of being en- 
 tirely domesticated; and with a look of sangfroid 
 on his face pellucid as a frog's nest, awaited de- 
 velopments. 
 
 Presently the fog of pretended indifference 
 with which he had enveloped himself was pierced 
 by the sound of a light airy tread. Peter knew in- 
 stinctively that it was Fanny, and also that she was 
 coming into the room where he was, and yet he did 
 not move until she stood on the threshhold, and 
 had uttered that little inimitable exclamation of 
 surprise, not ''eureka" perhaps. Peter then got 
 down from his craned-up position, with the speed 
 of a cat vacating a pantry immediately after the 
 reception of a boot-jack, and with the gracefulness 
 of a turtle clambering over a log-drift, made his 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 17 
 
 very best apology of a bow. Fanny blushed away 
 the effect, and said *'nice weather." "Yes, to be 
 sure." 
 
 And when did two young people, who had any- 
 thing at all in common, ever meet under other than 
 auspicious skies? And when did they ever fail 
 to mention the fact? And yet, we have conversa- 
 tional epicures who consider it the very acme of 
 indecorum for any one to mention the weather at 
 all. But for my part, I consider it only a crime of 
 small magnitude for one occasionally to mention 
 a subject which so closely affects him, and upon 
 which, of all subjects, he is most apt to be well 
 informed. Especially is this venial if a violent 
 change has just occurred, and you are in mortal 
 terror that your friend has not noticed it and feel 
 it your bounden duty to let him into the secret. 
 
 But it is no intention of mine to stake out the 
 limits of conversation. Too many already have 
 painfully done so, only to see their accurate surveys 
 either completely disregarded by cool, calm, calcu- 
 lating masculine perversity; or utterly submerged, 
 inundated, by irresistible floods of unthinking fem- 
 inine loquacity. Indeed, I do not even intend to 
 play the amanuensis for my own worthy characters ; 
 but for a few hours I shall leave them to whisper, 
 ogle, giggle, pout, or do whatever else the Diminu- 
 tive Divinity may decently dictate. 
 
 Much would I like to tell you what they said 
 and did; but as no record of this interesting inter- 
 view exists, as the participants have wrapped them- 
 selves in folds of silence impervious to all inquiry, 
 
18 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 as I am proverbed against playing the eaves-drop- 
 per, and as any of my following of the dotted lines 
 of imagination would doubtless swerve sadly, I 
 fear you must remain in Egyptian darkness. Of 
 all tasks, reporting a Cupid-conference between a 
 pair of Missourian enamoratas is the one for which 
 I am least fitted. I have not the steady beacon 
 of experience to guide me; hence, I can say nothing 
 about the truth. Concerning the prolific themes 
 which inspire the almost interminable confabula- 
 tions that precede the nuptials, which transmute 
 every moment of what would otherwise be golden 
 silence, into a kind of german silver speech, which 
 fill the mail-bags too full to be locked, when the 
 affected parties are too far apart to communicate 
 conveniently by word of mouth ; in short, which 
 glut all mediums of converse, and show themselves 
 ready to be tapped at any time, often to the an- 
 noyance of parents, guardians, teachers, chaperons, 
 rivals, and the general public, I have a most pro- 
 found and comprehensive ignorance. 
 
 It seems that through this means all mysteries 
 should be cleared up. The identity of the ''Man in 
 the Iron Mask" should become as well known as 
 that of Dumas himself. Some regular vocation 
 should be found for the spleen and the long vaca- 
 tion of that organ should come to a speedy close. 
 The iris of the soap-bubble should be obliged to 
 explain its origin. The ultimate fate of Sir Hen- 
 drick Hudson should be revealed; and the *'Skele- 
 ton in Armour" made to give a more authentic ac- 
 count of itself. In fine, each component phase of 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 19 
 
 every brain-baffling question should stand forth 
 in a noon-gush of intelligence. But as I have 
 heard of no such victories from the quarter indi- 
 cated, which might be used as a guy for a tower- 
 ing imaginative reproduction, and as I have de- 
 scribed the impossibilities, moral and physical, of 
 giving you the original, these two facts must form 
 my apology for requesting you to sit on the door- 
 step until I can resume the narrative as it was told 
 to me. 
 
 The old clock gave the time as half past ten. 
 Fanny was in the midst of an absorbing story. 
 Peter's face wore a look of uneasiness, but it was 
 not caused by the story. In fact, I doubt if he 
 were paying much heed to h{s fair entertainer. 
 The truth is, he felt, deep down in his *'heart of 
 hearts," that the time had come for saying good- 
 night, which, after some few dozen repetitions, 
 would be the preamble to adjournment. And even 
 then he was trying to think of some prefatory sen- 
 tence to slope the way to this ordeal. He had no 
 sooner found it, and cleared his face, than, oh 
 wonder of wonders ! Fanny, bisecting her story, 
 with graceful celerity, took each of Peter Wilson's 
 hands in her oivn, and laid her head softly against 
 his breast! 
 
 Are you equal to the occasion ? Are you in 
 need of mental gymnastics? If so, you will find ex- 
 cellent practice in trying to fancy the feelings of 
 Peter at this unprecedented conduct. Of course, 
 to only too many of all stations it would have been 
 nothing. But to Peter, who had had scarcely any ex- 
 
20 TALES FROM A BOY'S FAxXCY 
 
 perience with the opposite sex, it was much. His 
 face flamed, and yet there seemed to be enough 
 blood in it to quench a burning city. My ! what a 
 dearth of blood there must be on the inside, when it 
 is thus summoned to the surface! Blazing icicles 
 seemed to be chasing each other up and down his 
 spine. He trembled violently, and came near fall- 
 ing over. And I have^ not the slightest doubt that 
 if the small cotton-bales in the toes of his shoes, 
 placed there to prevent the vacancy acquiring a 
 sunken, sepulchral appearance, had been examined, 
 they would have been found to be full of corpuscles, 
 forced through the pores of the skin. 
 
 For some minutes he could not look at her. 
 and when at last his scattered senses had collected 
 sufficiently for him to do so, miracle of mir- 
 acles ! Fanny either was, or was superbly feign- 
 ing to be, fast asleep as an innocent weasel. Yes, 
 the four rows of fringe on the curtains of her eyes 
 were merged into two, and her bosom rose and fell 
 with the regularity of healthful slumber. To try 
 to describe the feelings of Peter Wilson at this dis- 
 covery would simply be to court ridicule by at- 
 tempting impossibilities. Doubtless few ever have 
 or ever will feel so, for to be as bashful as was Peter 
 is the misfortune of but few^ 
 
 As the moments began to lengthen into sec- 
 onds, and the seconds into minutes, with no change 
 in his comatose burden, the scattered senses of 
 Peter, like the cautious members of a segregated 
 covey, when the deepening twilight has foiled the 
 hunter's aim, began to return ; and he began to con- 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 21 
 
 sider what was to be done. Before laughing at 
 the ridiculous confusion into which he w^as pre- 
 cipitated, by this conduct so foreign to his experi- 
 ence, I would ask you to consider but one extenu- 
 ating circumstance; he loved her, yea, to the very 
 depth of his soul, he loved her. 
 
 Of course, in stories, when the hero is over- 
 taken by calamities, either some sharp-sighted 
 guardian angel dispatches aid; or else the event 
 awakens in the victim some power, until then un- 
 known; which, in either case, always exactly meets 
 the emergency. But such was not the case with 
 poor Wilson. No strange power left its secret seat 
 to offer its adequate assistance to the incumbered 
 Peter. No reserve force, until then never em- 
 ployed, was called out to oppose the infringing 
 Fanny. But instead, the little strength and self- 
 control he did have ordinarily, vanished like prairie- 
 dogs before the approaching traveler. He w^on- 
 dered how the episode would of itself terminate. 
 He wondered what Fanny would say when she 
 awoke, which he thought she must surely soon do. 
 If he should waken her, he wondered what plausible 
 excuse she could possibly put on such an in- 
 explicable break. Would she acknowledge to, and 
 beg pardon for, having fallen asleep without any 
 external influences. Or would she not rather ac- 
 cuse him of having scattered a soporific, or exer- 
 cised hypnotic powers, to nefarious ends ? 
 
 Once he thought of putting her quickly from 
 him, and rushing rapidly from the room; but the 
 next moment he trembled to remember it. He re- 
 
22 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 called that of late she had been, like lachimo's 
 man, "strange and peevish," and that his redoubled 
 efforts at interesting her had succeeded but indif- 
 ferently; and, notwithstanding the two facts, that 
 no sign of it had appeared that night, and that he 
 could not trace its cause to himself, still it was his 
 study not to strengthen her impatience by any in- 
 discreet proceeding. 
 
 And thus it was that Peter could see no path 
 to escape, upon which, between him and the desired 
 goal, did not lurk some shape, forbidding and in- 
 distinct, in the purlieus of possibility. And yet 
 more than once the slight motion sufficient to shat- 
 ter the frostwork of a girl's slumber was in his 
 very finger tips, and more than once he put it back, 
 only to feel it return again ; until a strange and 
 new apprehension put to flight all thoughts of 
 waking her. What inspired the thought he could 
 not have told but suddenly the conviction came upon 
 him that this event, however unavoidable on his 
 part, would cause a rupture in their relations that 
 could never be compromised. This feeling he tried 
 hard to shake off, but found it strangely persistent. 
 
 Perhaps before attempting to detail the misery 
 through which at least one of my characters passed 
 during that night, it would not be amiss to glance 
 at their respective positions. Peter Wilson had but 
 one way to sit on a chair, tilted so as to make a biped 
 rather than a quadruped of it in respect to the 
 number of legs touching the floor. He had often 
 been reproved for this presumptuous, space-con- 
 suming posture by his decorous mother, but so 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 23 
 
 natural had it become that even the presence of 
 Fanny did not prevent his assuming it. And thus 
 it occurred that on the night of which I write, he 
 sat tilted, with no dorsal support, on the only plain 
 chair in the room, with his right ankle on his left 
 knee, and the toes of his left foot touching the 
 floor ; while Fanny sat upon his right side, her head 
 upon his breast, and her hands clasping his, in all 
 the somnolent ease of a modern rocker, while three 
 or four more, of various designs, were arranged 
 about the room, in maddening idleness. This was 
 the situation which the shadow-paced mind of Peter 
 had just about comprehended, Fanny emitting no 
 symptoms of awakening, when the old clock at- 
 tracted a moment's attention to itself by striking the 
 hour of eleven. 
 
 Peter Wilson was a very automaton for punc- 
 tuality. If Rip Van Winkle were naturally a thirsty 
 soul, Peter Wilson was no less naturally a sleepy 
 one. Between his supper and bed-time only a very 
 brief tooth-picking space intervened; and but few 
 incentives, his visits to Fanny being chief among 
 them, were sufficient to break this rule. The per- 
 sistent allurements of deferred slumber had just 
 begun faintly to predominate over the charm of 
 Fanny's presence, when her unheard-of conduct 
 put, for the time being, all such thoughts to instant 
 flight. But the Drowsy God, though easily deposed 
 for a short time, cannot be held long from his neces- 
 sary reign. And thus it was that Peter's turbulent 
 feelings had no sooner somewhat subsided, and his 
 pulse jaded itself to a more normal pace, than his 
 
24 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 cause for concern was doubled by his fear of falling 
 asleep. The limited motion to which he was re- 
 duced served to enhance these apprehensions. He 
 found himself wondering, nothing occurring be- 
 fore, if he could remain awake until morning; and 
 if not, what then. At first the operations of the 
 dethroned god assumed rather the form of a re- 
 connoitre, as if it were his intention to ascertain the 
 exact power of the enemy, before making any de- 
 cided advances; but at last, apparently satisfied 
 on that head, his advances became really alarming. 
 He had just acquired such footing that it required 
 a considerable shake of the head to dispell his gather- 
 ing powers, and that only for a moment, when 
 an occurrence reinforced Peter. 
 
 Happening to raise his eyes to the open 
 window, he was startled to perceive on the ledge 
 what appeared to be a huge animal, wildly switch- 
 ing its tail, and with the dead body of a smaller 
 animal hanging limply from its jaws. Under the 
 diminishing influence of continued observation, 
 however, it rapidly shrank into nothing more formid- 
 able than the house-cat, with a mouse in her mouth. 
 With mixed sprightliness and dignity, she leaped 
 upon the floor, and began on that most tantalizing 
 species of torture, with which cats often afflict their 
 victims before killing them. 
 
 The mouse was no sooner free of the claws 
 and teeth of the cat, than it began to evince signs 
 of life. Peter watched its zigzag course across the 
 floor almost as intently as did the cat herself. Soon 
 in pussy's mind mistrust overbalanced confidence, 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 25 
 
 and she stretcfied forth the inexorable paw, and 
 crushed the poor wretch's growing hopes ; not, how- 
 ever, without moving a short space herself. Thus 
 the two, by short and painful stages, proceeded 
 across the room, until, heavens help us ! the maimed 
 mouse is creeping under Fanny's chair, and the old 
 cat is stretching her terrible paw under after it. 
 With a start, Peter recalled a scene he had once wit- 
 nessed, when one day a visitor, for all the world 
 like the smaller of the present two, had entered sud- 
 denly and unannounced; and momently he expected 
 Fanny to spring from his side, mount upon a chair 
 or other eminence, and hoisting her skirts to the 
 limits of discretion, demand an armistice before 
 hostilities began. Why, indeed, did she not? Con- 
 ceding that sleep had thrown around her too many 
 of its oblivious folds for the penetration of the 
 drastic influence, yet should not some tutelary fairy 
 have whispered in her ear of the impending danger ? 
 Or have they, affrighted, fled? However, Fanny 
 slept on just as if such a monster as a mouse had 
 never been created. 
 
 And now the old cat, having "satisfied the 
 sentiment" — perhaps mere playfulness, perhaps her 
 sole heirloom of cruelty, transmitted from her sav- 
 age ancestry, in a wonderful state of preservation, 
 through many generations of civilization and 
 domesticity — took the unfortunate, or rather for- 
 tunate, mouse in her mouth, and retired to the other 
 side of the room. And now. Goddess of Modesty 
 forefend! What does she contemplate? Eating 
 it! Yes, the bloody banquet is approaching rap- 
 
26 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 idly. Overworked as had been the blush-producing 
 faculty in Peter that night, it yet managed to send 
 up a faint one at that prospect. With great delib- 
 eration and apparent relish, the cat finished her re- 
 past; when, beware! is she crouching for a leap 
 at Peter? No, no, just gathering her feet about 
 her for a nap; for Pussy, you must know, is much 
 too gentile a feline to indulge in full-side relaxa- 
 tion; so she just crouches, like her regal kinsman, 
 gathering her feet about her, or, if it be cold, fold- 
 ing them under herself. 
 
 The effect upon the ear of Peter Wilson of 
 the sounds made by the cat was a good example of 
 the wonderful power exerted by circumstances over 
 the natural senses. 
 
 His fears that the presence of the cat would 
 wake Fanny made her leap from the window-sill 
 to the floor shake the house. Her occasional low 
 growls sounded like peals of breaking thunder; 
 and he even fancied that the movements of the 
 maimed mouse were audible. The breaking of 
 bones during the primitive feast rose in acoustic 
 volume until it rivaled an universal chorus. And 
 that most noiseless of all processes, when for a 
 few moments the old cat became her own hair- 
 dresser, after perhaps the most primitive fashion, 
 decrepitated like burning salt. And she had no 
 sooner relapsed into silence than the wheezy old 
 clock told the hour by twelve drum-beats of the 
 first magnitude. 
 
 The jaded pulse of Peter Wilson had no sooner 
 subsided to as much evenness of pace as his novel 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 27 
 
 position and the uncertain tenure of Pussy's nap- 
 ping permitted, than it was again agitated. The 
 present calamity came in no more formidable pro- 
 portions than a barely perceptible irritation on the 
 left shoulder. As the precise cause of this irrita- 
 tion is of course unknown, I ask that it be relegated 
 to one or more of those microscopic imposters, 
 charged with so much of the annoyance of mankind. 
 At the first notice of their presence, a single stroke 
 of nature's weapons is generally sufficient to dis- 
 courage their operations. But alas ! even this was 
 denied him. And it is a curious fact that procrasti- 
 nation in this matter, like a cough or a sneeze sup- 
 pressed, soon leads to serious results. Peter em- 
 ployed the only remedy possible under the circum- 
 stances, that of giving as much weight and friction 
 to the afflicted parts, against the back of his chair, 
 as was consistent with the doubtful tenure of his 
 posture, which was but slight. But the assailants, 
 seeming either to detect and despise the subterfuge, 
 or to resent it as a malicious impediment to honest 
 industry, merely redoubled their efforts. Oh! how 
 often and how strongly did the temptation come 
 upon Peter to unclasp the warm grasp of Fanny, 
 which had not relaxed, and putting his nails to their 
 proper office, disperse this petty annoyance! It 
 was a modern parallel of the Lilliputians creeping 
 over the swathed Gulliver; the only difference to 
 mention, necessarily, being their respective posi- 
 tions in and on the skin. 
 
 As all the uneasiness endured by Peter from 
 these midnight wanderers was of course caused by 
 
28 TALES PROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 them in innocent ignorance, I offer the following 
 apology for them : It is an infinite number of years 
 hence. About a dark opening extending far, far 
 down into the earth, is circled a group of men, 
 whose faces are networks of learned wrinkles. 
 They are scanning eagerly each consignment of 
 earth heaved from below for fragments of the rock- 
 written records of the infancy of the world. Fin- 
 ally diligence, the maternal virtue, trusts her closely- 
 guarded offspring, good-luck, to the care of the 
 patient crowd. After an exhaustive examination, 
 the find is labelled an acariis. But lo, what does 
 the dissection reveal? 
 
 In its stomach is found a half -digested speck, 
 w'hich, after long and careful analysis, is decided 
 to be a scale of human skin. As to just how much 
 concerning the person it once helped to cover could 
 be gleaned from an atom of his skin, thus pre- 
 served, my prescience falters at saying. Even mak- 
 ing all allowance for the scientific possibilities of 
 that advanced date, I yet fear that were I to assert 
 that even the entire and precise physical man could 
 be reproduced from this meager clew, an incredu- 
 lous public would, in all likelihood, like an outwitted 
 Jupiter, bestow a Cassandra's second gift upon my 
 devining powers. But I trust that nobody wall say 
 that the complexion, the texture of the skin and 
 hair, and the color of the eyes, at least, could 
 be ascertained. 
 
 And now I fear to gain my end, I must employ 
 the divination of that period, a kind of wheels 
 within wheels, as it were. With the above-allowed 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 29 
 
 data, accompanied by a few stamps to pay postage, 
 even a present day astrologer, or black magician, 
 could easily bribe the stars or his confidential genius 
 to reveal as much as the candidate would be apt to 
 want to know about himself. What then should be 
 their proficiency, years hence? I hold it a mild 
 prediction, that from the human contents of the 
 parasite's stomach, the mental, moral and the physi- 
 cal man could be developed with an entirety and 
 accuracy that would cast Daguerre into the shade. 
 And thus you see if at any time Peter's vital flame 
 had succumbed, for memorials he would not have 
 lacked. Indeed, at one time, according to his ow^n 
 estimation, no less than ten thousand of the pests 
 were busy storing away mementos for the enlight- 
 enment of posterity, when the old clock sounded a 
 tocsin to their efforts, and the hour, at one and the 
 same time. 
 
 It was about this time that the various influ- 
 ences acting on Peter brought their victim to a 
 standstill, an eddy, as it were. His incentives to 
 wakefulness, the sleeping cat, his itching shoulder, 
 and his strange dilemma, goring with both its horns, 
 allowed him to be carried full half way into 
 the Land of Nod, before they cancelled his inherent 
 drowsiness. While the mind is thus enveloped in 
 a halo of half consciousness, impressions from with- 
 out and thoughts from within, like rays of light 
 passing through a flawed prism, are often refracted, 
 as it were, into amusing misrepresentations. The 
 hallucinations thus experienced differ from dreams 
 in being caused mostly by one's immediate sur- 
 
30 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 roundings. During these half-dreams the real and 
 fancied parts often meet and dovetail into each 
 other in a manner no less interesting than inex- 
 plicable, as the following experiences of Peter at- 
 test. 
 
 In this twilight between sleep and wake, Peter 
 took his favorite stroll, stepping from stone to stone 
 down the rock-strewn course of a little rivulet, that 
 carried its small volume of water between two high 
 hills. Oh ! what a drowsy day it was. The clear 
 waters of the stream, the speed of which did not 
 seem to correspond with its decline, sang, as they 
 broke over the stony pillows in their bed, a mother's 
 lullaby to her fretful babe. The very birds seemed 
 to sing on the trees with closed eyes. The moving 
 leaves, as they responded to the soft touches of the 
 wind, said always, sleep, sUep, sleep. The flowers 
 growing on the hillsides surcharged the air with 
 somniferous perfume; and Peter breathed it in, 
 and yet he could not sleep. Oh! what would he 
 not have given to have been able — not losing the 
 time for decently prostrating himself — to fall all of 
 a heap, and sleep till doomsday. For the sleep that 
 his weary spirits seemed to require is the kind so 
 long and dense that no morning glimmers through 
 it. But some mysterious, invisible power kept his 
 legs in motion. 
 
 Happening to raise his eyes from the ground 
 whereon he had been looking, the effect of seeing 
 stretched across his stony path, immediately before 
 liim, at a level with his head, brought to its great- 
 est dimensions by the reflected sunlight, the guy 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 31 
 
 of a primitive fly-trap, was such as to render his 
 peripatetic charm brittle as a frozen soap bubble, 
 and he snapped it accordingly, becoming as still as 
 the stones about him. Anticipating the disagreeable 
 feeling that would result from gathering the spider's 
 silk on his face, he started to raise his hand to 
 brush it down, and was not surprised, such are the 
 anomalies of dreams, to find himself unable to 
 move either of them. As he stood self-debating 
 whether he should longer disobey his strange im- 
 pulse to go forward, and boldly face the gleaming 
 filament — the strange commands not allowing him 
 to stoop and go under it, or around it, but only 
 straight forward and upright — an old fat spider, 
 deserting the watchtower of his flynet, and extend- 
 ing one of his hairy arms on each side of himself, 
 like a rope-walker's pole, advanced along the guy, 
 until it reached the point nearest Peter's face, where 
 it stopped and fixed its eye upon him. 
 
 In an instant he knew that his doom was 
 sealed. As an inspiration it came upon him that 
 here was the source of his strange and fatal at- 
 traction. He saw now that it is not altogether an 
 accident that flies become entagled in spiders' webs. 
 For a moment he thought of resisting, but it was 
 of no use. The spider held him as the Ancient 
 Mariner held the Wedding Guest, "with his glit- 
 tering eye." Trilby paused a moment to assure 
 himself that the spell was genuine, and then began 
 a series of peculiar manoeuvers. He settled himself 
 crosswise upon his thread, facing Peter; who then 
 for the first time noticed that he carried at the end 
 
32 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 of either leg, which he had used as balances while 
 walking, a coil of filament similar to the one on 
 which he rested. 
 
 The one at the end of his right leg he now 
 began to twirl around his head, like a cowboy's 
 lariat. Peter had an intuitive warning of what 
 was to follow, and closed his eyes; but in vain. 
 The flying thread made a scarcely audible screech, 
 struck the very Land's End of Peter's nose, and 
 being covered with some viscid substance, stuck 
 fast. And now a novel experience certainly befell 
 Peter Wilson. His eyelids were perfectly trans- 
 parent. They shut out no more light than if they 
 had been films of molten glass. The spider, after 
 getting cautiously upon the new-thrown thread, — 
 my how it hurt! — as if doubtful of tis safety, but 
 soon becoming satisfied therein, with slow and pre- 
 cise steps advanced towards the lid-seeing Peter. 
 Oh, endurance, where are thy limits! The oncom- 
 ing ''green and gilded" ball of poison made no pause 
 until he stood upon Peter's nose, exactly between 
 his close-quartered eyes. Being here, he moved 
 about as if he had his object in view, but what an 
 object ! 
 
 From the threads he bit two short pieces; 
 these he tied to the lower lashes of Peter's eyes, in 
 such a manner that they formed rings. Then di- 
 viding the remaining thread in two equal parts, he 
 gathered three or four of the upper lashes on each 
 of Peter's eyes together, and looped one thread 
 securely about each group. He then ran the upper 
 threads through the rings below; hence, when he 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 33 
 
 pulled on the threjads, he drew the dyelids to- 
 gether ; and wrapping- the ends a time or two about 
 two of his hairy legs, he appeared to stiffen him- 
 self for a contest. 
 
 Peter was not long in understanding the terms. 
 The occasional perspicuity of dreams informed him 
 that to break the spider's charm, he must open 
 his eyes. And towards this he bent his efforts. 
 But it was no child's play. In the strange swaying 
 back and forth, which invariably begins whenever 
 standing is deprived of its crutch, the eyesight — 
 and strange to speak, it does not appear that pellu- 
 cid lids remedy it — the novel contest went on. 
 Peter had two disadvantages : his arms were still 
 grown to his sides; also, whenever in his constant 
 swaying, he moved a certain way, the thread still 
 fastened to his nose pained him almost intolerably. 
 How weak the eyelids are! When Peter strained 
 to the floodtide of his strength he could feel the 
 silk slip a little in his favor; but at the slightest 
 relaxation, the gained ground was instantly lost. 
 
 Perhaps the strangest thing about this contest 
 was the metamorphosis the spider underwent, and he 
 is not an insect either. But in spite of that, he be- 
 came in rapid succession, a frog, a monkey and a 
 gorilla; and under the auspices of Peter's now 
 blood-flecked magnifying tarpaulins of transpar- 
 ency, he was preparing to take on some terrible 
 imaginary form, when Peter determined that if he 
 meant to open his eyes at all, he must do it im- 
 mediately. He gathered his ebbing energy for a 
 final effort, which had well nigh declined into fail- 
 
34 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 ure; when, as it seemed, every ounce of strength 
 in his body, from his toes upward, flew into his 
 eyelids, and with a snap! snap! of the breaking 
 silk, they flew open. 
 
 Slowly the slightly-stirred mind of Peter win- 
 nowed the fact from the fancy, and he realized 
 that he was on the ponit of tailing, i^anny atop of 
 him, chairs and all, upon the floor in a state of 
 embarrassing conglomeration. The staring possi- 
 bility of such a state of affairs somewhat spurred 
 Ills Lethe-washed senses, and caused them to roll 
 back, at a moderate pace, the curtain from the fact 
 that what he had taken as the breaking of the 
 threads at the liberation of his eyelids, was nothing 
 but the clock, announcing the early hour of two; 
 and that the sound of the thread flying through the 
 air was its prefatory hiccough of five minutes be- 
 fore. And now the assuaging thought that even 
 if he should fall, Fanny, from the form of her 
 chair, would possibly not follow, rendered him for 
 sometime unconscious of the presence of something, 
 which the sense of feeling concluded to be a fly, 
 journeying leisurely along the hypotenuse of his 
 nose — the spider of the phantom. 
 
 The presence of the fly, if fly it were, I find 
 difficult to explain, with veracious decency. What 
 could have caused its wandering at such an hour? 
 Whether it left its topsy-turvy berth on the ceiling 
 because of being quartered with a turbulent bed- 
 fellow, or to enjoy an unusually early morning's 
 "constitutional," or to investigate the cause of the 
 light's late burning, or to enjoy sublime feelings 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 35 
 
 by exploring the regions of the "human face de- 
 vine," is all conjecture. All of authenticity I have 
 to write is, that, under the impetus of the irritation 
 stirred up by this fly, the third thought in that 
 series of Peter's, id est, should he fall, even though 
 Fanny did not, it would wake her, in all reason, 
 arrived at maturity; that shortly after the fly flew 
 away, leaving where it had been a desire to be 
 scratched, rubbed or otherwise irritated, which was 
 only gratified by vigorous wrinkling and contort- 
 ing of that feature, and indeed, of the entire face. 
 
 Great as is my optimism, it yet makes room 
 for a class of men, few in number, I hope, who, 
 if they had been in Peter's position, would have 
 acted very differently. True, at first they might 
 have acted very much as did he, but it would have 
 been from exactly opposite motives. It would have 
 been to anticipate the nuptials, to indulge in un- 
 timely connubialities, such as low-pressure em- 
 braces, and muffled kisses, which I understand to 
 be kissing a lady through a silk handkerchief, or 
 through her veil, — not more than one thickness of 
 either, please. But no thought was further from 
 the mind of Peter Wilson. Simple he may have 
 been, but honest he was, if one's acts may be taken 
 as any index to the character. No, from any dis- 
 honorable thought Fanny could not have been fur- 
 ther though she had pillowed her downy head on 
 the "consecrated snow that lies on Dian's lap." 
 
 Once more in this hazy drowsiness Peter's 
 mental parts went straying. This time he strolled 
 along the margin of a beautiful pond. It was noon- 
 
36 TALES FROM A BOY'S F^ANCY 
 
 tide; yet, the yellow sunshine was scarcely stronger 
 than moonlight, and it seemed to pass through the 
 water as though it had been layers of crystal. 
 Corpulent tadpoles were disporting in the surf. A 
 little silver-scaled fish, that had been loitering near 
 the bank, alarmed at his approach, made a few 
 light-swift movements through the water, and halt- 
 ing in the scalloped, slanting shaft of ebony cast 
 by a floating leaf, eyed him stealthily. Up the 
 slimy stems of the rushes embryo dragon flies were 
 slowly covering the slippery way to wings; and 
 Peter noticed that the nearer their destination they 
 came, the easier was the ascent. 
 
 But w^hat monopolized his attention was the 
 line of uprising frogs, which, confidence in their 
 mimicry overcome by his approach, sought safety 
 in the water. He had never seen anything like it, and 
 perhaps never will again. Not one of them de- 
 scribed a simple, uneventful trajectory, and landed 
 nose- first in the water. But every one had some 
 new mode of passing the distance. Now one would 
 mimic the curves of zigzag lightning; next, his 
 nearest neighbor would sketch the tower of Pisa 
 by a leaning spiral, and then one would invert the 
 ordinary angle of incidence. And thus, with end- 
 less variety, and such mid-air activities as would 
 make a modern circus Ariel doff his small-clothes 
 forever, the disturbed frogs leaped from their cool 
 retreats on the bank into the water. The vigorous 
 operation of their hind legs soon carried them to 
 the bottom, where, after a few devious turns, calcu- 
 lated to mislead the observer, they hid themselves 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 37 
 
 under the incrusted leaves. But, strange to say, no 
 line of rising mud followed the recalcitrant frogs, 
 and thus their misleading efforts were rendered 
 fruitless. 
 
 From watching- the strange actions of these frogs, 
 Peter came to listen to the cry they made as they 
 leaped. And he wondered what it expressed; 
 anger, contempt, disappointment, exultation, or 
 what? As he wondered, he asked himself what 
 right he had to pass their home, since his presence 
 was so distasteful to them; what right he had to 
 drive them from their moist meditations to the bath, 
 when perhaps it was not for their health? Even 
 as he questioned himself, the voices of every trans- 
 lated tadpole of them all, from the little squeaky- 
 voiced things, upon which the caudal insignia of 
 their former state was still prominent, to the old 
 warty-skinned patriarchs, whose voices were a deep 
 bass, resolved themselves into such soul-stabbing 
 tones of reproach, that Peter dared not provoke 
 them further; and he stood stock still. Did this 
 relieve the situation? Not at all. Just as if his 
 advent had had nothing to do with it, on along the 
 water's edge the athletic amphibians continued to 
 select from their inexhaustible repertoire new air- 
 lines for spanning the space; and as the center of 
 activity went farther and farther from him, their 
 cries became more and more clear and reproachful. 
 Witnessing this unaccountable spectacle, Peter 
 asked himself if the fear of man, instinctive in every 
 animal below him, adequately accounted for their 
 pell-mell retreat whenever he came among them ; or 
 
38 TALTS FROM A BOY'S PANCY 
 
 if man's cruelty did not add considerable to it. 
 To gain some relief from the trenchant tones of 
 the frogs, Peter looked into the water at his feet, 
 where he saw bugs crawling about, exactly re- 
 sembling in every point the ones clambering so 
 slowly up the rush-stems; where, as it were, the 
 sun hatched them into resplendent dragon-flies ; and 
 he wondered what subtile influence had caused some 
 to become discontented with their places, and leave, 
 while their exact counterparts still seemed to find 
 the oozy home to fill their idea of contentedness to 
 lambent fullness. 
 
 From its margin, Peter allowed his eyes to 
 wander out over the pond, and to the other bank, 
 when, oh new-hatched wonder! the usual inverted 
 reflection of the opposite scenery did not meet his 
 eye; he saw instead the ''bases of the hills." And 
 upon one of the slimy slopes sat a Siren. She 
 occupied a slight eminence, was surrounded by 
 bleached human bones, and was employed in braid- 
 ing the long black hair that still grew to a flesh- 
 less skull! Peter had read of these creatures, and 
 of their fascinating solos; therefore, he was in some 
 apprehension, until this thought calmed him : 
 ''Why, who would be betrayed by the Siren, when 
 he could look into her lair and see the bones of 
 former victims? I will look and not listen." As 
 if she had heard his thought, the Siren, casting the 
 unfinished task aside, rose, and in eager defiance, 
 cut with rapid strokes the lucid space between them. 
 Until near the water's surface, she came straight 
 towards him; then, turning slightly upwards, an 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 39 
 
 intervening lily-pad hid her from his sight. As he 
 gazed, the lily-pad began to be violently agitated. 
 Was it fancy ? No ! Presently on its farther edge 
 appeared the weltering Siren; which, being robbed 
 of the illusion resultant from viewing it through 
 the hyaline impediment, slowly resolved itself into 
 nothing more mythical than a large bullfrog. 
 
 The relief experienced by Peter at this dis- 
 covery was short-lived. The frog advanced to the 
 center of the flat- floating leaf, and, spreading his 
 feet out as braces, began to utter such sounds as 
 never mortal heard before. Up the surrounding 
 acclivities, and into the corresponding depressions, 
 it rolled like the roar of an angry bull. As he bel- 
 lowed, he fixed his protruding eyes, which blazed 
 like concentric rings of different colored fire, full 
 on Peter, in irresistible charm. As Peter returned 
 the stare, he could see the frog's white throat, 
 netted with fine crimson veins, swell with its exer- 
 tion. From various parts of the pond came other 
 voices, as if in reply, but their sound, distance- 
 dulled, was nothing compared with the clamor of 
 the one before him. Peter tried to pass on, but 
 could not move. He was radically attached to the 
 spot, i. e., rooted. Tripping the heels of this dis- 
 covery, and just as the ripples from the trembling 
 lily began to move the trash at the water's edge, 
 three sportsmen emerged from behind a thicket on 
 the opposite bank, with the frog exactly between 
 them and Peter. Ear and eye co-operated in show- 
 ing them the howling monster. With one impulse 
 they heaved their artillery to shoulder. Peter tried 
 
40 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 to wave his arms, but they were laterally-lashed 
 again. He tried to cry, but his tongue seemed im- 
 bedded in his palate. Fearful stories of shot glanc- 
 ing on water flashed through his mind. The un- 
 heeding gunners sighted a moment, and then, bang ! 
 bang! bang! 
 
 The reports of the firearms, coupled with the 
 fact that the charges splashed water on his hands, 
 broke the charm; and roused Peter sufficiently for 
 him to distinguish, with some trouble, between the 
 real and the imaginary. He understood that upon 
 nothing more suggestive than the clock's ticking, 
 his mind had formed the vision of the strangely- 
 leaping frogs and their sarcastic voices. The fact 
 that chanticleer's matutinal salute was ringing in 
 his ears made him know that the net-work of reci- 
 procal rooster-calls — the rural chimes — was the 
 nucleus of the lily-pad Siren, and his distant mates, 
 — the fowls belonging where he was lodging be- 
 ing the visible frog, while the roles of those in the 
 background were played by the fowls of the neigh- 
 bors round. He realized that the myth of the spor- 
 ing trio, and their attempt on his enchanter, was 
 fabricated by the clock striking three. And he had 
 palpable evidence that the supposititious water 
 splashed on his hands by their missils was nothing 
 more foreign than a few drops of that ropy fluid, 
 the brewing of which, and trickling, is so greatly 
 facilitated by one's dozing with the head hanging 
 down and the mouth ajar. This was all that had 
 hold on reality, his stereopticon imagination had 
 provided the rest. 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 41 
 
 During- the brief reunion of Peter's wits oc- 
 casioned by the striking clock, he foresaw that 
 unless he could do' something to keep them thus, 
 what appeared to him as a catastrophe worthy to 
 be considered the second fall of man must surely 
 occur. He, therefore, tried to think steadily of 
 something, and as the clock was the only thing 
 audible, he tried to fasten his mind upon it. How 
 faint and tired it sounded ! Could it be possible 
 that the old clock, condemned to work while every- 
 thing else slept, and aware of the wrong thus im- 
 posed upon it, was meditating — not a strike — but a 
 rest? Or was it a secret habit with all time-pieces, 
 when all eyes and ears were closed, to fold their 
 own w^eary hands, and take a well-earned nap, wak- 
 ing and beginning their work again before anyone 
 else in the morning? Sorted with the other experi- 
 ences he had had that night, Peter did not consider 
 this at all unlikely. Doubtless, his and Fanny's 
 presence was all that had kept the old clock going 
 until then. 
 
 To free himself of such fairy's offerings, he 
 tried to think of the tick as symbolic of the three 
 great divisions of time, past, present and future. 
 The one, the resonance of which still fills the old 
 clock's metallic depths, is time past. There! the 
 one now breaking on the ear is time present; and 
 the one hanging on the eaves of expectancy, like a 
 ripe raindrop, is time future. And now the echo 
 of Tock scarcely lasts till Tick renews it, and be- 
 sides Tick sounds the fresher and clearer. Peter 
 found himself wondering which spoke first, Tick 
 
42 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 or Tock, when the old clock was set going. Ha! 
 what was that, Tick speaking twice in succession? 
 Has Tock lost his voice, and is the flight of time 
 now being measured by the endurance and good 
 nature of only one voice? How long can this last? 
 One question is settled : Tick is the woman. And 
 now once more she speaks, and for the last time, 
 unless Tock answers. Did Tock answer? No! 
 Has time merged into eternity, and so dispensed 
 with the need of clocks? Is it fantasy? Have 
 Peter's ears suddenly lost their function? Or has 
 the clock stopped? 
 
 Futurity will, perhaps, confirm one of the last 
 three hypotheses; and as a criterion for its guid- 
 ance, and in defense of the clock, I can only offer 
 the following: John Embers, Fanny's father, one 
 of the rough-spoken but kind-hearted sort of men 
 who make childhood miserable by addressing every 
 little boy as *'Buddy," and every little girl as ''Sis- 
 sy," had borborne to shatter with his lumbering 
 tread the confidential halo of the parlor for a pur- 
 pose so trivial and prosy as winding the clock. 
 So, on that eventful night he had trusted the timely 
 performance of this task to Fanny's thoughtfulness. 
 Fanny will not forget it. No, Fanny never for- 
 gets ! 
 
 During his few minutes of heightened lucidity 
 caused by the incident above detailed, Peter thought 
 with a pang and for the first time that night of his 
 mother. How did his prolonged absence affect 
 her? He recalled regretfully all the times when, 
 for any cause, he had broken his hours, and how 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 43 
 
 she had complained of uneasy insomnia, and warned 
 and requested him not to do so again. Being a 
 woman given to prying into the future, what if 
 she had risen from her sleepless couch, "cast a cup," 
 and having wrung from the genius of the grounds, 
 knowledge of Peter's w^hereabouts and predicament, 
 set out for his relief? Heavens, with w^hat a catas- 
 trophe would she climax the long-drawn-out panto- 
 mime! 
 
 Half expecting to see her, Peter raised his 
 eyes, and oh! there she stood! She had closed the 
 door after her, as she entered, though Peter had 
 heard no sound; and now she stood leaning against 
 it, her nightcap awry, gazing silently at the inex- 
 plicable scene before her. Her night-cap and gown, 
 too, apparently the only covering she wore, instead 
 of being the conventional white in color, were black 
 as if the night through which she had come had 
 been liquid dye. As Peter sat gazing in speechless 
 amazement at his barefooted parent, while his scalp 
 began to feel queer, she suddenly cleared her throat. 
 Was it the usual prologue to conversation? Per- 
 haps it was, but no converse followed; but instead 
 perhaps the most novel performance ever witnessed. 
 
 As if fear, anger, astonishment, or some other 
 emotion, had utterly overcome her self-control, the 
 silhouetted intruder began to tremble from head to 
 foot, at the same time uttering a low, buzzing sound. 
 As Peter watched the quivering night-gown, the 
 agitation rapidly became more violent, and the 
 sound swelled until it reached the loftiest feminine 
 pitch, to which the motion seemed to bear accom- 
 
44 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 paniment. Oh inscrutable ! what did it mean ? Had 
 his absence, or her coming through the dark, dis- 
 tracted her? Was she crazed with joy at finding 
 him safe, and, as she might well have concluded 
 from his position, this happy consummation of af- 
 fairs; or did the incredible ludicrousness of the 
 scene appeal thus movingly to her sense of humor? 
 Or, in the name of information, what was it that 
 could thus prevail with a woman on whose head 
 gray hairs mingled on equal terms with the brown, 
 in whose joints rheumatism had long been an un- 
 welcome guest, and who had not for perhaps twenty 
 years broken man's usual pace, until, at one mo- 
 ment, her swift, graceful movement would have 
 brought blushes to the face of the most Mercury- 
 footed, brazen-fronted member of the ballet; while, 
 during the next, it seemed as if palsy, St. Vitus 
 dance, and all other diseases of a vibratory na- 
 ture, had reinforced each other for the sole purpose 
 of reducing the good lady to argument in favor of 
 the Atomic Theory. Now, the stage of her evolu- 
 tions very closely resembled the reflections cast on 
 the walls or ceiling by the sun shining on a pail of 
 water, when the pail is disturbed. And now, as if 
 beseeching something of the pair before her, she 
 declines to the posture of supplication; and now, 
 as if having gained it, she springs aloft until the 
 respectable night-cap crashes into the ceiling, against 
 which it seems to flatten and shape, as if it con- 
 tained no head ; and now, darkness ! 
 
 As it was afterwards ascertained that Peter's 
 mother on this memorable night confined her ex- 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 45 
 
 ertions in his behalf to keeping her husband, who 
 had no sympathy with her fears, and found trying 
 to convince her of Peter's safety preferable to mak- 
 ing any efforts in his behalf, awake; and that, in 
 all human probability, no one entered the room at 
 all, fain would I pretend that the curvetting ap- 
 parition was one of nature's practical jokes, which 
 she plays off in order to set all the learned wheels 
 in all the learned heads in Christendom in rapid 
 rotation to roll out the mystery, while she sits be- 
 hind the curtain and shakes her sides with laughter 
 at their confusion. But I greatly fear that the dis- 
 covery of the singed dead body of a candle-fly, of 
 unusual size, within the lampglobe, on the following 
 morning, labels it commonplace, and puts it infin- 
 itely below their consideration forever. This dis- 
 covery I also consider sufficient basis for the fol- 
 lowing allegory : This '^shard-borne" giant, during 
 his self-important peregrinations about the room 
 that night, had, perhaps, "blasted with excess of 
 light," directed his explorations down the lamp- 
 chimney; and in his efforts to acclimate himself to 
 the unusual temperature, had extinguished the light, 
 but not, however, until he was mortally burned. 
 
 Doubtless the noise it made in entering the flue 
 was what Peter's strained imagination misconstrued 
 as his mother's prefatory throat-clearing. As with 
 warring wings, swan-like, it sung its own requiem, 
 Peter pitched the song into the clouds ; and what he 
 imposed on himself as such unaccountable parental 
 conduct was only the innovation of their own 
 
46 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 shadows on the wall, under the auspices of the 
 struggle between life and death. 
 
 For sometime after the black curtain was 
 drawn on the dancing vision the long-lived echoes 
 of her weird sounds filled the nondescript mind of 
 Peter. Partly understanding and partly in doubt 
 concerning what he had just seen, he sat in the 
 gloom, half expecting to hear the echoes resolve 
 themselves into his mother's voice; or to feel the 
 blessing, yes, blessing, of her slight touch on his 
 left shoulder. But neither occurred. And so he 
 was surrounded by perfect darkness and silence, 
 and the very juxtaposition of slumber, and yet no 
 sleep for him ; unless one minds to appraise the sur- 
 reptitious siesta in which both feet were indulging, 
 soundly, though not painlessly — sharp twitches play- 
 ing far up his legs. All the parts of his person 
 touching the chair were numbed almost into insen- 
 sibility. 
 
 How still the night was! All the sleepers of 
 the house seemed to be satisfied with the quality 
 of the slumber they were receiving, and were mak- 
 ing no guttural objections. Not a single little amor- 
 ous breeze in all the airy ambiency with ''cheek" 
 enough to make some tiny, sleep-robbed leaf sigh 
 for the stolen kiss. All the convocations of nomadic 
 grimalkins held within audibility lOi iPeter, 
 had adjourned. And for once all the garrulous 
 dogs within his earshot were wrapped in pacific 
 dreams. No insect's shrill pipe pierced the sable 
 gloom. In fine, all the 'Voices of the night" were 
 liushed. The music of the stars alone was audible, 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 47 
 
 and I doubt if Peter Wilson heard even that. 
 Through this primeval silence his senses began to 
 sink, like bits of glass through the ocean. The 
 voice of the kind old clock, which had twice called 
 him back from the very jaws of ruin, was no more. 
 The stimulus of violent head shaking, and fierce 
 batting of the eyes, had lost its potency. Twice 
 he heard, as it were, the waters of Lethe bubbling 
 in his ears, and twice he shook the spray from his 
 hair, and held his head once more above the weaves. 
 But he was weakening rapidly. He felt that he 
 could not hold out much longer. 
 
 Even as he came to this conclusion, a low, 
 dull sound broke upon his ear. Was it real, or 
 only another of fancy's pranks? It seemed to come 
 from nowhere in particular, but to be rising, fog- 
 like, from the earth; and it caused Peter to recall 
 a noise he had once heard a caterpillar make inside 
 a cocoon. But this state of uncertainty did not last 
 long, for, oh despair ! he soon recognized that it 
 was the well known subterranean harbinger of the 
 earthquake. Close upon the heels of its herald, 
 came the shock itself. It was just a mere ripple, 
 as if the earth, in her morning run, had come within 
 hailing distance of some other haggard of space, 
 and had given it a familiar nod. None of the fur- 
 niture changed rooms, though the chairs danced 
 about as though they held very restless occupants, 
 and the clock hummed with the usual after-striking 
 echo. 
 
 From the kitchen came the clatter of crockery 
 and tinware; and the old cat, doubtless coupling 
 
48 TALES FROM A BOY'S FAN(5Y 
 
 the disturbance with dreams of flying boot-jacks 
 coming her way, sprang up and fled from the room. 
 But to Peter it was one of the most terrible con- 
 vulsions that this old Oblate Spheroid ever sur- 
 vived, and that, too, after making generous allow- 
 ance for the imperfect attention he was constrained 
 to give it by reason of the absorbing nature of the 
 difficulty he experienced in keeping the ^'center of 
 gravity" over the ''point of support." His fears 
 of Fanny's awakening during the shock were di- 
 vided by this interesting task also. But when at 
 last the quake had passed, as the furniture was 
 loosing its motion, and his subsiding oscillations 
 released a part of his attention, and Fanny did not 
 justify his painful expectation by the slightest word 
 or movement, his amazement went several degrees 
 higher than it had been that night. 
 
 Infinite fool ! Had there been no earthquake ? 
 Was his narrow escape from losing his balance 
 the drop of reality which his disordered senses had 
 magnified so many diameters? But would that 
 have caused him to feel so aroused? Why, hardly. 
 And yet, to sleep through an earthquake ! Perhaps 
 it had awakened her, and she was ashamed to let it 
 be known. 
 
 To what conclusion Peter's cogitations on this 
 difficult question would have come will never be 
 known, because they were interrupted by a voice 
 from an adjoining room, highly charged with ma- 
 ternal solicitude, calling, ''Fanny!" Now, Peter, 
 thou hearest the crack of doom, and thy sins are 
 scarlet; tremble, therefore, and die. But either 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 49 
 
 because she did not hear, or through disobedience, 
 Fanny did not respond. 'Tanny!" the voice re- 
 peated, "something louder than before," and it 
 passed through Peter like an electric current. As 
 the person addressed still remained silent, her 
 mother sent forth a screech like that of a baffled 
 witch, and each ''particular hair" on Peter's head 
 stood as erect as the most vertical stalagmite in 
 Mammoth Cave. ''What! Did it fail to wake her? 
 There must be somethin' the matter. I'll go in 
 and see." But just as the sounds indicative of the 
 carrying out of this intent w^ere becoming intoler- 
 able to Peter, they were checked by her husband 
 thus expressing himself: "What's the use wakin' 
 her now, let her sleep, since the 'quake is all over. 
 Maybe they set up late." 
 
 The latter part of this speech contained a sug- 
 gestion upon which the good woman seemed more 
 disposed to descant than to carry out her original 
 intention. And so, getting back into bed, she, in 
 a much-injured tone, thus announced her griev- 
 ances : "Why, that's just it ; settin' up every time 
 he comes till the katydids quit singin'. It's enough 
 to kill any girl. I don't know how the rest of you 
 feel about it, but for my part, he'd confer a favor 
 on me if he'd stay away until he learns the proper 
 time to go home. But what can she do about it? 
 She can't tell him to leave. Like as not, she aint 
 been in bed an hour. I wonder what time it is. I 
 wish the clock would strike. I don't even hear it 
 tickin'. Guess the earthquake stopped it." 
 
 If Peter had been given his choice between hav- 
 
50 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 ing the woman come into the room and wake 
 Fanny, and hearing her say what she said, he would 
 likely have chosen the former. He keeping Fanny 
 awake ! His welcome there not entirely clear ! 
 He lacked the philosophy that overlooks false 
 charges, and they stung him deeply. Happily their 
 edge was somewhat blunted by the fact that Fanny's 
 awakening was once more postponed, and also by 
 her astonishing conduct. 
 
 Why had both the confusion and her mother 
 failed to rouse her? Surely, as the good woman 
 had said, there must be something wrong. Per- 
 haps she was dead. Heavens ! Ha ! ha ! nonsense ! 
 Are not her hands warm; is not the gentle rise 
 and fall of her breast faintly perceptible in the 
 head on his bosom? What is it then? Possibly 
 she had had a stroke of paralysis. Or perhaps the 
 warmth of her hands and the secondary ebb and 
 flow of her bosom existed only in Peter's fancy. 
 
 It w^as just at this critical juncture that Fanny, 
 through the sleep an earthquake had failed to shat- 
 ter, and in a voice she had denied a mother's an- 
 xious, impatient insistence, as if in response to 
 Peter's anxiety, made the following unexpected 
 confession : ''Oh, won't it be jolly, royal ! And I 
 planned it all ! Just to think of him going to church 
 w^ith me, sitting in the seat by me, and then to think 
 of Mr. Gluson taking me from his very arms, as 
 it were, and marrying me ! And it to be no longer 
 off than tonight, too! Why, it will be the very 
 acme of jokes!" 
 
 Oh, ears, forswear 3^our function! In some 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 51 
 
 way arraign yourselves for misreporting! Say you 
 made those words from other sounds than those 
 coming from Fanny's lips, and prove it, too ! Alas ! 
 it may not be. Slowly but steadily, the crushing 
 truth sank upon him. Fanny did not love him. Of 
 all the unknown events with which pregnant futur- 
 ity teems, not a birth could she have brought to 
 light that would have surprised him more. 
 Through all their courtship he had never suspected 
 but that she loved him as completely as he loved 
 her — so complete had been the deception. 
 
 Had not she herself made the first overtures, 
 and been all along more than half the wooer? Of 
 course, he had remarked their antipodal characters; 
 but he was reassured by that old adage about the 
 "affinity of contrast"; and if there was nothing in 
 it, why had he becom^e so deeply enamored of her? 
 Plain as day, he saw through it all; and yet he 
 tried somewhat to stanch his bleeding wounds by 
 persuading himself that she had loved him, at first, 
 a little, at least; but, tiring of him, she had lighted 
 on this terrible expedient of getting rid of him. 
 Mr. Gluson he numbered among his friends, but 
 he had never had the slightest occasion to consider 
 him in the light of a rival, a successful one, too. 
 He had scarcely seen him and Fanny speak with 
 each other. How secret they had kept it! 
 
 But the subterfuge availed but little. Down 
 upon him like a storm, bore the awful, depressing, 
 grinding, sickening, maddening truth. Let things 
 past be as they were, he had lost her forever. He 
 winced under the blow. He felt a choking sensa- 
 
52 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 tion. His eyes swam in tears. Now, he doubted 
 if he had heard the words at all, and now they were 
 bubbling, like fatal water, in his ears. But hold! 
 Perhaps she was only in jest. Look in her face; 
 possibly she is awake, and has said this merely as 
 a way out of the present difficulty. Half afraid 
 of seeing the mocking smile that would confirm her 
 words, Peter looked in her face. Ho! ho! what 
 could one hope to see, when everything was as 
 dark as night? Without making the slightest per- 
 ceptible movement, she had merely uttered the 
 words; and that was all. But that was more than 
 enough. 
 
 Peter recalled that her voice had borne the 
 peculiar, uniform, unguarded accent of sleep-talk. 
 No one could mimic that. The evidence was con- 
 clusive. Floods of sorrow surged through his 
 bosom. With as much fervency as he dared, he 
 pressed the fingers of his first, his last, his only, 
 love. He could feel his face becoming beaded with 
 icy drops. They hung upon his brows like leaden 
 weights, and trickled down his cheek. He tried to 
 comfort himself by thinking how much worse it 
 would have been, if, according to their long cus- 
 tom, he had walked to the church with her on the 
 following night, and there, before the audience, 
 had borne the full brunt of her cruel plan. He 
 tried to think of the strange marring of the plot as 
 a piece of providence, and to thank Heaven for it. 
 But all reverted back to the fact that losing her 
 was the chief cause to consider, and that the how, 
 when, or where, were only preliminaries. But, oh 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CUANE 53 
 
 the keen, the indescribable pain of having her head 
 upon his bosom, even as she told him she loved an- 
 other; of not being able to reply with a word, and 
 of being obliged to remain with her until chance 
 should release him! For now he would sooner 
 have thought of killing her than of awakening her. 
 
 And this, then, is the slightly abortive conclu- 
 sion of one of the manoeuvers of modern flirta- 
 tion; one of a kind which seems to natures of a 
 certain sort as essential as the air they breathe. One 
 which among many is discussed as a great master- 
 stroke of strategy, in which the height of success is 
 measured by the depth of the deceit; and, when it 
 no longer interests, is dismissed lightly as a hum- 
 ming bird leaves the twig on which it has rested. 
 Jilts, flirts, coquettes, all the opprobrious terms that 
 languages afford, or tongues can invent, be multi- 
 plied unto you! You have a fault in your nature 
 that establishes your fraternity with the traitor, 
 the thief and the murderer. If you must needs be, 
 confine your operations to your kind, or curses be 
 on you! 
 
 But to return to Peter Wilson. How does he 
 fare? Like ink spilled on a blotter, the baleful 
 truth has soaked into his soul. Our first experi- 
 ence with the duplicity of men, and this was his 
 first of the kind, is usually more affecting than all 
 that follow it combined. Already he sought refuge 
 from the dark thoughts that rose in his soul by 
 roving in the only world that was left him — the 
 memories of the past. His nature was of the kind 
 that does not love, or pretend to, but once. All his 
 
54 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 future seemed a mass of chaotic gloom, black as 
 the night around him. Oh! what would he not 
 have given to be able to rush from the hated room 
 into the forest, and seating himself upon the mossy 
 roots of some kind old tree, that would not laugh 
 at his weakness, wring his sorrowful soul into tears ! 
 What did he care ever to see another human face, 
 since the one he loved most had proven unworthy? 
 His was not the kind of natures that find solace in 
 the tearful sympathy of friends. Even in his best 
 and most cheerful moments the seeds of seclusion 
 and solitude were in him. He would rather bear 
 his sorrow alone. He would draw a sacred halo 
 about it, within which the presence of anyone would 
 be considered an intrusion, and anyone's condolence 
 merely an impertinence. And under the apology 
 of this conviction, even his humble chronicler, who 
 has attended him so minutely and tediously through 
 all his hours of agony, asks the privilege of bid- 
 ding him, for a space, adieu. 
 
 Now is the time when the lark, lightly spring- 
 ing from its dewy couch, soars, singing, into the 
 sky, until the eye is rendered useless by the dis- 
 tance attained, and only the evidence of the ear 
 remains to assure us that it has not passed the 
 crystal doors of heaven itself. Now is the hour for 
 that crepuscular bird, sitting lengthwise its perch, 
 to issue its ancient commands concerning the chas- 
 tisement of Poor Will. From the far off meadows 
 comes the drum of partridges. The domestic fowls 
 walk about in the imperfect light in search of 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 55 
 
 worms; while out on the blasted top of the old 
 apple-tree the scarlet-topped wood-pecker sounds his 
 ominous rat-ta-ta-ta at the door of the unfortu- 
 nate grub. 
 
 That great master artist, the sun, with the 
 first pencils of daylight for color, and the whole 
 eastern sky for a canvas, is painting scenes too 
 gorgeous for human rivalry. The opposite hemis- 
 pheres of light and darkness that have chased each 
 other over the earth incessantly, save for the three 
 hours rest Joshua gave them, at the rate of more 
 than a thousand miles per hour, ever since the 
 "greater light was made to rule the day," and our 
 old planet, with the others, began to cast its cone 
 of shade through space, are exerting their influ- 
 ences of old. And even as two rivers of different- 
 colored water — one of which gathers its floods from 
 the black earth and unwholesome fens, w^hile the 
 other collects its volume, which flows over golden 
 sands, and moves well-worn pebbles at its margin, 
 from a thousand sparkling mountain springs — which 
 are compelled to flow in one channel, will have, for 
 some distance from their confluence, a strip of 
 water between them, the color of both partly and 
 neither entirely; so, between these hemispheres of 
 light and darkness are two clasps of mixed light, 
 one of which we call dawn, the other, twilght. Bay- 
 ing the heels of day, comes the twilight, bringing 
 to honest men release from toil, and lightsome 
 hopes of peace and rest; while it drives the night- 
 prowlers, man and animal, from their frouzy lairs. 
 And then, lighting up the dark tracks of the night, 
 
56 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 revealing the misdeeds, comes the dawn; driving 
 the night-wanderers to their dens, and reinstilling 
 in the bosoms of honest men thoughts of strife and 
 industry. 
 
 It is the dawn that is now upon us, and by its 
 crescent light let us just peep in and see what has 
 become of Peter. There he is; but that he occupies 
 the same position, we would not admit it to be 
 him; and even now, we are tempted to believe that 
 some spectre from the graveyard has taken his 
 place. His face looks as hard as a chiseled one. 
 His cheeks are pale and bloodless. His forehead 
 is wrinkled. His eyes are sunken and hollow. He 
 fetches his breath in short gasps. Can this be 
 Peter Wilson? Ah! the night has wrought fear- 
 ful mutations in him. Should he go home as he is, 
 his mother would scarce know him. And yet it is 
 Peter, and he knows that the end is near. 
 
 The reviving influence of the dawn, that sets 
 the birds singing, has penetrated the walls of the 
 house at last, and its presence is acknowledged by 
 the creaking of bedsteads, occasioned by restless 
 occupants; and in the throwing about of bed-clothes, 
 and sundry yawns. Like fish coming to the w^ater's 
 surface for air, are the undecided returns of the 
 sleepers from Dreamland. But that it was Sunday, 
 the house would have been astir long since. Peter 
 had remembered, and was thankful for this. But 
 even the Sabbath's grace could not much longer pro- 
 tect him. While Peter was wondering how it would 
 end, who would find them first, and what would 
 be said and done, his long-borne burden moved 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 57 
 
 slightly, opened her eyes, and then stood up. Then, 
 while both her hands flew instinctively to her 
 slightly-ruffled hair, and just as the shadow of a 
 blush mounted to her cheeks, she said 'T hope you 
 rested easy, dear." 
 
 But Peter Wilson, who had pitched forward at 
 the unexpected removal of Fanny's weight until his 
 chair stood on all its legs, and had, with difficulty, 
 removed his right foot from its long position on his 
 left knee, did not reply. Gazing straight ahead, 
 and w^alking unsteadily from his long experience, 
 he strode out of the room, leaving the door open 
 behind him. As he passed out, the sun, barely 
 horizon-free, stared him full in the face. It had 
 completed its nether journey since his ill-fated en- 
 trance into the house. Never, oh let us hope, dur- 
 ing its hidden course, shall Peter Wilson, or for 
 that matter any one else, endure such another night. 
 And yet, what redress did the following night prom- 
 ise? 
 
 As for the triumphant Fanny, she watched 
 him as he walked out, closed the door after him, 
 clapped her hands together, and glancing around 
 the room, cried out, *'0h Father, Mother, and all 
 the rest, get up, and be even with the sun, and 
 Peter, who has just gone, taking the hint at last, 
 and leaving in its place his hat." And thus it hap- 
 pened that the series of flirtations conducted be- 
 tween Peter Wilson and Fanny Embers did not end 
 matrimonially. Thus it occurred that Peter entered 
 her home with prospects, as he thought, bright as 
 
58 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 a sheaf of sunbeams, and left it in despair dark as 
 Timon's cave. 
 
 And now, having given the somewhat abrupt 
 conclusion of the courtship, I leave everyone to his 
 own mind as to how it came about. The extent of 
 the surprise of Fanny's family at finding their in- 
 dulged daughter, not only up before anyone else, 
 but with her bed made, was only equalled by its 
 pleasant nature; and the extent of the surprise in 
 Peter's family — he being lucky enough to get home 
 and into bed without awakening anyone — at no 
 amount of search being able to locate their eldest 
 son's Sunday hat, was only equaled by its unpleas- 
 ant nature. Peter, of course, remembered having 
 worn it the night before, but what he had done 
 with it on coming home, he had no idea, until he 
 was reminded by the arrival of a messenger from 
 Fanny, bringing his hat, along with all the other lit- 
 tle tokens of affection he had given her from time 
 to time; and also a note from her, the tenor of which 
 was that, ''after the unaccountable occurrence of last 
 night he must not try to see her again." 
 
 This stage of the proceedings of course de- 
 manded an explanation, and the foregoing is the 
 one made. The fires of love in Peter, thus rudely 
 quenched, were never rekindled. From that very 
 day he began, not abruptly and at once, but slowly 
 and surely, to sever his connections with his kind; 
 until now, daylight does not reveal to his sight a 
 more unwelcome object than the human face. As 
 for Fanny, the sleep- mentioned Mr. Gluson soon 
 after, but not the following night, married her. She 
 
ANOTHER ICHABOD CRANE 59 
 
 admitted that all during the ''bating" of Peter, she 
 had no other intention than that of deceiving him, 
 and that Gliison was party to, and approved of, her 
 plans for the culmination of the plot; but the mo- 
 tive of her strange action, marring the plot, she 
 has declined to disclose. Possibly she herself does 
 not know what caused it. Perhaps it is explained 
 by her experiencing one of those moments of rare 
 weariness, when some more supple hand than ordi- 
 nary manipulates the drowsy noose, and under the 
 influence of which men have slept under all im- 
 aginable conditions. Perchance, it was the inter- 
 vention of Providence. And thus conjecture might 
 have an endless tether, while likely the object for 
 which it sought would remain forever inscrutable 
 as the hair-raising tale of his nether lodging that 
 the ghost of Hamlet's father might have disclosed, 
 but that he was forbid. 
 
THE DRUNKEN FAIRY. 
 
 I well believe that every mind contains 
 Kemembrance of at least one incident 
 That trifles all the other happenings; 
 And which, in all the stores of memory, 
 No equal hath; but all alone it stands, 
 Mountain-like, on the plains of Commonplace. 
 
 Of different natures these star scenes may be; 
 Verhaps they are from horror's bloody hand; 
 Or, are mysterious, strange and unexplained ; 
 Or, from the ''touch of nature" interwound. 
 But there they stand, with sacred pales around; 
 From memory's common debris thus inclosed, 
 Like rich mens' graves in church-yards of the poor. 
 
 Now, it so happens that my mind contains 
 Remembrance of one scene that hath no peer 
 In all my memory's realms ; and many years 
 It hath been still inclosed with sacred pales; 
 And now I break the pales, and turn it free. 
 
 The day was perfect; search the clear sky o'er, 
 
 No cloud appeared; no, not a fleck of white. 
 
 60 
 
THE DRUNKEN FAIRY 61 
 
 And we were six, three maidens and three youths, 
 All in a place dressed by Delight herself, 
 A garden full of flowers ; where, I think. 
 Grew every flower that's "to the manor born;" 
 But no pale foreigners, from softer climes, 
 Were seen, in jars of stone to pine and fade, 
 Like men mewed up, or animals encaged. 
 
 And thus, the ears and nose and sense of touch. 
 Had song and perfume and the balmy air. 
 For every bird was gleeful ; and for the eye, 
 There surely beauty was, and beauty's smile. 
 But even on this scene I closed my eyes, 
 As though it were too bright to be observed 
 For long at once ; and one that came before 
 I saw; 'twas this: The fresh, young, cheerful 
 
 Spring, 
 Tust come, "her buskins gemmed w^ith morning 
 
 dew," 
 Pouring roses in the lap of flowery May. 
 
 But gone was Spring, and now Midsummer 
 held 
 The meridian glory of her matron pride; 
 And hence, wnth birds and bees and butterlf ies 
 The air w^as filled ; compatriots all 
 Of languorous, love-compelling Summer. 
 
 But more than others of the feathered kind, 
 ^Vere humming birds ; oh how they flashed about, 
 Like winged emeralds, in among the flowers ! 
 And in security's safe taunt, how near 
 To us they dared approach ! Around them still 
 Their buzzing wings a shimmering halo made. 
 Whether flying, or hanging motionless. 
 
62 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 And sipping nectar from some floweret's cup. 
 
 And just as one, more daring than his mates, 
 As he shot by, did almost touch the face 
 Of our young hostess, thus the lady spoke : 
 
 *'Do any of you know there is a way 
 Whereby these lively creatures may be tamed. 
 All in a trice, and without injury. 
 Either to them or us? And so perfect 
 Is the charm, that they may be made to lie, 
 All limp and lifeless, in our hands, while we 
 Observe their tiny forms, and can admire 
 The rainbow radiance of their plumage tints. 
 But hold, the charm's efficiency to prove 
 Nor time nor place than now and here, I think. 
 Could be more fit — Excuse me for awhile." 
 
 She passed into the house; thence issued soon, 
 In her hand, a bottle, on the sides of which, 
 Its age's index, dust and cobwebs hung. 
 This held she up and said : "Behold the charm ! 
 The spirit, potent over birds as men." 
 And then, with flask tnicorked, she sought the 
 flowers. 
 
 Oh ! how my heart did leap beneath my vest, 
 As fairy-like, she tripped from bloom to bloom, 
 Filling their chalices with ruby wine! 
 And how I longed to hold her in my arms, 
 And kiss her icing lips, and call her mine. 
 This Hebe of the flowers ! — And all too soon 
 The task was done ; as many as she chose 
 Of the flowers' cups with the red wine she filled. 
 And then returned. But note the change behind, 
 Among the flowers ! That one more fair than they 
 
THE DRUNKEN FAIRY 63 
 
 Had been among them, all showed evidence; 
 
 From envy paler yet the lily grew, 
 
 And redder still the red rose blushed for shame. 
 
 But scarcely had the floral Ganymede 
 Her place resumed among her wond'ring guests, 
 Than, as we watched the "wined" bowls, we saw 
 A humming bird his slender bill extend, 
 And from the throat of Flora 'gin to sip 
 The man-maddening drink ; and still it sipped, 
 As in that chalice's poisoned draught it found 
 Some fascination irresistible. 
 And then, as the wine's fumes began to spread. 
 And of their vigor rob its falt'ring wings, 
 With its tiny feet to the blossom's edge 
 It clung, and still did sip the fatal drink. 
 And now, alas ! the rising fumes defeat 
 The appetite that they themselves did make; 
 And so, upon the grass-carpeted ground. 
 All limp and lifeless, fell the drunken bird. 
 
 And then we hied us quickly to the spot. 
 And took it up ; and so from hand to hand 
 It passed, and all admired. Our hostess then 
 We praised, and thanked for the shrewd, clever 
 
 ruse 
 That had into our hands, and without harm. 
 This delicate creature given. And so. 
 When each had gazed enough, we gently laid 
 The tiny bird, still helpless, on the grass ; 
 And waited then, the first faint signs to see 
 Of nature throwing off her enemy. 
 
 Nor had we long to wait; for birds, it seems, 
 Are all of nature too etherial 
 
64 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 To be long held a slave to fumy wine. 
 
 And so, ere it had long lain on the grass, 
 
 The first faint tremors of revival 'gan 
 
 To run along beneath its downy coat. 
 
 And rapidly they spread, and stronger grew, 
 
 Until the bird stood upright. But, alas. 
 
 Not even then did evolution cease ! 
 
 For larger and still larger grew the bird. 
 
 Until at last unto our fear-struck eyes 
 
 The tiny bird a perfect fairy seemed ! 
 
 And thus it stood, and turned its eyes upon us ; 
 
 And as it looked, I noted well its face, 
 
 And all 'peared joyous, or had been but late, 
 
 Save on one delicate cheek, where 'gan to show 
 
 A spot of crimson sorrow ; and, as I gazed. 
 
 O'er all the face the corrosive shadows stole — 
 
 And as we speechless stared, it thus did speak: 
 
 "And will it be ever thus, ungrateful man, 
 Still upon those that most do mean thee good 
 The deepest wTong to heap ! Alas ! Alas ! 
 For those that seek to serve the race of men ! 
 I might have known ! — But hear me now, and judge, 
 Whether I have cause or not for this reproach. 
 
 'T am a fairy, sent from Oberon, 
 To act as watch-dog here ; and from this place 
 Malicious elves and wicked thoughts to chase, 
 And thus the spot keep pure. And so I came ; 
 And for disguise, what more appropriate 
 Than the body of a light-winged humming bird? 
 And so in this disguise I came. But oh ! 
 As soon as 'mong the garden flowers I came, 
 And from their honey-bowls began to sip, 
 
THE DRUNKEN FAIRY 65 
 
 After the nature of the humming bird, 
 I found a gold-lined cup, in which was not 
 Nature's sweet wholesome honey; but instead 
 Man's nectar, poisoned with the germs of sin ; 
 And this I sipped ; the drastic fumes crept up, 
 And robbed of motion soon my borrowed form; 
 And thus I first knew sin : now, hear my doom. 
 
 ''We have no God, as mortals claim to have, 
 To purge the fullness of the infected soul; 
 And hence, when all-devouring sin doth come, 
 As come it does sometimes, even to us, 
 And has to nie, there is no cure, no hope; 
 But each in exile must endure his curse, 
 Until at last, as sin's true nature is. 
 It doth devour the thing on which it feeds. 
 And hence, in exile from the fairy bands, 
 Lest upon others his contagious curse 
 Itself should fix, the sin-stained one must go. 
 
 "And so must I ; and now, alas ! no more 
 Shall I my friends and kindred live among ; 
 But far away, beyond all fairy haunts, 
 My cursed life must spend, while life remains. 
 With wicked things alone I must consort. 
 Though ne'er before; yea, in regions now, 
 So wild and rugged, so remote and stern. 
 The scars of earth, where never good things come. 
 My wretched time drag out; perchance must stand 
 Alone on barren, wind-swept mountain-tops. 
 And hear wolves howling to the frozen moon. 
 And then for shelter, I must nightly creep 
 Into some cavern, slimy, foul and dark ; 
 And with the loathsome creatures there consort ! 
 
GQ TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Alas ! how hard reality must prove, 
 When e'en anticipation is so dread! 
 
 *'But oh hard fate! Another thought now 
 comes, 
 Keener than all combined. No more shall I 
 My coy fairy love again caress, 
 Or even see; unless, love-goaded, I 
 Some starless night around the fairy camp 
 In stealthy silence creep ; and so observe 
 Another in her heart, perhaps, enthroned. 
 Then, as sweet balsam for the wounded heart, 
 Thence to be chased by angry sentinels. 
 But all such thoughts, farewell ! For now no more 
 Shall I behold my kind. No more, alas! 
 By mossy fountains, in the lonesome wood, 
 In fairy sports take part. But now, afar. 
 Midst sinful creatures, deserts made for sin, 
 Wear out the tedium of sin's hateful date; 
 Thence into nothingness, whence first I came. 
 
 "And now, but one word more : My curse and 
 fall. 
 Through ruin to me, unto yourselves may do 
 Most sovereign good ; yea, keep you from like fate ; 
 Arid thus the purpose of my errand here 
 More perfectly be done, than otherwise. 
 Then hear what now I say : Abstain from wine ; 
 For soul's most deadly enemy it is ; 
 And from your resolution ne'er be turned 
 By the light, senseless prattle of the world. 
 Or by the evil working from your hearts. 
 And should you ever doubt the evidence 
 Of what I say, and mine own fate grow dim 
 
THE DRUNKEN FAIRY 67 
 
 On memory's many-pictured sheet, then do but this : 
 In other flower-cups pour the ruby wine. 
 Note the effect, and then remember this : 
 The human soul is flower-and fairy-like, 
 And from the same offense takes injury, 
 Howe'er the vile flesh closes o'er the wound, 
 And hides it from the search of mortal eyes." 
 
 The voice ceased, and in a thought almost, 
 The shrinking fairy was a bird again ; 
 And soon its wav'ring flat'ring flight began ; 
 The wings, which erst had buzzed invisible. 
 Beating the air with dull and bat-like strokes. 
 
 Askance we looked, nor any dared to meet 
 His neighbor's eye ; and soon from that sad spot, 
 We, each in silence, took our solemn way. 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS. 
 
 When my father died, and each of we children 
 were to receive some memento of him, I chose 
 the rifle, and I never regretted the selection. Many, 
 indeed, were the pleasant hours I spent, with only 
 this full-stock companion, in the heart of the forest. 
 For some months after becoming- its sole owner, I 
 spent almost all my time in acquiring the culminat- 
 ing and difficult feat of David Crockett, shooting 
 between a squirrel and the bough on which it was 
 lying, at the point nearest its heart, and causing 
 it thereby to fall to the ground, stunned, but other- 
 wise uninjured. Many balls did I send on blood- 
 less errands, and to many squirrels did I afford 
 another chance at life, in acquiring this all but 
 impossible feat. But at last it was mine, and I 
 would shoot a squirrel in no other way if I could 
 help it. But it is not my present intention to trace 
 for you all my rambles through the solemn wood, 
 
 or to acquaint you with all my juvenile deeds there- 
 
 68 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 69 
 
 in; but to relate an occurrence that rather damp- 
 ened my hunting ardor than otherwise. 
 
 My father's cottage stood on the brow of a lofty 
 hill, from under the base of which flowed an ever- 
 lasting spring; and it was one of my youthful tasks 
 to convey no small portion of the water used by 
 the family from this same fountain. With a boy's 
 natural reluctance for doing anything useful, I, of 
 course, demurred a good deal at this. But there 
 was one guerdon, the promise of which never failed 
 to overcome my scruples, and insure a quick er- 
 rand — the permission for a hunt. One day I asked 
 my mother for an afternoon's furlough into the 
 woods, and the usual service was enjoined. With 
 nimble steps I started for the spring. I filled my 
 pail, and was half way back up the hill; when, 
 happening to step on a rolling rock, or something 
 else, I fell headlong, and the thirsty dust licked up 
 my water. I returned to the spring, refilled my 
 pail, and started for home once more ; but at exactly 
 the same spot, the same thing occurred again. Now 
 thoroughly impatient, mad, and astonished, by 
 turns, I paused to consider what it meant. Had it 
 been caused by some spirit, having in charge the 
 preservation of wild animals, to keep me out of the 
 woods? With sober steps I returned to the spring, 
 
 and filled my pail for the third time; and then, 
 having always heard that haste makes waste, and 
 having recently been made a believer in the doc- 
 trine, I seated myself on the mossy roots of a large 
 sycamore that grew hard by, and sought to soothe 
 
70 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 my perturbed senses, and regain the mastery over 
 myself. 
 
 As I sat there, having bared my sweaty brow 
 to the gentle breeze that was blowing, I wondered 
 if the outpouring catastrophe would occur again; 
 and, as the surest preventative I knew, assured 
 myself that it would. This may be considered poor 
 metaphysics, but it has always proven genuine with 
 me. To be sure, it might be objected that any- 
 one, having anticipated a thing, would observe in- 
 creased diligence, either to cause it to occur or 
 not to occur, as the nature of the thing might de- 
 mand. But I do not speak of this ; but of the things 
 that merely happen, and that no amount of caution 
 or negligence on our part would tend either to pro- 
 duce or to prevent. I have no way of explaining 
 this, unless it be that nearly all the things that 
 merely happen come as surprises, and that if we 
 seek to rob them of the element of surprise, they 
 do not come at all. But do not think now that 
 you can forestall all future happenings of an un- 
 pleasant nature. Even if it proved true with you, 
 and everything you could think of as happening, 
 did not happen; still, everything that is intended to 
 happen, would happen just the same; and not until 
 it had happened would you perceive how completely 
 you had been overreached. But strange to say, the 
 theory in my case, with regard to tumbling down 
 again, was never proven. 
 
 I was just on the point of getting up to make 
 another trial, when I heard the report of a rifle 
 nearby. Then I heard a strange buzzing sound; it 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 71 
 
 came swiftly nearer. Crash! Darkness! For 
 awhile I seemed tO' be lying in absolute dark, 
 through which brilliant lights were flashed at inter- 
 vals. Then the lights ceased, and it became a soft, 
 violet glow, exactly such as one sees when he turns 
 his face toward a bright light, with his eyes tightly 
 closed. I did not feel any pain, but for some rea- 
 son I could neither move nor speak; and I had no 
 desire to do either, only to lie quiet and enjoy the 
 sensations. How long I lay thus, I do not know; 
 but all at once I perceived a tall, graceful woman 
 beside me. I had not observed her approaching, 
 nor was I conscious of her presence until she stood 
 beside me. Oh ! she was fair, and tall and graceful. 
 She wore a robe that seemed to be made of leaves 
 sewn together; her hair was gatherd in a knot on 
 the back of her head, and pinned with tender, crim- 
 son thorns; and her eyes were clear as crystal. 
 Years later, when I read for the first time the 
 phrase "A daughter of the Gods, devinely fair, 
 and most devinely tall," an image of the appear- 
 ance she then presented at once flashed into my 
 mind; only, she was one of the Gods themselves. 
 I looked at her, and essayed to speak; but could 
 not. She seemed to understand, for she hastened 
 to say, ''I am Diana, Goddess of the Chase." 
 
 I had seen in some old book a picture of this 
 divinity, her bow in her hand, a quiver of arrows 
 over her shoulder, and her timid fawn skipping 
 along beside her; with underwrit: "Diana, God- 
 dess of the Chase," but I never expected her to look 
 like this. After awhile she spoke again : "You 
 
72 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 are rather badly hurt, and it is all through a disciple 
 of mine; and I intend to give you some compensa- 
 tion. But first I will make you as comfortable as 
 possible." Saying which, she plucked a trio of 
 leaves from a pawpaw bush that grew close by, 
 and arranging them in such a manner that they 
 would hold water, she brought me a drink from 
 the spring, and supported my head as I drank. 
 When I had done drinking, she said : ''I would 
 try to dress your wound, but I have no skill in 
 surgery; that belongs to Aesculapius, whose 
 mother my arrow killed at his birth." Artemis 
 then unfastened the cool, moist leaves in which she 
 had brought the water, and continued. 
 
 ''If you have read or heard much about me, 
 you are doubtless surprised at seeing me here, far 
 away from my beloved Olympus, and all my im- 
 mortal kind and kindred. But I can give you good 
 reasons for it. I was obliged to leave Oylmpus, 
 and seek the shades of newer forests, because the 
 chase there had so degenerated as to be no longer 
 deserving of a Patron Goddess ; and I fear that 
 even here my name is destined at last to be for- 
 gotten. I chose to appear to you, because I con- 
 sider you one of my most ardent devotees; I also 
 owe you some expiation because you received your 
 wound at the hands of one of my followers — the 
 old man with the little speckled dog." (I recog- 
 nized him.) "Besides I have long intended to 
 make to mankind some reparation for my ruthless 
 cruelty when surprised by Actaeon in that extreme 
 state of nature. And, too, I feel compelled by the 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 73 
 
 intolerable sorrow of my coming oblivion, to make 
 a confidant of some mortal. You may think, judg- 
 ing from the present flourishing condition of my 
 worship, that it could never die; but alas, it is this 
 very ardency of pursuit that will the sooner an- 
 nihilate me. 
 
 ''Hence, as I roved restlessly from hill to hill, 
 stung by the tormenting anticipation of abandon- 
 ment, I saw you struck down by the flattened ball 
 of an unknowing hunter ; and I determined to come 
 to you, and do what I could to make pleasant the 
 space of your unconsciousness. I intend to give 
 you some pageants, or representations, culled from 
 different periods of my triumphant reign as God- 
 dess of the Chase; also some that shall attend my 
 decline. I want you tO' give close attention to every- 
 thing you see, and perhaps, in after years, by re- 
 lating it, you can somewhat retard the advent of 
 my desuetude; but come it must, sooner or later. 
 Of course, to give you one scene from every kind 
 and method of hunting would be impossible, in 
 the time I have; I shall, therefore, select only a 
 few representative ones. Now, look, but speak 
 not." 
 
 With this she ceased speaking, and the pre- 
 sentations began immediately after. They much 
 resembled stereopticon views of today, though 
 whence they came, whither they went, or what 
 agency produced and destroyed them, I could not 
 tell. They merely played awhile before my eyes, 
 and then faded. But Luna's injunction to silence 
 was doubly unnecessary; I was too awed to speak, 
 
74 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 even if I had had the power. And so the panto- 
 mime began. Concerning the first part of the "pro- 
 gram" I shall say but little. It was merely selec- 
 tions from the venery of old, mixed with some 
 scenes of a mythological character; such as Perseus 
 severing the heads of the Medusa ; Hercules' arch- 
 ery in destroying the Stymphalian birds, etc Once 
 more a band of skin-clad barbarians, with dogs and 
 spears, slew the savage boar; and once more the 
 naked Indianman crept up to the sleeping elephant, 
 cut off his trunk, and managed to keep out of the 
 way of the great beast until it bled to death. 
 
 As soon as that part of the repertoire consist- 
 ing of kinds of hunting I had never seen was ap- 
 parently concluded, Selene, who had kept silent 
 during the entire performance, spoke again. *'I 
 will now," she said, ''give you a tableau of an anec- 
 dote told of each of my renowned followers in the 
 New World, Daniel Boone and David Crockett. 
 One is a fact, the other merely a story, yet good 
 enough to be dramatized, as illustrating the perfect 
 marksmanship of the man of whom it is related." 
 She then became silent, and I, attentive. Suddenly, 
 on a high bough of one of the massive trees be- 
 fore me I saw a large raccoon, seemingly fast 
 asleep. As I gazed at it, my attention was at- 
 tracted to some other object, in another direction. 
 I looked, and perceived a fur-clad hunter, stealthily 
 approaching. But it was more the magnetism of 
 his presence that drew my eye than anything else, 
 for his footsteps were almost noiseless. On he 
 came, darting his keen eyes everywhere through 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 75 
 
 the underbrush and dense foHage, in search of 
 game. Of course the unscreened raccoon did not 
 escape the scrutiny of those all-seeing orbs; and 
 with a movement lissom and noiseless as as that of 
 a cat, the hunter brought his rifle to his shoulder. 
 But the click of the lock, as he drew back the 
 hammer, caught the ear of the 'coon, which did not 
 seem so drowsy, after all. Raising its head before 
 the hunter had time to fire, it, in a sharp, snappy 
 voice asked, "Are you Crockett?" "Yes," said th^ 
 hunter, seemingly much astonished at hearing the 
 animal speak. "Well, then," continued the talking 
 quadruped, "you need not shoot, and waste your 
 charge; I know you would hit me, so I will just 
 come down without being shot. I never fancied a 
 death by bullet anyway." 
 
 "But what will you do after you get down," 
 asked the hunter; who had now regained his self- 
 composure, and was once more able to consider all 
 sides of the question impartially. 
 
 "Why, anything you want m6 to do," an- 
 swered the 'coon, which was now descending. 
 "Hold!" said Crockett, again raising his rifle; 
 "only on one condition will I allow you to come 
 down alive. You must promise to reveal to me 
 the homes of as many valuable animals as you 
 know of. If you will do this, I will spare your 
 life, and see that your old age wants no comfort." 
 The 'coon paused and considered awhile, but love 
 of life overbalanced love of kind and kindred; and 
 so he said "agreed." He then finished his inter- 
 rupted descent, and fawned upon the hunter as any 
 
76 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 little dog might. They left the stage greatly en- 
 grossed in their new-made friendship; and so the 
 vision faded. 
 
 The other scene was enacted in almost total 
 darkness. I gazed into the ebon mass for sometime 
 without being able to distinguish anything. But 
 at last I saw a faint, flickering light, slowly ap- 
 proaching. Nearer and nearer it came, until it was 
 very close tO' me ; and then again I heard the fatal 
 click of a rifle being cocked. But ere the gunner 
 had time to discharge his piece, a soft, soughing 
 sound, apparently a sigh, stole from some invisible 
 source out upon the black bosom of the night. 
 Hold ! that was no deer. Quickly, as I could see by 
 the movements of the ghostly outline of this mid- 
 night hunter, as revealed by his flaming torch, he 
 reshouldered his piece, and started in the direction 
 whence the sound had come, and toward which he 
 had intended to shoot. And when he came to the 
 source of the mysterious noise, his light revealed a 
 young, and very much frightened damsel. But by 
 degrees the midnight deer stalker calmed her fears, 
 and they left the stage arm in arm. As soon as the 
 darkness-shrouded fantasy had vanished, and light 
 had been restored, Amarynthia said : 'That was 
 the manner in which Daniel Boone was first intro- 
 duced to his future bride. Real romantic, was it 
 not?" 
 
 Soon as the representations illustrating the 
 stories told of the two hunters had ended, Brito- 
 martis said: *T shall now give you some scenes 
 that may make you feel rather queer. Did you 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 77 
 
 ever fancy yourself, in dreams, being two different 
 persons, and in two different places, at the same 
 time? Well, in what is to follow, you will be in 
 just that predicament, for you are to be both an 
 actor and a spectator. The scene is to be a por- 
 trayal of your first hunt, the day after you became 
 the proud possessor of your first gun. And thus, 
 while you lie here and observe it, you will share 
 some of your thoughts and feelings with your other 
 self, out there in action ; and it will be the strangest 
 sensation you ever did or ever will experience. But 
 first, some preparation is necessary." And imme- 
 diately the snow began to fall, in large fleecy flakes, 
 and soon the ground was carpeted in white. 
 
 And then the hunt began. On the day previous 
 my father had purchased for me my first gun — 
 a small, single-barreled shot gun; and today was tO' 
 decide whether or not I was worthy of it. But the 
 novice has only a slender chance among wild game 
 and experienced hunters; I could do little else than 
 watch the others enviously, and wonder if ever I 
 would reach such a degree of proficiency. Well, 
 well, it does seem queer to be two persons at once! 
 How could Dictynna remember and reproduce so 
 exactly the happenings of that eventful day; or how 
 did she come to know anything about it in the first 
 place ? 
 
 On swept the hunt ; and although the real hunt 
 lasted all day, and this picture of it, I suppose, only 
 a few minutes, no incident seemed to be left out. 
 Several kinds of game w^ere shot, but mostly rab- 
 bits; and many indeed of these all-pray ed-on crea- 
 
78 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 tures started from the shelter of some snow-laden 
 bush, or clump of grass or weeds, raising his caudal 
 flag of truce to cover his retreat, only to have that 
 time-honored symbol ruthlessly ignored by the blood- 
 thirsty hunters, and to tumble heels over head into 
 a snowy grave. Once more the nimble squirrel 
 went slipping up the tree, on the side opposite the 
 hunter; until, having reached its hole, it stopped, 
 security-doomed, long enough to bark saucily once 
 or twice at its pursuers, before plunging into safety, 
 and also long enough to give the hunter time to 
 kill it. Many were the coveys of quail and pheas- 
 ants scared from their berth of the night before 
 during that day; and they, not having stirred since 
 the storm overtook them, offered, in their benumbed 
 flight, an easy mark to the sportsmen. Once more 
 Brother John shot his gun without knowing that 
 there was some snow in the ends of the barrels, and 
 lost about two inches of the muzzle thereby. In the 
 meantime, everybody's bag began to get heavy, but 
 mine; it continued to hang "flat as a flounder." But 
 hope still lingered. 
 
 Along late in the afternoon, I became weary, 
 having trudged through the deep snow all day 
 long, without even firing my gun; and I began to 
 lag behind the never-tiring sportsmen. Bye and 
 bye, they were all so far away that I could barely 
 hear the reports of their pieces, borne on the dead 
 atmosphere. Presently my attention was drawn by 
 some slight noise, and looking up I saw a hare hop- 
 ping over the snow at no great distance from me. 
 In a moment my ennui was dissipated, and I was all 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 79 
 
 trembling eagerness to kill the bunny. But I knew 
 that it would be impossible, so long as he was in 
 motion. At last he became still; and as I drew 
 back the hammer, the click of the lock sounded to 
 me as loud as an ordinary report, but luckily it 
 did not frighten the hare. But just as I was get- 
 ting ready to pull the trigger, he leaped again. This 
 was repeated a number of times; until at last the 
 rabbit was on the crest of the hill, in relief against 
 the western sky, now made rosy by the setting sun. 
 Now or never, for he is on the very brink of a bur- 
 row. Quickly getting aim, I drew the trigger. 
 Bang! I looked to note the result; there the hare 
 was still, but, instead of having dropped over dead, 
 he had risen on his hind feet. As I stood, stupidly 
 trying to solve the inexplicable condition of affairs, 
 it slowly dawned on me that my gun had not been 
 discharged ; only the cap had burst. Would the hare 
 remain until I could put on another? I got the box 
 out of my pocket, but I was trembling so violently 
 that I could scarcely open it. When at last the lid 
 did fly off, half the caps were scattered over the 
 snow. With numb, trembling fingers, I at last 
 got one over the tube, and looked to see if the hare 
 were gone ? No ! There he still sat ; or was it only 
 fantasy? Fantasy or not, I sighted quickly, closed 
 
 my eyes tightly, and pulled the trigger. This time 
 it shot! 
 
 Throwing my gun down, I ran to know the re- 
 sult. There on the blood-stained snow, with one of 
 its large, sad eyes gazing reproachfully at me, lay 
 
80 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 the dead hare. As one who knows he has committed 
 an unpardonable error, I looked upon what I had 
 done. Why indeed should the poor rabbit die; or 
 if die it must, why was it not killed during the heat 
 of the chase, when it was probably expecting death ? 
 But now, after having outwitted and outstripped 
 its pursuers, and reached the very brink of safety, 
 it was too hard ! too hard ! The baying of the 
 hounds that had been used to chase the game around 
 for the hunters, had now ceased, nor did I hear 
 the men any more. The peculiar, solemn stillness of 
 a winter sunset was upon the wood. An almost 
 intolerable sorrow came over me, and before I 
 knew what I was doing, I was down on my knees 
 beside the dead rabbit, mingling my tears with the 
 bloody snow, over the first living thing that ever 
 met death at my hand. I had heard boys tell of 
 their first hunts, and brag of the feelings of eleva- 
 tion and triumph that came over them at their first 
 conquest; but I assure you that none such formed 
 any part of my emotional complement on this occa- 
 sion. When my passionate storm had subsided 
 sufficiently to allow me to think, I took up the 
 dead quarry, and as the best reparation that oc- 
 curred to me, with gentle hands I lowered it into 
 the burrow it had been too deliberate about enter- 
 ing of itself; and from that day to this I have never 
 told anyone a word about it, and how Hecate found 
 it out is a mystery to me. Well, of course I am 
 hardened now, and the sight of a dead rabbit does 
 not affect me much; but even now, when I recall 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 81 
 
 that scene, it is all I can do to keep a Scotch mist 
 from forming in my eyes. 
 
 As soon as my other self, the snow, and all the 
 paraphernalia of the last described phantasm had 
 faded, and my bosom had ceased tO' heave with 
 sympathetic passion, Eileithyia spoke again : "I 
 will now," said Eleutho, "give you a representation 
 of a feature that will be characteristic of the latter 
 ages of my decline. To be sure, it will not happen as 
 you shall view it — ^the result of centuries pressed into 
 a few moments, but come it must." 
 
 Proserpine ceased speaking, and immediately, 
 without even the cue of a magician's wand, so far 
 as I could see, the air, the ground, and the branches 
 of the trees, began to be flocked with birds. From 
 every quarter of the heavens they came. They 
 were of all shapes, sizes and colors. Every species 
 of bird with which I was familiar, many that I 
 recognized from what I had read or heard of them, 
 and myriads of which I had never dreamed, were 
 there. They ranged in beauty from the resplendent 
 King-bird of paradise, to the crane ; and in size, 
 from harpies to humming birds. In fine, I suppose, 
 as Ilithyia told me, one of every kind of bird that 
 now, or ever, lives on the earth was present. But 
 as I viewed with wonder and amazement this uni- 
 versal assemblage of the feathered kind, behold, 
 sportsmen, armed with fowling pieces, appeared on 
 evei*y hand ; and began to fire into the motley mass ; 
 and every bird, as it was hit, disappeared from 
 view, and I saw it no more. With unabated zeal 
 the firing continued, and in a remarkably short time 
 
82 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 not one of all the innumerable flock remained; and 
 this, Liberia told me, represented the extinction of 
 the feathered tribe that must come bye and bye. 
 
 And so the birds were gone ! No more plum- 
 age to flash in the bright sunshine; no more warb- 
 ling to thrill out on the morning air, no more 
 ''groves of melody." And yet I thought, what is 
 the use of the trees, which were still standing, if 
 there are no birds to sing on the boughs. Kora 
 seemed to read my thought, and in an instant not 
 a tree was to be seen. And yet, she told me, they 
 were as much destroyed by the treatises written for 
 their preservation, as from any other cause; as 
 thus while some poet would be howling "woodman 
 spare that tree," for material on which to print his 
 remarks a forest would be devastated. 
 
 No trees ! No birds ! I despair of conveying 
 much of an idea of the feelings of forlornness and 
 desolation with which this prospect, even in the 
 most remote anticipation, filled me. And in this 
 manner, then, must the now flourishing and beau- 
 tiful earth, to indulge the whims of her darling, 
 Man, so "wear out to naught?" For some minutes 
 after the birdless, treeless, plain was exposed to 
 view, Persephone, as if battling with her own feel- 
 ings, did not speak; but at last she said: "When 
 this stage shall be reached, my existence will very 
 nearly have run its course; I shall have but a few 
 more centuries to live; whereupon I shall be con- 
 strained to withdraw to the habitation of the Gods, 
 and have only the companionship of the Immortals. 
 Strange! that we of devine origin should so love 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 83 
 
 the earth, and the sordid praise of men; but it is so. 
 However, it does no good to mourn; our nature 
 is to suffer in silence. 
 
 "I shall now give you some of the features that 
 shall characterize next to the last stage of my wor- 
 ship; wherein, indeed, my followers shall have but 
 little better to sacrifice to me than insects; all the 
 wild animals having been exterminated. And that 
 this is exactly as it shall occur is proven by the his- 
 tory of all peoples. They fall upon the largest and 
 fiercest animals first, and when these are gone, 
 they attack the next largest. From what you have 
 just seen, the annihilation of the birds, you may 
 have come to despise the tendency of the deeds of 
 my followers, although one of them yourself. I 
 admit they are incited chiefly by the thirst of blood. 
 But the desire to kill is implanted more or less 
 firmly in every human breast, and it will evince 
 itself ; and the wise thing to do is tO' direct it against 
 the life least valuable. If it were not for the oppor- 
 tunity men have of exercising this propensity on the 
 lower animals, they would exercise it to a greater 
 extent upon each other. But when the lower ani- 
 mals are all exterminated, unless man is by then re- 
 fined of the barbarous trait, there will be pande- 
 monium indeed! And thus, you see, the question, 
 like all questions, has two sides; and in defense of 
 my side, I can only say that some of the men who 
 have placed the highest value on human life, were 
 the very ones most energetic in the destruction of 
 the lives of other animals. But we must hasten 
 on, for I see the lethargy of your unconsciousness 
 
84 TALES FROM A BOYS FANCY 
 
 passing slowly away ; and when once it is gone, my 
 spells and charms will be of no more avail." Oh! 
 how I longed to be able to tell her that I would be 
 well content to remain with her forever, but all in 
 vain. *'I will now give you selections from some 
 kinds of hunting that have never yet been seen, 
 but that will come in their natural sequence." 
 
 The next selection from the derogation of ven- 
 ery was represented as occurring in the twilight. 
 Upon a slight grassy eminence stood three or four 
 men, with guns in their hands. I noticed that they 
 did not seem larger than ten-year-old boys ; and the 
 puerile sport of that distant, effete age consisted in 
 shooting the bats that were flying around in the 
 soft warm afterglow; and yet, it was picturesque. 
 The crepuscular game at which they discharged 
 their pieces seemed to be of several different kinds; 
 from the blood-loving vampire, to the great bat. 
 So long as they flew low enough down as not to 
 rise above the horizon, and come in relief against 
 the violet sky, they could not be seen, and were 
 therefore safe. But sooner or later, in their silken 
 flitting about, their instinctive, undulating manner 
 of flight would assert itself, and they would render 
 themselves certain prey to the sharp-eyed sportsmen. 
 At last, all were killed but one, and he had profited 
 by the fate of his fellows, and returned only at 
 long intervals, and then skimming the earth closely. 
 But the sportsmen of that period were a patient 
 set; and finally the sole survivor, seeming either 
 to discover that he was alone in the world, and to 
 prefer death to being so, or else to determine to 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 85 
 
 try to shame the gunners for their ruthless cruelty, 
 raised himself slowly into view, and there poised 
 motionless. As the downy mass fell to the earth, 
 riddled by the charge of each hunter, Leucophryne 
 said : 'Thus passed the bats." 
 
 "The next," said Limnaia, when the above-de- 
 scribed scene had faded, ''we will call the 'Slaughter 
 of the Butterflies;'" and during its continuance I 
 seemed to be looking upon another world, with 
 other people in it, which it was impossible for me 
 to connect or compare with anything I had ever 
 seen or imagined. Suddenly all the air became 
 filled with butterflies. There were many different 
 kinds, colors and sizes, but all were beautiful. All 
 Australia's splendor was represented. The blue- 
 winged belle of Cashmere, the queen of her kind, 
 in all her regal pride, towered above the throng. 
 But the inevitable marksmen were there also. They 
 were scarcely taller than large dolls, and their guns 
 were hardly a foot long; but at every shot they 
 seemed to bring down one of the gems of beauty. 
 And during the slaughter even these gentle things 
 became wild and frightened, and tried to escape 
 their persistent destroyers ; but all in vain ; and pres- 
 ently all that remained of the race of beauty was 
 the gold-dust they had shaken from their wings, 
 and with which the air was filled. 
 
 Soon as the breezes had blown the last sug- 
 gestions of the moths of day, the fine powder, into 
 everlasting extinction, Limnaia said : "That was 
 rather revolting, was it not? The next scene will 
 represent the destruction of a race less etherial." 
 
86 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 She ceased, and suddenly the air became filled with 
 a network of fine webbing, which glistened in the 
 sunshine. Upon this structure of delicate cordage 
 began to appear an innumerable host of spiders. 
 They were of all sizes, shapes and colors, from the 
 largest to the smallest; and, as usual, appeared the 
 diminutive sportsmen. 
 
 During the first part of the contest, the heavy, 
 dull, saturnine things were, of course, an easy prey ; 
 but at last, seeming to become aroused to what was 
 being done to them, those sluggish things became 
 agile and wary as gibbons. And many and ac- 
 curate were the feats of marksmanship performed 
 and applauded by the dw^arfish huntsmen in shoot- 
 ing them down from the highest part of the web- 
 bing, to which they had retreated. But nothing 
 could avail. It was fate, and fate is inexorable. 
 And so at last, but one of the spider kind remained, 
 and he climbed to the highest accessible point, and 
 towards him many shots were directed in vain. But 
 at last some celebrated marksman of that advanced 
 period managed tO' send an atom of lead through 
 him; and he tumbled from his lofty perch, after 
 his kind, into oblivion. 
 
 When this scene was done, and the invisible 
 Hours were removing the tangled netting, Trivia 
 said : ''There ! that revealed us in a less revolting 
 light. Now, I have but one more scene to show 
 you, in which will be involved visible kinds of game ; 
 after that will commence a strange kind of hunting 
 indeed." She ceased, and suddenly a warm summer 
 twilight diffused itself over the scene. Presently 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 87 
 
 I began to hear a low, humming sound; and look- 
 ing closely, I saw a number of close-packed swarms 
 of small gnats. As they flew slowly about, they 
 changed their positions incessantly, like a number 
 of drilled equestrians performing in a circus ring, 
 only much more rapidly and intricately. Talk about 
 animals thinking! And here was a band of the 
 smallest visible things, each and every member of 
 which seemed to be intent only on doing as much 
 moving about as possible within the swarm, and 
 yet the entire company constantly moving along in 
 some definite direction. It was no bad illustra- 
 tion of the behavior of all the bodies of space, all 
 moving freely about among themselves, yet all for- 
 ever sweeping onward toward some destined goal. 
 But the tiny sportsmen did not seem to pause long, 
 to admire the exquisite grace and perfection of their 
 performance. They began to fire into them at 
 once, with their toy fowling-pieces. And before 
 long the poor gnats had followed the other things 
 into the all-devouring gulf of oblivion; and swarms 
 of summer gnats, parading in the mellow afterglow, 
 were known noi more. 
 
 At the conclusion of this scene, Pherephote 
 said: "Now, you have seen the extinction of all 
 the visible things of a wild nature, just as it shall 
 occur. But there are also small living things, in- 
 visible, that is, too small to be seen with the un- 
 aided human eye." I started. Things too small to 
 be seen! I had never heard of such a thing. But 
 of course there was no thought of doubting the 
 word of my Goddess. There were, then, veritable 
 
88 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 pixies. Without seeming to notice my amazement, 
 Infernia contniiied : *'And upon these my insatiable 
 devotees will fall, as soon as they have exhausted 
 the others. But the period of your unconscious- 
 ness has almost elapsed." (Is there a case on rec- 
 ord, where anyone, having been rendered uncon- 
 scious, wished to remain so; if there is not, and 
 I suppose there is not, I would like to pose as an 
 example of this metaphysical phenomenon) "And 
 I shall have time to give you but one scene from 
 the novel hunting; and even it may seem like a 
 mere farce to you, you not being able to see the 
 game." 
 
 Phoebe ceased, and I looked and listened. 
 Presently along the small stream made by the over- 
 flow of the spring, the omnipresent sportsmen be- 
 gan to appear. They wore upon their noses queer 
 looking objects, which I have since decided to have 
 been magnifying glasses of some kind; and ever and 
 anon they dropped to one knee, and shot into the 
 water; but as I could see nothing for them to be 
 shooting at, it of course seemed like a hollow farce 
 to me. During the entire scene, the sun was in plain 
 view, and it showed no brighter than Sirius does at 
 present. And this, then, was the manner the hunt- 
 ters of that advanced period had of shooting am- 
 oeba, the paramoecium, the green euglena, the vor- 
 ticella, and the scarlet volvox; but not, I suppose, 
 the opalina. i 
 
 As soon as they had disappeared, Libltina ap- 
 proached very close to me, and said: "Now, you 
 have seen the last of me. Those last scenes were 
 
THE PASSING GODDESS 89 
 
 scarcely worthy of a Patron Goddess, were they? 
 And now% even for me, oblivion ! Yes, I who have 
 been worshipped before a thousand altars, under a 
 score of different names, and in many countries, 
 and by many different peoples, for centuries and 
 centuries, am at last tO' be forgotten ! Farewell !" 
 And, her face filled with unutterable sorrow, she 
 turned and walked slowly away; her nimble fawn, 
 all unknowing, skipping along beside her. And 
 thus passed Diana, the many-titled Goddess of the 
 Chase. 
 
 I failed to mention in its proper place, what I 
 considered, as it happened, a rather strange phen- 
 omenon. It was, that at the close of each of the 
 last two scenes presented by Libitina, and just be- 
 fore Potamia began to speak, I had a faint glimpse 
 of a view totally dissimilar; but in each case it 
 faded before I was sufficiently impressed with it 
 either to distinguish anything about it, or to recall 
 it afterwards. But just as soon as Tergemina had 
 ceased speaking for the last time, and had gone, it 
 came full upon me, to fade no more. With some 
 difficulty, I at last understood that I w^as in my 
 own room, lying on the bed ; my mother and some- 
 one else with me. 
 
 The cause of this change of scene, for the 
 worse, I must say, is soon related. When I did not 
 return from the spring as soon as I should, my 
 mother's uneasiness, she knowing my incentive for 
 haste, soon became active. Her first thought was 
 that I had stolen out the gun, and gone hunting 
 without performing the stipulated service; but no, 
 
90 TALES PROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 there lay the rifle in its usual place, above the door, 
 and I had long since discarded the shotgun. My 
 mother then determined to go' to the spring; where 
 she found me, sitting and reclining against the old 
 sycamore, a wound upon my brow. Her cry for 
 help brought the old hunter, whose ball had struck 
 me, to the spot; and together they had carried me 
 home. And so my beautiful entertainment by the 
 Goddess of the Chase was but, as it were, a dream 
 within a dream. Nevertheless, so real was her pres- 
 ence to me, that, on regaining consciousness, I could 
 scarcely refrain from asking my mother whither 
 she had gone, and if she saw her; and so deeply 
 did her sorrowful exit impress me that for many 
 weeks and even months thereafter my soul was 
 desolate as the walls of Balclutha. 
 
THE BOY AND THE DOVES. 
 
 One morn, before the sun, I wandered forth; 
 With what rich tapestry had Aurora hung 
 The east, in honor of his advent! 
 Entranced, I gazed; and even as I looked, 
 Above the rim his flaming orb appeared, 
 And for awhile how swiftly up the sky , 
 
 His car did sweep! as if his noble steeds, 
 Phlegon, Rous, Ethon, and Erythros, 
 In the first mad burst of speed, after rest, 
 Could not be reined. And what a scene appeared 
 When his great light was turned upon the world I 
 On leaves and grass a thousand gems flashed out, 
 Which were not there before; or if, but dew. 
 And in each gem, if closely viewed, one saw 
 A miniature of the cloud-couched bow; 
 Observing which, thus to myself I mused : 
 God's signet in a dewdrop doth appear; 
 Hence, unto humblest things his love extends. 
 
 But as I mused, the sun was climbing up. 
 
 No time hath he for loitering by the way; 
 
 91 
 
92 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Noting which, and noting, too, a nearby hedge, 
 Into the latter I determined to creep, 
 The matutinal glory to prolong. 
 And this I tried, but difficult it was. 
 For rank and ''robust" grew the spiny stems, 
 As grew those in that gloomy wood in which 
 The Florentine once found himself astray. 
 And which formed the border of the world. 
 But bye and bye, by dint of patient toil, 
 I gained the center of the thorny hedge; 
 Where all as yet was dewy, moist and cool. 
 And as I sank down on the cool, dank earth, 
 All by the hedge's thorny bounds locked in, 
 Thus did I muse : Well here's a spot at last, 
 Where never human footstep can intrude, 
 To break the placid waves of meditation ; 
 Secluded as the stream where Dian bathed. 
 
 But scarcely had this thought uncharitable 
 Passed through my mind, when I caught a sudden 
 Gleam of yellow hair; toward whence it came 
 I turned my eyes; the hedge had intervened. 
 But in an instant more I saw him plain. 
 He was a boy of very tender years. 
 With laughing face and waving, golden locks ; 
 And down an old abandoned road he came. 
 Beside the ruts of which the grass had sprung. 
 And which passed through the hedge ; but which 
 I had not seen. And as along this road, 
 Care- free and joyous, passed the pretty boy. 
 The glory of the morning in his face, 
 I felt, as I had never felt before. 
 That thus did God condemn the solitary; 
 
THE BOY AND THE DOVES 93 
 
 And that no spot of earth to one belongs 
 And one alone; where he may sit and brood, 
 And hide him from the eyes of other men. 
 
 And so the boy passed, now seen, now hid ; 
 And now through sunshine, now through shadow, 
 
 walked ; 
 And still I kept my eyes upon his face, 
 When'er I could. But suddenly I heard 
 A great ado, as from some feathered thing; 
 Then at his feet a wounded bird, it seemed, 
 Fluttered along the ground in dire distress. 
 All in a moment was the boy transformed; 
 All action now, he chased the stricken bird. 
 As best I could, I watched. Alas for those 
 Who chase on foot the things that go by wing ! 
 Faster ran the boy, faster flew the bird. 
 (Its wound, it seems, admitted of so much) 
 And ever, as the boy stretched forth his hand 
 To take the cripple up, it was not there, 
 But just a step beyond; and thus the bird 
 For quite a distance led the boy on. 
 
 The stratagem worked out, it took to wing. 
 And left the boy wond'ring ;-»but not for long. 
 Whe'er he had played the game before or not. 
 Or had been told, or was by instinct lead, 
 I know not ; but he at last returned 
 Back to the place where first he saw the bird. 
 And 'gan to look around. 
 
 Nor searched he long in vain; there stood a 
 post. 
 Half hidden by the hedge, from which had swung 
 A gate in time, to close the hedge-gap up. 
 
94 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 But now the gate was gone, and old the post ; 
 
 Its top decayed ; and on the top appeared 
 
 A ring of dry grass ; and this the boy saw ; 
 
 Its import soon devined, and closer drew. 
 
 And soon, by means of bars from post to heage, 
 
 The venturous boy climbed up to the nest, 
 
 (I trembled as he climbed) and peeped within. 
 
 And then his joyous face the story told 
 
 Of what he saw. But, oh the great temptation! 
 
 Thrice towards the nest he stretched his dimpled 
 
 hand ; 
 And thrice I surely thought that I must speak; 
 But thrice he drew it back without the eggs. 
 Oh, how his little white palms must have itched, 
 To hold the clear- white things within them once! 
 But down too deep had mother's lessons sunk. 
 
 Alas ! how frail a casket had those eggs. 
 Too slight, perhaps, to hold such precious gems; 
 And yet, not so, and here the moral is : 
 The dove against no enemy takes heed, 
 Neither night-robbers, nor the wrathful skies; 
 But builds for sunny days, and no mishap; 
 Seeming to have belief that these will come, 
 And these alone. And if mishap should come, 
 With sorrow only is the mother touched. 
 Yea, let come what must, treat her as you choose, 
 You stir no anger in her gentle breast; 
 For anger she knows not — this bird of peace; 
 And her earth-mission is to teach men peace. 
 
 Well, now my story is begun at last; 
 And thus it goes : From that eventful day, 
 When first the boy found the brooding dove, 
 
THE BOY AND THE DOVES 95 
 
 Scarce passed a day, but that I back returned, 
 And took my station in the thorny hedge ; 
 And found him there, or had not long to wait 
 Until he would appear, always alone. 
 If he were blessed with brothers or sisters, 
 He never brought them to the trysting place; 
 But all alone he watched the sitting bird, 
 And almost all the time ; for oft he came 
 Before the sun his golden course began, 
 And played about; and oft he lingered near 
 Till tinted twilight soft, the lovers' hour, 
 O'er the warm earth her violet mantle drew. 
 And to his presence soon the birds grew used. 
 Feared him no longer ; would sit on the nest 
 With him so nearby that he might have reached. 
 
 And bye and bye the couplets were disclosed; 
 And then his joy began. No prouder were the birds 
 Of the callow, tawny twins than was the boy. 
 And with them, too, he shared the catering cares; 
 And much I feared that he might overfeed 
 The ever-hungry fledglings ; but this, it seemed, 
 Could not be done. And oh ! how lovingly 
 Would he hang over his fast-growing pets. 
 And gently stroke them with his finger-tips ! 
 And never seemed to think a time would come 
 When they must part, to meet, alas ! no' more. 
 And all the while the mother bird approved, 
 And on the post-top she would walk about, 
 What time the boy fed her babies grubs; 
 Close-pattering with her little crimson feet, 
 And nodding gracefully her glossy neck. 
 
 And now the babes were old enough to fly, 
 
96 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 My fears said, and only lacked the courage ; 
 
 And what would happen when they took to wing 
 
 I scarce dared think. The boy, to be sure, 
 
 Seemed never to give time to such a thought. 
 
 And oft I asked, and always still in vain. 
 
 If e'en he hiezv what must become of them. 
 
 And hence, one night, as nearer drew the time 
 
 When the love-feast must end, I could not rest; 
 
 But left my sleepless couch and sought the hedge. 
 
 There sat the dove, beside her full-grown young. 
 
 All in the moonlight, for the moon was full. 
 
 And as with sorrow I the trio viewed, 
 
 I heard a sudden noise, and stepped aside 
 
 Into the shadow of the friendly hedge; 
 
 And looked and listened ; not without reward. 
 
 Along the grass-grown road a figure stole, 
 
 Clothed in a snow-w^hite gown ; it was the boy ! 
 
 On, on he came, straight towards his sleeping pets ; 
 
 Climbed up the bars, and gazed upon the three 
 
 A good long while; then softly climbed he down. 
 
 Retreated as he came, and looked not back. 
 
 Was it fact or fancy ? Did the boy come 
 
 To' have a last look at his feathered friends, 
 
 Ere they must part forever? (For now 
 
 As shone the full moon on his sweet young face, 
 
 Methought I saw the stamp and seal of grief) 
 
 Or was it all but shapes fantastical, 
 
 Distilled from pure moonshine ? I do' not know. 
 
 Well, in the morning', early I repaired 
 To my stand within the hedge, and looked about. 
 But alas! no signs of life appeared; 
 The nest was empty, nor w^as the boy there. 
 
THE BOY AND THE DOVES 97 
 
 And I began to fear that I had come 
 
 Too late to see the parting scene. But just 
 
 (For I both wished and not wished to be there 
 
 When last they met) as I was wondering 
 
 If he had come that morn, or if the night 
 
 Before had been the last time he had seen 
 
 His full-fledged pets, and scarcely knowing whether 
 
 To feel disappointed or relieved, 
 
 I heard a sound, and saw a gleam of white 
 
 Flash through the narrow vistas of the hedge^ 
 
 And down the grass-grown road the boy came, 
 
 His face all smiles. Alas ! he did not know ! 
 
 On, on, he came, and climbed upon the bars. 
 
 And gazed into the nest ; and then, oh God ! 
 
 How great a change came o'er that happy face! 
 
 Quick climbed he down, gave one swift glance 
 
 around. 
 Then covered with his hands his troubled face; 
 Burst into sobs and groans, turned round, and fled. 
 Which space I stood within the hedge trans- 
 fixed. 
 All sights and sounds my eyes and ears shut out, 
 Save the grief-struck boy and his loud lament. 
 Yes, e'en as one, while o'er the printed page 
 His eye is glancing, sometimes finds a thought. 
 Containing such a grand and perfect truth, 
 Or so o'er-glossed with fancy's fairy light, 
 Or with a figure so' obscure and quaint, 
 That for a space it filleth all the mind 
 So full, that if we try to read, we coast. 
 See the faint words, but grasp their meaning not; 
 And thus it was my eyes beheld but him. 
 
98 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Though tears were not, their wonted sight to dim; 
 And ears heard nothing but his sad complaint. 
 
 But even in these sounds spake Hope divine, 
 As though she never could be killed ; 
 And still, as fainter grew the boy's moan, 
 I heard a voice that said, or seemed to say : 
 "Despair not, oh ye 'who have loved and lost' !" 
 For somewhere will you find your love restored, 
 And purged of earthly faults, whate'er on earth 
 Caused your estrangement ; e'en though she herself, 
 In birth's proud arrogance, saw fit to scorn 
 The peasant-parented boy's rough address; 
 Or whether grim, despotic death did lay 
 His icy hand on young affection's pulse; 
 In fine, whatever here hath dared obstruct 
 The course of true love in its heavenly flow, 
 All there will be removed, nor will she scorn. 
 Your souls are mates ; else, you had never loved. 
 Then, let hope guide you, though the way seem long; 
 Though wings come slowly, they will come at last." 
 The voice ceased; the boy's cry was hushed, 
 Against a mother's bosom, let us hope ; 
 And to my eyes and ears the sights and sounds 
 Of life came back. Alas! how flat and dull 
 Seemed everything; the glamour of affection 
 
 Was gone. I looked, and scarcely knew the place. 
 How quick indeed the little play had died ! 
 (E'en as a brighter faded years before.) 
 And of the fairy drama naught remained. 
 But the poor recluse and his morning stroll. 
 As one that walks in sleep, I left the place. 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR. 
 
 My Grandmo'ther was the most complete edi- 
 tion of traditional stories of all kinds that it has 
 ever been my happy chance tO' meet. All those 
 legends which depend for their perpetuity on fire- 
 side transition from memory to memory — and in 
 her day they were vastly more numerous than now — 
 found in her a most ready champion. All her tales 
 were indexed and folded away in their special mem- 
 ory-niches as neatly and compactly as the tiny petals 
 are pressed in the rosebud. Indeed, for one of her 
 years, her memory's sheet was most clearly written ; 
 no pages in pi, no lines near the bottom margin 
 thumbed into illegibility, no leaves missing and no 
 pages blurred by the mental twilight of age. 
 
 Her repertory contained stories of almost all 
 
 sorts; and notwithstanding the fact that she could 
 
 neither read nor write even her own name, many 
 
 of them contained no small depths of knov/ledge, 
 
 and some of them, especially the fairy tales and 
 
 fables, I have since seen in print. 
 
 Being of a generation, the members and im- 
 
 99 
 
100 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 mediate ancestors of which were 'the actors in 
 wresting her part of the country from the clutch 
 of ''forest primeval," she could relate, of course, 
 no small deal of frontier experience. She seemed 
 all through her long life to have been blessed with 
 a very vivid memory; from which the slightest de- 
 tail of personal experience, observation, or the re- 
 motest conversation, that touched it was never free 
 again. But her stock of folk-lore and fairy tales 
 she must have become acquainted with, in some 
 way of which I have been unable to learn, before 
 she came west; for there were no books, and no 
 minds, as I remember, at that time in our part 
 of the country, which contained them. And thus 
 it was, that, had I not had from her the nursery 
 legends of fairies, giants, goblins, stick-and-string 
 houses, talking chairs, Jacks, altitudinous bean 
 stalks, etc., said to be salutory for unfolding minds, 
 part of my mental development might have re- 
 mained a blank. 
 
 Later reading has made, for me at least, a 
 phrase in one of her stories an inexplicable coinci- 
 dent. 
 
 In her edition of the airy fiction of Jack and 
 his heaven-kissing bean-stalk, while that enterpris- 
 ing steeple-climber was in the Giant's lofty home, 
 his (the Giant's) wife, in order to forestall the can- 
 nibalistic proclivities of her returning husband, en- 
 sconced the intrepid Jack under the wash-boiler. 
 The pot, however, was not impervious to the odor 
 of blood, and the same caught the Giant's keen 
 nose; and to all his wife's efforts at allaying his 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 101 
 
 sanguinary suspicions he replied in one set phrase, 
 "Fie, foh and fum, I smell the blood of a British 
 man." There is no manner of expressing the sur- 
 prise which I felt, when, years later, I found Poor 
 Tom filling the mouth of ''Child Rowland," on his 
 advent to the ''Dark Tower" with the same inexor- 
 able words. How came she and the first of the 
 great Sons of Light, even whose name she could 
 scarce possibly have heard, with the same phrase? 
 
 Waiving Avhatever disparagement her excel- 
 lence in my opinion as a narrator may have suf- 
 fered from later rivals, there was a time when I 
 thought her the greatest story-teller in the world; 
 and I would hang about her chair in the long winter 
 evenings or pleasant summer ones, while her gentle 
 voice kept time with her knitting needles, or with 
 the pieces of apples falling into the tub as she cut 
 them for drying, while I did the paring, and gave 
 her credit for doing her full part in relieving the 
 lonesomeness of a childhood without brothers or 
 sisters. 
 
 But one thorn grew in the midst of my Eden, 
 which required long and patient work to eradicate. 
 Even in the tense climax of her most solemn stories, 
 she would often be obliged to break suddenly off, 
 and I would see the rays of breaking smiles illumine 
 her kind face ; and then, with a stupid start, I 
 would realize that, in my complete absorption, I 
 had been, with my own inouth, following her every 
 movement; and the ludicrousness of the pantomime 
 had been too- much for the good lady's composure. 
 
 Being-, as before mentioned, a dweller in a 
 
102 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 comparatively new country, in her tales the ignis 
 fatiuis, the incubus of superstitious ignorance, was 
 not, of course, omitted. But in her story — and I 
 never heard her tell but one — of v/hich this natural 
 phenomenon formed the nucleus, strange to say, the 
 element of "charm," so prominent in many of 
 them, was entirely lacking. Its motive seemed to 
 be the inculcation of punctuality in bending to the 
 parental injunction, and of courage in the presence 
 of any kind of mysterious danger. The hero, or 
 rather the very unheroic human factor, was one 
 little "Willie Austin/' a character, so far as I can 
 learn, wholly fictitious, and one about whom all 
 sorts of eerie suggestions might easily cling. His 
 encounter with the VVill-o'-the-Wisp occurred at 
 some indefinite date in the forgotten past. He had 
 been sent by his mother on some culinary errand 
 to a neighbor's house, at a considerable distance. 
 On his way home he loitered till dusk overtook him. 
 He had looked back, whereupon he perceived a 
 large, revolving ball of glowing fire advancing rap- 
 idly towards him. Terrified at the unusual sight, 
 he began to run and cry simultaneously, but the 
 fiendish fire followed him with malicious persis- 
 tency; and, he having lost his way through fright, 
 it pursued him through all sorts of terrible places; 
 until at last, overcome by fear and fatigue, he had 
 fallen on his back between two prostrate tree trunks. 
 The implacable globe of annihilation had then come 
 and hovered about his face, smothering him and 
 singeing away his hair and eyebrows ; and thus he 
 was found, dead, on the following day. 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 103 
 
 With such stories as this did they instiU 
 juvenile obedience in the good old days, when the 
 rod was not spared. The part of the story intended 
 to inspire courage rested in the assertion, that, if 
 instead of fleeing from the fire, Little Willie had 
 boldly pursued it, it would have fled before him; 
 and, after chastening him soundly for his diso- 
 bedience, by leading him through difficult places, 
 it would harmlessly have vanished. 
 
 Concerning that other popular superstition 
 about the Will-o'-the-Wisp, which I heard later, and 
 in which the primitive gaslight is given less trucu- 
 lent characteristics, indeed, its only aggression con- 
 sists, not in following at the "Laborer's heel home- 
 ward returning," but in obliging the benighted un- 
 fortunate to follow it, and even this attraction is 
 cancelled by the simple expedient of turning one's 
 pockets inside out — my grandmother did not seem 
 ever to have heard. Of all her stories, the one 
 transmitting the sad fate of Little Willie sank deep- 
 est into my memory, recurred most frequently to 
 my thoughts, and, cost me most dearly. 
 
 I am by nature a Nimrod. If my parents had 
 told me any fabulous stories about my being born 
 with a gun, trap, or any other symbol of venery, in 
 my hand, I should have never doubted them in the 
 least. Since the days of our last illustrious patron, 
 Daniel Boone, none of his disciples have, I believe, 
 Vv^rought with a truer passion for his approbation. 
 
 My earliest memories are of some hare or part- 
 ridge that I had ensnared, and of seeing the glamour 
 
104 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 of its wildness fade in my hand. Innumerable are 
 the times when I have wished that I might have 
 lived my life some fifty years ago, when the coun- 
 try abounded in game of a size and fierceness 
 worthy of a hunter's skill and courage; innumer- 
 able are the times when I have cursed the fate that 
 decreed to my cunning and enterprise merely the 
 remnants — the largest of which are the raccoon 
 and fox — of the glorious, universal chase that fol- 
 lowed the course of conquest across the New World ; 
 innumerable are the times when I have importuned 
 — and always in vain — my parents to move to newer 
 regions, in search, as Daniel would have phrased it, 
 of "elbow room and larger game." 
 
 But yet, though I did regret that the condi- 
 tions were thus unfavorable for the full unfolding 
 of my talent, I did not despair, but made the best 
 of matters as I found them. I tried all the kinds 
 of hunting that the residue of game permitted of, 
 and liked them all; but candor constrains me to 
 confess that- no sort so much engrossed my liking 
 as that of hunting the "coon." My strong love of 
 solitude, perhaps, as much as anything else, served 
 to recommend this kind of hunting to my pastime. 
 My choice time, place and manner of indulging in 
 the sport w-ere : first, a calm, cloudless night, mod- 
 erately cool, with only the stars for illumination — 
 the kind of a night created by an adult moon scaling 
 the eastern heavens may be all rigiit in assisting some 
 poet, whose only stock in trade is beauty, to tap 
 his pregnant muse; or in touching up some lover's 
 eloquence, but there is no sublimity in it. The 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 105 
 
 best place for finding the game is generally in low, 
 level bottom country ; and the only companion I ever 
 v^anted with me was a well-trained dog. Thus 
 would we, my dog and I, sally forth. And thus, 
 with nothing to break the star-lit silence but the 
 barking of my dog, the occasional eerie squeak of 
 a flying squirrel, as he described his declined plane 
 from tree to tree, or the hootings of the owls, those 
 weird denizens of the night, I would fancy the tab- 
 leau of primeval solitude most fully realized. 
 
 When the unerring, indefatigable labors of the 
 dog had at last succeeded in threading the devious 
 labyrinths of the quarry's trail, and determined in 
 which tree it was, I would make the best possible 
 speed to him; and then usually followed the thrill- 
 ing excitement of a dangerous climb ; the coon often, 
 having been safely reposing in one of the lowest 
 crotches, ascending just above me, until he had 
 gone as high as he could, and then if the smallness 
 of the branches prevented my getting close enough 
 to him to make him jump out, I would break off a 
 bough, and present my hat to him on the end of 
 it ; at which shocking overtures he would invariably 
 loosen his hold and drop into the fatal abyss of 
 hushed expectancy ; and then for a while the mingled 
 cries of pain and rage would mince the silence, dur- 
 ing which time I would remain in my lofty perch, 
 almost too excited to breathe, until the death rattle 
 of the quarry would announce that the end was 
 near, whereupon, with more caution than I had 
 observed in climbing up, I would descend, and usu- 
 
106 TALES PROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 ally find the faithful old dog picking the burs out 
 of his dead victim's fur. 
 
 As for any other method of getting the coon 
 out of his tree, such as shining his eyes with a light, 
 and shooting him, building a fire and throwing half- 
 burned, blazing sticks at him, or imitating two coons 
 fighting, until he would jump out, tying my coat 
 around the tree, and going back next morning, or 
 felling the tree, I always scorned as evincing a sad 
 lack of both courage and fair play. Whenever a 
 coon chose a tree that I could not climb, and that 
 was not often, he was safe from me for that night. 
 
 Such were the scenes and adventures that filled 
 my youthful ideas of rapture to the brim, and for 
 indulgence in which I spent every permission that 
 I could win, often with long and tearful pleading, 
 from my more discreet parents. 
 
 One typical night in November I pursued my 
 favorite pastime. It was a night most auspicious 
 for the shining of the stars. Never did I see the 
 heavens more radiantly bespangled. The tiny, dim- 
 seated star, apparently^ embellishing the very outer 
 margin of the azure concave, that did not on 
 that night make its weak rays pierce the earth's 
 fleecy mantle of vapor, and reveal its momentary 
 splendor to the unaided human eye, never, I be- 
 lieve, performed that feat. It was the kind of 
 night most favorable for gazing fixedly on those 
 seemingly desert spaces of the welkin, and being 
 rewarded by bringing into birth, as it were, myriads 
 of diminutive astral points, thereby rendering them 
 the most thickly sown of all the fields of air; and 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 107 
 
 of looking longer, and seeing others yet more 
 deeply imbeded in the bosom of space, which can 
 only be made to come and go, and of being left to 
 wonder whether they were really stars in heaven 
 or only on the tired eyes. 
 
 Under all this celestial wealth, with calm, de- 
 liberate steps I strolled, at an age when I had not 
 yet dared to do anything but look up and love, and 
 before I had acquired the critical audacity of view- 
 ing them through fancy's films — oh impious inno- 
 vation ! — all of a size, or all of a brightness, and 
 of being obliged to confess at last that I could sug- 
 gest no improvement; or, oh criminal climax! of 
 seeing how many sorts of geometrical figures 1 
 could construct by using them as points between 
 which to fancy lines, which figures to the eye would 
 appear correct as to measurements. 
 
 I had proceeded for some distance into the for- 
 est, and as yet nothing had occurred. My dog I 
 had neither seen nor heard since entering the wood, 
 and I was just becoming slightly impatient and as- 
 tonished that something did not come to pass. The 
 story of little Willie Austin had been recurring 
 to my mind with fitful inconstancy, and I had won- 
 dered if there were really lights, ignited by no 
 human hand, and officered to wander about the 
 earth, the scourge of cowards, and to follow per- 
 sons of slight courage to destruction. Something 
 caused me to turn my head, and there, oh God ! I 
 saw it. In an instant all my doubts concerning its 
 existence were scattered to the winds ; for there, 
 scarce ten feet from me, skulking about among the 
 
108 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 massive tree-boles, lurked the ignis fatiius. How 
 unstable a thing- is man ! and a boy especially. For 
 instance, one moment I was walking along in infin- 
 ite repose and self-possession, and the next, every 
 part of me was trembling with fear, and my rising 
 terror well nigh smothered me. The light fasci- 
 nated me as a flame is supposed to do a moth; I 
 could not remove my eyes. Like the intervention 
 of devine providence to break the evil charm, came 
 from the opposite direction the clearcut, decisive 
 barks of my dog. Never did his voice sound so 
 sweetly. 
 
 With infinite relief, and an unnatural spright- 
 liness in my legs, I turned to go to him. Yes, the 
 ignipotent apparition seemed almost to have dis- 
 embodied me, and it was with difficulty that I could 
 keep my feet on the ground. My fears had fitted 
 me with wings, and I was just about to yield to 
 their urgency for a test, when wait ! On the ground 
 immediately before me, I saw, though perhaps with 
 the kindly aid of a frightened fancy, as plainly as 
 ever I saw the moon, the conclusion of Little Wil- 
 lie's mad chase. I saw his pale, thin, clinched 
 hands stretched helplessly beside him. I saw his 
 ghastly staring eyes, his twitching mouth and tremb- 
 ling cheeks, wiiile the ruthless fire was doing its fatal 
 work. It was a terrible moment ! Should I like- 
 wise be chased through briars and water to some 
 dismal recess of the wood, and there smothered? 
 My despair at this prospect took all the Ariel 
 out of me. Just at this moment came a shout from 
 some one, apparently to my still barking dog. I 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 109 
 
 might run to them and be safe. But no! it might 
 cause me to miss them. I dared to look at the 
 light again. Heavens ! It was almost upon me, 
 and it looked like a fiend, replete with eyes. I 
 must act. And thus it was that, scarce knowing 
 what I did, moving my leaden limbs with difficulty, 
 covering my face with my hands, and half fearing 
 that the light would not recede before me, I actually 
 began to approach it, with slow steps; and even as 
 I advanced I feared that it would perceive the 
 courage I was exhibiting to be wholly assumed ; and 
 within my heart there was nothing but fear and 
 trembling. 
 
 However, I still went forward, and the light 
 apparently recoiled before me. Comfort! A few 
 steps brought me to the water's edge. It was a 
 somber, currentless bayou, that reposed its sluggish 
 curves upon the bosom of the wood. Its depth at 
 that particular point I knew not; but I did know 
 that swimming was not one of my accomplishments. 
 But would it be politic to perhaps lose the gained 
 ground by seeking, likely in vain, for a foot-log? 
 Standing on the brink I debated the question for a 
 moment; and then, having decided in the negative, 
 I began to break the thin sheet of ice on the water's 
 surface, and wade slowly in. Ugh ! How the cold 
 element, as it rose higher upon my legs at every 
 step, sent the blood scurrying to my heart ! Higher 
 and higher, the freezing fluid came, now to my 
 knee, now to my thigh, now to my breast, and now 
 to my mouth! Knowing myself unable to swim a 
 stroke, I paused. What was to be done? The op^ 
 
110 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 posite bank seemed so near that I resolved to make 
 one wild leap for it ; and I did the best I could, with 
 my benumbed limbs in the cold water. I was 
 wholly submerged, and when I reached solid foot- 
 ing at last, I shook the water out of my eyes with 
 hopes that the glim might have relented. But no! 
 Over the dark, dancing ripples of the disturbed 
 water, still glimmered the Foolish Fire. 
 
 When I reached the opposite bank, dripping 
 and shivering, I found it covered with a seemingly 
 impenetrable growth. I now realized that I was 
 trying to force an entrance into what we always 
 called the ''take-your-time" thicket, the most im- 
 previous little coppice I ever knew. It was circular 
 in shape, almost entirely surrounded by the bayou, 
 and in its center stood a large oak tree. Its chief 
 growth was vines, briars, brambles, canes and small 
 saplings, all growing in wild redundancy; and al- 
 together it looked so forbidding that I never had at- 
 tempted to explore it even by daylight. But then 
 it was different. As I forced my way into it by 
 sheer strength — sometimes crawling on my hands 
 and knees, and sometimes climbing over bushes and 
 underbrush — the wild grape vines, dangling from 
 the matted tops of the low- shrubs, wound their 
 slender arms about my waist tO' restrain me; and 
 when I tried to break or remove them, the spiney 
 briars and brambles lanced my hands painfully. 
 Nevertheless, foot by foot, I wedged myself 
 through. I had by this time shaken off some of 
 the fear I at first entertained of the Friar's Lan- 
 tern not fleeing from me; and my wet, clinging, 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 111 
 
 ice-cold ganiients also stimulated my actions. 
 
 Bye and bye, the thicket, with scarcely no 
 warning, abruptly ceased; and at once I found my- 
 self free of its tenacious grasp. With a feeling, 
 as nearly of relief as anything could be, not to be 
 the real relief, I started to run; when, oh star- 
 sparkling darkness ! something made me hide as 
 many of my tracks as my length would cover, and 
 set a thousand bells ringing in my head. As soon 
 as I could, I sat up, putting my hands on my head 
 to discourage the campanology still going on within. 
 I tried to understand what had happened. As well 
 as I could make out, in my dazed condition, I had 
 had a head-on collision with the center-piece oak. 
 
 As soon as I had rubbed the stars out of my 
 eyes sufficiently to remark it, I could not help ad- 
 miring the venerable patriarch against which I had 
 hurled myself. It was of the variety sometimes 
 known as "overcup." It stood on a slight emin- 
 ence, covered with dead grass; and I thought it 
 then (and later observation confirmed the opinion) 
 as picturesque a specimen, in the thickness, short- 
 ness and gnarliness of the trunk, and in the crook- 
 edness of the boughs, as ever Robin Hood and his 
 merry men slumbered beneath. But slight time had 
 I then for admiring model trees. The relentless 
 Will-o'-the Wisp still had its terrible eye upon me ; 
 and, was it approaching? Yes! Of all things, 
 through the places I had just threaded. No ! I 
 would take my chances on following the light 
 through the other side of the thicket. 
 
 I had no sooner began to really utilize the 
 
112 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 I found the other side no easier to get through 
 than the one through which I had just come. But 
 slowly, by dint of patient perseverance, I made my 
 was through its unkempt conglomeration ; leaving 
 scarcely any evidence of my passage but blood and 
 shreds of clothing. I was just emerging into the 
 open woods, when from the low, leafy branches of 
 a top-blasted oak, directly in front of me, came the 
 most blood-curdling screech that I ever heard. It 
 barely sufficiently resembled in tone the cry of the 
 owl for me to know, after a moment, that it came 
 from that bird; and yet it was as different from its 
 conventional interrogatory as could well be im- 
 agined. 
 
 Well, I would never recommend, even in its 
 smoothest and most agreeable tones, the voice of 
 Minerva's gruesome pet as an antidote for glowing 
 nerves ; and when it chooses, it could, I fancy, bring 
 the most submerged pair of nerves that ever left 
 their owner in ignorance of their existenc, from 
 their profound repose, and make them twang like 
 Apollo's catgut. The fearful sound seemed to come 
 from all around. The very earth seemed to tremble 
 and recede before it. Under my wet cap, I felt 
 my wet hair begin to "rouse and stir as life were 
 in it." To swerve aside in passing it might excite 
 in the light suspicions of lack of courage in me. I 
 must go directly under it. Oh horror ! what feel- 
 ings surged through my soul as I passed under the 
 tree occupied by the bird of wisdom, I will not at- 
 tempt to say. Suffice it, that I do not wish, at any 
 future time, to experience them again 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 113 
 
 heightened nimbleness into which my fear was con- 
 verted as soon as I was well past its source, hold- 
 ing- my hands before my face, as I ran, to keep the 
 brush out of my eyes, and to lessen the shock of a 
 possible second collision, than in an instant every- 
 thing became as bright as if the full moon had been 
 reigning in mid-sky. /\t first I thought that it was 
 the moon, breaking suddenly from behind a cloud, 
 and flooding the earth with her argent radiance. 
 But before I had time either to look up, or to re- 
 member that the moon was not then in the sky, 
 the shadows cast by the strange light began, not to 
 fade, but to grow rapidly longer, and to veer slightly 
 to one side. Alarmed, I looked up at the sky, and 
 saw, stretched obliquely across a portion of it, a 
 broad, bright band of light. As I gazed a loud re- 
 port capped the terrible scene ; and for the first and 
 last time in my life, as my memory serves, I actu- 
 ally screamed with terror. 
 
 And yet, almost as I did so, I realized that the 
 light was merely what J had been taught to call a 
 ^'shooting star" — of unusual brilliancy; and that 
 the report was apparently that of a gun. Neverthe- 
 less, it was something fearful for a moment, and I 
 never saw anything to equal it, either before or 
 since. It was the only time that I ever saw shadows 
 cast by some heavenly body, moving freely about, 
 not through the agency of the object casting the 
 shadow, but effected by the subject causing it; and 
 that, too, at a time when moving shadows were 
 not so common as now. In that instant, I think, 
 every little misdeed I had done up to that time, 
 
114 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 magnified a thousand- fold, passed in incriminating 
 review before me. 
 
 Were even the far-seated stars, I trembHngly 
 asked, that I had loved so deeply, the slaves of 
 evil, and fated to assist in working my ruin ? Even 
 now, as I recall the experience, I feel rather queer. 
 But later reading has added to it one fancy of which 
 I did not then think. It is : that whoever first 
 thought of that fable about the even-pacing pads 
 of the sun, under the coachmanship of the novice, 
 Phaeton, breaking their sober gait which had regu- 
 lated the sands of time for so long, and whirling 
 the chariot of day madly across the sky, while 
 the astonished shepherd saw the shadows of him- 
 self and crook chase each other in a semiradius be- 
 fore him, might have found a not inapt inspira- 
 tion in such a phenomenon. 
 
 Weak and trembling with my fright, scarcely 
 able to stand, I yet contrived to struggle on; and 
 now I began to wonder if it were not about time 
 for the Light, according to legend, to vanish. Per- 
 haps I had not been advancing rapidly enough 
 towards it to convince it of the genuineness of my 
 courage. V/hat if, being able to read the hoax of 
 my nerve, it should not fade at all, but should lead 
 me about the entire night, through scenes similar 
 to those I had passed, or perhaps more terrible. 
 Gods! The thought put new vigor into my limbs. 
 With rebraced sinews, I began to run. And yet the 
 more effort I put forth, the more slowly I seemed 
 to cover the ground. As one in a dream, the trees 
 seemed to swim hastily past me, and yet I could 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 115 
 
 make no speed. Quickly, however, it began to tell 
 in my breathing. The frosty air whistled through 
 my mouth, and hurt my lungs. At last I began 
 to come to the margin of the wood. The trees were 
 smaller and more sparse, and still my fulgent fate 
 drew^ me on. Presently I came to a rail fence, and 
 in getting over it I first became aware of the fact 
 that my clothes were frozen stiff. Thus, while my 
 cheek burned, and the sweat poured off my brow, 
 my outside garments were as stiff as the soles of a 
 new pair of brogans. I was like a fire-ball swathed 
 in icy sheets. But I had no time to thaw them just 
 then, and so, in frozen armor, I ran on in the 
 bright wake of 'Triar Rush." 
 
 When I climbed the rail fence, I dropped into 
 a cleared field, which I crossed at a sweeping pace. 
 Evidently, I was coming near some habitation. Oh 
 esperance! When I had crossed the field, I came 
 to another rail fence, to the top of which I climbed, 
 and jumped off on the other side; and the pande- 
 monium that ensued left me to believe that I had 
 landed on a berth of sleeping swine. Necessarily, 
 then, I was in some man's hog-pen, so I lost no 
 time in getting out. At some distance from the 
 stye, I came to a fence of high, pointed pickets, 
 which I crossed with some difficulty. As soon as 
 I was over the pales, I realized that I was either 
 under enchantment, or in someone's back yard ; and 
 the light seemed to- have taken refuge in his house. 
 Almost too dazed to know what I did, I still stag- 
 gered on, — somewhat retarded by the welcoming 
 chuck given me by the clothes-line under the chin — 
 
116 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 toward the window through which the light was 
 streaming. 
 
 In my frenzy I actually ran my head through 
 the pane, and then the great esotery was cleared 
 up. Among the swimming objects that presented 
 themselves to my bewildered eyes, in the bright 
 room, I had a clear impression of a small kitchen 
 lamp, hanging on the opposite wall, with a highly 
 polished pie-pan reflector behind it. And I had a 
 more faint one of a girl, engaged in washing dishes, 
 who, upon my uncivil introduction, dropped the 
 piece which she was washing, and fled, screaming, 
 from the room. And then, all in a moment, the 
 preternatural vigor which so far had upborne me 
 so superbly, deserted me utterly. My grasp on the 
 window relaxed, and I fell supinely. Yet I felt no 
 pain. For a moment the stars jerked uneasily over 
 me, then I had a sensation of something warm and 
 soft being drawn across my face, and of something 
 frisking about me; and then, as if on downy wings, 
 I was borne slowly and painlessly into the realms 
 of unconsciousness. 
 
 My first impressions on awakening were, of 
 a medley of odors, camphor, turpentine, salves and 
 ointments; of being tucked away warmly in bed; 
 and of kind faces all around me. 
 
 Well, of course explanations were in order, 
 as soon as I felt able to make or hear them, for it 
 appeared that they also had some. Two of the 
 sons from the house where my wild chase termin- 
 ated had been hunting that night, and it was one 
 
IN FROZEN ARMOR 117 
 
 of them who had answered my dog. They also 
 went to him, and waited and wondered why I did 
 not come. They were still waiting, trying to shine 
 the coon's eyes with a bulls-eye lantern, when the 
 bright meteor, brilliant as it was brief, flashed 
 across the sky; and the elder of them, so far from 
 being scared, really had the presence of mind to 
 see and shoot the quarry by its light. And they 
 had also heard some one scream. My dog, too, 
 no sooner saw the "varmint" dead, than he broke 
 from them. Alarmed at the occurrence, the boys 
 had started in the direction taken by the dog, which 
 happened to be towards their home. Not seeing 
 anything further of him or me, they had come on 
 to their house, arriving there but a short time after 
 myself. 
 
 Of course, there was an infinity of laughter at 
 my expense for the ridiculous mistake, but not 
 all of it was derisive, for the story, like most stories, 
 had two sides ; and while my mistaking the gleam 
 of a lamp for the ignis fatuus was ludicrous enough, 
 yet the fact that I had had courage enough to fol- 
 low it was not overlooked. And I never hinted 
 but that my pursuit, even to running my head 
 through the pane of glass, was the result of my 
 inveterate enmity to everything of its ascribed fiend- 
 ish nature, and of my burning devotion to science; 
 and that my syncope was merely the effect of ex- 
 treme exhaustion. Even considering it from the 
 standpoint that the little girl, who was drying the 
 supper dishes, was the one in whose heart I was at 
 that time most desirous of building up a school boy's 
 
118 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 love, in which, in latter years, I most consummately 
 succeeded, I can scarcely be said to have lost in the 
 chase. 
 
 But of all who heard, or ever will hear, the 
 story, it effected my Grandmother perhaps the most 
 strangely. As the toils and terrors of the pursuit 
 were related to her, she glowed with excitement ; but 
 when the puerile catastrophe was reached, her en- 
 thusiasm fell like boiling mercury in a snow-storm. 
 Her disappointment at the light not being the real 
 thing was too great for her to see anything laugh- 
 able in the conclusion. Indeed, the story proved to 
 distaste to such an extent, that she asked us never 
 to mention it to her. 
 
THE DEWDROP AND THE SUNBEAM. 
 
 A dewdrop on a lily's petal hung, 
 One splendid morning as the Sun arose : 
 A ray of light passed through the dewdrop then, 
 And straightway changed it to a flashing gem; 
 Yea, with the diamond's reddest gleam it burned, 
 And cast its radiance out on every side. 
 Now, this, it seems, should surely be enough 
 To realize the very height of pride ; 
 But ne'ertheless, the dewdrop thus complained : 
 
 **0h ! this is surely life's meridian. 
 
 In many different forms I have appeared, 
 
 But never aught like this ; yes, I have been 
 
 Driven in the black cloud across the sky ; 
 
 Frozen in the iceberg's emerald spire, 
 
 When 'gainst it shone the pale and lifeless sun; 
 
 I've danced along with merry foam-fringed waves, 
 
 Across the bosom of the restless deep; 
 
 From out the geyser's crater I've been thrown, 
 
 And spouted high in air as vaporous steam ; 
 
 Nay, in the little rustic, loitering brook, 
 
 119 
 
120 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 O'er golden sands and polished pebbles flowed; 
 Yea, my tiny self hath e'en formed a part 
 Of the sweet seven-colored cloud-couched bow. 
 But all these things are nothing, when compared 
 With the sparkling luster that I now cast out. 
 
 ''But oh sad thought! This glory cannot last, 
 For momently I feel myself grow less. 
 And thus it has been all my life along. 
 The loveliest forms were still the soonest gone, 
 
 "But even this sad fate I could endure 
 Were there but some one near to see me now, 
 And praise my shrinking splendor. But alas ! 
 For birds and bees and tawdry butterflies 
 Alone to see me ! Why doesn't some one come? 
 Some lovely wohian, with her laughing eye, 
 Wand'ring thus early from her sleepless couch. 
 Looking for brightness ; who in me should find 
 A lustre equal to her own bright eyes. 
 For still, so far as I can understand. 
 The foremost business of all things on earth 
 Is to please woman ,and to win her smile — 
 But oh vain thought! unseen I am to die, 
 And no one is to view the liquid gem !" 
 
 Now, it so chanced as thus the dewdrop felt, 
 The tiny sunbeam that passed through its heart 
 The feeling caught, and on its backward course, 
 To its great source the dewdrop's feeling bore. 
 The Sun no sooner understood the thing. 
 Than, with smiles o'errunning all his jolly face, 
 Using the sunbeam as a messenger. 
 To the proud dewdrop thus his mind expressed : 
 
 "Ho! ho! my tiny friend, and dost thou wish 
 
THE DEWDROP AND THE SUNBEAM 121 
 
 That man should see thee in thy present state? 
 
 And dost thou think it scarce worth while to shine, 
 
 H'owever bright, unless thou canst be seen? 
 
 Why, think of me, suppose that I should say, 
 
 Til only shine when I am gazed against !' 
 
 How quickly should the world be void of light, 
 
 And all the days be muffled up in dark ! 
 
 But as you say, you would be seen of nian. 
 
 My friend, renounce that idle, pride-born thought. 
 
 Suppose that ten men should pass near your fire, 
 
 'Tis ten to one, not one of them would see 
 
 The lustre that you hold unparalleled; 
 
 For why? Hath pride so blinded you. 
 
 Are you with your own radiance so bedazzled, 
 
 As not to see that all around you hang 
 
 Ten thousand gems, and each as bright as you? 
 
 "And then suppose by man you should be seen, 
 What the result ? A glance, but n'er a thought ; 
 For to men's eyes a dewdrop's not a gem ; 
 No, he's disgusted with their commonness. 
 And as for woman, what ! have you not heard. 
 The jewels that she loves are palpable. 
 
 "Again, my little friend, but think of this : 
 Suppose that near your gleam some man had come, 
 Some man that had not lost his youthful love 
 Of the bright things upon the dewy leaves 
 That drew his boyish eyes, suppose that he ' 
 
 Had passed before thee, and admired thy fire ; 
 Why, now, perchance, the youthful mystery 
 Would have been cleared up ,and now he would have 
 
 known 
 That 'tis my sunbeam, rather than yourself. 
 
122 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 That makes the glory ; that without that, 
 Thou wouldst be nothing but a drop of water. 
 
 "And yet, my httle friend, do not despair; 
 Still sparkle on, for I will lend thee light; 
 And never think your beauty shall be lost, 
 Because man sees it not. The eye of God 
 Drinks in the whole of every splendid sight ; 
 His kindly ear, the songs of solitude ; 
 Nor tone nor ray is lost. Shine then for God, 
 (Who never doth complain of commonness) 
 Unmindful whether man beholds or not." 
 
 The jolly Sun his flaming counsel ceased. 
 And bent his eye to gather the effect. 
 Alas ! alas ! the dewdrop was no more ; 
 The spot was dry whereon it late had gleamed ; 
 The warmth of his advice had kissed away its object. 
 
THE HUMAN HOAX. 
 
 The harvesting- was over. The four long sultry 
 days of toil and sweat and hurry were done for an- 
 other year. Considered from a purely aesthetic 
 standpoint, the scene had suffered from the shear- 
 ing. What had been fields of gently rippling gold, 
 that waved with every breeze, being now spaces of 
 unsightly stubble, thickly set with shocks of grain. 
 But ever thus, I suppose, must beauty be sacrificed 
 to necessity ; and there was not a man in the group 
 of toilers present that w^ould not have told you the 
 fields looked better as they were. 
 
 It was about the middle of the afternoon, and 
 the released harvesters were taking their ease in the 
 shade of a walnut grove that grew in a corner of 
 one of the fields. Some of the older men were esti- 
 mating the yield; some of the others were rubbing 
 out heads between their palms, cleaning it by blow- 
 ing the chaff from it as they poured it from one hand 
 to the other, and eating it; while yet others were 
 lying quiet on the unshocked sheaves, resting. I 
 
 123 
 
124 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 was gazing down across the field, wondering in vain 
 in my boyish way, why it was that the line where the 
 spaces cut on opposite sides of the field came to- 
 gether, by the different appearance of the bright 
 stubble, as the sun shone on it, could be detected so 
 easily, when some on said : 
 
 "Yonder comes Andrew Bell." 
 
 I looked up quickly, and with pleasure; for of 
 all the men that wrought a spell over my youthful 
 imagination, that of Andrew Bell was the most per- 
 fect. He was the neighborhood story-teller, and 
 while he was universally condemned as a complete 
 idler, yet there was not a man, women or child who 
 did not, as often as they had the chance, listen with 
 entire interest to whatever he had to say. But to 
 me he was the personification of genius, a to-be- 
 worshipped something, beyond my power to equal or 
 imitate. Was he indeed a genius, stranded by lack 
 of education, or practical application of his talents ? 
 Where he obtained his stories if he did not invent 
 them, I do not know. As to their worth, I am un^ 
 able to decide ; hence, I determined to reproduce the 
 following from the ones I remember, in as nearly his 
 own words as possible; and by its reception, or re- 
 jection, judge whether this unusual character was 
 really some "mute inglorious," — Dickens — for he 
 seldom indulged in poetry, or merely an imposter 
 on the crude taste of his auditors. "Judge when 
 you hear." 
 
 He was no sooner well among us, and had sa- 
 luted and been saluted by all, and had made some 
 highly original remark about the harvest seeming to 
 
THE HUMAN HOAX 125 
 
 be about over, than some one said : "Yes, and tell us 
 a story to commemorate it." 
 
 "Well, I will," he continued, "that is, if you 
 have not already heard all I know." He was never 
 taken aback; never tapped, and found dry or un- 
 willing; never obliged to resort to apology. And 
 I used to wonder if his never-failing readiness was 
 the result of previous meditation, or only his facile 
 unpremeditation. 
 
 "I suppose," he continued, "you have all heard 
 how the phonograph or talking machine was first 
 introduced into White County." This is a universal 
 way story-tellers have of prefacing their narratives ; 
 while even as they say it, they think, or at least 
 hope, that no one has heard it. We all vigorously as- 
 sured Andrew that not the slightest intimation that 
 the "talking machine" had even been introduced into 
 White County had ever reached us, which affirma- 
 tion, I suppose, was strictly true; whereupon, he 
 proceeded : 
 
 "Well, I was living up in White County at the 
 time, and I thought it made its debut under rather 
 unfavorable circumstances than otherwise. It was 
 first introduced by a man of the alleged name of 
 John Grit, as a country school-house attraction. The 
 fame of the operator of the first Voice box' had pre- 
 ceded him in his tour across the country, apparently 
 without any advertising 'advance ;' but it was mixed 
 with some rather queer ways, said to be observed by 
 this same Grit. It was rumored that he would eat 
 at no man's table, alleging as an excuse that he re- 
 quired twice as much food as an ordinary man ; and 
 
126 TALES FROM A BDY'S FANCY 
 
 that he was ashamed to exhibit his gluttony. So 
 he requested his meals put into a pail or basket, and 
 he would eat them in some barn or outhouse where 
 he kept his machine. Nevertheless, folks, too impa- 
 tient to await his arrival, went miles to meet his per- 
 formance ; and people were not too curious to inquire 
 into his table etiquette, so long as he paid promptly 
 for what he wanted. But for my part, I laid low, 
 and did not allow the tempest of excitement, specu- 
 lation and wonder attending the talking machine's 
 tour to oust me from my lair, until he camped down 
 for a one night's siege in our home school-house. 
 Then I went." 
 
 But just here the narrator made a brief pause, 
 to attend to a slight but important duty — lighting 
 his pipe. Smoking seemed to furnish as great a 
 stimulus to him while tracing the fancies of his brain 
 as did the rosetta stone in deciphering the hierogly- 
 phics. And so, having brought his excavated corn 
 cob to full blast, and having allowed the stem to slide 
 into its exact labial niche, he placed his fingers over 
 the top of the bowl, as if to filter the air as it passed 
 through, and continued : 
 
 **When I arrived, I found the seats already all 
 taken, and standing room stock rapidly going up. 
 Upon the slight pedagogic dais rested the talking 
 m.achine, and near it sat the operator. The machine 
 consisted of a box, about four feet wide and broad, 
 by about eighteen inches deep, surmounted by a 
 funnel-shaped arrangement at one end, apparently 
 the orifice through which the 'compressed man' was 
 to find utterance. But what struck me in the ap- 
 
THE HUMAN HOAX 127 
 
 pearance of the 'new voice' was the lack of any carv- 
 ing, or firm's signature, to be seen on its sides. In- 
 deed, its extreme plainness was only equaled by its 
 entire lack of ornamentation. But perhaps at that 
 date manufacturers had not yet learned, or neded 
 to elaborate their phonographs, to make them sell; 
 their wonderful performance was sufficient. 
 Promptly at eight of the clock, Mr. Grit arose and 
 addressed the packed audience as follows : 
 
 " Xadies and gentlemen, I have tonight the 
 pleasure of introducing to you for the first time the 
 performance of what is the greatest invention hu- 
 man genius has evolved up to the present time — the 
 phonograph; first invented and constructed by 
 Thomas A. Edison. This instrument faithfully re- 
 cords and reproduces any sound that can be made, 
 from love's softest whisper to Jove's harshest thun- 
 der. Let it but once become engraved on the record- 
 ing cylinder, and there it is forever. By its means 
 the tones of the great orators, and the notes of noted 
 musicians, may be preserved as long as time shall 
 last. If the present age should be flooded by another 
 deluge of oblivion, and another period of enlighten- 
 ment should succeed, and the scientific investigators 
 should delve intO' the relics of the past, as those of 
 this age are now doing, and should come upon a 
 phonograph, and master the secret of its manipula- 
 tion, with what a revelation would the astounded 
 searchers be greeted !' 
 
 " 'In preparing my records, however, I think I 
 suited your taste exactly. I secured them all myself, 
 and they are not selections from operas, orchestras, 
 
128 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 bands, famous musicians, etc., hifalutin stuff which 
 none of you would understand or appreciate. I 
 made all my records myself ; and they are chiefly all 
 of sounds you all have heard ; which will enable you 
 both to appreciate them the more, and to judge the 
 better of the mimicry. I shall, however, w^ith your 
 permission, begin the entertainment wdth a record 
 of the song, "Star-Spangled Banner," as sung by 
 myself. Now, listen and doubt your ears. Automa- 
 ton, speak!' 
 
 ''And accordingly, seemingly from the funnel 
 on the box, thin, quavering strains of the glorious 
 old hymn began to float out over the heads of the 
 audience; the silence and painful attention of which, 
 notwithstanding its packed condition, was such that 
 one might ahr.ost have heard the tread of a fly. It 
 would be impossible to describe, or even name, all 
 the different expressions depicted on the faces in 
 the crowd at this result. Some w^ore looks of 
 triumph, and these were those who had attended 
 some previous exhibition of Mr. Grit's, and had 
 argued in vain with friends as to w^hat he could do. 
 There w^ere some very old people in the house, who 
 had been living for many years entirely in a little 
 world of their own, and who believed they knew ev- 
 erything; and wdio had only come out that night to 
 put to flight the idea that any man, by simply turning 
 a crank (as Grit did) could 'make a box talk'; and 
 their faces of humiliation and defeat were painful 
 to see. Some assured themselves that it w^as merely 
 ventriloquism, although not the slightest flicker 
 could be detected in Grit's face or neck. Some were 
 
THE HUMAN HOAX 129 
 
 amused almost to the point of bursting into laughter. 
 Even babies craned their necks to see whence came 
 the cadaverous sounds. And one old lady knelt 
 down on the floor, not v/ithout difficulty, and began 
 to pray, saying it was a 'devil,' which caused some 
 disturbance, until she could be prevailed on to return 
 home. But through it all good order was main- 
 tained, and at last the mysterious song came to an 
 end : Grit then said : 
 
 '' 'I will now entertain you with a piece called 
 the ''Roasting Ear Boy." It being a real record of 
 the sayings, doings and incidents of a boy who was 
 sent by his mother for these articles.' 
 
 "Then Mr. Grit raised the lid of the box and 
 fumbled with the machine for awhile; after which 
 he began to turn the crank again. For a jiffy there 
 was no sound, and then, seemingly on the very mar- 
 gin of audibility, we began to hear someone faintly 
 whistling. The sound seemed to approach about as 
 rapidly as one would walk; and soon the whistler 
 seemed to knock a rail off the fence in climbing over 
 the same. Presently, we began to hear the rustling 
 corn-blades ; and then, I know not how, but suddenly 
 the entire panorama of summer was spread out be- 
 fore us — clear skies, green leaves, dusty roads, corn- 
 fields in 'silk' and tassel — everything. As the Roast- 
 ing Ear Boy proceeded in his errand, still whistling, 
 we could hear him tearing back the husks at the ends 
 of the ears, to ascertain the degree of their maturity, 
 not trusting the condition of the 'silk,' which I have 
 always found to be a sure index in this matter. As 
 he continued his search for 'ripe ears,' he disturbed 
 
130 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 a mother quail with her brood. You could actually 
 see the little brown-striped things, as they ran for 
 shelter under the grass ; you could see the wary 
 mother fluttering along on the ground in apparent 
 distress, in front of the boy, while ever and anon, 
 seemingly from all sides at once, rose her anxious 
 cries. 
 
 "Soon after the noise of the scampering quails 
 had subsided, the running of some small animal was 
 heard, which somehow we knew to be a rabbit. The 
 boy whistled to the fleeing bunny, to stop it; for 
 some people say if you will whistle in a certain way, 
 when you 'jump' a rabbit, it will cause it to stop 
 sooner, believing the whistle to come from another 
 of its own kind. And although I have been ac- 
 quainted with the rabbits all my life, and never yet 
 heard one of them make the slightest sound, except 
 squealing when caught, there seems to be something 
 in the theory. Anyhow, this particular rabbit seemed 
 to stop ; and snap ! we heard the boy break one of his 
 roasting ears in two, for a missile to throw at it. 
 Whiz! it struck the soft earth with a thud; where- 
 upon the rabbit ran again. But the boy followed 
 it up cautiously, and continued to throw at it. Soon 
 returning, however, he resumed his basket ; and 
 we heard his whistling die away in the distance, 
 whence he came. 
 
 "By this time the audience was sufficiently 
 themselves to applaud any clever hit, and the Roast- 
 ing Ear Boy was soundly cheered ; although a view 
 of the real thing would not likely have affected them 
 much. But to have it through a talking machine 
 
THE HUMAN HOAX 131 
 
 was different. And I have noticed the same char- 
 acteristic in watching- representations by moving pic- 
 tures — people going half wild over scenes when thus 
 portrayed, upon which, in real life, they would not 
 bestow a second glance. 
 
 "After the Roasting Ear Boy, Mr. Grit an- 
 nounced The Fishing Party. It began with perfect 
 silence, into which footsteps were soon heard break- 
 ing. And then somehow, as before, we fancied the 
 placid pool ; we almost felt the cool shade cast by 
 the dark, dense foliage of trees along a water-course, 
 and heard birds singing in the branches. The as- 
 sembled fishermen began to converse in low tones, 
 lest the noise should drive the fish away ; and it ap- 
 peared that they were all children. You could hear 
 the very rasping of their rods as they rigged up their 
 tackle; and hear them spit on their bait, for luck, 
 preparator}' to casting. But there was one among 
 them too young to understand the object of the si- 
 lence, and his continued chattering would draw an 
 occasional 'hush !' from the other boys. Now and 
 then, you could hear someone land a fish, but more 
 often only the 'swish' of the line as he jerked in 
 vain. 
 
 "But the juvenile novice was forever making 
 trouble, and at last, seizing a favorable opportunity, 
 when no one was watching him, he fell with a splash 
 into the water. Then there was a hurry and fright 
 and excitement among the fishers; but everyone 
 seemed afraid to leap into the water after the little 
 fellow, who could be heard making feeble efforts 
 to keep his head above the surface. But this condi- 
 
132 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 tion could not last long, for there was a loud 'bow ! 
 wow!' on the bank, from some large dog, and the 
 next moment he struck the water with a great splash. 
 Then there was a space of breathless excitement, 
 broken only by the sounds of the dog in the water ; 
 but he soon brought the unfortunate boy out, and 
 we even heard him shake himself after his noble 
 deed. The members of the fishing expedition then 
 retreated. 
 
 "It would indeed be difficult to describe the 
 emotions caused in the audience by this well-ren- 
 dered scene. Men could scarcely restrain them- 
 selves ; children began to cry, and women streamed. 
 Mr. Grit siezed the interim between this scene and 
 the one following to assure his audience that they 
 were only representations, and that no one would 
 be hurt. 
 
 **The next record rendered was that of a "rap- 
 jacket" contest between two boys. Rap- jacket, 
 should any of you happen not to know, was a game 
 much indulged in at that time by the studious youth 
 of the land. It consisted of two boys, each with a 
 long keen switch, catching hold of hands and whip- 
 ping each other until one of them had enough. And 
 its object was to render the candidates indifferent 
 to the master's floggings ; and whether it really ren- 
 dered the skin callous, or only tended to dissipate 
 the dread and fright of pedagogic chastisement — 
 its main element — I know not, but at any rate I have 
 indulged in it until the teacher's frequent belaborings 
 were of no more avail than if they had been laid on 
 with rods of pith. Of course Mr. Grit's rendition 
 
THE HUMAN HOAX 133 
 
 of it was chiefly for the sake of humor, and it filled 
 the purpose admirably; men laughed then *Svho 
 never laughed before,'' and who probably never 
 laughed again. 
 
 ''The next effort of the 'wooden man' was to 
 reproduce a thunder storm, and in this it did not 
 fail. People actually looked out of the windows 
 and doors, to see if a veritable storm were not rag- 
 ing, and were surprised to find the sky perfectly 
 cloudless. The very house seemed to rock. Upon 
 the decks of the driving clouds stood a thousand em- 
 battled Jupiters, hurling thunder-bolts at each other, 
 as if to wreck the world. And when the torrents of 
 imaginary rain began to fall — we were enduring 
 a long drought then — the farmers could scarcely 
 help chuckling at the thought of how it w^ould bene- 
 fit the parched crops. 
 
 "In addition to the above described scenes, there 
 were a number of minor ones, such as the songs of 
 birds, the sounds of a number of kinds of animals, 
 a charivari, a family sow giving suck to her farrow, 
 etc., which I shall omit giving in detail, but hurry on 
 to the two grand concluding efforts ; the effect of 
 one of them, however, was such that I cannot 
 choose but relate it. Mr. Grit called it the "Twi- 
 light Canter of Major Slack,' and it was perhaps his 
 most humorous hit. We were made bystanders be- 
 side a road, while up and down before us galloped 
 the poverty-pompous Major. We could even hear 
 the rasping of his saddle, and the protestations of the 
 good steed's audible abdomen. 
 
 "What I considered the best effort of Mr. Grit 
 
134 TALTS FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 on that memorable night was the record of a chase 
 after a fox by hounds. The dogs were represented 
 as beginning the chase on a 'cold trail/ and therefore 
 the first part was slow and unexciting; and once 
 the horns sounded to recall the hounds. But sud- 
 denly they burst out with energy, speed and vigor. 
 The pack consisted of five dogs, and what surprised 
 me • was the fidelity with which their individual 
 'tongues' were sustained throughout. On, on, now 
 east, now \\>est, now north, now south, swept the 
 moving orchestra. Now one dog 'had the fox,' now, 
 another. On, on, now faintly audible, now seem- 
 ingly right at us ; now threading valleys filled with 
 hoary mist, now climbing high hills, swept the wild- 
 est, the sw^eetest, the most unconventional, music 
 ever heard on earth. And still the elastic mantle 
 of melody, woven of short yelps and barks, and of 
 bursts of "lengthened sweetness long drawn out/ 
 stretched about over the country. I could not en- 
 joy It properly, for thinking that it must come to 
 an end sometime. And so it did. Reynard, select- 
 ing from his seemingly endless repertoire one of his 
 tricks for throwing off his pursuers, began to try it 
 on them ; and as usual, it succeeded. In spite of all 
 the dogs could do, the scent became colder and 
 colder, and hence the music more and more broken, 
 until one by one they relinquished it, and returned to 
 the hunters. And we could hear the very whimper- 
 ings of the hounds as they came, knowing they had 
 done well ; and the receding hoof-beats of the hunts- 
 men's horses as they galloped away." 
 
 "Of course the male element of the crowd was 
 
THE HUMAN HOAX 135 
 
 mostly composed of men who considered it a part 
 of their religion to hate a hound, and utterly to ig- 
 nore anyone who had anything to do with one, but 
 nevertheless, there was not a person present, man, 
 woman or child, who did not listen with all his soul 
 to the music of the chase, and put a hand behind an 
 ear to assist the hearing during the fainter parts. 
 
 "But perhaps the greatest triumph of Mr. 
 Grit's instrument that night was the *Mocking Bird's 
 Song.' The first notes had no sooner begun to 
 thrill through the house, than somehow we felt it 
 to be the genial springtime, and we could see the 
 musical plagiarist, seated on the topmost twig of an 
 apple tree in full bloom, above which from time to 
 time it lifted itself a few feet in its 'restless ecstacy/ 
 displaying its beautiful colors in the warm sunshine. 
 The song was nothing similar to the monotonous, 
 artificial jargon usually palmed off by professional 
 bird mockers, on the stage — which would seem to 
 make the bird an original songster — ^but it was the 
 mocking bird's song just as the bird gives it. It was 
 not set to music, for it was the very soul of music 
 itself. It was most ingeniously and harmoniously 
 woven of the songs of birds familiar to everyone 
 present; even the harsh cries of the crow and jay 
 finding room in its joyous flow, without impairing 
 the melody. It lasted fully five minutes, and during 
 the entire time I did not catch a single repetition, 
 though there may have been some of the notes of 
 birds least familiar to me ; and at its close a dead 
 silence prevailed, as is said once to have followed a 
 recitation by Burns of his poem *Lord Gregory.' 
 
136 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 ''When the last notes of the Mocking Bird's 
 Song had died away, Mr. Grit quit turning the crank, 
 and announced that the entertainment was at an end, 
 thanking 'one and all for their kind patronage and 
 good order,' and bidding them, if they cared to hear 
 a repetition of the same records, to meet him at the 
 school-house of an adjoining district on the follow- 
 ing night. The crowd, highly pleased with the dis- 
 posal of its time and money, was preparing to de- 
 part, when a certain Mr. Calloway appeared on the 
 platform beside Mr. Grit, and spoke like this : 
 
 *' 'Ladies and gentlemen, wait a minute ! Lis- 
 ten ! When I first heard of this thing, I said it was a 
 "fake." I say so still. The idea of making wood 
 and iron imitate the human voice, when all attempts 
 to train animals to do so have failed, is unreason- 
 able, impossible, and I am here tonight either to 
 prove it, or to make myself ridiculous in the attempt. 
 I do not intend to hurt any man, or harm any man's 
 property, but I must see what lies beneath that box 
 lid, which Mr. Grit has been so cautious about rais- 
 ing, and always from the back side; and if there is 
 only "machinery" underneath it, I'll acknowledge 
 I'm beaten.' 
 
 "Saying which, he made a step towards the box. 
 Mr. Grit hesitatingly advanced, as if to interfere. 
 As well have tried to blow out the sun ! Mr. Callo- 
 way gave him a look to make a statue quail, raised 
 the lid of the mysterious box, and a moment later 
 drew thence, a laughing, squirming boy ! 
 
 "And this was the success and failure of the 
 first phonograph in White County. This explained 
 
THE HUMAN HOAX 137 
 
 the mystery of Mr. Grit's ravenous appetite. As for 
 the boy, he might have been the nucleus of Scott's 
 Flibertgibbet, and all other 'demon children.' His 
 head was about as large as that of a partridge; his 
 freckled skin was drawn as tightly over his face as 
 the skin of a banjo, and he seemed to consider the 
 present denouement as the funniest thing that could 
 possibly have happened. He was one of those nat- 
 ural mimics, for whose vocal powers no sounds seem 
 difficult. Indeed, people afterward called him the 
 'inimitable mimiic' As for Mr. Calloway, he seemed 
 no more surprised at what he had exposed than he 
 would have seemed at finding an ear of corn under 
 the husk, or a kernel in a hazelnut-shell ; it was per- 
 haps well for him that he died before the 'talking 
 machine' and other 'profane inventions' had to be ac- 
 knowledged in his county. 
 
 "Well, I have seen men shrink into dwarfish 
 proportions on more occasions than one, but Mr. 
 Grit, at this turn of affairs, distanced them all. The 
 crowd jeered and ridiculed him some, but the clev- 
 erness of his scheme, and the enjoyment it had just 
 afforded them, was not entirely overlooked. Mr. 
 Calloway enjoyed his triumph in silence for a mo- 
 ment, and then turning to the human, or rather in- 
 human hoax, he inquired : 
 
 " 'And, young man, what do you think about 
 it?' 
 
 "Whereupon the hobgoblin, to whose risibles 
 the ludicrousness of the situation was still mak- 
 ing violent appeals, and who seemed to have 
 
138 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 brought the art of spitting through his teeth to great 
 perfection, sent three or four fine streams of saliva 
 spinning against that gentleman's boots. Adrastia !" 
 
A SUNSET IDYL. 
 
 I lay one evening on a grassy mound, 
 E'en as the sun, 'Svith richest alchemy," 
 (He had just sunk to his cloud-curtained couch) 
 Turned all the Occident to ruddy gold. 
 And yet not all; along the horizon 
 Masses of cloud were piled, careless, it seemed. 
 And yet with order; and in their many folds 
 Near every tint appeared. Where sank the sun 
 The cloud-mountains were divided, and made, 
 As 'twere, a canyon through which he passed. 
 And on each side stood tall, long-snouted clouds, 
 Like ship-crushing Symplegades, opposed. 
 And between the rifts, up the rugged sides, 
 Black were the cloud-caverns ; and higher up 
 A greenish tint appeared, and in between 
 Near every hue was seen ; while at the top. 
 Level and smooth, the crimson summit spread. 
 
 Well-nigh entranced, I viewed the rich-hued 
 
 scene, 
 
 And as I gazed, I mused : ''What man, alas ! 
 
 That ever hath, or ever will have life. 
 
 With all the ingredients the world affords, 
 
 139 
 
140 TALES P^ROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Laboring through life, could ever hope 
 
 Such a scene to paint, as the Almighty, 
 
 All at once, without a visible stroke, 
 
 With merely clouds and sunshine here hath made!" 
 
 But who for long could view so grand a scene, 
 And not form actors for so fine a stage? 
 I could not ; though I own, at first, my mind 
 Was overcome ; and I could nothing thing. 
 And nothing feel but awe and admiration. 
 But bye and bye it shook the stupor off. 
 And soon with moving actors filled the stage. 
 From every source the apparitions came, 
 Of every kind ; sometimes from memory. 
 Sometimes from fancy's cunning. Thus, one time. 
 Upon the crimson cloud-stage, I would see 
 Poor, gaunt, withered Hepzibah leading 
 The blasted Clifford ; or, the wild Holgrave 
 Making love to sweet, fresh Phoebe e'en in death's 
 cold presence. 
 
 Or let me but think : "Poet in the clouds," 
 And straightway on the cloud's edge would appear 
 Some stately poet, in fine frenzy wandering; 
 A holly-wreath, inhaloed, round his head ; 
 His brow alive with thought ; his sweet white hands 
 In adoration clasped ; and so he passed, 
 Leaving upon the sunset-painted scene 
 Tints e'en lovelier than those held before. 
 
 Another time, the thought passed through my 
 mind, 
 That possibly the mound on which I lay, 
 In prehistoric ages might have been 
 Erected by mound-builders, mystic race. 
 
A SUNSET IDYL 141 
 
 And quickly on the cloud-stage there appeared 
 A strangely-habited throng, vague of mien, 
 Scooping with rudest tools the crimson cloud ; 
 And at the view, thus to myself I mused ; 
 "And thus it is, wherever man hath been, 
 In any part of earth, no matter where, 
 Barbarous or civilized, 'tis still his wont, 
 Whether he wrought in wood, in iron, or earth. 
 To raise toward heaven some triumphal pile — 
 True symbol of his sky-aspiring soul." 
 
 Let me but think of "Midsummer Night's 
 Dream," 
 And straightway throngs would flock from Fairy- 
 land: 
 "Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth and Mustardseed," 
 Sweet Titania, Puck and Oberon ; 
 Trooping after their great master, Shakespeare. 
 
 Another time, by what inspired I know not. 
 The cloud-stage served as place of exercise 
 For the lost souls below ; and forth they came ; 
 With trembling caution slow they w^alked along, 
 Like those unused to freedom ; and with their hands 
 Did shade their eyes, e'en from the fading light. 
 Like men inured to darkness — a ghastly crew ! 
 Upon their backs grew dwarfish, useless wings, 
 Sad rudiments of poor, unfinished souls ; 
 And so they stalked and scowled. But look above ! 
 The heavens open, a spirit of light 
 Comes down. Among the fearful host he goes, 
 And tries to lead them in the better way. 
 But all in vain, for 'tis at last too late ; 
 Light-blasted, backward from his face they slink. 
 
142 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 And sink in the abyss behind the cloud. 
 
 Scarcely were the lost souls off the stage, 
 Before a very different troop arrived : 
 Two armed hosts against each other moved, 
 And with a mountain-shaking shock they met; 
 I almost heard the sound ! Dire was the fight. 
 A thousand Deaths a thousand sickles plied ; 
 Over the red clouds ran the redder blood. 
 And streamed and trickled down their sloping sides. 
 E'en Mars was sated. But enough of this, 
 For scenes of carnage never pleased my eye, 
 When seen depicted on the printed page, 
 Or pictured canvas, or from fancy's mould ; 
 I loathe alike all forms and shows of it ; 
 I was not born to praise the man of blood. 
 
 Oh! when will ever come the poet of peace! 
 Confusion's sons have surely been enow, 
 Who stuffed their phrases with the sounds of war, 
 And with the blood of battles painted scenes ; 
 And set this show before man's barbarous taste; 
 But when will God inspire some friend of peace, 
 With soul inflamed against all-hellish war, 
 To string again to mortal ears the lyre. 
 All dedicate to justice, peace and truth ; 
 For this, and this alone, is poetry ; 
 And bring it to a more celestial strain 
 Than ever any war-pitched song hath reached ! 
 
 Thus on the cloud-stage scene succeeded scene, 
 Even as fancy's unreined wand'ring chose ; 
 For as it would, I let it run, nor made 
 An effort to direct its course ; only 
 At times I made the test to see how long 
 
A SUNSET IDYL 143 
 
 Its faint-glowing radiance could be made 
 
 To illumine the selfsame view ; or, again, 
 
 How soon one image could be made to fade, 
 
 And others come. And of this latter kind 
 
 A group in quick succession passed my eye ; 
 
 And thus they came ,a moment paused, and passed : 
 
 Immortal Sappho on Leucadia, 
 Old Diogenes sitting in his tub, 
 The venturous spendthrift 'fore the caskets musinj, 
 The mad Othello putting out the light. 
 The blushing Cressid 'mong the merry Greeks, 
 The ruined Margaret to the Mater praying, 
 Pygmalion clinging round his statue's base. 
 Pale Narcissus gazing in the pool, 
 Hercules holding Antaeus in air. 
 The wild Lycurgus murdering his son. 
 The Lycian clowns dancing in the pool, 
 Achilles chasing Hector round the walls, 
 Don Quixote charging at the wind-mills, 
 
 And so I lay, and thus with fancy played ; 
 But what a wag is fancy when unreined ! 
 Hence, the last scene to which she treated me, 
 As I recall, was this : Along the cloud 
 A pair of puffing oxen hove in sight, 
 Drawing a heavy wain. With snow-white bags 
 The wain was heaped ; and 'mong the snowy bags, 
 A negro boy, the driver, lay curled up, 
 Fast asleep. 
 
 And as they passed, with weary step and slow, 
 Down to mid-leg the lab'ring oxen sank 
 In the fleecy cloud. But at this last scene 
 I looked as one that sees and yet sees not ; 
 
144 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 A drowsy mist began to clog my eyes; 
 
 The vision of the sleeping negro made 
 
 Me also sleepy ; and now besides, 
 
 Well-nigh were gone the twilight's splendid hues; 
 
 Almost, the west was like the east. And now 
 
 Bright Hesperus, the star that Homer loved, 
 
 Had kindled in the sky her evening fire. 
 
 The first sweet breeze of night did fan my brow; 
 
 Like incense, from the warm earth floated up 
 
 A feeling as of rest and thankfulness ; 
 
 It wrapped my senses round, and so I slept. 
 
 How long I slept I cannot surely know ; 
 But this I do know, at least, I think I know, 
 E'en as I slept I heard a soft, faint voice ; 
 Though whence it came I scarcely could devine. 
 But clear, though faint, its pity-pleading tones 
 Did pierce the drowsy mantle of my sleep. 
 Stirred the enfolded sense, and thus it said : 
 
 '*0h ye, whoe'er ye be, that rule the clouds, 
 I pray ye now, unmask sweet heaven's face. 
 And let my little star shine forth again; 
 For it alone doth bear me company, 
 And naught on earth doth seem to care for me. 
 The plants around seem wild, and fierce and strange, 
 And know not me ; or, if they know, they hate. 
 Hence, soon as e'er the darkness 'gins to fall. 
 My fear begins; nor ceases till I can 
 Look up and see my friendly guardian's face, 
 One tiny star among the millions there. 
 So all night long I gaze upon its beams. 
 And hope and strength I seem to get therefrom. 
 But now, alas ! my tiny friend is hid ! 
 
A SUNSET IDYL 145 
 
 And fear comes o'er me! Oh, dull clouds, give 
 
 way, 
 And let my bright friend still my troubled time." 
 
 I heard no more; the tiny voice ceased. 
 Soon after I awoke, and looked around; 
 Cloudless were the heavens, and in mid-sky 
 Half-grown Diana shown; and I recalled 
 That when I fell asleep the azure dome 
 Had been o'er veiled with flakes of thinnest gauze, 
 Not dense enough to be called clouds, but just 
 Thick enough to intercept the star-beams. 
 But now. like veils from off a statue, 
 Down the smooth sides of heaven they had slid; 
 And sunk beneath the horizon ; and so, 
 Fleckless, unveiled, the sparkling heavens shown. 
 Amazed at this, so sorting with my dream. 
 If dream it wxre, I 'gan to search around. 
 (For from the earth the prayer had seemed to come) 
 And soon, among the dewy plants and shrubs, 
 I found a tiny violet ; all alone 
 It grew ; and to its tame and gentle kind 
 No doubt the wild and hardy shrubs around 
 Seemed strange and fierce ; and so it looked above, 
 And sought its friends among the twinkling stars ; 
 Hence, when the clouds shut out its star-friend's 
 face, 
 
 It 'gan to fear, and prayed they be removed. 
 
 At least so I conclude, though others may 
 Explain it as they choose ; but this I know. 
 That, whe'er the violet really prayed or no. 
 With careful hands I dug her from her place. 
 
146 TALES FROM A BAY'S FANCY 
 
 Among the wild, imsympathizing- crew ; 
 And, with no mementos of the place, 
 Save the earth on her roots, I bore her home, 
 And set the gentle plant among her kind. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTER. 
 
 I scarcely know whether I am yet able to write 
 or not, but I shall try. The petals of the white rose, 
 prepared by my wife and daughter, are dry and 
 ready, and the poke-berry juice is waiting, and 
 evaporating ; and there is no reason why the writing 
 of the story of my capture by the Young God should 
 be longer delayed, unless it should be the insufficient 
 stage of m}^ convalescence. 
 
 I will begin, then, where the story begins, 
 though the first part of it is very well known, in 
 the garden of sweet-smelling blossoms. The field 
 of flowers belonged, of course, to one of the Gods, 
 and by the merest chance I happened to stray near 
 it one day. At first, having only seen the plants 
 and flowers that grow wild in the fields and woods, 
 I was overcome by the sight and smell of so many 
 different kinds of beautiful flowers. For awhile 
 I was afraid to enter, it being the first of the kind 
 1 had ever seen ; but soon, seeing all kinds of bugs, 
 bees and butterflies alreadv in it, including not a 
 
 147' 
 
148 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 few of my own kind, I flew boldly over the high, 
 pointed pales that inclosed this pleasure ground of 
 the Gods. I had never heard or even dreamed of 
 anything half so lovely, and at first I could do lit- 
 tle more than fly from bloom to bloom, and admire 
 the delicacy of their rich beauty and the dainty 
 fragrance that came from them. But there were so 
 many different kinds that one might easily have 
 spent a summer's day in this task, and then not have 
 completed it. I noticed, however, that no other 
 guest, or, perhaps, intruder, appeared to be at all 
 impressed by the magnificence of the display, but 
 the sole business of each and every one of them 
 seemed to be to get as much nectar as possible out 
 of the tinted chalices. 
 
 At first I was shocked at this evidence of lack 
 of taste in my countrymen ; it seemed to yuq a crime 
 to turn such a paradise into a mere field of labor for 
 a multitude of honey gatherers. I paused to observe 
 the army of dead-souled workers ; not one could I 
 see that I knew. My ! but I must have flown a long 
 distance from home that morning; or perhaps all 
 the others had a right to be there, and I alone was 
 the intruder. Perchance they were tamed insects, 
 taught to gather honey for the God who owned the 
 blooms; and I, as soon as discovered, would be 
 driven out. I essayed to speak to two or three of 
 my own kind, but they seemed to be too busy to lis- 
 ten or answer; or perhaps they considered me a 
 drone, and therefore not worthy of their notice. 
 This confirmed me in my opinion that they were 
 domesticated honey gatherers, although I had never 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTER 149 
 
 heard of this being done with anything but a certain 
 kind of bee; while here there were almost as many 
 of a number of kinds of bugs, including my own, 
 as there w^ere of bees. I knew not what to think, 
 and so, to preclude as far as possible the chances 
 of being driven out of so enchanting a place, in case 
 the workers zcerc domesticated, and the owner 
 should arrive, I determined to fall to myself, and 
 though my kind were never reckoned excellent at 
 honey gathering, do the best I could. With this 
 idea in mind, with trembling feet, almost as I were 
 profaning the shrine of a virgin Goddess, I alighted 
 on one of the resplendent blooms. 
 
 I had barely had time to fold my wrings away 
 under their hard, bony cases, and to note that the 
 crimson chalice of the blossom on which I stood, 
 notwithstanding the army of busy laborers all about 
 it, seemed to be wxll stored with nectar ; when, hap- 
 pening to look up, I saw, standing not three feet 
 from me, a small young God. In my fright and 
 amazement, I came near falling off my flower. I 
 looked directly at the young God, however, and life 
 cannot last long enough to erase from my memory 
 the exact picture of him as he stood there. Oh, but 
 he was beautiful ! He could not have been more 
 than three years old, as the Gods compute time. His 
 bright eyes were blue as the bells of the morning 
 glory, and his yellow curls, filled with the early sun- 
 shine, gleamed like webs of golden wire. Even as 
 I looked at the apparition, still wondering in my 
 mind whether it were real or only fancied, with out- 
 stretched arms it began to run towards me. I could 
 
150 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 not move. I was fascinated, as the moths say in 
 explanation of their mysterious, fatal conduct upon 
 seeing a flame. Nearer and nearer he came. Surely 
 he would not hurt me ; by no possibility could cruelty 
 be connected with so much beauty. He reached out, 
 his little, dimpled hand for me. Still I did not move, 
 and so his warm, moist palm closed over me. 
 
 But I was no sooner in his hand than I began 
 to change the opinion of a lifetime concerning the 
 nature and attributes of the Gods, or at least of a 
 Little God. My! how he squeezed me. If I had 
 been anything like the worm, with a soft skin, he 
 would have killed me. As it was, he made every 
 joint and rivet in my armor creak, though I did not 
 feel much pain. I now began to try to free myself 
 of the close, dark cell, but the more vigorously I 
 struggled, the more tightly did it close around me. 
 1 expected at least to have two or three legs broken, 
 but luckily I did not. /\t last, seeing that resistance 
 only made matters worse, I lay quite still. 
 
 From the sensations I received, I judged the 
 Young God to be moving about all the time, and 
 so indeed he w'as. After what seemed to me an age, 
 he opened his hand, not, however, so that I could 
 escape, w^hich I would now gladly have done, and 
 said : ''Oh, Mama ! here's a June bug I found out in 
 the garden. I want you to tie him for me with a 
 thread by the leg so I can make him *june.' " 
 
 The Mother Goddess looked up from the sew- 
 ing on which she was engaged, and said, *'all right. 
 Darling." 
 
 Oh ! how my hopes sank as I heard her pro- 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTER 151 
 
 nounce those three words. I, who at the hands 
 of the Mother had expected to get my liberty, and 
 hear the boy rated for his cruelty, to be tied with a 
 thread by the leg! But no such thoughts as these 
 were passing in the mind of the Mother Goddess as 
 she said : "Come here, Love ; you hold him and I'll 
 tie him," breaking a piece of thread off a spool as 
 she spoke. With a dexterity that showed him to be 
 no novice at the act, the boy held my body between 
 the dimpled fingers and thumb of one hand, while 
 with the other he straightened out one of my legs, 
 while the mother tied the black thread tightly around 
 it, close up to my body. My, how it hurt ! It was 
 the first time any of my legs were ever straight — 
 you see, they were not made straight. 
 
 Well, my present opinion of the goodness of the 
 Gods is somewhat harsher than it once was, but 
 even now I do not believe that, could the mother 
 have foreseen all the agony and suffering her act 
 was to produce, even her desire to please her Son 
 could have caused her to knot the thread. 
 
 As soon as the Boy saw me securely fastened, 
 he took the other end of the thread in his hand, 
 and went out of the house and stood beneath a large 
 tree that was in the yard. And now behold me, a 
 respectable bug, being jerked about at the end of a 
 thread by a three year's Boy, for no possible crime 
 that I know, except that he happened to be born a 
 God, and I a bug. At first I strived to climb the 
 thread, but could not do so. When the Little God 
 told his Mother he wanted me tied so he could hear 
 me "June," I did not understand what he meant. But 
 
152 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 I soon came to know by his constant jerking as often 
 as I was still, that he wanted me to be flying all 
 the time, that he might hear the soimd of my wings, 
 I suppose. 
 
 And fly I did. I flattered myself that after I had 
 flown for a time I would get my liberty; so 
 I did my best. But it is remarkable how soon one 
 tires of flying under such conditions. It is the pull- 
 ing one does against the string that causes it, I 
 suppose. I tried to support myself in the air with- 
 out pulling against the string, but in vain, so strong 
 is the love of liberty, and even the most frail hopes 
 of regaining it, when once lost. With an occasional 
 short rest, it is nothing difficult for me to fly all 
 day, but I had not pulled against that string for 
 half an hour until my wings uterly refused to beat, 
 and I could do nothing but hang at the end of the 
 string. But his Godship wanted more of it. He 
 jerked me so violently that twenty times I thought 
 he would pull my leg out. But it did no good, for I 
 could fly no more. 
 
 Well, I had a terrible time, not knowing what 
 was to come next. But at last my captor became 
 weary. He lay down in the shade and fell asleep. 
 Gently I pulled at the thread, to see if it would 
 uncoil from around his dimpled fingers, and it 
 did! Liberty! In an instant my ebbing vigor re- 
 turned fourfold. With the black thread trailing 
 after me, I flew through the soft, white sky. How 
 dreary, uninviting a place the field of flowers seemed 
 as I passed over it! The world never looked half 
 so beautiful before. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTER 153 
 
 Without turning aside once, or even dropping 
 low enough for the thread to catch on anything, I 
 flew straight home, and told my wife all about what 
 had happened, and if the string had not been still 
 tied to my leg as proof of it, I might well have been 
 laughed at for my pains; not that my wife is un- 
 usually incredulous, nor that I bear a reputation 
 for mendacity, but because the case of anyone ever 
 escaping after having once fallen into the hands 
 of the Gods is so seldom that anyone who relates 
 such a story, unless he has indisputable evidence 
 with which to fortify it, is universally dubbed a liar, 
 and his word is considered worthless ever after. 
 And I, had I escaped without the thread, even 
 though I had lost the leg to which it was tied, would 
 not have dared to relate my adventure. So much 
 for the opinion held by the insects of the mercy and 
 forbearance of the Gods, and it is justified, for 
 whenever any of our kinsmen fall into their hands, 
 what becomes of them we know not, but we see 
 them no more. And yet I, knowing this full well 
 when I was presented by the Boy to his Mother, had 
 the absurdity to expect liberty at her command ! 
 
 But I must go on with my story. Well, the news 
 had no sooner gone out, and I was not slow to assist 
 in spreading it, though I have since repented, that 
 I had actually escaped uninjured from the hands of 
 the Gods, than I became at once the most famous 
 person the annals of Bugland have known for many 
 a day. I was thronged to from far and near. Across 
 many fields came all kinds of my countrymen to 
 see the fortunate bug "that had escaped from the 
 
154 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Gods, and also the wonderful bit of their material 
 that I had brought away with me. Even the busy 
 ants and bees left their toil, and came many wing- 
 flights to see the insect that had been clasped in the 
 hand of the young God, and yet escaped uninjured. 
 I found myself obliged to be in company almost 
 all the time, day and night, giving audiences, and 
 relating my marvelous adventure, and I was com- 
 pelled to keep an almost innumerable host of trans- 
 lators, for the benefit of all the other kinds of in- 
 sects, as I only speak my own language myself. 
 
 As I always carried my thread with me in a coil 
 around one of my legs — indeed, I could not do 
 otherwise, for no one could untie the knot, and be- 
 sides I did not want it untied — I soon came to be 
 known as the Knight of the Black Garter, and right 
 proud I was of the title. Many and magnificent 
 were the functions planned and carried out in my 
 honor. Wherever I came, I was received almost 
 like one of the Gods, except that no fear went 
 with me. In the entire annals of England there was 
 no account of anything that ever equaled my 
 triumph, and instead of decreasing, it seemed to 
 grow greater constantly and each succeeding day 
 brought parties of tourists from yet greater dis- 
 tances. 
 
 For awhile it suited me admirably, but after a 
 time it began to grow burdensome, and I longed 
 for rest and peace and quiet again. But there 
 seemed to be no dawning hope of any such prospect 
 in the future. Of course, at first I had been very 
 affable to all who came to see me, accepted all their 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTTR 155 
 
 invitations to functions in my honor, and made 
 myself generally agreeable, and now I saw no way 
 out of it, except by becoming unsocial and repul- 
 sive, and this I hated to do after the start I had 
 made; nevertheless, I heartily wished myself out 
 of it, by some means or other. Oh, if people could 
 only understand, and use some judgment in such 
 matters, but they only consult their own conven- 
 ience and curiosity. But at last, a few hours of 
 solitude at least became absolutely indispensable. 
 So one day I determined to steal a\vay for awhile, 
 without saying anything to anyone about it. And 
 so, with the coil of my spoils upon my leg, and going 
 by the most abscure routes, I flew about for hours 
 in the perfect luxury of being alone, and with noth- 
 ing to break the tenure of my complete happiness, 
 except an occasional pang when I thought of the 
 disappointment they would have to endure w^ho 
 called to see me that afternoon. 
 
 At last, in my ecstatic, aimless wandering, I 
 came upon w^hat seemed to be an old deserted field. 
 There were no flowers or blooms in it, only weeds 
 and briars and bushes; the very place, I thought, 
 where I w^ould be least likely to meet any kind of 
 bug. This inviting place, therefore, I, being slightly 
 weary with my long flight, decided to convert for 
 a while into my paradise of seclusion. Gladly I flew 
 inside, and as what I deemed the safest retreat, 
 alighted on one of the dead shrubs. Here I sat for 
 some time, crouching low on my bough to elude 
 observation as far as possible should any one of my 
 kind come wandering near my retreat, in the per- 
 
156 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 feet ecstacy of being alone ; allowing, in my abandon, 
 the black thread, the voucher of my fame, to come 
 uncoiled from my leg, and to dangle toward the 
 ground. 
 
 But at last my delicious reverie came to an end, 
 and I realized that I must return home, make my 
 apologies and be the hero of the day once more. 
 With this end in view, I uncased my gauze-like 
 wings, and started to fly, but I had only gone a foot 
 or two when I felt myself abruptly checked. Ah ! 
 in my impetuosity to rush once more into the arms 
 of fame, I had forgotten the very thing that be- 
 stow^ed it. I had failed to rewind my uncoiled 
 thread. This I now attempted to do, but found it 
 impossible, for the thread had in some manner be- 
 come wound around one of the lower branches of 
 the bush and I could not move it. 
 
 The harder I pulled on it, the tighter it be- 
 came, and I began to become alarmed. I descended 
 to the limb around which the thread was twisted, 
 and attempted, by crawling around the bough, to 
 unwind it. But alas! the more I toiled, the more 
 it became entangled. I now tried to untie it from 
 around my leg, and be free of it at any cost, but 
 T found that I could not do so. 
 
 I now began to believe the thread to be a 
 sentient thing, or at least capable of understanding 
 and executing the orders of the Gods. I believed 
 that the Mother Goddess had commanded it, if ever 
 I should escape from her Son, to wreak my ruin, 
 and it was now only following her lethal mandates ; 
 and these thoughts gave such a shock to my already 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTER 157 
 
 dying hopes that I could scarcely make another ef- 
 fort to be free. Oh, how I cursed and loathed the 
 black thing noAV, which I formerly only worshipped 
 and fondled, loving it above everything else oh 
 earth. How I loathed the pageants and hollow flat- 
 teries, once so dear to me, that had filled my time 
 for the last few days, and longed only for life and 
 liberty once more. But all in vain ! Neither vows 
 of repentance, words of entreaty, nor my physical 
 exertions served to free me of the relentless thread. 
 And so, with nothing in my reach more of the nature 
 of sustenance than the dead bark of the bough on 
 which I rested, I settled down to my long fast. 
 
 During the first part of my long continuance 
 in this desolate place I tried to console myself with 
 the thought that some one would come in sight, 
 whose attention I could attract, like the shipwrecked 
 God, as I have heard, sitting under his palm-tree 
 gazing with unwearied eyes for ever and ever on the 
 hopeless deep ; but the shipwrecked God would, I 
 hope, have a better chance for procuring food and 
 drink than I had, for I found the spot I had chosen 
 as so admirable for solitude to be the most unfor- 
 tunate place on earth in case of accident. And yet I 
 saw, or was it only fancy, bodies flying through 
 the air continually; but not one of them, if they were 
 real, ever came close enough to hear or see me, or if 
 they did hear, to heed. The searching parties, as I 
 have since learned, sent out by my family and 
 friends, came time after time to the edge of the old 
 field, but never thought of examining so unlikely a 
 place. 
 
158 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 For a while I tried to free myself by wrenching 
 out my leg, but found it impossible. Then came the 
 pangs of hunger and thirst. My kind is not quickly 
 susceptible to these, but when they do come, they 
 are severe ; and mingled with it all was the sickening- 
 thought that I was getting only what I had de- 
 served, from some cause or other. At last I zvas 
 too weak to move and so I lay quite still, and all 
 hope of rescue having faded, awaited the end. But 
 how slowly it came ! I was dying so gradually that 
 I began to wonder if I should know when I was 
 really dead. And at last the day no longer seemed 
 light and the night no longer dark, but all was a 
 changeless dull glow, and I could scarcely distin- 
 guish day and night. 
 
 But at last, one day, long after I had given up 
 all hope, and after all sensation had been subdued and 
 deadened, and as I sat in painless stupidity, calmly 
 awaiting the end, I heard, or fancied I heard, sounds, 
 and they seemed to come from another Avorld. 
 With new vigor instilled into me by this reawaken- 
 ing of the long-dead hope of rescue, I turned my 
 blurred eyes towards what I thought to be the direc- 
 tion of the sounds, and tried to make out their 
 cause, but in vain. I could see nothing. The 
 sounds, however, became louder and nearer, and at 
 last I made out their source. But alas ! they were 
 Gods. My hopes sank again. Straight on towards 
 me came the Gods. There were three of them, two 
 females and one male, and I had not the slightest 
 doubt that they were coming for me, knowing that 
 the thread would effect my capture. On they came. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTER 159 
 
 laughing and chatting merrily. I observed them as 
 well as I could with my defective sight. 
 
 The God was rather below the medium height, 
 had prominent cheek-bones, deep-set eyes, a wrinkled 
 brow and a perpetual scowl on his face, and I heard 
 one of the Goddesses tell the other, aside, that he 
 had Cupid's bow in his legs, whatever that may 
 mean. One of the Goddesses was also rather short. 
 She had white hah*, a short, selfish nose, and snap- 
 pish ways, the temperment of a jacksnapper, as we 
 should say in Bugdom. The other Goddess was 
 tall and stately; her features were regular, though 
 not very fine, and she had black, coarse hair. I 
 noticed that both the Goddesses called the God 
 '^Professor," and seemed to be very fond of him, 
 and very much in awe of his opinion. I also noticed 
 that the God rather monopolized the conversation. 
 
 He spoke almost incessantly, and even during 
 the short periods when he was not talking, his lips 
 were still moving noiselessly. I at first attributed 
 this to his intense meditation, but when I observed 
 that he seemed to do it more vigorously when one 
 or both of the Goddesses were looking at him, I 
 concluded that it might as likely be affection as not. 
 On came the merry trio, and I was in hopes that 
 they might pass without seeing me; but the bright 
 eyes of the short-nosed Goddess spied me, and she 
 cried out: *'0h! see here what a beautiful speci- 
 men of the very thing we are looking for." 
 
 The exclamation of course brought all of them 
 around me, and the coarse-haired Goddess exclaim- 
 
160 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 ed : ''And if it is not tied with a thread to the 
 limb!" 
 
 But at this point the ''Professor" God could 
 hold his silence no longer. Coming between the 
 Goddesses, and taking me in his hand, he said : 
 
 "Ladies, you may now thank your stars that 
 you are fortunate enough to see an actual example 
 of a class of accidents peculiar to the lower ani- 
 mals, of which, although it is common, it is by no 
 means every one's luck to see an actual example. 
 The contingency consists, as you see, of the victim 
 getting his feet tangled up in a loose thread in such 
 a manner that it is impossible for the unfortunate 
 to extricate itself; and as it almost invariably, sooner 
 or later, gets the thread fastened to some immov- 
 able object, perishes. But the most peculiar fea- 
 ture of this phenomenon, if you will allow me to call 
 it such, is the inexplicable manner in which the cord 
 often gets looped around the victim's feet;" he said, 
 as he observed that the thread was securely tied to 
 one, and only one, of my legs. 
 
 "Yes," he continued suddenly, to keep either 
 of the Goddesses from getting the start of him, "it 
 is often found tied as neatly and tightly as if done 
 by human hands ; and if you please, the case we 
 now have under discussion is an example of the 
 most perfect knot it has ever been my good fortune 
 to see in such a case." As he said this, the learned 
 God, having broken the thread loose from the bough, 
 held me up that the interested Goddesses might 
 verify his remarks. 
 
 "And so," he continued, holding me on his 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTER 161 
 
 palm, and apostrophizing me, while I blushed under 
 the closeness of his ill-bred scrutiny, "you little in- 
 finitesimal thing! You thought yourself capable 
 of understanding and examining the affairs of men, 
 the thread of the seam.stress ; and your presumption 
 proved fatal, just as it does in thousands of cases.'* 
 Oh, poor benighted professor! A most complete 
 and accurate scholar, and a most profound and pre- 
 cise thinker, you may be; but I cannot choose but 
 know that there was at least one occasion in your 
 life, when a micre bug, had it not lacked the ability to 
 speak the language, in which you were so abundantly 
 blessed, might have corrected you. Why, indeed, 
 did he continue in such blind adherence to his theory ? 
 While to any normal capacity it must have occurred 
 that such a happening would have been next to im- 
 possible. Did the facile-tongued professor never 
 once remember that some God might have tied the 
 thread around my leg ? Apparently, he did not, nor 
 did either of the Goddesses ; or if they did, they had 
 too much respect for the professor's opinion, to men- 
 tion it. And now, seeming to think that he had thor- 
 oughly inculcated the entanglement theory, the all- 
 knowing professor said to the fair-haired Goddess, 
 "Nevertheless, he is, as you say, a fine specim^en, 
 and he is yours ; open your case." 
 
 And the Goddess thus addressed took from un- 
 der her left arm a long, narrow box, and raised the 
 lid ; and I looked within. And there one of the great 
 mysteries of my life was cleared up. The box had 
 three or four thin strips, perhaps half an inch high, 
 fastened to its bottom, running lengthwise ; and 
 
162 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Upon these were the dead bodies of many different 
 kinds of bugs ; some of them dry, and some but late- 
 ly killed, with pins driven through them and into 
 the wood beneath. And this, then, is what becomes 
 of all the poor unfortunate bugs that chance to fall 
 into the hands of the Gods ; this is their final tomb 
 and resting place. But what, in the name of rea- 
 son, is the meaning of it all? To what use can 
 they possibly put us? Do they eat us, or what at 
 3ast becomes of us ? Alas ! I know not ; I only know 
 that I saw my kind and kindred there, and came 
 near going there myself ; but beyond this, all is dark- 
 ness. To suppose a change of cases : Imagine all 
 the Gods, by some accident like that which revealed 
 the fate of my missing countrymen to me, happen- 
 ing suddenly to find all their kind that have ever 
 disappeared, in our possession, in such condition 
 as I found my friends. What would they do ! 
 
 How^ever, one mirthful thing happened as the 
 fair-haired Goddess opened her sarcophagus. She 
 was evidently in the bug business in earnest, for her 
 bosom was thickly decorated with specimens of en- 
 tomological jewelry; and perhaps this is w^hat the 
 Gods want with us, as models by which to fashion 
 their metallic images of ourselves. Well, as the 
 young Goddess opened her coffin, she said : ^'I am 
 awfully glad I found this specimen of the June Bug, 
 or May Beetle, as it is sometimes called; as I have 
 ^:sut one, and would like two." 
 
 Now, you may be sure that at the mention of 
 June Bug," I peered yet more closelv into the box, 
 C detect and recognize, if possible, mv unfortune 
 
THE KNIGPIT OF THE BLACK GARTER 163 
 
 felloAv-bug. But on the honor of a beetle, there was 
 no June Bug in the box. There were spiders, crick- 
 ets, grasshoppers, etc., but no June Bug:; nor any- 
 thing that resembled one, except a specimen of tum- 
 ble-bug, that is colored slightly like ourselves ; but I 
 never dreamed of anyone being- blind enough to 
 mistake him for one of us. For was there not his 
 dirt-shovel, invincible evidence of his vocation, pro- 
 truding into plain view? Nevertheless, I can but 
 conclude that the young Goddess had mistaken us, 
 and doubtless even with the sanction of the learned 
 Professor; and the thought was so humiliating that 
 I did not much care if she nailed me on the bier be- 
 side him. To have a bug that is hatched, reared, 
 works all its life, and lays its eggs in dung, mis- 
 taken for one of us ! To' have the dull daubbery of 
 a manure-worker's color confounded with our coat 
 of burnished flame! 
 
 But just as the bug-epicurean Goddess was go- 
 ing to put me in the box, the black haired Goddess, 
 with the Cleopatran features, breaking into the Pro- 
 fessor's endless lingual sluice, said : 
 
 ''Wait ! is that bug dead yet ?" I moved slightly 
 and with great difficulty, for the first time since 
 they had found me, as I lay in the shortnosed God- 
 dess' palm, to show that I was not yet dead. 
 
 "No," she continued, ''it is not dead. Can't 
 you see it move? Well, now, I'll tell you what I 
 think we ought to do with it. We ought to turn 
 it loose." The other two started visibly. "I'll give 
 you my reasons," she continued, after giving them 
 time to recover from the shock. 
 
164 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 With the very first word spoken in my defense 
 by the dark browed Goddess, my hopes began to 
 rise. And why ? I saw no long, narrow box under 
 her arm ; no bronze beetles on her breast. 
 
 "I am convinced," she continued, ''whatever the 
 Professor may say to the contrary, that this string 
 was tied around this bug's leg by somebody!" The 
 Professor and the dumpy Goddess looked thunder- 
 stricken. "Why," she continued, "there is nothing 
 impossible about it." "Did neither of you ever hear 
 of such a thing?" she inquired. They were too 
 amazed to speak, but their vacant faces were a suffi- 
 cient negative ; and so she resumed : "Well, I have; 
 and even, I remember, have had them tied for my- 
 self, when I was a child. And I have let them es- 
 cape with strings on their legs, too, though, I never 
 dreamed of it coming to such as this. You see, they 
 are tied so that children, who love to hear the music 
 of their wings, may keep the buzzing near; and I 
 have not the slightest doubt but that this one was 
 tied for just that purpose, and having escaped with 
 the thread on its leg, it has here become entangled 
 on this barren shrub, and remained until it has 
 almost starved." 
 
 The God and other Goddess had now settled 
 down to listening, seeing there was nothing else 
 to do; though still exchanging incredulous glances. 
 And thus my self-appointed champion continued: 
 "Now, this is the point I want to come to. There is 
 among all hunters who have the faintest spark of 
 charity, magnanimity, or anything else but pure sel- 
 fishness, an unwritten law that the quarry must be 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE BLACK GARTER 165 
 
 given its life when it has fairly earned it, either by 
 its endurance or by its cleverness. Now, assuming 
 that my explanation of this bug's condition is cor- 
 rect, and I am sure it is, do not both of you think 
 that it has suffered enough at the hands of man, and 
 that the generous thing for us to do would be, not to 
 add it to our collections of specimens, but to become 
 Divine Providence to it by giving it another chance 
 at life? What do you think, Professor?" 
 
 Professor 'hummed and hawed,' and managed 
 to say that it was a "splendid specimen," but that of 
 course he supposed liberating it would be the chiv- 
 alrous thing to do. And now, having two against 
 her, the other Goddess came over quickly. And as 
 a result of it all, not to go too minutely into details, 
 I was laid softly upon the ground ; and the Goddess 
 with the dark eyes procured a handful of clover- 
 blossoms from somewhere, and placed them near me. 
 Well, of course, I never saw her before, and never 
 expect to see her again, but may all her life be spent 
 amid banks of neverfading flowers. 
 
 But I must hurry on. Well, the thought that I 
 was once more free put such vigor in me that I man- 
 aged to eat some of the clover. How queer it tasted ! 
 And then I slept for a long, long time. When I 
 awoke, I was much stronger, though still unable to 
 fly. But I ate more of the clover, and slept again ; 
 and before long I was able to support myself on 
 trembling wings, like a butterfly just out of its 
 cocoon. I then flew home as quickly as possible, 
 though I had some difficulty in finding the way, the 
 appearance of the vegetation had changed so much 
 
166 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 since I had seen it. You may well imagine that my 
 coming home, after having been given up for lost, 
 caused no little excitement and joy, though they 
 scarce believed it to be me at first, so bad and poor 
 I looked. 
 
 Well, if I were famous when I made my first 
 escape from the Gods, I was certainly doubly so 
 this second time, and I needed no evidence to insure 
 its credence; my emaciated condition was enough. 
 Escape twice unscathed from the hands of the Gods ! 
 Such a thing is not recorded anywhere in the history 
 of the bugs ; and so many wanted to know all about 
 it, that I could do nothing else but w^ite up an 
 account of it. And this I have now faithfully done, 
 and it is to be translated into all the bug languages, 
 Katydid, Grasshopper, Cricket, etc., and it will, I 
 hope, somewhat lessen the throngs that now press 
 daily to my home, to get the story from my own 
 lips. 
 
 I also intend to have a number of copies scat- 
 tered near some of the homes of the Gods ; and if 
 any of them should happen to find them, and be 
 able to translate them, they will, I trust, do some- 
 thing towards rendering the Divinities more worthy 
 of the name they bear. Concerning my own opinion 
 of the nature of the Gods, I scarcely know whether 
 it w^as made harsher or milder by my two encounters 
 with them; nevertheless, the lesson I am at present 
 trying to impress on my fellow bugs, as the most 
 important one of life, is that they observe every care 
 to keep as far out of the reach of the Gods as pos- 
 sible. 
 
MISTRESS GLUPPINS AND THE ECHO. 
 
 Mistress Gluppins was a widow 
 
 And all alone dwelt she; 
 The neighbors said her trenchant tongue 
 
 Caused her celibacy; 
 
 That once a true and faithful spouse 
 
 lyOved her most devinely, 
 Until her ever-warbling tongue 
 
 Snipped his thread untimely. 
 
 Now, this may all be true or false, 
 
 But 'tis of ample proof 
 That all alone the Widow dwelt, 
 
 And no one shared her roof. 
 
 So by herself her chores were done. 
 
 With no one tO' assist; 
 
 For in her times of oral stress 
 
 No mortal could exist. 
 167 
 
168 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 So on the eve of which I write 
 
 The Widow went to milk ; 
 As the sinking sun did paint the sky 
 
 With colors soft as silk. 
 
 But when she reached the meadow bars, 
 Her Bos she could not see; 
 
 She had not yet forsook the grass 
 That mantled all the lea. 
 
 So far across the country-side 
 The Widow's treble rolled; 
 
 No quav'ring, falt'ring female pipe, 
 But piercing, clear and bold ; 
 
 And every living thing that heard 
 
 With instant terror shook; 
 The roosting, leaf-screened birds did quake. 
 
 The quiet air was fear-strook. 
 
 Bos only was not filled with fear ; 
 
 She left her verdant mess ; 
 But long she stood ere Gluppin's hand 
 
 Her swelling teats did press. 
 
 Below the Lorelei stone 
 
 Dwelt Echo's family; 
 His father loved and mother dear. 
 
 And thirteen progeny. 
 
 Now, it so chanced that on a time 
 Their eldest son arose, 
 
MISTRESS GLUPPINS AND THE ECHO 169 
 
 And to his listening kindred round, 
 Did thus his mind disclose : 
 
 "No longer in this barren spot 
 
 Do I intend to stay. 
 Where one can scarce find food enough, 
 
 Though toiling night and day. 
 
 To other lands beyond the sea 
 
 My course I mean to steer, 
 To see if I, with honest toil. 
 
 Can't meet with better cheer. 
 
 Suppose, that in some future time 
 
 Our fame should fail to draw, 
 From every clime, fresh tourists here, 
 
 What then would fill the maw? 
 
 So I propose to go in time, 
 
 Though you m.ay all remain ; 
 There'll be but more for those that stay. 
 
 When I my flight have ta'en." 
 
 (This is the way the Echo Tribe 
 
 Their noisy living gain : 
 From every sound that they retort 
 
 Their vital ''toll" is ta'en) 
 
 Now, Echo's parents were alarmed 
 
 When they heard his intent ; 
 And straight his bold and rash design 
 
 They sought to circumvent. 
 
170 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 His kind old father told him how. 
 In lands beyond the sea, 
 
 In every place where he could dwell, 
 Echoes were sure to be. 
 
 He told him, too, of perils dire, 
 Met both by sea and land ; 
 
 He told him that earth's fairest spot 
 Was still the Fatherland. 
 
 But all in vain ; Echo was firm ; 
 
 He'd see if such were true ; 
 He left the Lorelei Stone, 
 
 And weeping kindred, too. 
 
 So Echo spread his gauzy wings. 
 
 And sought the dawn-stained sky; 
 
 And for awhile all things went well. 
 How easy 'twas to fly ! 
 
 But bye and bye, 'twas not so well ; 
 
 111 did poor Echo fare; 
 And more than once did almost melt, 
 
 And 'Vanish into air." 
 
 For Echoes are etherial things. 
 From purest ether ta'en; 
 
 And, if the heat becomes too great, 
 To that return again. 
 
 And so poor Echo found it hard. 
 As hotter waxed the sun, 
 
MISTRESS GLUPPINS AND THE ECHO 171 
 
 To keep his parts from soaring up 
 To the empyrean. 
 
 But bye and bye he reached the sea, 
 And there the cool fresh breeze 
 
 From his disintegration fears 
 Did render some release. 
 
 And so across the raging surge 
 
 Echo serenely floats ; 
 Beneath him flapped the great sea-birds, 
 
 And sailed the white-winged boats. 
 
 At last, once more on solid ground, 
 
 Did weary Echo stand ; 
 And felt beneath his airy feet 
 
 The pebbles of the strand. 
 
 And for some place to build his home 
 
 Began to look around : 
 But oh ! his parent's prophesy 
 
 But too, too true he found. 
 
 For everywhere an Echo could, 
 
 There one had built its home ; 
 And our poor friend believed himself 
 
 Forever doomed to roam. 
 
 But bye and bye, he found a place, 
 
 A snug, vine-curtained home; 
 Where all day long the dew-drops hung, 
 
 And ne'er a sunbeam shone. 
 
172 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 No owner could he see around; 
 
 Sad Echo walked within ; 
 But oh! he backward stepped in haste 
 
 At what there met his ken. 
 
 A gossamer-woven mantle 
 
 O'erspread the dew-damp grass ; 
 
 And thereupon a maiden lay, 
 In drowsy fetters fast. 
 
 Now, Echo had seen lovely dames 
 As ever wrought one's bliss. 
 
 His mother and his sisters fair; 
 But never aught like this. 
 
 And so his face o'erspread with shame. 
 
 He started to retreat; 
 When soft ! the lady oped her eyes, 
 
 And asked him what he wished. 
 
 At this our friend's confusion grew; 
 
 Fierce blushes 'gan assail; 
 He cast his eyes upon the ground, 
 
 And stammered out his tale. 
 
 The gentle lady seemed distressed 
 At hearing Echo's grief; 
 
 She said 'twas surely sad enough, 
 But she knew no relief. 
 
 She said that she for long had lived 
 Alone in the little grot; 
 
MISTRESS GLUPPINS AND THE ECHO 173 
 
 But that she feared besides herself 
 Another one could not; 
 
 That in yon thick, vine-mantled copse, 
 
 Too thick for piercing sight, 
 There sat the sweetest nightingale. 
 
 And sang the live-long night; 
 
 That she had grown so beautiful 
 
 Eating such food long; 
 But that she feared, at stranger's voice, 
 
 The bird would cease its song. 
 
 And yet she bade him stray not far, 
 
 And surely to return; 
 For's flaxen locks and honest face 
 
 What lady fair could spurn. 
 
 So Echo left the leaf-screened grot, 
 
 Soon after ceased his quest, 
 And stretched himself along a hill. 
 
 For sore he needed rest. 
 
 Now, as along the hill he lay, 
 
 A cow-call he did hear; 
 And Echo gasped for pure delight. 
 
 It was so rich and clear. 
 
 An instant did he hesitate, 
 
 But no one else appears ; 
 Retortive Echo hurls the sounds 
 
 Back to the Widow's ears. 
 
174 TALES FROM A BOY'S FAxNCY 
 
 Now, Gluppins, when she heard the sounds 
 
 Their former path retrace 
 (She never having heard before 
 
 An Echo in that place) 
 
 Said : "Well, I'm sure I scarce see how 
 My good friend, Neighbor Grimme, 
 
 Should chance to choose the selfsame time 
 As I, to call her cow. 
 
 ''The first call was in unison, 
 But see who calls the last!" 
 
 With this she oped her mouth again. 
 And sound flowed free and fast. 
 
 So, loud and clear her voice rang, 
 
 Echo replied again; 
 And in a trice the race was on. 
 
 And who, think you, will win ? 
 
 Sometimes the Widow called so fast, 
 No answer could she hear; 
 
 But ever, as she paused for breath, 
 The Echo sounded clear. 
 
 Poor Bos upon her mistress gazed. 
 And still the contest grew; 
 
 And, as her wonder higher reached, 
 Employed her voice too. 
 
 And Echo had of course to cast 
 Back Bos' tones' decline; 
 
MISTRESS GLUPPINS AND THE ECHO 175 
 
 The Widow paused, ''and does," said she, 
 ''Her very cow mock mine !" 
 
 Meanwhile, the sweet, round moon did climb 
 
 Above the eastern wood; 
 And downward gazed with calm delight, 
 
 As if she understood. 
 
 At this Echo was reinforced ; 
 
 The Moon's their friend, it seems ; 
 They have been known for weeks to live 
 
 All on her wat'ry beams. 
 
 Also at last the growing strain 
 
 Of milk, as Bos stood 'round, 
 Did break the seal of her teats' end, 
 
 And stream'd upon the ground. 
 
 The "shrill-gorged" Widow saw the waste. 
 And sore it grieved her heart; 
 
 But was it a time for one to bear 
 A mercenary part ? 
 
 So, all night long the Widow called. 
 
 And Echo did reply; 
 And half the neighborhood sat up, 
 
 And mused and wondered why. 
 
 But bye and bye the rising sun 
 
 Began to light the east. 
 And Echo hailed the sign with joy, 
 
 For it meant his release. 
 
176 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 For greatly Echo's nig-ht-felt strength 
 The rosy dawn decreased ; 
 
 And, with the Widow's faU'ring tones, 
 He felt himself released. 
 
 But woe for Echo's sad collapse ! 
 
 Battered, bruised and jaded; 
 He had but strength to drag himself 
 
 Back to the Fair Lady. 
 
 She nursed him seven days and nights. 
 
 And Echo never died ; 
 And there today he may be found, 
 
 Most blissfully allied. 
 
 And now at last the Widow did 
 
 Her long-neglected task ; 
 And when 'twas finished, stood and smiled, 
 
 Speechless but triumphant; 
 
 When in a flash the right thought came; 
 
 Cold shivers o'er her crept, 
 Her face suffused with burning shame, 
 
 She hung her head and wept. 
 
 And Gluppin's tongue, by this mishap, 
 
 I also later heard. 
 Straightway as kind and gentle grew 
 
 As ever uttered word. 
 
THE EQUITY OF NATURE. 
 
 ''For of all the wise men that ever lived, not 
 one was ever wise enough to say whether woman 
 be more cruel or more merciful." 
 
 I looked up. No one could I see. Who could 
 have spoken ? The soft, breeze-like voice continued : 
 ''I was once a model for an erect posture, as are all 
 my kind; and now, behold me; two exact right 
 angles in my once perfectly straight body." 
 
 Now thoroughly interested, I peered, with hand 
 over eyes, narrowly about me. Surely there was 
 nothing in sight Avith two right angles in its body, 
 except a poor mangled, broken mullein, that stood 
 in a fence corner hard by ; with four or five "suck- 
 ers" starting out just beneath the point where it was 
 broken, and the part above the break extending out 
 horizontally for a short distance, and then, with an- 
 other angle, assuming almost the vertical again. 
 But surely the unfortunate mullein had not spoken. 
 However, as I sat trying to solve the puzzle, the 
 voice came again, and this time there could be no 
 mistake about it. It was the mullein speaking. 
 
 177 
 
178 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 "If you think you can keep your eyes off that 
 book long enough, I should like to tell you my story, 
 which I am sure is as wonderful as anything you 
 have found in your book, and at least as true," it 
 said, in its soft, velvet tones. I had just been reading 
 of wonders, and so I was enabled to listen to the 
 mullein, as it continued. 
 
 *'I was once straight and fair as any plant that 
 ever grew toward heaven, and it might interest you 
 to hear how I came by my deformity. It happened 
 this way : One evening, some months ago, just as 
 the last glory of the dying sun was fading from the 
 landscape, a beautiful woman passed slowly along 
 this seldom-traveled lane beside us. She was the 
 loveliest being I have ever seen, and, as she gazed 
 out across the fields, I could see that her eyes were 
 love-laden. Oh ! tO' be a mortal, and have a chance 
 of winning such a divinity! But alas I could but 
 admire her while she remained near me, and sigh 
 for her and hope that she would come again, when 
 she was gone. 
 
 "But she was not to go so soon this time. She 
 came up to me, and while I was trembling with 
 excitement, she said : 'This mullein stalk shall be 
 my oracle. I will break it toward his home, and if 
 he loves me it will live again ; but if he loves me not, 
 it will die.' And before I hardly knew what she was 
 about, she clasped my rough, stiff body in her soft 
 white hands, one above the other, and actually bent 
 me until my tough fibers were broken and torn 
 apart ! Alas ! Alas ! Came ever such cruelty from 
 so fair a source! All the pains of the barbarous 
 
THE EQUITY OF NATURE 179 
 
 torture was drowned in my amazement. You see, 
 we have but one year to live, and that is not a long 
 enough time to learn much. 
 
 "But what followed? The girl, after having 
 maimed and ruined me for life, looking as if the 
 first thought of cruelty had never come into her 
 heart, passed serenely on. But was this all ! No, in- 
 deed ! For the equity of nature, that dwells in every 
 leaf, blade and stem; every branch, bough and 
 trunk; every breeze and every sunbeam; and that 
 lets no offense go unpunished, and no merit unre- 
 warded, took up the matter. I for my part, could 
 have forgiven the girl, but that did no good. And 
 in a few days I was not surprised that the girl's 
 lover, the person dearest to her, was ill; from the 
 conversation of the passerby I gained my intelli- 
 gence. Well, the conflict with both of us was long 
 and critical ; but I knew from the first that it would 
 end the same for both. If I died, so should he; and 
 if I survived, he too, would get well. And at last 
 I began to recover slowly, and so did the poor lover 
 of the fair but ignorantly-cruel maiden. 
 
 At last I reached the condition in which you 
 now see me, and was not surprised tO' be able to 
 gather from the talk of the passerby that the man 
 was able to be about. Well, well, to hurry on with 
 my story, and not to keep you any longer than 
 necessary from your precious book, they are mar- 
 ried now, and last evening, just at sunset again, 
 they strolled slowly past me, arm in arm ; the man 
 bowed and ruined by the cruel force of the fever, 
 even as I am. And when the woman saw me, she 
 
180 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 said to her husband : 'Oh, see ! darling, here is the 
 very mullein stalk that I broke to find out if you 
 loved me, and see! it did live; and look! it has five 
 sprouts, the number of children we are to have!' 
 And she blushed. Ah ! how much better it is that 
 she does not know !" 
 
 The gentle, delicate voice ceased; and I, like 
 one sleeping in a moving vehicle, when it is suddenly 
 stopped, awoke. There stood the broken mullein, 
 and I knew the story of a disease-blasted bridegroom 
 that exactly coincided with what I had heard; but 
 whether the plant really told me the story or whether 
 I dreamed it, will likely never be known. 
 
THE ROYAL POET AND THE MUSES. 
 
 The royal poet in his palace sat; 
 "And I have heard," he suddenly exclaimed, 
 That now no more the Muses come on earth, 
 To grace the strains of any modern bard. 
 Well, now, I have a mind to test this thing-. 
 And two good reasons do' impel me to it ; 
 For one, this Muses' fable I would prove. 
 To see if they were real maids or no ; 
 Another : if genuine maids they are. 
 And from the prosy earth have winged their flight, 
 Disgusted with the flatness of the age, 
 Why, then, mine own charms I would like to try, 
 To see if it would draw them here once more. 
 I know that my applause from men is great; 
 But they may praise for that I am a King, 
 And not because my verse is excellent — 
 Yet that's not so ; all poets I surpass ; 
 Why not, is not the very language mine? 
 
 "Vl\ do it ; to Parnassus mount Til go. 
 The Muses' earthly, long-deserted seat; 
 
 181 
 
182 TALES FROM A BOY'S FAxNCY 
 
 And there upon my wreathed lyre I'll play, 
 To see if I can draw, than beasts' or men's, 
 Ears more celestial to attend my strain." 
 
 The royal poet was a man of faith, 
 P^aith in himself, and in himself alone; 
 He also was a much-producing man. 
 Who, in addition to a nation's care. 
 Found time to scribble many epics down. 
 And deemed it sport to scale Parnassus' steeps. 
 And now to steep Parnassus' side he'll go. 
 To draw the heaven- fled Muses down again, 
 And make them list once more to mortal strain. 
 But he decides not as a king to go. 
 But as a poet merely ; 'tis better thus. 
 For thus the vulgar throng will not obstruct. 
 
 And so the king dressed like a com.mon man. 
 And now no one would know him for a king. 
 Alas ! alas ! his crown and robes laid by, 
 The king looked strangely like another man. 
 But, strange to say, he took his crown along, 
 To be put on when he reached Hippocrene. 
 And now he issues forth, a king no more. 
 But just a common man 'mong other men; 
 To be pushed, jostled, stared at, like the rest. 
 And he was elbowed by full many a clown, 
 Who, had he known but what his bags contained. 
 Had kneeled and cried aloud, "God save Thee, 
 
 King!" 
 Alas ! alas ! how easily is lost 
 The difference 'tween a king and common man! 
 
 And so he passed, and so he came at last 
 Unto his journey's end, and without toil ; 
 
THE ROYAL POET AND THE MUSES 183 
 
 For now no pilgrimage is much of toil, 
 Unless that one should vow tO' gO' on foot ; 
 And this our royal minstrel did not do, 
 For gouty walking is no sinecure. 
 
 The royal poet on Parnassus stood. 
 Alas the scene! What Muse had e'er been there! 
 Upon the brink of once-fair Hippocrene 
 The poet stood. Alas ! what saw he there ! 
 It showed the shepherd's, not the Muses', care; 
 For from the fount their flocks were won't to drink, 
 And in its tide Bos quenched her summer thirst, 
 Meet symbol of the prosy, coin-cursed age ! 
 
 The royal one was slightly disconcerted, 
 But ne'ertheless, he oped his traveling bags. 
 Took thence his crown and rich-wrought royal 
 
 robes ; 
 And SO' proceeded to array himself. 
 Nor had he failed tO' bring his ornaments. 
 Symbols of rank, but birth-bestowed, not won ; 
 And these be donned, admired himself, and waited. 
 
 But long he did not have to wait ; above, 
 F/en on the outer crust of heaven's realms. 
 There stood the sacred Nine, as is their wont, 
 And viewed the things below — their seat of old. 
 They saw the stranger standing by the fount, 
 Yea, his glittering grandeur pierced so far ; 
 And much they wondered what could be his quest 
 And, as he still remained, they must descend; 
 And down they came, like twilight-sailing doves. 
 The poet heard their whirring wings above, 
 And looked aloft, and there behind the Nine, 
 Circling around him in slow, gentle flight. 
 
184 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 And at short distance from him they did hght, 
 And stood awhile, Hke modest maids, abeigh. 
 
 But soon the poet beckoned them to come. 
 Among themselves a moment they conferred, 
 And then obeyed; and thus they did approach; 
 First came Melpomene, stern tragic Queen, 
 With louring brow, sour mouth, and savage eyes; 
 And at the sight the royal minstrel quaked. 
 The next came Terpischore, the Dancing Girl ; 
 Her nimble feet scarce seemed to touch the earth. 
 The next came Thalia, sweet, fresh and fair, 
 With laughing eyes, red cheeks, and jolly gait. 
 And all the world did seem to smile with her. 
 Next, Urania, in star-spangled robe, 
 Close-guarding Mistress of the starry sky. 
 Next came Euterpe, and she held the lyre. 
 On which the royal minstrel later played. 
 Truth-loving Clio was the next in line, 
 Veracious Mistress of Herodotus. 
 Next came Erato, Venus' advocate; 
 And from her watery eyes came Cupid's darts. 
 Next to the last, sweet Polyhymnia came, 
 Humming as she walked some sacred song. 
 Last, Calliope, grandest of them all, 
 Stately contriver of the noblest works. 
 
 So, round the royal poet the Muses stood; 
 And by degrees their shyness wore away. 
 And they began to talk with him, and he 
 With them. And much they were impressed with 
 
 him. 
 They praised his soft, which hands, his lofty form ; 
 His noble features, and his gorgeous robes; 
 
THE ROYAL POET AND THE MUSES 185 
 
 And much admired the ghttering ornaments 
 That o'er his ample bosom scarce found space. 
 And, when they had fed full their curious eyes, 
 (For they were women, you must understand) 
 They were much pleased, and whispered each to 
 
 each. 
 That here at last was one w^ho could, no doubt, 
 The music of all earthly lyres surpass, 
 And e'en the strains of Israfel excell. 
 
 But note the changes on the dumb things 
 'round. 
 Caused by the presence of these heavenly maids : 
 The grass, dust-trodden, 'gan to spring again; 
 Again the roused birds began to sing ; 
 Fresh breezes in the stand-still air began, 
 And fanned the hot cheeks of the listless day. 
 The hoof-wrought fount its stagnant stupor lost. 
 And leaped and sparkled like a thing of life. 
 Such welcome greets the Maids where'er they come. 
 And such is their effect in soul of man. 
 
 Nor were the Sacred Nine all unconcerned 
 At thus revisiting their earthly seat; 
 But each in kind her own emotion showed. 
 Right glad they were to visit earth once more, 
 And yet they were more near to tears than smiles, 
 As they beheld the ravages which men 
 Upon their once-beloved earth had wrought. 
 And, in this thought, the feet of Terpischore 
 One moment would be still, next dance for joy. 
 E'en Thalia's laughing face was sober once; 
 And kind Erato's tears fell thick and fast; 
 And tragedy's Queen her stern aspect relaxed. 
 
186 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 And pleasing melancholy seemed to feel. 
 
 But Clio, recording Muse, with eye exact, 
 
 Surveyed the present, with the past compared, 
 
 And rather liked to note the precise change. 
 
 Than seem to be affected either way. 
 
 Thus each, in different way, her mind revealed ; 
 
 All, save Urania; she, star-decked maid. 
 
 Had naught in common with the things of earth; 
 
 High up among the spheres is her abode, 
 
 And e'en this present visit to the earth 
 
 Was rather from complaisance than desire. 
 
 But to our tale: The earth-descended Nine, 
 As soon as their emotions were calmed down, 
 Demanded of the royal bard a song, 
 As proof and precedent of what he could do. 
 And nothing sacred, the royal bardling heard ; 
 For why? as soon as they had come in sight. 
 And he had seen their actions, heard their speech, 
 This was his verdict: ''Ha! and are these, then, 
 The maidens men have found so hard to please? 
 Well, much I pity the poor, ignorant past; 
 But more I pity the poor witless wight 
 That could not entertain these simple maids!" 
 
 So, nothing loth, except the reluctance 
 That every artist naturally feels 
 At practicing his art 'fore ears unfit. 
 He took from Euterpe's hand the offered lyre; 
 (He thought to play but a short strain or so, 
 Just to show the Girls how far behind 
 The age they were ; then take his leave of them. 
 And home again; and leave the stupid place.) 
 And at this action the expectant Maids, 
 
THE ROYAL POET AND THE MUSES 187 
 
 (Their soul-scintillant eyes star-like were glowing) 
 Thinking to hear such bursts as n'er before 
 Did -greet the ears of mortals or of Gods, 
 Stand 'round ; and so the bard prepared to play. 
 
 One draught of maddening Hippocrene he 
 quaffed, 
 And felt it coursing wildly through his veins; 
 Then o'er the strings his sanguine fingers swept. 
 
 Alas ! for those of us who all through life 
 Flave judged our powers by the praise of men. 
 Alas! how different may the verdict be 
 When we submit it to the Queens of Taste! 
 And so it proved, for the first sounds, alas ! 
 Had scarcely, on the new-born breezes borne, 
 Been welcomed by the listening Muses' ears, 
 Than, like frightened wild-fowl, with rapid wing 
 They beat the air, and madly sought the sky. 
 Not hastier did the witches issue forth, 
 Their orgies broken by O'Shanter's yell, 
 Than did these Maids the realms of heaven seek. 
 Their rasping wings a rustling clamor made; 
 And none looked back, save Thalia. But she, 
 Orpheus-like, behind her glanced ; and there 
 To her amazed sight translated stood, 
 (Or was it disguise-doffed) the royal bard: 
 Upon his brow were waving ass's ears ; 
 And to her now his music sounded like 
 The falling cadence of that creature's song. 
 
 The cerulean dome had swallowed up 
 The heaven-steering maids ; the waving air. 
 Made tremulous by their flight, was quiet again, 
 Ere the royal bard recovered from the shock. 
 
188 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 But by degrees he understood the scene; 
 
 His pride reared up, and raged his azure blood. 
 
 At the receding forms his clenched hand 
 
 He shook, and said : "These foolish maids, it 
 
 seems, 
 Know not good music when they hear it played/' 
 
 But soon his mind another cue pursued : 
 'Why, what a dream have I had !" cried the bard. 
 ''Methought, as on this stone I sat asleep, 
 The Muses came and bade me play for them ; 
 And so I did ; but breaking slumber chased 
 The genii from their task ere 'twas complete. 
 Hence, ere they heard my song, or I, their praise, 
 The Muses fled; for no man, while awake, 
 Can ever hope a living Muse to see." 
 
 while saying this the bard had changed his 
 
 clothes ; 
 And now the king is common clay again ; 
 He next, being ready to desert the place, 
 Cast a large stone in Hippocrene, and fled. 
 
^'OLD SPECK." 
 
 My name is Benjamin Bugg, and I reside in 
 that part of Illinois sometimes called "'Egypt,'' 
 though whether so nicknamed because the inunda- 
 tions of the Mississippi resemble those of the Nile, 
 or because the inhabitants look and act like mum- 
 mies, I cannot tell. In point of brevity I am usually 
 called "Ben" ; and, from various motives I have 
 been called almost everything else. Oh ! it is ex- 
 cellent to be, like Falstaff, "not only witty in one's 
 self, but the cause that wit is in other men" ; but to 
 be endowed with only the latter part of this con- 
 dition is surely miserable. 
 
 Infinite are the troubles that boys frequently 
 inherit in their names ; and by this I have no refer- 
 ence to being born to wealth or honor, poverty or 
 shame, but merely speaking of the name as a word ; 
 and hence, of the humorous associations of which 
 it is capable. In this respect, I never heard the name 
 of anyone whom I will allow to have been more un- 
 fortunate than myself. Mv troubles from this 
 
 189 
 
190 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 source were rendered much more grevious by the 
 fact that outside my father's family — he having no 
 known relatives — I know no one of a name with 
 ours, to share the brunt of attack. And, I may men- 
 tion parenthetically, I have not yet succeeded in find- 
 ing my Lady Bugg. 
 
 As a punishment for the drowsy habit I once 
 contracted of sometimes keeping my pillow in press 
 until a rather late hour in the morning, I was fre- 
 c[uently addressed as "Bed Bugg." And as a result 
 of the unavoidable fault of my hair being slightly 
 ruddy, I have learned to answer, or rather, to 7tot 
 answer, at least not civilly, to "Lightning Bugg." 
 Once, when for the first time I rejoined my play- 
 mates after a long siege of the yellow jaundice, they 
 one and all expressed their delight in loud and re- 
 peated yells of "Punkin Bugg"; and a derisive 
 "Tater Bugg" snapped out in mockery of the em- 
 barassing way the pigment cells of my face have of 
 huddling together, has sounded the onset of many 
 a boyish battle. 
 
 Briefly, I am not acquainted with a single humble 
 namesake, whose name has not, at some time or an- 
 other, been found interchangeable with mine. All 
 my sobriquets I have endured, too. under certain 
 conditions, without coming to blows, except one. 
 At no time, at any place, nor under any circum- 
 stances, has anyone ever applied the vulgar patrony- 
 mic of that humble black beetle that tumbles its 
 spherical, merdy incubator about for so long v/ith- 
 out burying it, to me, without measuring manhood 
 with me. This is one consolation, and I have but 
 
OLD SPECK 191 
 
 one other. It is, that I have never yet looked upon 
 a face, as its owner heard my name for the first 
 time, without being able to distinguish faint smiles, 
 glancing up through the efforts at composure. Ex- 
 perience has taught me to judge almost exactly on 
 such occasions of the person's self-control, manners 
 and sense of humor. But my present intention is 
 not to wTite a history of the juvenile troubles arising 
 from being cursed with a name of great punning 
 possibilities; but to relate the one incident of my life 
 with which my name had nothing to do. 
 
 One day in early Spring, vvhile I was yet too 
 young to assist in the fields, my mother called me 
 from play, and told me she would give me enough 
 new yarn to make a ball, against the opening of the 
 Winter's term of school, if I would break *'01d 
 Speck" of wanting to sit, and cause her to return to 
 the occupation of egg-laying. It will do you no 
 harm to know that the ''Old Speck" referred to was 
 an ancient, respectable hen ; perhaps the most im- 
 portant miemiber of our then gallinaceous comple- 
 ment. She Vv-'as rather a small hen, of unknown age, 
 and indefinite breed, and was given her name in 
 consequence of the peculiar markings of her head 
 and neck. 
 
 Now, as to why my mother did not want her 
 to sit at that particular time, I do not know. Perhaps 
 she lacked the eggs ; or, it is entirely possible that 
 some misunderstanding had arisen between them 
 because of the hen's assuming too much authority. 
 But whatever may have induced my mother to think 
 a change necessary in "Old Speck's" plans, in the 
 
192 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 contract she made with me for effecting the afore- 
 said change nine years have enabled me to discover 
 not a single legal flaw, and but one moral one : to- 
 wit, she had already exhausted every legitimate 
 remedy known to science for causing that same 
 change, the score always running in the hen's favor. 
 
 I was in raptures. New yarn ! A ball at school ! 
 In those days where I lived, the orthodox way of 
 coming by a ball was, first tO' humbly inquire if the 
 family wardrobe contained any superannuated foot- 
 gear. If any was found which, by the family coun- 
 cil lield for the purpose, was decided to be beyond 
 the regeneration of the darning needle, you might 
 be lucky enough to get some of it. If you were, 
 you went to work with great labor and pains to un- 
 ravel, perhaps, the w^ork of some defunct grand- 
 mother. Having done this, you proceeded, out of 
 the kinky threads, all the ''bounce" of which had 
 been trodden out by the feet of generations two or 
 three times removed, spliced with innumerable 
 knots, to wind your ball. 
 
 The above being the conditions generally gov- 
 erning the production of the home-made ball, it was 
 by no means a too common object ; and its possession 
 at school gave its owner considerable precedence. Be- 
 yond question, it constituted him sole and absolute 
 umpire of the game. As for the "store-bought" ar- 
 ticle, it w^as seldom or never seen in the country. 
 And now, oh unlooked-for fortune ! I w^as to have 
 one out of new yarn ; yarn fresh from the hank. 
 New, nevv^ as the cords with which Delilah bound the 
 puissant Samson ; but not, please fate, to prove like- 
 wise ineffectual. Out of the blue realms of expecta- 
 
OLD SPECK 193 
 
 tion, came, softly spinning, a perfect sphere of close- 
 ly-wound thread; which, in its revolutions, revealed 
 all the colors of a dying dolphin. It circled round 
 and round my head, it nestled against my cheek, it 
 did everything, in short, save allowing me to grasp 
 it with my hand. Suddenly I remembered that the 
 tantalizing evasion of the colored globe was due to 
 the fact that the stipulated performance necessary 
 to its possession was yet neglected. 
 
 The characters are cast; a hen old enough to 
 be "set" in her ways, that had evinced maternal am- 
 bitions, and a twelve-year old boy, to whom was 
 offered, as an incentive to his supplanting these am- 
 bitions with others miore desired, the article, whch, 
 of all the things in the catalogue, he most coveted. 
 
 Concerning the course of treatment that I gave 
 the hen during this contract, I have but little to say. 
 I do not recommend it to poulterers, but merely re- 
 late it as the output of enthusiastic ignorance and 
 confidence. Had I knov/n then what I do now, I 
 never would have done v/hat I did. I have since 
 come to respect motives, such as impel hens taking 
 the nest, as the most powerful on earth. I have 
 since known them to remain on exposed nests in 
 calm defiance of the utmost rigors of the weather — 
 while they were covered with snow, drenched with 
 rain or blinded with sleet. I have known them to 
 remain while the chicken-snake coiled its loathsome 
 length beneath them, and once I saw one frozen on 
 her nest, stiff and dead, as truly a m.artyr as ever 
 v/as any man. But if, after all the influence which 
 I affirm these scenes have exerted over me, any 
 
194 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 unreasonable old lady chicken should still retain an 
 unfounded prejudice against me, I trust it will be 
 entirely eliminated by my saying that I am profound- 
 ly principled against the use and spread of machines 
 that rob them of their stationary function. 
 
 In order that you may understand the first ef- 
 fort I made to render the visionary ball palpable, a 
 little explanation will probably be necessary. At 
 that time I had my own reasons as to the cause of 
 everything I had seen. The explanation I assigned 
 to the conduct of hens, such as Old Speck was then 
 exemplifying, was their indignation at having their 
 eggs continually filched from them as fast as they 
 were laid. This theory I fortified by the fact that 
 I had often found, in out-of-the-way places, nests 
 full of eggs, with nO' hen about them. Hence, the 
 way to get a hen to relinquish her nest, was to as- 
 suage her anger, and effect a ''restoration of con- 
 fidence," by restoring her eggs. Slightly uneasy in 
 my mind as to why my mother had not tried this, I 
 went to her and requested the loan of a number of 
 eggs. Of course, she desired to know what I wanted 
 with them, and I told her why and how I intended to 
 use them. As her risibles were never far below^ the 
 surface, you may imagine the result. When she 
 had sufficient breath, she gave me my first insight 
 into the real cause of hens wanting to sit. 
 
 As if to keep in sight of the rapidly-vanishing 
 ball, I w^alked out tO' the hen house and looked 
 around. Silent and motionless as gravestones, sat 
 a number of hens, turkeys and guinea fowls, among 
 which I recognized Old Speck, in elevated nests, 
 
OLD SPECK 195 
 
 with a few geese and ducks sitting on the ground 
 beneath them. I had a happy idea. As I entered 
 their home, they seemed utterly oblivious of my pres- 
 ence ; until, just as I was about to close down on the 
 object of my entering, that seemingly inert fowl sud- 
 denly made a number of rapid moA^ements, and, al- 
 most before I realized that her intentions towards 
 me were not of the most peaceful, she bestowed 
 upon my extended hands a number of painful com- 
 pliments, in quick succession, after the manner of 
 the woodpecker. I withdrew the offending mem- 
 bers with more dispatch than dignity; and, as if to 
 salve their hurts, brought them in sharp contact 
 with the low roof of the place in so doing. Without 
 giving the little stirred fountain of bad words, that 
 had bubbled up to my lips, time to overflow, I seized 
 the pugnacious old hen in such a manner as to ef- 
 fectually curtail her pecking purchase. 
 
 Having once rendered my captive incapable of 
 causing pain, magnanimous thoughts began to suc- 
 ceed. Notwithstanding what my mother had said 
 about "instinct" and "natural," Old Speck had 
 greatly strengthened my theory as to what caused 
 hens to take the veil, as it were, only different. I 
 could scarcely help thinking that I was dealing with 
 a justifiable misanthrope. And, what with the melt- 
 ing nature of this thought, and the mistiness of 
 memory, I am by no means confident that I did not 
 let fall a few drops of liquid compassion on the old 
 hen's speckled neck. But, though all the fountains 
 of my sympathy were broken up, I did not release 
 my hold on the aforesaid neck, which felt like a 
 
196 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 piece of barbed wire, with a thin sheet of rubber, 
 stuck full of feathers, wrapped loosely about it. I 
 did not feel that the occasion, solemn as it was, de- 
 manded that I should feed her — for feeding I in- 
 tended — until I could find something- less near and 
 dear to me, something, in a word, with which it 
 would be less painful to part, than tidbits of my per- 
 son. And so, resting her trenchant breast-bone on 
 my arm — till when I never felt the full sharpness 
 of the proverb, "setting hens never fatten" — I set 
 out catering. 
 
 I first procured and presented to the deported 
 fowl some shelled corn; holding it in one hand, 
 and giving her sufficient capital freedom to allow 
 of her substitute for eating. She pecked vigorously 
 at it, but never a grain could she eat, because she 
 always clearly missed the corn, invariably hitting 
 the parts of my hand where it was not. And when 
 I put the corn on the ground, she seemed suddenly 
 to have lost her appetite. I spent a few minutes in 
 hopeless coaxing, and then I thought, **ah, this 
 faulty marksmanship is the result of her long fast, 
 or it is a modest hint that her throat is shrunk until 
 she can no longer swallow the corn grains." 
 
 As feeling of the old hen's neck nowise con- 
 tradicted the latter part of this conclusion, I then 
 procured and offered her some wheat; and beheld 
 an exact tableau of the former scene. Concluding 
 that she was either too proud or too modest to eat 
 in captivity, I determined to liberate her. With 
 misgivings I did so; when back to and upon her 
 nest she went, not as a crow flies, for that suspicious 
 
OLD SPECK 197 
 
 bird tnight meet a man with a gun on his shoulder, 
 but as straight as ever a hound went to a hen's nest. 
 And yet a hound, at all versed in the tactics of egg- 
 stealing, would be likely to emplov in annroaching 
 the nest a circuitous route, which he would be less 
 likely — indeed, which he would have less time — for 
 taking, if, as sometimes happens, a stream of hot 
 water were playing on his back, I will say, as straight 
 as ever a hound went from a hen's nest. But as 
 even this leaves a haunting sense of imperfection, 
 from the mental picture of a dog under such treat- 
 ment, I will discard figures, and say that setting 
 her feathers and beginning to emit the peculiar 
 "cluck" which distinguishes hens Vv'ith, or about to 
 have, families, she went as directly to and onto 
 her nest as she could have gone without flying ; an 
 occurrence, the like of which I do not remember 
 ever to have noticed either before or since. 
 
 I did not give chase, because that would have 
 spoiled the other remedy I meant tO' try ; but I fol- 
 lowed slowly along behind. That **cluck" sounded 
 a death knell to my hopes. It gave me a new and 
 discouraging idea of the odds I had to face. As I 
 stood before her while she arranged herself comfort- 
 ably on her eggless eyry, I understood that to win 
 the case I must reinstill into her a love of the lib- 
 erty she had forsaken. But how? In the lack of 
 other means of communication, I determined to try 
 pantomime. Her nest was near the door, and com- 
 manded a good view outside. Standing, therefore, 
 as far to one side as I could and still see my audience, 
 I began silently with one hand to point out the at- 
 
198 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 tractions, while with the other I endeavored to con- 
 vey my meaning to my uninterested subject. Per- 
 haps it was the mental concentration that enables 
 me now, after the lapse of several years, whenever 
 I wish, to see the picture as plainly as I saw it then. 
 
 Beginning with the right hand side, the first live 
 object in view was the "Hermit." This w^as the ap- 
 propriate title we gave to a queer member of the 
 goose tribe, supposed to be a male. From downy 
 goslinage he had exhibited a strong liking for soli- 
 tude, and all his life long he never found a kindred 
 spirit. He was the most listless, shiftless thing I 
 ever saw. He never seemed to make any effort to 
 get anything to eat, but stood around, sometimes for 
 hours in the same place, usually with one foot on 
 the ground and the other hidden in the feathers on 
 his belly — as he stood then — and how he lived was 
 a mystery. I tried to arouse Old Speck's jealously 
 on the occasion of the old rooster's clumsy gallantry 
 in denying himself a recently unearthed tidbit in 
 favor of his female companions ; but I felt myself 
 defeated in this by the ease with which the favored 
 ones, w^hen they had swallowed the fruit of his 
 abnegation, and he had tried to advance his suit on 
 that score, turned away from him. Three important 
 feathered mothers were piloting their broods about 
 in search of worms, and one was being piloted about 
 by her brood. This latter was one in whose case 
 the laws of nature had been transgressed by oblig- 
 ing her to follow in the wake of a covey of never- 
 tiring ducklings, and as she came in sight I barely 
 repressed a marring smile, as I recalled a comic con- 
 
OLD SPECK 199 
 
 test I had witnessed at the brook's side a day or two 
 previous, between maternal anxiety and instinct, 
 and the almost crazing defeat maternal anxiety had 
 suffered. Of the other three w^inged chaperons, 
 one was clucking herself hoarse, and wearing her 
 nails into the ''quick" in trying to interest a single 
 little, dejected, drooping, disappointed-looking fol- 
 lower. Another was in charge of a whole juvenile 
 army ; there must have been thirty-five or forty of 
 them, and their straying dispositions seemed to 
 cause the patient mother an infinite deal of trouble. 
 The other was caring for what I always considered 
 the proper number for a brood of chicks — the num- 
 ber of syllables in the longest word in Shakespeare. 
 But what did Old Speck see or care about all 
 this ! Out on hypnotic pantomime ! It may be good 
 in its place, but I was misapplying it. Doubtless a 
 less emotional, a less enthusiastic, audience never 
 witnessed a performance. My patience was thread- 
 bare. I was at the terminus of my resources. With 
 a sinking heart, I turned away. The ball w^as in- 
 visible. True, my representation may have been 
 slightly imperfect, in consequence of my once or 
 twice losing patience or self-control, and either 
 smiling or hissing *'drat the hen," but even with 
 that, it should have been received less hypercritically 
 than it was. 
 
 Betw^een this defeat and the next special remedy 
 I tried occurred a considerable lapse of high medita- 
 tion and low^ activity. € dared not mention the fail- 
 ure to my mother. I feared she would declare the 
 bargain off, and strange to speak, she never men- 
 
200 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 tioned the subject to me. Indeed, she appeared to 
 have forgotten all about it, and never spoke to me 
 about it during the entire summer — for these opera- 
 tions occupied a summer — only once or twice, when 
 she warned me not to try anything that might harm 
 the hen. 
 
 I improved the idle time by piling my antagon- 
 ist's nest full of stones. Hardly a day passed that 
 I did not chase her down, and this was no baby's 
 trick. For she soon learned to make use of the con- 
 venience of so timing her recuperative vacations 
 that at the first glimpse of me, she would observe 
 a flying exit. And the emaciated old bird could 
 scud like a road-runner, too, and the question of 
 endurance never seemed to appeal to her. It was 
 amusing to note the evolution in the tactics of her 
 retreat, caused by the chase. For awhile I caught 
 her by slipping to the hen-house door, and closing 
 it suddenly, but her alertness soon rendered this no 
 longer possible, and then there was no way to pro- 
 cure her but by simply running her down. During 
 the first chases she had the advantage, in being able 
 to go into places where I could not follow, and from 
 whence it took some time to dislodge her. But I 
 soon rendered all such retreats impervious. She 
 then relied on her dodging, hiding, running through 
 thickets and flying over fences ; but practice soon 
 made me as proficient in these branches of the 
 science as herself. It was then that she decided to 
 try it on the basis of honest speed, and at her first 
 sight of me she would start off across the country- 
 side like a mad dog, usually going in one direction, 
 
OLD SPECK 201 
 
 until she was either overtaken or the pursuit relin- 
 quished; and I do not blush to say that more times 
 than one I withdrew, leaving her mistress of the 
 chase. 
 
 Until now I am not infrequently entertained 
 v/ith narratives of a small barefooted, bareheaded, 
 breathless boy following after a fleeting fowl, which 
 traveled sometimes by foot and sometimes by wing, 
 but which generally proceeded under their co-opera- 
 tion. During these prolonged heats I acquired a 
 length of wind rivaling that of an Indian messenger^ 
 and the hen did not seem to lose any. Whenever I 
 caught her I v/ould hold her in captivity the re- 
 mainder of the day, stroking her, trying to get her 
 to eat, which she never did, and exhausting all the 
 other plans I could think of in a vain attempt to 
 make her docile ; comm.only concluding the day's ef- 
 forts by tucking her head under her wing, putting 
 her to sleep and watching her absurd antics as she 
 awoke. 
 
 One morning, while the dew was yet on, as I was 
 going out for an early course, my attention was at- 
 tracted by the strange actions of a number of chick- 
 ens. It looked as if about all of the unincumbered 
 fowls of the place had formed a circle about some 
 dangerous object, which they were straining their 
 necks to understand, uttering at the same time a 
 peculiar cry. Upon investigation I found their dis- 
 tress to be caused by a large dead snake, and it in- 
 spired an idea. As if nothing had happened, I pre- 
 sented myself before Old Speck, in the accouter- 
 ments, the meaning of v/hich she had learned to 
 
202 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 know so well, pantaloons rolled to the thigh, sleeves 
 rolled to the shoulder and no hat. She beat a frantic 
 retreat, and I feigned tO' follow until she was out of 
 sight. I then took the dead snake, razed the rocky 
 pyramid I had raised for Old Speck's comfort, and 
 coiled the dead snake in its place, bringing its head 
 up through the center in a very striking manner, 
 and hid to watch developments. 
 
 When, after what seemed to my impatience an 
 age, the old hen returned, I fancied she looked sur- 
 prised as she peered narrowly all about her before 
 flying up to the upright plank that formed the front 
 of the row of nests. Once upon it she was too busy 
 keeping her balance, rehearsing her troubles, and 
 holding her feathers at the proper angle, to notice 
 the snake, until she was almost ready to place her 
 foot on it. When at last the sight of the warlike 
 reptile did penetrate her self-concentration, she stop- 
 ped suddenly, lost her balance, came near falling, 
 stood a moment in indecision, and then flew cackling 
 out into the yard. 
 
 And now, oh ball of wool, with all the colors 
 of Jacob's coat, thou mayest come from thy long 
 retreat and play once more about my head. Why 
 not? As Old Speck flew, -did she not exactly mimic 
 the noise with which any hen, when she has de- 
 posited an Qgg, heralds the event to the world ? Did 
 it make any difference whether the announcement 
 came before or after the performance? I thought 
 not. To be sure, it customarily did come after, but 
 I could see no substantial reason why it should. I 
 started to the house to demand the reward, but just 
 
OLD SPECK 203 
 
 as I was on the point of asking for it, I changed my 
 mind. After awhile I went out again. From the 
 greatest possible distance I surveyed the nest, from 
 which I had removed the snake. Old Speck oc- 
 cupied it ! She meant to lay ! My heart leaped 
 into my mouth. I returned to the house and lis- 
 tened for the announcement. The other hens were 
 all done laying by this time, so if I heard one I knew 
 it would be Old Speck. 
 
 In feverish impatience I listened, listened, listened. 
 My restlessness became unbearable. I fuust inves- 
 tigate. The old hen, doubtless thinking the deferred 
 race now due, lost no time in starting, revealing 
 thereby, of course, no egg. The ball went into ex- 
 treme aphelion, and I learned that for absolute 
 certainty of performance accompanying promise, 
 performance should always lead. And I have since 
 found out that this rule obtains in other businesses 
 than that of the poultry. No, not every time some 
 person, or chicken, goes about loudly cackling cata- 
 cata-catastrophe ! has any catastrophe really ac- 
 curred. 
 
 After the above came a long series of common- 
 place remedies, during which the ball was not sighted 
 once. 
 
 It was about three weeks after the serpentine 
 episode that an itinerant showman came. He em- 
 ployed the school houses for his exhibitions, which 
 ranged from magic lantern to legerdemain. He had 
 among his professional paraphernalia a small bat- 
 tery, from which I received my first experience of 
 electricity. I made a confidante of this peripatetic 
 
204 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 entertainer, letting him into the great ambition of 
 my Hfe, and asking his advice concerning its reahza- 
 tion. He proposed at once giving her an electric 
 shock. I readily consented, and we went out to ar- 
 range matters. We remo\^ed the stones and refilled 
 the nest with straw, in which we hid the two wires 
 of the battery. We then secreted the motor behind 
 the chicken domicile, and the showman remained 
 with it to operate it. In the hope that she would 
 get a foot on each wire, we waited, and the only way 
 I have of explaining her conduct a few hours later 
 is by concluding that she did get a foot on each zvire. 
 The feathers are the best index to the mental, 
 moral and physical condition of the chicken. When- 
 ever you see a large-legged, water- jointed cockerel, 
 stalking stupidly about, always in the most con- 
 spicuous place available, toward which, without any 
 deplumation, the sardonic Diogenes might have 
 pointed and, with equal relevancy, said, ''Behold 
 the man of Plato," you can cover the situation with 
 som.e sort of an apology by remembering that he is 
 shedding, or rather, has shed. If, a fevv^ weeks later, 
 you meet him again and find his unattractive out- 
 side variegated by a thick sowing of blue points, 
 you may dismiss your fears, for the chances are that 
 he will have a new plumage before the first snow- 
 fall, if he should live to need it. If you should hap- 
 pen to be making a midnight call on a company of 
 sleeping fowls, and their feathers should suddenly 
 begin to "rouse and stir as life were in them," let it 
 not forestall your purpose; they are only taking a 
 fresh breath. The fashion of fledging that denotes 
 
OLD SPECK 205 
 
 the sitting hen is too well known, and so sore a 
 subject with me that I will waste no words describ- 
 ing it. The arrangements of the feathers when two 
 cocks are embattled, and v/hen they have found a 
 snake, is very similar, but by close observation you 
 can distinguish betvv^een them. But if you should 
 see something entirely different from all the above, 
 a time when the feathers strive to get free in all 
 directions from the fowl, as if she were in the 
 vacuum of an ordinary cyclone, you may, for aught I 
 know, safely conclude that she has been indulged 
 in an electric current. 
 
 When the violent and repeated appeals which 
 the above described experiment made to the strolling 
 showman's sense of the ludicrous had subsided suf- 
 ficient for my obtaining a hearing, I, in as solemn, 
 important a tone as I could command, requested 
 him never to speak of it to anyone ; and he, between 
 paroxysms, consented. 
 
 Concerning the success, for my purpose, of the 
 galvanic treatment — of which my accomplice was 
 much more sanguine before it was tried than after — 
 I had been hopeful and despondent by turns. I had 
 grown callous to defeat. I had learned that failure 
 is an entity. I had been made to understand that 
 there were other wills in the world besides my own, 
 and most of all, I had never at that time heard of 
 the value of electricity in restoring lost virility. 
 Hence the resplendent orb had not left its distant 
 orbit to play the St. Elmo's fire about my devoted 
 head. But it had become visible at intervals, shining 
 like the full moon when rifted clouds are floating 
 
206 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 over the sky. But when, after a brief respite, I went 
 out to investigate and found her sitting, not on the 
 nest, but on the upright plank before it, the firma- 
 ment cleared. But, oh short-lived triumph ! not ten 
 minutes later she sat as fearlessly on her nest as 
 ever she did. 
 
 I have since become convinced that much of 
 the hopelessness of the project in which I was then 
 engaged was caused by the manner of fowl with 
 which I dealt. And in this I do' not speak of her in- 
 dividual qualities of obstinacy and determination, 
 though they were surely preternatural, but of the 
 clan to which she belonged. She was not included 
 in any defined breed, but belonged to that infinite 
 mass of life, extending from man to microbe, termed 
 ''scrub." Be their faults as they are, most of the 
 members of this innumerable family are full of in- 
 dependence and native energy. The chickens, I es- 
 pecially remember, built their nests usually in the 
 margin of brush heaps, or in leafy fence corners, 
 laid their eggs, sat on and hatched them, and often 
 reared the brood without any human aid whatever; 
 and grew to be considerably larger than partridges. 
 This was the hardy, strong-willed class of fowls 
 with which I had to deal, and in the rememberance 
 of them the resoluteness and nature of varieties of 
 later introduction is to me a mere myth. They seem 
 to walk about in corpulent indifference, without 
 enough purpose or spirit to get out of the back yard, 
 unless it is tO' get into the front one. They appear 
 to mould their conduct into the minds of their own- 
 ers with perfect unconcern — to be totally destitute 
 
OLD SPECK 207 
 
 of personality. And it is my observation that this 
 state of affairs is the unavoidable companion of blue 
 blood and the apotheosis of pedigree, wherever they 
 are found. Well, I say, if my manoeuvers had been 
 directed against some hen of a present type, the 
 result might have been different. 
 
 I am too ignorant of the processes whereby new 
 denominations of chickens, or anything else, are 
 evolved, to offer any hobbled reason as to why they 
 should tend towards lessening the candidate's fierce- 
 ness of affection. Also, the origin of the "scrub" 
 is a mystery tO' me. Take for example, the desic- 
 cated vixen against whose stronghold I spent a sum- 
 mer in campaigning, did her ancestry once stalk 
 about in the insolent pride of knowing that their 
 veins held registered blood, and that their lease of 
 life was fortified by pedigrees clear as that of 
 Othello's handkerchief? Conceding this, by what 
 dereliction of destiny were they reduced to their 
 then state? As in the case of the withered survivors 
 of the Pyncheon deterioration, did their own con- 
 ceited exclusiveness so prey upon them, that finally 
 they retained nothing of their former gentility but 
 a faded rememberance ? Or, being owned and 
 operated by people in whose manners heraldry had 
 so scanty a footing, did this cause them by degrees 
 to lose all respect for caste, and plunge sO' vigorously 
 into the ordinary business of life ? Or had they been 
 scrubs from the beginning, and had their remotest 
 ancestry never known escutcheon? If they were 
 degenerated gentility, I hold it to be of tolerable 
 certainty that they were an amalgamation of sev- 
 
208 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 eral different cliques. But whatever may have been 
 their genesis, their exodus is well known. A few 
 years after my contest with that determined mem- 
 ber of the dwarfish race, their benighted owners 
 discovered that in other parts of the world there 
 were fowls much more attractively advertised than 
 were their own, for flavor, size, rapidity of growth, 
 egg-producing capacity, and all other possible or im- 
 possible accomplishments peculiar to chickens ; and 
 they began to import freely, the result of which was : 
 that small but hardy race, which had for so many 
 years filled the housewife's ideality to the brim, 
 passed like the dodo. 
 
 One night, as I lay in the window's width of 
 weakened moonlight that fell across my bed, being 
 barred from slumber by the ever-present dilemma, 
 as if some sympathizing angel had sent it coasting 
 down one of the slanting pencils of silver, a new and 
 novel idea slid into my brain. With the suppleness 
 of reviving hope, I sprang from my tumbled truckle, 
 and procured a good strong cord. Having this, I 
 glided over the dewy grass to the hennery, if I may 
 be allowed an original simile, like a ghost. I scarce- 
 ly paused at the open door. As a trophy of one 
 feline leap I had my truculent adversary by the neck 
 for once in my life without the displacement of a 
 single particle of cuticle; and no sound, save the 
 swish of the tail of my night shirt in the night wind. 
 I then looped my string securely about her scaly 
 feet, and when the old rooster had made room for it, 
 which he did after some good-natured chuckling, I 
 tied her fast upon the perch. After waiting a mo- 
 
OLD SPECK 209 
 
 ment to see if she would try to fly off, I returned to 
 bed and to sleep, but not simultaneously. A resplen- 
 dent sphere, by its restless flitting about the room, 
 now playing around my pillow, now retreating to 
 the dark corners, from whence with difficulty I 
 could persuade it to come into the shaft of moon- 
 light that I might note its glistening colors, kept me 
 awake for sometime. And when at last I did sink 
 into shallow slumber, it was to be flattered by 
 dazzling dreams of that same glowing globe. Yea, 
 like a bat in a garret, it flew my room the livelong 
 night. 
 
 In consequence of the disturbing presence of my 
 restless companion on that eventful night, I was 
 rather tardy in waking on the following morning. 
 Indeed, to speak the embarrassing truth, even the in- 
 terest I had to see the result of the night's ruse, 
 coupled with the universal injunctions — always ac- 
 companied with uncomfortable threats as to what 
 would be done in case they were not obeyed forth- 
 with — of early rising that were hurled incessantly 
 at me, did not succeed in separating me and the bed- 
 clothes until breakfast was over. When at last I 
 had gotten sufficiently free of the almost endless 
 series of after-naps, to rise and dress, I visited the 
 scene of the previous night's adventure ; when, oh my 
 eyes! what did I see? There before my astonished 
 gaze hung Old Speck in about as topsy-turvy a pos- 
 ture as ever I saw anything. Her emblematic plum- 
 age, which I had seen assume so many different ar- 
 rangements, greatly encouraged by the ample volume 
 of her skin, and the sparseness to which her occupa- 
 
210 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANOY 
 
 tion and troubles had reduced it, all now pointed one 
 way — downward. With trembling hands I cut her 
 down. No signs of life were apparent except that 
 she was not stiff. Her withered comb was black. 
 Her heart, which only the day before when I had 
 given her a long and, to me, successful chase, had 
 made her entire body tremble by the violence of its 
 throbbing, was, for aught I could discern, motionless 
 as a millstone at midnight. 
 
 While I stood in a quandary, holding the hen in 
 my hands, wondering if anyone had seen her, and if 
 so, what then ; and if they had not, if I could destroy 
 her and put any probable fiction on her disappear- 
 ance, my mother's voice, ''short, sharp and decisive," 
 came in quest of me. ''Oh, I thought, the game's 
 up," as with faltering steps and downcast eyes I 
 walked slowly towards the house. 
 
 I found my mother standing in the doorway. In 
 one hand she held my castof f night gown ; the other 
 held a portion of my bed clothes ; upon both of which 
 were several blurred splotches of some sub- 
 stance, to all appearances, from the hen roost, 
 the presence of which my mother was mor- 
 bidly anxious for me to quickly explain. 
 Alas, yes, alas! Instantly the truth burst upon me. 
 The fright occasioned by my sudden appearance 
 beneath the feathered perchers on the night before 
 had acted, as it is sometimes said to act on men, as 
 a deobstruent, and this was the appalling conse- 
 quence. From not knowing whether anyone but my- 
 self had seen the pendant corpse of Old Speck, I 
 dared not heed the prompting of my alert imagina- 
 
OLD SPECK 211 
 
 tion. I told the exact truth. When my mother had 
 heard it she ordered me to go at once and bring the 
 defunct to her. I went; but bring the defunct to 
 lier ! I am a Baron M — if the old lady was not walk- 
 ing about in a dazed, undecided manner, and seemed 
 to be trying to collect sufficient energy to make the 
 ascent up to her nest ; but at her first glimpse of me 
 her old horror of being caught and her instinct of 
 flight came upon her, and she was off like an ostrich 
 running before a sandstorm. 
 
 Leaving the vanishing fowl either to discover 
 that she was not pursued, or to run on in blind 
 ignorance, just as might be, with half my burden 
 lifted, I returned to my mother and reported what 
 I had seen. She made no comment about it, but 
 ordered me to my breakfast, and as I entered the 
 house I saw Old Speck disappear over the brow 
 of a distant hill. 
 
 Well, the punishment I received for fouling 
 the sheets remains to this day a mystery to me. My 
 mother said not another word about it until bedtime 
 that night. And then, in the most casual manner 
 possible, she remarked that as chastisement for the 
 unfortunate occurrence of the night before, I would 
 be obliged to sleep without a night gown until wash 
 day. Oh ! in the name of sanity, what did she mean ? 
 The castigation of sleeping without my night gown ! 
 I scarce dared trust my ears. Had she forgotten 
 that not five nights before I had stoutly refused to 
 don the swathing nuisance, and had capitulated only 
 when the seasoned peach tree branch had been taken 
 down from its awful position alongside the rifle in 
 
212 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 the gun rack over the door ? Had she been too ab- 
 sent-minded, or otherwise engaged, to have observed 
 that "oft in the stilly night, ere slumber's chains had 
 bound me," I made shift to put off that evidence of 
 culture, and secret it under the bedclothes till morn- 
 ing, and that much of my late rising h^d been oc- 
 casioned by the solitary opportunities for which I 
 had to lie in wait, that I might get out of bed without 
 my forbidden disrobing being detected ? To deepen 
 the mystery, my mother, who has a genius for narra- 
 tion, related to every available auditor, as long as 
 it could at all be considered current — and till today 
 it is very easily and often suggested — the story of 
 my night scheme, and the temporary jakes into 
 which I was converted by the excited fowls ; never 
 failing to enlarge eloquently, in conclusion, on the 
 grand specimicn of moral punishment that she ad- 
 ministered in its rebuke. 
 
 The preverse termination of this last plan 
 dashed my hopes not a little. The splendid confi- 
 dence, which all along had upborne mie so superbly, 
 was beginning to wane. Until then I had fed reviv- 
 ing hope on the carcass of dead failure, and it had 
 thriven marvelously ; but now it seemed to turn 
 away, as if it were either sated of the forlorn re- 
 past, or else the last thrust had proven too much for 
 it. Why indeed had all the remedies I had tried, 
 not only failed, but failed so disastrously, so ludicr- 
 ously, to me ? I began to conceive a vague idea that 
 some stern, invincible destiny was fighting for the 
 old hen. And yet, I had no thought of giving over 
 the contest. If there were a fate weaving its in- 
 
OLD SPECK 213 
 
 visible, impregnable net about the sacred rights of 
 Old Speck, there was no less tiring a fate goading 
 me on to continual assault. And my mother's omin- 
 ous silence, to what did it point? From the day of 
 making the contract, she had scarcely spoken to me 
 about it; never asking me how I was getting on, 
 w^hat methods I employed, or anything ; and for my 
 part I dared not broach the subject to her. Had she 
 forgotten it, or was she only jesting at the time? 
 
 There is perhaps no virtue more native to boy- 
 hood than charity, and of all the numerous forms it 
 takes none is more common than the one that hur- 
 ries him off, often the impetuosity not allowing 
 time for leave-taking, on glorious summer days to 
 the cool shade of the brook's side, to feed angle- 
 worms to the hungry fishes. I was no more exempt 
 from this laudable failing than other boys, and many 
 are the days I have spent in its cultivation, sitting 
 all day long distributing worm after worm with im- 
 perturbable patience to the esurient tribe, usually 
 starting for home at nightfall with two or three lit- 
 tle perch fish at the end of a forked twig — how dif- 
 ferent they looked from the flashing, dancing fel- 
 lows, every fin erect. I had drawn out of the water 
 at the end of my line only a few hours before ! These 
 boyhood whales were usually from two and one- 
 half to three inches in length, but perch are wide 
 for their length, you know ; and were not infrequent- 
 ly offered, not as a burnt — unless the cook made 
 some mistake, for which she was severely repri- 
 manded — but as a peace, offering to conciliate the 
 wrath of an incensed parent. 
 
214 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 But my fishing during the summer of my en- 
 gagement with Old Speck was a miserable failure. 
 It was attended with every conceivable mishap. 
 Often I forgot to take w^ith me any bent pin and 
 twine string tackle ; at other times I forgot to crum- 
 ble any earth over my worms, and when I reached 
 the brook bank they would be in such a condition as 
 to render it utterly useless to offer them to fishes of 
 so epicurean a temperment as the ones for which I 
 catered. But the most unflattering part of it all 
 was the mean advantage the vigilant pisces took of 
 my abstraction and pre-occupation of mind. I be- 
 leive they knew as well as myself of the abysses of 
 auburn cogitation into which I was subject to fall- 
 ing, though they may not have devined the cause. 
 But be that as it was, I do not think I got a nibble 
 during the entire summer, but during one of them, 
 and I would wake up out of it just in time to see my 
 line, after having described all kinds of antics, drift- 
 ing slowly back vertical ; or, if I happened to be 
 fishing with a float, to see it coming loitering to the 
 surface, w^hile the wary little bait-stealer lay safely 
 in the cool, dark depths under the jutting stones. 
 Thus, as I sat, day after day, on the bare- washed 
 roots of the bending willows, the lower branches of 
 which rested lazily in the placid bosom of the stream, 
 long ere I had ever heard of the ''Quaint Old Ike," 
 the delicious thrill, the life of angling, of feeling 
 something jerking at the end of one's line, reached 
 me sadly dulled and dissipated, by reason of having 
 
 come through so many folds of dense meditation. It 
 was these same folds that caused me first to think of 
 
OLD SPECK 215 
 
 Shrud Skeam, too, for which I heartily curse them 
 till now. 
 
 As ithe individual mentioned in the conclusion 
 of the last paragraph is tO' bear some part in the 
 remainder of this story, a few lines concerning him 
 would not perhaps be misapplied. He was uni- 
 versally reckoned the shrewdest, cleverest boy in the 
 neighborhood for his age — a few years older than 
 myself. He always carried the best jack knife at 
 school, the result of his bartering and traff icing; 
 and woe be unto the chattels of a younger or less 
 acute boy who fell into his hands. He would wheedle 
 him out of everything he had that was detachable, 
 even the buttons on his coat. He was certainly an 
 embryo broker, ithough whether his transactions 
 will ever reach anything more valuable than pigs 
 and calves or not, I do not know ; they have not as 
 yet. He used to keep my pockets as empty of all 
 such schoolboy trinkets as knives, marbles, pencils, 
 etc., as a winter birdsnest. And yet it was of this 
 person that I determined to make my second con- 
 fidant. 
 
 I was driven to this conclusion by two consid- 
 erations. The first was, of course, to see if he could 
 suggest anything to subjugate Old Speck. The sec- 
 ond referred to the ball after it should be won. While 
 although in the beginning I had revelled in the varie- 
 gated brilliance of the imaginary ball, yet experience 
 had taught me that to render the highest service, 
 and thereby win the approbation of the school, its 
 bright colors must be inclosed in a case of leather ; 
 and to this I had reluctantly consented. Now, of all 
 accomplishments I ever have or have not acquired. 
 
216 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 the one of cutting a piece of leather so that it will 
 fit a ball, is one of the ones I have not acquired. 
 But in ithis Shrud was pre-eminently proficient. 
 Many balls were brought to him during a school 
 term for this purpose, the owners giving him a half 
 interest in them for the service. Now , I do not want 
 anyone to think me so niggard, or generous, as you 
 may choose to put it, as to believe that for a moment 
 1 allowed, even mentally, anyone to have half part 
 of my ball. No, indeed ! But I thought that per- 
 haps I could hire him to cover it for me. And so, 
 though my first confidence had turned out so ludi- 
 crously, I determined at my first convenience to try 
 another. 
 
 It was not long after coming to this conclusion, 
 that an opportunity for testing it presented itself. 
 It was about the middle of one afternoon, as Shrud 
 was passing our house, that I halted him on the bank 
 of our stock pond, and told him all my troubles. He 
 seemed deeply interested and as soon as I had fin- 
 ished he said : "Now, I'll tell you what to do. You 
 go and catch the hen and bring her here to this pond 
 and hold her under the water one minute. It'll break 
 'em every time. I've tried it time and again and 
 never failed. You see, the water dissolves and 
 washes away their resolution. Go bring her right 
 now." I did so. 
 
 "Now," he said, when I returned with the hen, 
 "you hold her under and Fll keep time," getting out 
 an old battered patrimonial-looking watch for the 
 purpose. With the hen firmly clasped in both 
 hands, and my heart thumping with renewed hope 
 
OLD SPECK 217 
 
 I waded into the pond, the craw-fish going back- 
 wards in front of me as I advanced, and the few 
 survivors of once splendid coveys of "lucky -bugs" 
 — I had bitten the heads off of myriads of them, be- 
 cause of a popular superstition that it brings good 
 luck — scattering for parts remote. 
 
 With ceremonial deliberation I lowered the old 
 hen into the clear water, and she endured it without 
 a movem.ent. After a little time a few bubbles broke 
 above the submerged fowl. For a moment Shrud's 
 face bore a troubled expression, but then it cleared 
 and he said : ''Oh, there comes your resolution." 
 What eons of time are wrapped up in a single min- 
 ute ! If you try tO' hold your breath during the space 
 you will get some idea of its length, but if it should 
 ever be your fortune to hold, as a twelve-year-old 
 boy, two hands full of warm throbbing, concen- 
 trated obstinacy, for stakes equal to the ones for 
 which I held mine, you will, for aught I know to 
 the contrary, have the entire eternity of its duration 
 indelibly impressed upon you. At last Shrud said, 
 "time's up," and I released my hold. The old hen 
 rose to the surface like a piece of cork, swam to 
 the opposite bank, clambered out and disappeared. 
 Some people may not know that chickens can swim, 
 but they can ; at least one like Old Speck would never 
 sink. As I looked at Shrud, as if in explanation of 
 the incredibly long space I thought that minute to 
 have covered, he said : "I had you to hold her a 
 second over time for good count." 
 
 I waded out of the pond and sat down on the 
 bank with Shrud for a talk. Although I was actual- 
 
218 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 ly trembling with impatience to see the result of the 
 experiment, wishing, however, to appear indifferent 
 about it, I endeavored to lead the conversation along- 
 other lines, and in as nonchalant a tone as I could 
 affect, I remarked, "By the way, Shrud, how do 
 you always manage to be so lucky droppin' knives?" 
 It may not be out of order to remark that the knife- 
 dropping referred to was a certain clandestine ex- 
 change of schoolboy chattels, chiefly cutlery, much 
 in favor with the boys of that time and place. The 
 manner of it was as follows : The two participants 
 stood facing each other, each with one hand above 
 and one beneath the hands of his opposite, and each 
 with one hand open to catch the article dropped by 
 the other, and with one hand closed, holding the 
 article to be dropped. At a given signal, each half un- 
 closed a hand, letting whatever it contanied fall into 
 the hand of the other, and the summit of proficiency 
 was to do it so quickly that the by-standers could 
 not tell who was worsted. After the ''drop" some- 
 thing was repeated by the plungers, usually a rhyme, 
 supposed to ratify the deal. 
 
 Shrud was noted as a boy who never got the 
 little end in bargains of this kind, and I had often 
 longed to know why. No conglomeration of mis- 
 erable sides, blades, back-springs, rivets, etc., — for 
 the rule was ''whole handle, whole blade or no 
 trade" — concocted by older boys had ever succeeded 
 in getting a good knife out of him. And though no 
 boy in school dropped knives oftener than he did, 
 yet I had often seen him standing before someone 
 for the purpose, but just before the word "drop" 
 
OLD SPECK 219 
 
 would be pronounced, as if guided by some unerring 
 instinct, he would turn away — such action not being 
 accounted dishonorable. And at that time, as if to 
 give him a respite from his repeated assurances that 
 Old Speck would not sit again, I determined to ask 
 him how he did it. 
 
 He considered for quite awhile, with his chin 
 resting on his knee, and then said : ''Well, since 
 you are going to hire me to cover your ball, I guess 
 I might as well tell you. But mind, it's a secret, and 
 don't you be telling anyone. Well, then, it's all in 
 watching the fingers. Yes, look closely at the fel- 
 low's fingers, before you drop, and if you see the 
 slightest movement or trembling in them, don't 
 drop. Don't look at his face, for he'll be takin' care 
 of that; but he w^on't be thinkin' about his fingers, 
 and they'll betray him. This is the rule Fve always 
 followed, and I may say I'm not so bad at the busi- 
 ness. And I've always found that whenever some 
 boy wants to get an old no account knife off on you 
 for a good one, if you'll just look straight at his 
 fingers just before the word is spoken, you'll see 
 them move just a little in spite of all he can do. But 
 don't you tell anybody." 
 
 I did not talk with him long on this occasion; 
 I was too anxious to see the result of the acquatic 
 treatment, notwithstanding his continued assevera- 
 tions that it would succeed. I invited him to go with 
 me, and see if it had; but he declined, because of a 
 certain coldness between himself and my mother. 
 And so, having agreed to meet at the same place on 
 the following Saturday afternoon, he to bring the 
 
220 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 leather, and I, the yarn, and make the ball, we 
 separated. 
 
 A paragraph descriptive of the scenes being 
 actively enacted in my mind, as a result of the alti- 
 tude to which Shrud's remedy and assurances had 
 raised my long-prostrate hopes, might not be wasted. 
 School was in session, and the noon-hour was being 
 spent most gloriously in a kind of ball-game very 
 much in favor at that time and place, and known 
 as "deck on board." I, in my unquestioned umpire- 
 ship, by virtue of sole ownership of the ball, have 
 allowed the girls — whose striking consisted of hold- 
 ing the bat perfectly vertical as high above their 
 heads as possible, and moving it almost imper- 
 ceptibly forward some moments after the ball had 
 passed, the result, I always thought, of the practice 
 of sweeping cobwebs off the ceiling — to play with 
 us today; but such indulgence must not be looked 
 for often. And my ! if the fellow who owns the best, 
 the only, ball in school, cannot afford to be rather 
 autocratic, who can? 
 
 The destiny of my side depends upon my three 
 strikes ; and I, standing in the striker^s place, having 
 thoroughly lubricated my hands with saliva, am 
 ready to deliver them. Nervous; well, perhaps just 
 a trifle; but it would not do to show it. The ball 
 is thrown ; a clear miss ! Another ; the same result ! 
 The nervous tension is getting dense. Another ball ! 
 Ah! That time it was fairly met! See it flying 
 through the sky! That strike broke the jam, and 
 set everything in motion. How my basemen (and 
 women) did run! And how the opposite fielders 
 
OLD SPECK 221 
 
 scurry after the ball ! But now the teacher is getting 
 down off the woodpile — his eyry for watching the 
 game, and sharing the honors of umpireship with 
 me — and starting to the house. Play fast, now! 
 The evading ball is in the hand of one of the fielders 
 at last, and he tries to throw it in ; but his abandon 
 not allowing him to see a tree that stands between 
 him and the ring, the ball strikes it fairly, and re- 
 bounds almost back to him. And now they cry ''lost 
 ball." And now the fatal bell rings. The ball lost, 
 and no time to hunt it ! It must be admitted, how- 
 ever, that the catastrophe would have been much 
 less tragic had I not just at that moment come in 
 sight of the hen-house ; and there, on her stone-lined 
 nest, calmly drawing her wet feathers between her 
 mandibles, to dry them, sat the immutable Old 
 Speck. 
 
 I rubbed my eyes to make sure that it was not 
 fantasy. I stood spellbound. But at the first sight 
 of me, the old hen suddenly lost interest in the 
 desiccating process, and raised her head as high as 
 possible. And then I knew that my eyes were not 
 fooling me; no fancy could ever suggest so char- 
 acteristic an action. I stood and meditated for 
 awhile. Was not some revenge due me ? I thought 
 there was. After a little mental figuring, I knew 
 there was. I stooped and picked up a small stone 
 that lay at my feet, and let drive at the old hen 
 with all my strength. But she, possibly concluding 
 from my standing still so long, that my intentions 
 were pacific, lowered her head, and resumed her 
 pluming, just in time for it to sail harmlessly over 
 
222 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 her, and crash into a sitting guinea foAvl beyond. 
 
 Well, anyone who is not deaf, and perhaps 
 some who are, knows that at any time and under 
 any conditions the ''guinea" makes noise enough. 
 But their notes under ordinary impulses sink into 
 insignificence when compared with the bursts of 
 obstreperous indignation w^hich rattle from the 
 throat of one when, sitting innocently on her nest, 
 she is made the target of mischievous boys. The 
 one in question flew from her nest, and began to 
 run round and round in a small circle, uttering all 
 the time such a deafening clatter that till today the 
 cry of that bird, by comparison, seems to me dull 
 and dispirited. The clamor brought my mother 
 out of the house. She surveyed the circling, crying 
 fowl for a moment : ''Well, you seem to consider 
 it quite an event to leave the nest; but you had 
 better not carry it too far, or when you get back I 
 might happen to swaddle you down till you couldn't 
 move a feather." Having delivered which im- 
 portant mandate, she returned to the house. During 
 the excitement Old Speck flew, cackling, from her 
 nest, and began to canter for the distant hills. Dur- 
 ing all this time I stood concealed behind a tree, 
 and managed to refrain from laughing audibly by 
 stuffing a handkerchief into my mouth. The guinea 
 at last, having apparently sung herself out, started 
 off at a tangent from the circle she had been pacing, 
 and has never been seen or heard of, so far as I 
 know, since. 
 
 Although my fall was somewhat broken by the 
 amusing scene enacted by the guinea, by the re- 
 
OLD SPECK 223 
 
 proaches with which I would be able to twit Shrud, 
 and by the callosities developed during former 
 tumbles, still it was abrupt enough. My time was 
 about equally divided between thinking of the 
 guinea's disappearance, and longing for Saturday 
 afternoon ; for I now considered my repositories 
 of resource exhausted, and did not try to think of 
 another remedy for Old Speck; and besides, if I 
 had thought of one, I now had a partner, and I 
 would not have tried it without first consulting him. 
 Neither were the daily chases after Old Speck pur- 
 sued as persistently as formerly; I feared lest the 
 folks might connect the guinea's absconding — ^the 
 family wonder — with them. And so, with nothing 
 to dissipate my complete leisure, how slowly the 
 time passed ! Finally, however, Saturday after- 
 noon came, and faithful to- time and place, Shrud 
 appeared, actually bringing w^ith him the stipulated 
 piece of leather; though whether he really had faith 
 in the "water cure," or whether he thought I might 
 procure the yarn by some other means, or whether 
 he only brought it to keep up my confidence in his 
 advice, I cannot say. 
 
 However, he produced the leather, a pliant 
 boot-top, and asked me to do the same by the yarn. 
 But I told him my story instead. For a moment he 
 seemed nonplussed, as long as ever I saw him non- 
 plussed about anything, and then said : ''Well, the 
 extra second did it. I ought to have knowed better 
 than to allowed it. Either the plan don't work with 
 either more or less than just a minute ; or else this 
 watch of mine, which I have long suspected of being 
 
224 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 more than an ordinary watch, caused it. But we 
 hain't no time to talk about that now ; the business 
 now is to try something else. I propose gunpowder. 
 What do you say?" 
 
 ''Gunpowder !" I exclaimed in amazement. 
 
 **Yes," said he, "I have heard that a good charge 
 of it exploded under an old hen will break the most 
 troublesome of them ; and it seems reasonable, too, 
 though I never tried it. You see, it blows them 
 high into the air ; and when they get down they 
 are too scared to think about settin' agin. And 
 they are so light that the powder can't get holt on 
 tliem to hurt them, so there's no earthly danger in it. 
 And if I was you, I believe I would try it. Have 
 you got any gunpowder?" 
 
 "No," I replied mournfully; adding, however, 
 as an afterthought, ''but we have got some dyna- 
 mite ;" remembering a stick that had been left from 
 some that had been bought for blasting in a well. 
 
 "The very thing!" exclaimed Shrud. "How 
 much is there?" 
 
 "A whole stick," I replied. 
 
 "Just enough!" he exclaimed again; "neither 
 too much or too little. Put the whole stick under 
 her at once, and I'll tell you how to fix it. Take 
 all the stones out of the nest, and then put in some 
 hay or grass, and hide the dynamite under it. Let 
 your fuse come through a crack in the wall, and 
 be sure you are behind a tree ivhen it goes off. And 
 say, it vvould be better if you could try it some 
 day when there ain't nobody here but you. Some 
 one, you know, might see you with the stuff, and 
 
OLD SPECK 225 
 
 of course they would have to know all about it ; and, 
 ten to one, they wouldn't let you try it, not having 
 heard of it ; or, if they had heard, pretending not 
 to believe in it, for you know how foggy old people 
 can act sometimes." 
 
 The above is in substance the result of my 
 second interview with Shrud. Twit him, indeed! I 
 might as v/ell have tried to twit a lawyer. That extra 
 second, or rather the uses he made of it, knocked 
 me out. I fell completely in with his scheme, and 
 determined to try it at my earliest convenience. 
 True, I slightly marveled why, in his second plan, 
 as in the first, he was not for trying it immediately, 
 as I believed I could get the dynamite without being 
 detected. To be sure, we might have had to wait for 
 som.etime for the old hen to return to her nest, but 
 he had come to stay long enough to make a ball, if 
 only I had had my part of the material. But I dared 
 not ask him about it, lest he should return some 
 answer that would have rendered my shallow 
 thoughtedness too obvious and painful. That extra 
 second, adduced in defense of the failure of the first 
 remedy, had sealed my mouth. And so, promising 
 him to try the dynamite at my first chance, I suf- 
 fered him to depart. 
 
 It was not long until an opportunity favoring 
 this scheme literally obtruded itself upon me; in- 
 deed, on the following day, Sunday. In those days 
 juvenile attendance at divine worship was not too 
 closely exacted, perhaps an indulgence inherited 
 from the early Pilgrim Fathers' love of religious 
 freedom; indeed, even the elders were sometimes 
 
226 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 not too severely punctual ; which barbarous negli- 
 gence, I am told, still holds in some parts of the 
 world. In like manner, youths were seldom forced 
 by their parents to attend school, the youngster's 
 own choice usually being law in this matter; for 
 they said that a boy, whipped off to school every 
 morning, would learn nothing; and that anyone 
 forced to attend church would be invariably certain 
 to turn out a villain. Be that as it may, certain it 
 is that I had not much trouble in obtaining a re- 
 prieve from church-going on that particular morn- 
 ing; indeed, if the truth must be told, securing the 
 respite was not nearly so hard a task as restraining 
 myself sufficiently that they should not perceive 
 that something unusual was brewing. 
 
 The church-goes were no sooner well off, than 
 I, with my mother's parting injunction to keep 
 everything in order until she returned still ringing 
 in my ears, went to the drawer and brought out 
 the stick of dynamite. How large and terrible it 
 looked ! this domesticated, concentrated lion. 1 
 knew that if I dropped it on the ground, it was liable 
 to explode; I, therfore, carried it very carefully, as 
 a man does his first baby. And thus, with life in 
 one hand and death in the other, as it wero, I went 
 out to the hen-house; and Old Speck left the nest 
 in her usual hurried manner. As in the case of the 
 dead snake, and live wires, I removed the stones, 
 and put hay in place of them ; under which I secreted 
 the cylinder of Herculean conpound. I then put 
 the cap on the fuse, and pushed the cap, with 
 
OLD SPECK 227 
 
 trembling fingers, into the brown powder; after 
 which I poked the other end of the fuse through a 
 crack in the wall, so that it could be lighted from the 
 out-side ; and then went out to await the return 
 of my victim. 
 
 But the old lady seemed to be exercising a 
 good deal of leisure, or hesitancy, in returning, and 
 I became rather weary of waiting. Finally, how- 
 ever, she did come, and arranged herself over the 
 infernal machine. With every fiber in me jerking 
 and trembling like a pair of frog's legs when they 
 first touch the hot grease, I approached the pro- 
 truding end of the fuse, and tried to strike a match 
 on the hen-house wall. But at the sound she was 
 off on the wing, about as quickly as was Morgan de 
 la Fay, when the enchanted Roland failed to seize 
 her by the forelock as she lay asleep in the gardens 
 of Falerina, and I was left standing in about the 
 same degree of shame and stupidity as was that 
 hero. But there was nothing for it; I had tO' wait 
 till she returned. However, before returning to the 
 old apple-tree that stood at one corner of the hen- 
 house, behind which I kept my look-out, and be- 
 hind which I meant to retreat when I had the fuse 
 lighted, I procured a stone, and laid it where it 
 w^ould be handy to scratch my match on next time. 
 How long she remained away ! During her absence, 
 I had but one diversion, eating apples; and I had 
 already eaten from them until only one bite from 
 
228 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 each apple was any longer palatable, — the black, 
 bruised spot caused by its falling from the tree. But 
 I do not think I ever saw the time when I could 
 not eat the bruised spot out of one more apple ; and 
 with this distraction I allayed my impatience as well 
 as I could. 
 
 But at last she reurned, just as I had about con- 
 cluded to run her down, and tie her on the nest ; and 
 cautiously as an African Dutchman stalking a lion, 
 I crept to the rock, and drew my match across it. 
 But alas ! once more she was too wary for me. What 
 was to be done? Should I forego the experiment? 
 Never ! There seemed but one alternative : the chase. 
 But I dreaded to start out after her on Sunday. 
 However, she had to be procured some way; and 
 I was just rolling up my pantaloons for the chase, 
 when I happened to think of another plan. As I 
 had managed to^ get within reach of the fuse each 
 time, and she had not flown until she heard the 
 noise of the igniting match, perhaps if I could bring 
 fire by lighting a piece of folded paper, I might get 
 the thing ignited. At any rate, it was worth trying ; 
 and I returned to my tree, to wait a few cycles more. 
 
 By this time it must have been nearly noon ; and 
 the sun being very hot, and the shade being very cool, 
 and the breeze being very pleasant, and my sleep of 
 the night before having been very broken and dis- 
 connected, I lay down on my back in the grass under 
 the old apple tree for a little rest. And then, how 
 it ever happened to occur I do not know, but almost 
 
OLD SPECK 229 
 
 before I knew it I was fast asleep. How long I 
 slept I do not exactly know, but when I awoke the 
 sun was half way down his evening" road, and was 
 shining full in my face. There is something* de- 
 cidedly unpleasant in this falling asleep in the shade 
 and waking in the sunshine. I sat up, rubbed the 
 sunbeams out of my eyes, and vcondered who and 
 W'here I w^as. But not for long could the drowsy 
 fumes of slumber keep the real business of life from 
 my brain. I knew that by this time Old Speck 
 should be back on her nest, and without even waiting 
 to consider v/hether the church-goers had returned, 
 or anything else, I lighted my piece of folded pa- 
 per and started for the fuse. And at last I succeeded 
 in lighting it, and without even ascertaining if Old 
 Speck were on the nest, still half under the mental 
 depression of slumber, I dashed back to the old 
 tree. 
 
 But stand behind it, indeed ! My body may have 
 been partly behind it, but I could no more keep my 
 eyes off th^ scintillating fuse than a moth can keep 
 out of the flame. When it smouldered my hopes 
 sank, and wlien it threvv out a shower of sparks they 
 flashed up again, yet with a kind of fear attending. 
 Now, all outside the wall is consumed, and lean see 
 it no longed. And now a long suspense ! What, does 
 it mean to fail after all ? And now a noise that sound- 
 ed to me like lieaven and earth coming together. 
 Out over the placid country floated the thunderous 
 sound and up against the distant hills, mantled in 
 the blue haze of Indian Summer it rolled, and back 
 mid forth between themselves the opposing hills 
 
230 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 cast its diminishing volume, until it was lost in tran- 
 sit. Simultaneously with hearing this I saw part 
 of the wall nearest me burst out, flying pieces of 
 plank filled the air, and floods of dust and smoke 
 poured through the cracks in the part of the wall 
 left standing, and yet I was not touched. As soon 
 as the dust and smoke settled sufficiently for me 
 to see the ruin I had wrought, fear came over me, 
 and without giving it a second look I turned and 
 ran into the house, entering by the back door just 
 in time to look through the front w^indows and see 
 the returned church-goers draw up in front of the 
 gate. 
 
 The old dog snoozed on the front porch and 
 the old cat snoozed on the back one, but I, oh where 
 was I ? Now I remember ! Writhing under the 
 auspices of a semi-shingle wielded by an irate moth- 
 er. Oh ! for the variation of even an inch in the 
 landing of the epispastic cypress ; but no such varia- 
 tion came. My mother understood the principle 
 of punishment ; that the smaller the space upon which 
 any amount of chastisement could be bestowed, the 
 more effective it would be ; that in order to render 
 tlie effect of the rod most opposite from that fabled 
 to have been produced by the caduceus, let it descend 
 each time on exactly the same spot. At first, its 
 trifling infliction had seemed rather pleasant than 
 otherwise ; but it rapidly became serious, and it was 
 not rendered less so by my being conscious that the 
 key-holes — we were locked in a room alone — were 
 alive with laughing eyes. Would she never be done ! 
 How I longed for the callosities of the baboon. It 
 
OLD SPECK 231 
 
 was the longest spell of continuous torture I ever 
 underwent; but, like all earthly things, it had to 
 have an end, and after what seemed an age the blows 
 ceased to rain and I was released from the rainbow 
 posture I had been maintaining across her knee, and 
 she passed out leaving me locked up in the room. 
 
 "Infinite wrath and infinite despair!" What 
 could I do to end my miserable existence? On the 
 table sat a small bottle, with a skull and crossbones 
 stamped on the label. I seized it and wrenched out 
 the stopper and raised it to my lips to drink. But 
 hold ! before the liquid touched my lips, the empty 
 skull grinned a warning, too hollow and mocking 
 even for my rage to overcome. Although my condi- 
 tion was despicable, although both heaven and earth 
 were against me, did this, to be reduced to fraternity 
 with this leering skull, promise any redress? Or 
 rather a deepening of the evils? With trembling 
 hands I replaced the bottle and even as I did so a 
 strange noise became audible. 
 
 I never had heard such sounds before, and for 
 awhile I was frightened; but as it became louder I 
 knew from what I had been told, it to be the puffing 
 of a traction engine. These vehicles were then being 
 introduced for the first time in our part of the coun- 
 try, and I had never yet seen one ; and the ambition 
 of my life, next to that of conquering Old Speck, 
 had been to behold one of these meandering mon- 
 sters. Indeed, they were the general wonder of 
 everybody, and here was one coming right past our 
 house and one not able to see it ! Nearer and nearer 
 came the snorting mammoth, and I saw through the 
 
232 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 window some of the crew attending it go out to our 
 well for water. Fainter and fainter grew the reced- 
 ing sounds, and as they faded I asked myself what 
 there was for a boy to live for anyway. Here I was, 
 locked up in durance damnable, having just suffered 
 a most terrible flogging, with no means of knowing 
 how much more might be coming ; and all through no 
 fault of my own. I see no escape from the pessim- 
 ism engendered by such meditations, unless it be to 
 chronicle the happenings immediately after the ex- 
 plosion. 
 
 My parents, of course, wanted to know what 
 caused it, and there was nothing for it but to tell 
 them, which I did, omitting Shrud's share in the af- 
 fair, however. My folks were not yet done survey- 
 ing the wrecked hen house and calculating the dam- 
 age, when people, attracted by the noise of the ex- 
 plosion, began to arrive to inquire its cause. From 
 all directions they came, across fields, by roads, 
 through woods ; men, women and children. Even 
 "Old Mother Waters" was there with her knitting 
 in her hands. The good old lady had contracted 
 such a habit for this art, that she was restless and 
 impatient if she was not at it. And so Sunday and 
 every other day, summer and winter, all day and 
 half the night it was knit, knit, knit ! And whenever 
 she did put her work aside, her fingers mechanically 
 kept up the movement. A terrible example of the 
 force of habit ! But perhaps the most original genius 
 ])resent was "Uncle Juno." He was a very aged, 
 hairy gentleman who lived alone, and who, though 
 I could never see anything in him but an old multi- 
 
OLD SPECK 233 
 
 maniac, who had survived, or been born superior to, 
 all kinds of usefulness, had attained to the proud 
 distinction of neighborhood oracle. He was known 
 as "Uncle Juno" because he vvas so old that every- 
 body called him uncle, and because he continually 
 swore by Juno, hence Uncle Juno. He had rather a 
 queer nose I used to think, in that the partition ex- 
 tended down considerably lower than the sides, and 
 on the extrem.e tip of it hung forever a tiny liquid 
 droplet. I have seen, on various noses, a temporary 
 droplet of this kind, but this one was eternal; no 
 summxcr solstice was ever sufficient to evaporate 
 it ; no hyperborean blasts to congeal it, and he never 
 molested it himiself. 
 
 My father and mother met each comer very civil- 
 ly, and told them the trouble and the cause of it. 
 They all examined, wondered at and discussed it as 
 much as they chose ; they then gathered in the front 
 yard, and my part began. My mother requested me, 
 very gently but firmly, to tell them, as a compensa- 
 tion for having disturbed their sabbath and caused 
 their walk, of my entire course with Old Speck ; my 
 incentive, remedies and incidentals. I tell them ! I ! 
 A child of pride and bash fulness, too ! Oh, horrors ! 
 However, there seemed to be no alternative and so, 
 with every eye fixed upon me, I arose and stam- 
 mered out some incoherencies about my contract with 
 my mother, and the late catastrophe; and I was just 
 going to try to slink out of sight when my miOther 
 kindly prompted me by saying : "Tell them about 
 the episode of the string, too, son; and what came 
 of it." 
 
234 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 What could we all do without mothers, any- 
 way? How could we live, die, or even be born, 
 without them? I retold the "string episode" and 
 what came of it. Ugh ! Once more I fancied my- 
 self through, and was going to try the slinking 
 scheme, when someone in the audience cried out : 
 ''Say, sonny, did you every try electricity on that 
 fowl ? If you did, and I think you did, please tell us 
 about it." Oh, that villain showman! And how 
 much more was known ? Who would want to hear 
 about the hypnotic pantomine, the Quixotism most 
 nauseating for me to remember of all ; who, the ser- 
 pentine ruse ; who, the ''water cure" ; and who would 
 explain the mystery of the runaway guinea ? 
 
 You may wonder that I did not join in the gen- 
 eral facetiousness, but I assure you that I did not. 
 I gave in my electrical experience and waited for 
 another request. But it appeared that none else 
 knew, or intended to mention, anything else about 
 the affair, and for that I rendered silent but devout 
 thanks. It should be mentioned that during it all 
 I had not implicated Shrud. At first, to my par- 
 ents, I had not told about him, because I feared to 
 let it be known that I had been "taken in" by him ; 
 and by the time my oration came I was angry, and 
 it is one of my peculiarities that when I am angry 
 I can neither utter a W'ord in my own defense or in 
 crimination of anyone else. I can only hate and en- 
 dure. Hence, so far as I know, Shrud's part in the 
 farce has never been related. Once, and but once, 
 during that terrible scene did I dare raise my eyes 
 
OLD SPECK 235 
 
 to my mother's face; it was a miniature of the 
 sphinx. 
 
 As soon as I had concluded, Uncle Juno, in his 
 official capacity of oldest man and neighborhood 
 oracle, was unanimously requested to reply; stating 
 what was proper to be done under such circum- 
 stances. As he arose, nothing loath, I saw malice 
 twinkle in his brow-embowered old eyes, and during 
 his talk I had but one defense : to look fixedly out to 
 where his battered, xylophagous old mule was mak- 
 ing desperate inroads on the rail fence to which it 
 was tethered ; and I flatter myself that it discon- 
 certed him slightly. I was no favorite of Uncle 
 Juno's, and well I knew it ; and he seemed to know 
 it, too. 
 
 He began by stating — always facetious, or at 
 least trying to be — ^that he was at present dogged by 
 a double curse : a sore nose and a bad cold at the 
 same time, and that therefore they would please ex- 
 cuse his low tones. He then proceeded to state that 
 the case under consideration presented some very 
 bad features; that the malefactor had exhibited 
 a degree of cleverness and daring of the wrong kind 
 for his age that he was indeed sorry to see. That he 
 greatly feared for reformation, and that he was 
 afraid that I was doomed to go to the "eternal bad," 
 and that the only hope of my redemption lay in 
 the administration of abundance of punishment, 
 both moral and material, put on with an unsparing 
 hand. This was the substance of the old man's re- 
 marks, soon after the delivery of which the crowd 
 disappeared. 
 
236 TALES PROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 As you have already seen me under an example 
 of the material chastisement, I will give you a speci- 
 men of the moral ; the worst perhaps. It was that I 
 should eat no chicken during that autumn and win- 
 ter. This was the most unkindest cut of all, inspired, 
 I always believed, by Uncle Juno's secert suggestion. 
 But it had another phase. It was not only that I 
 was forbidden to partake of the browned pieces of 
 the young cockerels on all occasions, but I alone 
 was to chase them down for the sacrifice. My 
 mother, with grim humor, insisted that it would be 
 dangerous for me to discontinue the chase suddenly, 
 with the high degree of perfection to which my 
 sprinting exercises had been brought. She therefore 
 requested that I should outstrip every cockerel 
 brought to the bloody block — my mother would sel- 
 dom or never wring a chicken's head off ; she always 
 argued that it "made 'em dizzy!" Her chastising 
 tactics did not fail her this time. No sleeping with- 
 out nightgowns now. And during that autumn 
 great indeed was the number of promising young- 
 sters, the golden spurs of young roosterhood just 
 breaking through the scales on their yellow legs, 
 to v/hich the companionship of the young pullets was 
 just becomxing precious, the first attempt of which 
 at crowing would perhaps during one hour be cul- 
 minating in an inarticulate gurgle, while during the 
 next they would be flitting fantastically about over 
 tlie chip yard ''like a chicken with its head off," all 
 the arteries in its neck spouting blood; the bronzed 
 savory members of which might well have shaken 
 the resolution of the most radical veg-etarian. In 
 
OLD SPECK 237 
 
 rebuttal of this enforced abstinence, I have but one 
 consolation, and it gleams down the ever-lengthening 
 vista of years like a solitary candle through the bars 
 of a dungeon. It is, that during the entire peroid 
 I never once complained to anyone of my fate, nor 
 did I ever, and opportunities were frequently of- 
 fered purposely, I believe, appropriate a piece of 
 the delicacy surreptitiously, though I will admit the 
 temptation came often and strongly upon me. 
 
 I cannot conclude this veracious chronicle with- 
 out a glim.pse at the miserable position I occupied 
 during the coming school year. Did I get the yarn 
 for the ball? Oh, mene, mene, tekel upharsin! By 
 the time school opened, my story v.^as known to 
 everybody in the neighborhood, and my punishment, 
 too; especially the non-chicken-eating phase, and it 
 ^vas dinned into my ears incessantly. If I chanced to 
 go among the dinner-pails at school, some one, or 
 more likely two or three, was sure to cry out : "Don't 
 bother the chicken." And if anyone from an ad- 
 joining district chanced to visit our school, there 
 would be sharp competition among the boys as to 
 who should first tell them my stor}^ ; and the comer 
 was considered dense indeed if, when he had heard 
 it, he did not instantly double himself up and indulge 
 for some minutes in that species of physical exercise 
 known as the "horse laugh." And judging by this 
 criterion, there was in our community at that time 
 a rem.arkable dearth of block-heads. The owner- 
 ship of the ball, indeed ! As I am an unknown scrib- 
 bler, that, and the power conferred by it, was en- 
 joyed by Shrud Skeam, with whom I had absolutely 
 
238 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 nothing- to do during the entire term, except on one 
 occasion, when I thought to have played quits with 
 him in some degree, and was beaten out of a good 
 knife thereby, by following his directions of 'Svatch- 
 ing the fingers." In fine, my lot during the entire 
 winter was scarce endurable, all of which prompts 
 me to conclude : If you have a hen that w^ants to 
 sit, let her sit. And if you have not the eggs to 
 spare, steal, buy or borrow them ; and if you cannot 
 procure eggs, set her on marbles, door knobs, any- 
 thing but dynamite ! 
 
 On the day following the administration of the 
 manual punishment described in an above para- 
 graph, Tuesday — my mother had deferred the ma- 
 terial part of the castigation until Monday lest she 
 should break the Sabbath — I w^as set at liberty. I 
 went out to survey the ruin wrought by the explo- 
 sion — I had scarce had sanity enough to do so before. 
 The hen house was pretty badly demolished, and 
 around lay a number of smashed, pregnant eggs of 
 geese, chickens and ducks, in different degrees of 
 development, and with them lay the bodies of two or 
 three hens, apparently sitters, badly mangled, among 
 w^hich I had little difficulty in identifying Old Speck. 
 Beneath the nest to which she had so tenaciously 
 clung, was a blackened hole about one and one-half 
 feet deep. Into this I put her mutilated remains and 
 covered them with earth. I then cast about for 
 something to serve as a head stone, and my eyes 
 fell on a narrow^ shingle, which I recognized as the 
 one which had the day before sounded taps on the 
 seating capacity of my taut, tenuous pantaloons. 
 
OLD SPECK 239 
 
 Procuring that, I wrote upon it with a piece of 
 "keel," the country boy's crayon, a brief account of 
 Old Speck, her many excellent virtues and her tragic 
 end. AboA^e the writing I drew a picture of a hen 
 upon a nest, allowing a row of eggs to show outside 
 her feathers, as far around as the laws of perspective 
 would permit, and having ornamented this simple 
 memorial as elaborately as my taste and means al- 
 lowed, I set it in the earth beside her grave. Peace 
 to her ashes! 
 
MERELY AN INCIDEiNT? 
 
 Spring had come at last, and in her warm lap 
 Pale winter lay melting; some days had passed 
 Since his death-throes could shake the hoar-frost 
 
 down. 
 The south-flown birds were coming home in troops, 
 Each bringing music from that mellow land ; 
 The air was crisscrossed with their dulcet strains; 
 And it now wanted but the flowers' perfume, 
 I'o mingle with the feathered songsters' tunes, 
 And make complete the balmy days ; nor long 
 Should that be lacking, if vingeful winter, 
 From's icy fortress in the frozen north, 
 Chafing at defeat, his frost-assassins, 
 (Such oft his stealthy wont) should fail to send, 
 To nip the peering plants and blight their hopes. 
 
 And thus it was, as on a model day 
 With my soul's choice I sat; our dear retreat 
 A vine-immeshed piazza; for now, alas! 
 The leaves, that once had formed a perfect wall. 
 Were gone ; indeed, there nothing now remained 
 
 240 
 
MERELY AN INCIDENT? 241 
 
 To prove that verdant, sun-excluding mantle 
 
 Had ever been, or e'er would come again, 
 
 Save the green buds that lined the jointed stems. 
 
 And so we sat, and babbled commonplaces, 
 And listened to, or rather zvatched, the birds; 
 For now the summer's business had begun, 
 And tirelessly the feathered architects 
 Plied feet and bills in making twig-wrought homes. 
 
 ''Strange," thought I, ''how confident and cer- 
 tain 
 Seems all, and I alone irresolute!" 
 And, even while this thought was in my mind, 
 New (either so engrossed in her task 
 As not to see, or, seeing, to- ignore ; 
 So near the lady's face, that had she not 
 Instinctively drew back, she had been brushed) 
 A robin flew, a feather in her mouth. 
 
 A simple incident; but note results! 
 Almost before the bold bird was well by, 
 Before the wing-stirred air was still again, 
 And ere I had had time to speak a word, 
 As one inspired, with sparkling eyes, she said : 
 "Ha ! ha ! and does the bird then council us ! 
 Who' from the hours that should belong to Love 
 Too many take, and to long Courtship give. 
 Happy indeed the robin ! No coy maid to woo, 
 And thousand other things to be considered! 
 But just tO' choose his little feathered mate, 
 Convenient crotch, and so to Love indeed! 
 Oh, that such fate were ours !" She said no more ; 
 Abruptly as she had begun, she ceased ; 
 And burning blushes overspread her face. 
 
242 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 But she had said enough; the cloud had passed; 
 
 Without a word I caught her to my heart, 
 
 And there she lay, and smiled and blushed by turns. 
 
 Well, well, I now am wrinkled, old and gray, 
 And she, beneath the sod, but ne'ertheless, 
 As often as the robins build their nests, 
 Sweet memory doth not fail to bear me back. 
 To that one time at least, when, art layed by, 
 Heart spoke to heart in the old fashioned way. 
 
A FATAL QUEST. 
 
 All his years he had followed the Quest, even 
 from his earliest school days, and now he was bent 
 and wrinkled and his hair was thin and gray. Often 
 and violently had be struggled to free himself of it. 
 And more than once he had flattered himself that 
 he was free, but only for a time, for sooner or later, 
 infallibly as the ghost of King Charles used to come 
 into the learned Mr. Dick's memoirs, the tenacious 
 spectre came back to occupy his mind. Even in this 
 age, the cue and keynote of which is for everyone 
 to follow whatever whim may chance to please him, 
 Vvithout ever seeming for a moment to entertain the 
 idea that his Creator might have intended him for 
 some purpose slightly different, he felt that he had 
 no moral right thus to have his time and strength 
 consumed by anything so useless and hopeless. But 
 what could he do to be free of it? He felt that he 
 had tried every expedient, exerted all his will, and 
 all in vain. But through it all he had had one ex- 
 cuse, one support — hope — hope utterly unfounded 
 
 243 
 
244 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 on any consideration of reason, and of which he 
 himself could give no origin. Nevertheless, it had 
 at last grown into the most obstinate confidence — 
 confidence which no argument could daimt, and 
 only death could destroy. 
 
 And what was this all-engrossing Quest? I am 
 almost ashamed to tell you ; not that I fear your 
 incredulity, for I do not; that is, if you have at all 
 looked about and noticed the number of lives drawn 
 out of each generation by pursuits equally chimerical 
 and useless, but, because I blush to admit that any- 
 one bearing the human form does, ever did, or ever 
 shall, waste his life in such a continuous run of folly. 
 In a word then, the magnetic Quest that had dog- 
 ged the gentleman's mind almost with the persist- 
 ency of a malicious ghost, from boyhood to gray 
 hairs, was the hope of finding out, sooner or later, 
 what was the destiny of Henry Hudson — and en- 
 tertain hope in such a case ! From his school boy 
 days wdien he had first heard of that explorer, his 
 son, and the seven infirm sailors, being set adrift in 
 the bay that bears his name, the home of the white 
 wdiale, he had believed that in some way or other 
 he would finally known their ultimate fate, and this 
 idea had dogged his mind more or less persistently 
 ever since. He did not believe that Hudson had 
 been lost. He believed that the elements would 
 have refused to abet so dastardly a deed ; that God 
 would have wrought some miricle to save him. He 
 conceived it to be the noblest case of martyrdom in 
 the history of the world — if they were lost. Those 
 lines in which the "Ancient Mariner" tells the "wed- 
 
A FATAL QUEST 245 
 
 ding guest" "this soul has been alone on a wide, wide 
 sea; so lone it was that God himself scarce seemed 
 there to be," were the most sublime in all human 
 imagery to him. They presented to his mind's 
 eye Hudson, all the other eight prostrate in the bot- 
 tom of the boat, standing erect like the "Ancient 
 Mariner," drifting, drifting, over the desolate sea; 
 above him, night and flying clouds; beneath him, 
 the relentless deep. 
 
 Why it was that he had suffered the example 
 of Hudson, and not some one of the other number- 
 less fates over which the eternal secrecy of the waves 
 has colsed, and whose bleached bones doubtless 
 strew the ocean floor, to gain such mastery over him, 
 he could not tell. But so it was, and he believed 
 that some day, to him at least, his fate would be re- 
 vealed. And yet he did not believe that it would 
 be found out by any discovery of relics of the crew 
 or boat, but by some sort of spiritual communica- 
 tion, and yet he was not a spiritualist, save in this 
 particular instance. He did not, therefore, examine 
 all the drift-wood on the shores of Hudson Bay, and 
 even invade the waters thereof, for relics of its un- 
 fortunate namesake ; nor did he travel through all 
 nations and peoples in search of descendants of the 
 ill-starred Nine. It would have been too much like 
 trying to settle the question as to where Prometheus 
 received his punishment by examining all the cliffs 
 within the pale of contention for spike scars, or pos- 
 sibly a few rust-gnav/n chain links. 
 
 No, he did not even tell anyone what filled his 
 mind and absorbed his thinking powers, for while 
 
246 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 although he had a supreme confidence in his ulti- 
 mate triumph, he yet had too much external sense 
 not to forsee the result of such a confession. During 
 his youthful years, as the usual pursuits and pleas- 
 ures of men failed to interest him, people thought 
 that he was only maturing some kind of greatness^ 
 which would be kiven to the world in due time ; but 
 as time went on and still nothing on the outside at- 
 tracted him, nor did anything come from within, 
 they, for the most part of course, concluded very 
 naturally that he had no mind, and thought no more 
 about him. The people were, therefore, divided in 
 their estimate concerning him; some few still had 
 faith in him, and considred him a wrestler with deep 
 problems, but that because he could not bring his 
 meditations to a perfection satisfactory to himself, 
 or from some other cause, he refused to give them 
 to the world ; but for the most part he was believed 
 to be a mere harmless lunatic, or at least a semi- 
 liinatic. 
 
 And thus affairs had dragged on, until now he 
 was gray and wrinkled, and seemingly no nearer 
 the solution of the great esotery of his life than 
 when it first began tO' absorb his attention. But 
 year by year his hopes had grown brighter and 
 brighter, though why he could not have told. He 
 tried all the great remedies recommended as cer- 
 tain solutions of useless troubles, and as infallible 
 in banishing the fumes of idle speculation from the 
 mind, and for interesting one in the affairs of life; 
 but with indifferent success. The all-absorbing ex- 
 citement of love and marriage had come nearer to 
 
A FATAL QUEST 247 
 
 proving a specific than anything else; but he did not 
 marry, be it written in his defense, merely as an 
 experiment. And yet, even during the dissolving 
 bliss of the honeymoon, when he wished and tried 
 to appear most gay and care-free, he would oc- 
 casionally be mastered by periods of pensive melan- 
 choly, which it required all his strength to throw 
 off, and for which he was always ashamed to give 
 the true cause. From attaining his majortiy he 
 had been obliged to support himself, but he had 
 made no effort to become rich, and even the hum- 
 drum routine of labor he had been obliged to per- 
 form would almost worry him to death sometimes. 
 
 And thus affairs had gone on until his wife 
 died. It was his first great loss, and the deep, last- 
 ing sorrow caused by it was sufficient for a time to 
 almost banish the phantom of his mind. The grief 
 caused by the death of his wife had served to hasten 
 the advent of age, and he had actually hailed its 
 coming with delight, because it would give him re- 
 lease from care and responsibility, with nothing to 
 do but brood, brood, brood ! And was he original, 
 eccentric, alone, in this ? Of is there not rather some 
 paramount consideration in the mind of everyone, 
 some question of the hereafter, it may be, or the 
 m.astering of some vice, or a perpetual repentence 
 of some youthful crime or folly? But seldom, I 
 hopes, does it reach such magnitude as did the desire 
 to know the fate of Hudson in this man's mind. 
 
 He had lived with his eldest son since the death 
 of his wife, and there we find him at the beginning 
 of our story. It was the middle winter's autumn, to 
 
248 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 extend an obsoliiete term whereby the beginning of 
 midsummer was known as the ''middle summer's 
 spring," and outside the night was wild and merci- 
 less, though within all was warm and cosy. All the 
 family had retired, except the Old Man, for he, with 
 the natural insomnia of age, often remained awake, 
 or only dozed in his chair, with some book in his 
 hands as an excuse, the entire night, purely for the 
 delicious pleasure of pondering, pondering, on what 
 was, or could have been, the fate of Hudson, his 
 son, and the seven infirm seamen ; and ever within 
 him the taper of hope was growing, even as the 
 flame of life wasted lower. It would seem but 
 natural that hope, after so many years of vain medi- 
 tation, as the body began tO' die, should also die ; but 
 not so with him ; his hope came from within ; it was 
 not to be realized by outside success; and the mind 
 never dies. To' be sure, he had read all the stories 
 of which he could hear that turned upon the fortunes 
 of shipwrecked sailors, and gloried in them ; some 
 of which, such as "Enoch Arden," he almost knew 
 by heart; but of course he did not expect the solu- 
 tion of the problem to come from this source. If 
 the authenticity of dreams might have been trusted, 
 the question would long since have been settled ; but 
 alas the dream god did not always present Sir Henry 
 and his companions as coming to the same end ; 
 therefore, his assistance had to be entirely ignored, 
 though it could by no means be discontinued. No,' 
 Uncle Montrose, as he was familiarly called, as he 
 sat before the crackling grate in the house of his 
 eldest son, Henry Hudson Montrose, if you please 
 
A FATAL QUEST 249 
 
 (though only his father ever knew why he was so 
 named) concluded, as he had a thousand times be- 
 fore, that the precious revelation could be trans- 
 mitted in only one of two ways : either his soul must, 
 like that of the Hindoo magians, be disencum- 
 bered of his body, and visit some sphere where all 
 such lost knowledge is treasured up, or else the 
 spirit of Hudson must, being touched with his long 
 patience and anxiety, descend to him. And he felt 
 that the crucial moment was near. 
 
 But alas, for the disgraceful frailty of the flesh ! 
 Even as our hero sat there, with the natural wake- 
 fulness of age and such sublime thoughts combined 
 to keep his mind active, in an instant, without even 
 time to snatch at one of the bushes that fringe the 
 stream's slippery banks, he slid quietly into, and 
 was as completely submerged by the waters of Lethe 
 as v^as every Henry Hudson by the billow^s of the 
 bay that bears his name. Alas for the flesh, the 
 flesh ! Who can offer any apology for it ? Are 
 we not all alike shamed by it ? Does it not come be- 
 tween us and our brightest ideals of any of the vir- 
 tues, honesty, charity, and even saintly chastity, 
 and prevent our ever attaining more than a poor 
 smattering of any of them? 
 
 But the old gentleman's nap was attended by 
 one occurrence, the like of which might not occur 
 to anyone else, though he should sleep an entire life- 
 time ; indeed, it is not recorded that even Rip Van 
 ^\^inkle's twenty year siesta was productive of any- 
 thing like it. Just how long he had been asleep 
 he could not of course have said, when the mys- 
 
250 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 terious sixth sense, operating even through the folds 
 of drowsiness, gave its subtile warning that there 
 was someone in the room besides himself, and 
 caused him to raise his slumber-drooped head. He 
 had no sooner winked and rubbed the films of sleep 
 out of his eyes, than he perceived immediately be- 
 fore him the most venerable and sagacious looking 
 specimen of humanity (if humanity he were) it had 
 ever been his fortune to meet. 
 
 The apparition's hair, gray and silvery as frost- 
 flowers, glistened in the lamp light, and the furrows 
 on his brow, the mysterious traceries of age and 
 wisdom, seemed to extend into his very skull, so 
 deep they were. His shaggy eye-brows were also 
 gray, but his eyes, though he appeared so old, showed 
 no trace of dimness, indeed, they gleamed and 
 twinkled from under his jutting brows, like two red 
 stars from under banks of gray clouds ; nor did he 
 appear to stoop, or give any other evidence of age, 
 only his argent hair and wrinkled brow and face. 
 In a word, he seemed an old man's wisdom, sagacity 
 and venerable appearance, combined with a young 
 man's strength and activity. He was dressed in 
 some sort of archaic mantle or toga, the superfluous 
 folds of which he carried in his left hand, while in 
 his right he held a small cane, though he did not 
 seem either to need or to use it in walking. But I have 
 
 already taken more time in describing him than was 
 consumed in the brief period during which he stood 
 forth for our hero's inspection. Indeed, he no 
 sooner perceived him to be sufficiently awake to 
 
A FATAL QUEST 251 
 
 understand, than he began to speak, in the curt, dis- 
 dainful tones of superior wisdom. 
 
 *'And so," he said, in sharp, grating tones, *'you 
 are the man who has spent his life in a vain attempt 
 to find out what became of Henry Hudson. No," 
 he hastily continued, as he saw the other's lips pre- 
 paring to form a reply, "you need not interrupt 
 me ; it is not likely that I shall require information of 
 any kind from you, and that you may not marvel at 
 this, hear who I am. I am the Recorder of the 
 Worlds. It is I w^ho keep a record of every event 
 that happens on the face of the earth. I was from 
 the beginning. I am older than "Old Night" itself, 
 and I, wrote the history of the worlds as they were 
 evolved from chaos one by one. I was already too 
 old to care for trade fiction when the Book of Dead 
 was one of the six best sellers. And now I dwell 
 high up in mine etherial home, with nothing to do 
 but chronicle the events that happen on the earth 
 as it rolls beneath me, and to preserve what is al- 
 ready writtten ; and with no amusement, but the 
 absurd theories that "philosophers" foist on an 
 over-credulous public as explanations of every 
 mooted question, but that is sufficient," he said, as if 
 to himself, a reminiscent smile beginning to kindle 
 in his cunning old eyes, and to spread, like pebble- 
 ripples across the surface of a pool, over his wrin- 
 kled face. 
 
 Checking it quickly, however, he continued, 
 turning his bright eyes full upon our hero: "My 
 friend, do you know what a consummate ass you 
 have made of yourself, and what an unwarrantable 
 
252 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 failure your life has been? Why should you trouble 
 yourself about what became of Henry Hudson? 
 Was it because it was the most absurd question you 
 could find? Even supposing you had solved it, 
 Vv^ho would have been benefited thereby? What do 
 you suppose that even Hudson himself would give 
 to have the world acquainted w^ith his destiny? Do 
 you know that in this age men waste their lives in 
 vainly trying to rake from the dust of antiquity 
 trifles which even I have forgotten, and with which 
 I could become familiar only by reading my account 
 of them? There are already more facts, priceless 
 and proven, than one can master in a lifetime. What 
 then can be one's apology for following some absurd 
 quest, the result of which, at the best, can only be 
 to pile up mountains of theory and conjecture on 
 the already measureless heap? And did you know 
 that you were placed here by your Creator for cer- 
 tain great universal purposes, and that to deviate 
 from these, to follow any little, trivial, absurd, 
 puerile wdiim that may happen to suit you, is to in- 
 vite his devine displeasure ? But it is useless to lec- 
 ture you, your life is already wasted, and it only re- 
 mains that you shall hear and suffer your punish- 
 ment ; not from me, to be sure, but from the Devine 
 Intelligence that I serve, and whose mandates deter- 
 mine that a wasted life shall also be a tormented one. 
 This is your reward : 
 
 As often as you sleep, be that as often as it 
 may, there shall pass before your eyes, in the guise 
 of visions, seven tableaux, one for each infirm sea- 
 man; any one of the last six of which might have 
 
A FATAL QUEST 253 
 
 been, and one of which was, the destiny of Hudson 
 and his companions. But this curse shall dog the 
 seeming blessing: As the visions form and fade 
 before your eyes, you will be able to distinguish the 
 genuine one; but only while it is enduring can you 
 know it, for as soon as it has passed, and another 
 has come, its identity will also pass ; and, when you 
 awake, no effort on your part will be sufficient to 
 recall it. Thus, for one little moment, often as you 
 sleep, shall you be conscious of the destiny of Hen- 
 dric Hudson; but that bright moment will be suc- 
 ceeded by hours of toil and anguish in trying to 
 recover it. You shall have your first vision even 
 during your present sleep, for you are asleep, how- 
 ever wide awake you may think yourself." Having 
 said which, as if it completed his errand, the young- 
 old Recorder turned abruptly and suddenly van- 
 ished. 
 
 But he did not carry his recent prophecy with 
 him, for that began immediately to come to pass ; 
 and this was the manner of it : Facile and perfect 
 as the magic of Arbaces of old, the weird Egyptian 
 of the Burning Belt, there passed before our hero's 
 eyes, the seven-fold vision. In the first was repre- 
 sented the dereliction of Hudson, his son, and the 
 seven sailors; and the observer was constrained to 
 summon every ounce of heroic stuff in him in order 
 to restrain himself at the sight. In the second, the 
 nine miser ables appeared drifting slowdy along in 
 their boat ; but suddenly a fierce tempest swooped, 
 like a bird of prey, upon the placid bosom of the 
 deep, and in an instant the quiet waters, which, for 
 
254 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 all the ferae naturae ascribed to them by man, with- 
 out the incitement of the wind or tide, would scarce 
 overturn a nutshell, were lashed quickly into destruc- 
 tive fury, and the frail craft of the nine was swal- 
 lowed up by the tortured v/aves. 
 
 In the third, a white bear, undisputed monarch 
 of the frozen septentrion — showing they had drifted 
 somewhere in the neighborhood of land — made 
 desperate by the ill-yielding of the icy north, boldly 
 boarded their boat and found easy victims in the 
 want-weakened inmates. 
 
 In the fourth, the abandoned men were repre- 
 sented as, crazed by hunger, falling upon and de- 
 stroying each other. Horrible spectacle ! Let us 
 hope it was only a vision. 
 
 The fifth showed their craft shattered against 
 the ice-sheathed rocks, on the shore, and the men, 
 too weak and helpless from cold and hunger to 
 withstand the shock of the icy water, as perishing 
 in sight of safety. 
 
 But in the sixth they were represented as being 
 more fortunate; for this time every one of them 
 managed to land, and welcoming natives came down 
 to meet them. 
 
 But the seventh and last view was the most 
 beautiful, and accorded exactly, unreasonable as it 
 was, with our hero's chief preconceived idea as to 
 what becam.e of Hudson. It showed the nine men 
 drifting along under the cheerless northern skies, 
 when suddenly the breaking heavens seemed to open, 
 a forerunning light showed over the miserable oc- 
 cupants of the boat, and an angel, touched with their 
 
 1 
 
A FATAL QUEST 255 
 
 sufferings, descended and bore them all bodily aloft. 
 And at this view the old man awoke. He had a 
 distinct rem.emberance of having been conscious, as 
 it was being revealed, of the genuine destiny, but 
 he could not for his life recall it. 
 
 And this was the result of his life-long medita- 
 tion ! At first he thought for awhile that it had all 
 been but a strong dream, and that it would pass 
 away with time. It was sometime before he could 
 sleep again, badly as he wished to ; and when he 
 did, the same visions came again, with the same re- 
 sult. He now began to fear, and to believe, that 
 he had had a real vision from Providence, but he 
 said nothing to anyone. His friends, however, 
 could not fail to remark that he arose each succeed- 
 ing morning looking more and more haggard and 
 forlorn, but ascribed it all to the coming on of years. 
 The old man wondered if his punishment would end 
 with his life, or be carried into the world beyond; 
 and he trembled at the apprehension, for he felt 
 that he must soon enter that other world. 
 
 But at last he decided that this state of affairs 
 could last no longer ; he would find out what became 
 of Hudson. The horrible suspense was rapidly 
 draining the vials of his aged strengfth. The next 
 
 time he slept, he would settle it. He would either 
 
 awake, or he would clinch or follow the real destiny 
 
 somehow. Firmly settled in this determination he 
 
 fell asleep, and that night, as the train of visions 
 
 trooped before him, and the real one came to be 
 
 shown, with his whole soul and strength enlisted 
 
256 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 in the cause, he did foUozv it ; and on the following 
 morning he was found dead in bed. He had found 
 out at last the ultimate destiny of Sir Hendric Hud- 
 son, he the penalty what it may! 
 
THE LAND OF MIGHT-HAVE-BEEN. 
 
 As one who, near the latter end of life, 
 Benetted round with sin's foul labyrinth, 
 In the brief intervals 'tween endless crimes. 
 Upon his backward path turns mem'ry's light ; 
 I think he cannot choose but muse upon 
 One special scene, the pivot of his life, 
 When for his soul the adverse angels strove; 
 And, as remorse chokes reminiscence down. 
 He cannot choose, methinks, but dwell upon 
 How slight then victory semed, and by what odds. 
 So fairly balanced in the morn of life 
 The principles of good and evil are! 
 
 E'en so, when grey hairs claim their prey in one. 
 
 Who all his life hath trod fair virtue's way ; 
 
 And reminiscence casts her backward gleam, 
 
 On the soul's path, he cannot choose but start 
 
 To recall one scene, the turning point of life ; 
 
 And for how long he sat in dreamy thoup-ht. 
 
 Trifling and not worth count, did evil win : 
 
 257 
 
258 TALES PROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Scarce wakeful, which path to choose; while angels 
 
 Within him for the soul's allegience strove ; 
 
 And at the pleasant strife he merely smiled; 
 
 And onward passed, scarce asking which had won. 
 
 But now with trembling he reviews the scene, 
 
 And quaking dread draws o'er it memory's veil, 
 
 And will not suffer him to follow out, 
 
 Even in fancy, the dark, dreadful roads 
 
 That from that scene lead into sin's domains. 
 
 And thus may neither nozv dare think upon 
 The paths, from life's most crucial turning point 
 (Though at the time it seemed but pleasant sport) 
 That lead into the Land of Might-Have-Been ; 
 One, from remorse; the other, fear and dread. 
 
THE SECOND DELUGE. 
 
 The mountain climber lay in the bed of the 
 peasant, whose cottage stood at the base of the in- 
 accessible mount. With the coming of tomorrow's 
 dawn, the contest would begin. To be sure, the 
 lofty cairn had never been scaled, but the mountain- 
 subduer who now came to measure prowess with 
 it had not yet been repulsed, either. Which would 
 win? As the climber lay in the peasant's bed, the 
 walls of the cot failed to shut out the view of the 
 invincible peak, but it was still plainly visible to the 
 closed eyes of the cimber, just as he had seen it a 
 few hours before, the last rays of the sinking sun 
 shining on its everlasting snows. 
 
 And as the man lay there, having in fancy al- 
 ready passed all the perils and hardships of the as- 
 cent, he imagined himself standing on the top of 
 the impregnable column; and, even in anticipation, 
 his old, old feeling of awed admiration, almost 
 religion, cam.e once more upon him, and the man 
 was surprised. For he had left, long, long years 
 
 259 
 
260 TALES FROM A BOY'S P^ANCY 
 
 ago, on the first two or three summits he had gained, 
 all such feelings as these, as useless, incumbering 
 luggage, unfit for a mountain climber. And now, 
 the only movement of which his soul was conscious, 
 as he stood for the first time on some cloud-piercing 
 summit, was one of grim, sullen triumph, almost 
 hatred. Yes, he had almost come to consider the 
 mountains the natural enemies of man, which he 
 was born to subdue. And now, as he lay in the 
 peasant's bed, on the dawn of the occasion that was 
 either to give him a greater triumph than he had 
 yet known, or else his first defeat, he was surprised 
 to have the old boyish nonsense, after so many years, 
 come so plainly upon him. The thing amused him, 
 too, and without trying to account for it, he dis- 
 missed it lightly, and fell asleep. 
 
 The following morning, as the false dawn was 
 coming slowly down the mountain side, and the 
 mist rising out of the valleys, found the climber 
 ready for the struggle. He had already become 
 so familiar with the surroundings as to need no 
 guide, and besides he had always climbed alone, and 
 alone he thought to have climbed this time, but did 
 not. For just as he was coming to his first dif- 
 ficult place, and had paused for a moment to study 
 how to get over it, he began to hear a roaring noise, 
 as if a young earthquake were coming out of the 
 mountain side. He looked in the direction whence 
 the sound seemed to come, and saw, what he had 
 not noticed before, a large cave in the rocks. But 
 in the name of sense, what is that now coming from 
 the cavern's door? Our hero's nerves were of the 
 
THE SECOND DELUGE 261 
 
 best, but he was not used to such sights. It was a 
 muscular giant, of such proportions as even fable 
 never reached. The climber turned to flee down 
 the mountain side, but realized that it would be 
 useless. Meanwhile the hairy colossus advanced, 
 smiling, and said : 
 
 "And so you hope to climb the mountain, my 
 son?" 
 
 At the voice, which was not so terrible as the 
 giant's appearance, the climber turned. He had been 
 frightened at first, but long years of standing face 
 to face with death, and gazing the monster down, 
 had made his nerves too much like iron for him to 
 tremble long at anything, and so he calmly replied : 
 
 Hope! No, I hope nothing; if I can climb this 
 mountain, I shall do so ; if I cannot, I shall fail ; 
 and no hope about it." 
 
 "You speak boldly and like a master," the giant 
 replied. "But many and bold are the hearts that 
 have quailed before the Matterhorn. However, it 
 shall now for awhile be my role to speak, and yours 
 to listen." 
 
 The climber saw nothing for it but to comply 
 with his new gigantic companion's request, though 
 he inly chafed at the delay; so he seated himself on 
 a mossy stone, while the mammoth continued : 
 
 "I am the Energy of the Universe. My name 
 is also Power. I am both the Strength and the Force 
 that bound Prometheus to the rock. Polyphemus 
 was but a first faint conception of me. I am the 
 servant of the Devine Intelligence that governs the 
 universe. He points out, and I perform. It is I 
 
262 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 that keep the planets spinning around the sun; and 
 it was I that moulded them out of the rubbish of 
 space. When black clouds obscure the heavens, it 
 is but another form of me ; the thunder is my voice, 
 and the lightening the flash of my eye. I am the 
 motor of the tornado and the hurricane, and it is I 
 that roll the billows and tides across the ocean. I 
 piled up this mountain, and all others, with a single 
 stroke of my hand ; scooping thereby basins for the 
 seas. I was from the beginning; and at the last, 
 when the scheme of the universe is exhausted, I shall 
 gather up the fragments of wornout worlds, and 
 hurl them into oblivion. 
 
 "I came here to this mountain on purpose to 
 meet you; I admire your courag-e and endurance, 
 though your motives are bad. Why, indeed, should 
 you wish to scale every mountain on the earth, there- 
 by leaving God no resting place on his world, no 
 spot undesecrated by the human presence? Fame, 
 idle fame, is all your quest. All the feelings of awe 
 and veneration, that attended your youthful 
 triumphs, the only consideration that could form 
 any possible apology for your conduct, have passed 
 away, and grim, stern determination alone guides 
 you now." 
 
 The climber started as he heard his real feelings 
 thus plainly exposed. However, there seemed to 
 be nothing to do but listen, and the giant, appar- 
 ently not noticing the effect his remarks were pro- 
 ducing, continued : 
 
 "What is the object of mountain conquering, 
 anyway? Who is benefited by it? How much of it 
 
THE SECOND DELUGE 263 
 
 would be required to dry one poor unfortunate's 
 tear, or to still one orphan's cry? In what does 
 the dividend yielded by the amount of energy, life 
 and money annually invested in mountain subjuga- 
 tion consist ? I will tell 3^ou. It is that some ambitious 
 scaler, from some peak's summit, may be the first to 
 sniff the thin air, untainted by human nostril. For 
 have not parties been known, when upon the very 
 brink of some perilous victory, at finding someone 
 else ahead of them, to turn abruptly about and de- 
 scend? And even if you do stand, the first mortal, 
 on some difficult summit, can you be certain that you 
 are really the first f How can you know but that 
 ages ago, cycles before the first page of history was 
 written, and before the first story of tradition had 
 started on its course, men, inspired by whims equally 
 foolish with yours, stood exactly on the spot you toil 
 so hard to gain ? 
 
 ''But perhaps you w^ould say that the object of 
 you and your kind is to leave no spot of earth un- 
 trodden by mortal feet. So be it. But are you sure 
 that God intended every inch of his world for man's 
 usurpation; and that He did not intend remote, 
 desolate, barren places, unprofaned by the human 
 presence, as His own throne, from which He could 
 survey the doing of men? Indeed, can you be 
 positive that man's dominion does not already grasp 
 places never intended for him? In witness where- 
 of, earthquakes shake dovv^i his homes, volcanoes 
 submerge him, and tidal waves sweep him away. 
 But even if I were to convince you that this is 
 the case, probably you would find fault with the 
 
264 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 management of the world, and say that you could 
 do it better yourself. Possibly often, in former 
 days, the summer's dry parched vegetation has 
 prompted you to exclaim, that with half the clouds 
 that lie tumbled about the sky, incumbering it like 
 so much useless rubbish, you could furnish a suffi- 
 ciency of rain. If you have ever had such thoughts, 
 turn your eyes upon the moon, while I tell you a 
 story." 
 
 The climber surveyed the sky for Luna, and 
 there she was, almost on the meridian, scarcely yet 
 reduced to faintest dimness by the light of dawn ; 
 and he kept his eyes turned towards it while the 
 giant continued : 
 
 "That moon was once the scene of an experi- 
 ment, the most unique in the history of the worlds. 
 It was a scheme, planned and executed by the Al- 
 mighty, to ascertain if any amount of wealth and 
 luxury could curb the avarice of man, and the de- 
 cision w^as that it could not. The mould of the 
 moon was once the richest and most fertile of all 
 the worlds, and for this reason was chosen as the 
 scene of this experiment. The Creator determined 
 to plant a colony on the moon ; every wealth-gaining 
 scheme of whom should be most superbly responded 
 to by the wealth-yielding elements of the sphere on 
 which they were placed. The larger the acreage 
 indulged in by the covetous husbandman, the more 
 prolifically did the soil respond to his hopes; such 
 was the devine commands implanted within it. And 
 no weeds or tares grew to choke out the laborer's 
 prospects. It was thought by the devine Projector 
 
THE SECOND DELUGE 265 
 
 that man, as soon as he saw that want could never 
 reach him, would lose his lust of acquiring and 
 hoarding wealth, the same being so easily produced, 
 and would settle down to a life of leisure and econ- 
 omy. In a word, that He would make riches so 
 common that they would lose their attraction. But 
 all in vain. The more he amassed, the more he 
 wanted to amass, and the more freely the earth ren- 
 dered them, the more rapidly were its riches ex- 
 hausted. Lives of luxury they certainly did live, 
 but economy they never learned ; and wastefulness 
 and extravagance among themselves was the only 
 kind of charity they ever indulged in. 
 
 *'Well, affairs continued thus for awhile, but 
 at last every atom of fertility, and even the atmos- 
 phere, was utterly exhausted ; and the descendants 
 of the men who were started out under apparently 
 the most auspicious conditions, actually died of star- 
 \'ation. And so the plan failed, and it was learned 
 thereby that, for any world to support the number of 
 people it is destined to support, and to endure as 
 long as its materials and force are capable of last- 
 ing, man must be made to wrest his wealth from 
 the strong-box of nature, as it were. And if you 
 should ever begin to think that the world was built 
 for you alone, or even for your age and generation, 
 let the pale face of the desolate, barren moon, as it 
 floats nightly through the sky, be a constant re- 
 buke to you. And if you should happen to survive 
 this day's happenings, remember the story I have 
 told you, for it is a true one, and never afterwards 
 pray for rain. 
 
266 TALES PROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 "However, my present object with you is not to 
 preach reformation, you are probably too hardened 
 in your ways for any amount of it to do you any 
 g"ood ; but to tell you the only means whereby this 
 mount can be ascended. In a word, it is by a second 
 deluge; another flood, which, like the first, shall 
 destroy ever}^ living thing on the face of the earth. 
 Are you v/illing to subscribe to this universal sac- 
 rifice that you may be the first to stand on the top 
 of this peak? To be sure, there are ways whereby I 
 could elevate you to the summit without any loss 
 of life whatever; but the Devine Intelligence under 
 wliich I labor has willed that only this plan shall 
 be submitted to you. You cannot climb the moun- 
 tain by yourself. The attempt would result in your 
 first failure. This will be the manner of the as- 
 cent, if you embrace my offer. The skies will be- 
 come overcast, rain will begin to pour down, as in 
 the days of old, but only one day, instead of forty, 
 will be consumed in the flood ; you will find a canoe 
 before you, into which you will get, and the prow 
 of it will rasp the mountain side, as the water rises 
 higher and higher, until at last you will be able to 
 step out upon the long-wished-for summit. But one 
 condition is enjoined : You alone must occupy the 
 canoe. You will be provided with a weapon, and 
 every living thing, both men and animals, driven to 
 the mountains by the flood, and who. frightened into 
 frenz}^ attempt to board your ''ark," you must ruth- 
 lessly slay. For if you suffer but a living thing to 
 occupy the canoe with you, it will no longer stem the 
 \vaters, but sink, and your own destruction will be 
 
THE SECOND DELUGE 267 
 
 added to the world's second wreck. You know the 
 conditions; do you agree?" 
 
 For one little moment, the first he had 
 ever experienced that he could remember, the climber 
 stood undecided. Then he raised his eyes to the 
 bold, barren summit, over which the eagles had 
 never flown; the old iron determination came into 
 his blood, and he said sternly : 
 
 "I am agreed." 
 
 But one extenuating fact can be offered in de- 
 fense of the climber's decision : he believed all the 
 giant had said about the flood to be merely a story 
 told to test his courage and determination, and that 
 he would be elevated to the longed-for summit by 
 some less destructive means. 
 
 So quickly that the climber could not tell 
 whither, the giant vanished, and immediately the 
 skies began to become overcast. It looked as if the 
 entire firmament had been rolled up into one black 
 mass of night, in which every vestage of the dawn 
 was lost. Lurid lightning streamed along its under 
 side, but seemed unable to pierce the ebon mass ; 
 while from cloud tO' cloud rolled the breaking thun- 
 der. And then the torrents of rain began to de- 
 scend ; but strange to say, not even a single drop 
 fell upon the climber. All around, as far as he could 
 see, which was not far, seemed to be a falling mass 
 of solid water; yet he remained dry. And soon he 
 perceived the canoe, and climbed into it ; not that 
 there was any need of it just yet, but because our in- 
 vincible Climber, for the first time in his life, was 
 becoming rather tremulous around the regions of 
 
268 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 the heart. He now began to beheve that what the 
 giant had said about tne flood was not invention, 
 and to repent of his rash decision. 
 
 Lying in the bottom of the canoe was the 
 stipulated weapon. He stooped and picked it up. 
 It was a shining battle-axe, ot antique pattern, with 
 an edge keen as that of a razor. Leaning on this 
 weapon, a new-awakened fear beginning to throb 
 and flutter about his heart, the Climber waited. But 
 not for long did his suspense endure. The fast- 
 rising w^ater was already under the stern of his boat ; 
 in another moment he would be afloat, that is, if the. 
 skiff would support him. In another instant, almost 
 with a rush, the water lifted his frail craft entirely 
 off the ground, and it supported him. But no sooner 
 was he afloat, than troubles of another sort began; 
 the crowds of men and women, and swarms of ani- 
 mals, both wild and tame, and of all kinds, driven 
 up the mountain side by the rising flood, began to 
 assail him. Oh ! it was a terrible time ! The climber 
 had to wield his battle-axe with all his strength and 
 skill to keep the frenzied rout from boarding his 
 skiff. 
 
 While he was slaying the men and animals, 
 the birds of the air would alight on him, and he 
 had to guard at once a thousand places. When the 
 fear-frenzied men and women would grasp his 
 canoe with one hand, he would lop off that; when 
 they grasped it with the other, he would lop that 
 off; whereupon, they would grasp it with their teeth, 
 and he would then lop off their heads ; and that was 
 the only way he could get free of them. Even above 
 
THE SECOND DELUGE 269 
 
 the noise of the storm arose the screams of women, 
 and many a mother approached him, her babe held 
 aloft in her arms, and begged him to save only it and 
 she would perish gladly ; and he, crazed by the base 
 love of life would dash out the infant's brains. More 
 than once, however, the determination seized him 
 to be no more a perpetrator of such deeds, but to 
 leap headlong into the flood, and perish with the 
 perishing; but always the base love of life prevailed. 
 And w^hy, indeed, did it? For many years he had 
 been accustomed to regard death as a constant com- 
 panion, into wdiose embrace he was likely at any 
 moment to sink, and from whom, even in his most 
 contiguous interviews, he had never been known to 
 shrink ; and why now, with the hope of ultimate 
 safety at least but very slender, and a barren, deso- 
 late, uninhabited world to return to, if he were saved, 
 did he commit such crimes for the base preservation 
 of life? Ah! It was the unparalleled sin he was 
 conscious of having committed that unnerved him 
 and made him shrink from meeting fate, even 
 though every minute of the delay heaped more 
 crimes upon his soul. What ! consign a world to de- 
 struction that one man might stand for a few min- 
 utes upon a mountain top! But the worst was not 
 yet. 
 
 As the direful conflict w^ent on swiftly up the 
 mountain side, the assistance of the water, and their 
 fright, making mountain climbing easy, hands now 
 weak and feeble, were thrown over the side of his 
 skiff, with which came faces that, even in the half 
 light, he could distinguish, friends of his youth, now 
 
270 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 long since forgotten, but in that brief, terrible mo- 
 ment, as his axe was descending on their heads, they 
 burned their images indelibly into his soul. At last 
 came his infirm old father,, and he, alas ! must meet 
 the common fate. And now the sad, kind face of 
 his wrinkled mother, to whom long since his way of 
 life had caused a thousand deaths, peered up be- 
 seechingly into his, rendered doubly ghastly by a 
 sullen gleam of lightning that struggled for a mo- 
 ment with the growing darkness that hung over 
 the water. And now, oh horror! the same agency 
 disclosed the mute, piteous look of the sweetheart 
 of his better days, whom he had promised to marry 
 after he had climbed a few more mountains. 
 
 But I forbear to dwell on such horrible details. 
 Suffice it, that the slaughter continued to the very 
 summit of the mountain ; the assistance of the 
 water and their wild fright making mountain climb- 
 ers of everyone. At last the very summit stone was 
 reached, and the Climber, after a moment's hesita- 
 tion, stepped out of his canoe onto it, for he feared 
 not to ; and the skill was no sooner left undefended, 
 than a thousand hands and paws and talons dragged 
 it beneath the waves. And so at last the Climber 
 stood upon the summit he had given a world to 
 gain ! But where, alas, was the glory ? It was 
 neither more nor less than a bare stone, jutting two 
 or three feet above the world of water, exactly such 
 as mariners dread and try to shun. And it was with 
 difficulty that the Climber kept his footing upon it. 
 
 And now the downfall of rain ceased, it having 
 fulfilled its mission ; but the horrors of the flood in 
 
THE SECOND DELUGE 271 
 
 no wise abated. Several times limp hands were 
 thrown about the Climber's rock of refuge, but the 
 owners were top enfeebled to draw themselves out of 
 the cold water. His chief cause for alarm was now 
 given by the birds that were flying in swarms about 
 him, and he had to ply his axe in unabated vigor to 
 keep from being driven into the water by them. The 
 darkness now became pitchy, unrelieved by any levin 
 flash, and the Climber wondered if it w^ere nightfall 
 and if he had spent an entire day in slaughter, and 
 he marvelled at how quickly the time had passed, 
 if night it were ; it had scarcely seemed like an hour 
 to hTm. Oh ! but it was a night of horrors ! It was 
 indeed a veritable flood, and whales sported once 
 more among the craigs, but their bellowing and 
 plunging showed that they also must perish. Every- 
 thing left alive was frightened ; even the undaunted 
 heart of the eagle was filled with terror, and his 
 screams of freight echoed over the dark waters. 
 The now well-nigh frenzied climber fancied that 
 he could see the monsters of the deep rearing and 
 struggling in the universal ocean around him. He 
 no longer heard the sounds of human distress, which 
 left him to infer that the race of men had perished 
 — perished that one man might stand on a slippery 
 rock in the midst of universal destruction ! Con- 
 stantly, flocks of birds, their tired wings no longer 
 able to support them, fell in the water, and their 
 useless flapping and battling with the elements re- 
 sounded from every side. 
 
 And now, as the exertion necessary to maintain 
 his station decreased, and gave him a little leisure. 
 
272 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 the Climber began to wonder what was to be his 
 own fate. How could he get down from his sum- 
 mit; and if he did get down, how could he live 
 alone in the world? With a great sickness at his 
 heart, he remembered that he had made no bargain 
 with the giant for his safe descent. Even if the 
 waters were to subside, he did not believe that he 
 could descend safely, and even this desperate chance 
 the dark element showed no symptoms of granting. 
 Unquestionably, he also should perish ; it was un- 
 reasonable to think otherwise — to think that he, who 
 had sacrificed the entire world for a mere whim, 
 should escape unscathed ! And his poor semblance 
 of security was only to draw his fate out and make 
 it the more terrible. Doubtless, he should crown 
 the reign of destruction and perish last ; turn giddy 
 from want of food and rest, and tumble from his 
 miserable perch into the all-devouring water. This 
 prospect so filled the poor climber with consterna- 
 tion, that he relaxed his grip on the helve of his 
 battleaxe, and that blood-stained retainer slid 
 noiselessly down the mountain side. He stooped, 
 and tried in vain to recover his weapon, lost his bal- 
 ance and came near falling off the rock ; and just 
 as he got straight once more, now full of terror, all 
 his person tremulous as a grey-hound's flank on a 
 cold day, he was conscious of an arm benig thrown 
 around his neck, and of someone on the rock be- 
 side him,. With chattering teeth, he turned towards 
 
 the newcomer and managed to articulate, "who are 
 you: 
 
THE SECOND DELUGE 273 
 
 The other laughed a derisive, diabolic laugh, 
 and said: 
 
 "Who am I! Well, but this is flattering! To 
 meet one who has been a follower of mine for so 
 long, and him not to know me ! Oh ! but I forgot 
 the darkness, and that it obscures objects to mortal 
 eyes. That excuses you. Well, then, I am his Sat- 
 anic Majesty, Beelzebub, Infernal Monarch of the 
 lower world. And I have been about collecting my 
 followers, and seeing that none of them forsake me 
 in the last hour, as so many of them have done; 
 and I have flown until my wings will no longer bear 
 me. But who are you ? Oh, now I remem.ber ! You 
 are the mortal for whose whim this mighty coil was 
 stirred up. But how does it happen that you alone 
 are safe, while so many millions have perished? 
 Oh, now I remember again; it was that you might 
 stand on the top of this very mount that the flood 
 was sent. But do you expect to carry it thus and 
 escape ? No ; though to no one else, you owe me a 
 death, for robbing me of a world so prolific in 
 breeding followers of my standard. Into the water 
 with you !" 
 
 And he tightened his grasp on the poor Climber 
 and tried to hurl him into the black flood. But the 
 man had not spent years in muscle building moun- 
 tain climbing for nothing. The prospect of death, 
 after all his crimes, lent him fourfold strength, and 
 he strove with the ''arch enemy" right valiantly. 
 The Climber and the Devil struggling for the one 
 bit of unsubmerged earth, death, or a drenched 
 immortality, the issue! Indeed, so violently did 
 
274 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 the man struggle that it caused him to awake. It 
 required some moments for the fumes of the dream 
 to get sufficiently out of his mind for him to under- 
 stand that it was raining outside, and that the peas- 
 ant's roof was none too impervious. Nevertheless, 
 on the following day the Climber departed without 
 even trying to scale the mountain. 
 
ADDRESS TO LUNA. 
 
 I love thee, Moon, I love thy gentle face ; 
 And never once in life, as mem'ry serves, 
 Have I gazed on thee with a breast unmoved, 
 Since first the shapes of beauty met m.y eyes, 
 And swept the chords of feeling in my soul. 
 
 And I have watched thee, Moon, as thou hast 
 come 
 From out thy silent sea of somber pines, 
 Or rosest dripping from the briny wave. 
 Or burst from out the bosom of the plain, 
 Or when thy pale, pure radiance hath been quenched 
 At thy meridian by the rosy dawn, 
 Or sunk behind the Occident's dim pale. 
 Bathed in seas of thine own crimson light ; 
 And still my breast an heightened feeling owned. 
 
 What is thy mission. Moon, besides to light f 
 
 What's the effect, as from on high thou pourest 
 
 Thy flood of liquid silver o'er the earth ? 
 
 Thou art the mistress of all peace and love ; 
 
 All lovers swear their vows by thy sweet face. 
 
 All treaties should be signed in thv pale light. 
 
 275 
 
276 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 And what deep mystery dost thou still present, 
 Of what and whence thou art, as nightly still 
 Serene thou scalest heaven's azure arch ! 
 Let others think as think they must, to me 
 Thou art the embers of a burned-out world, 
 A vast earth-tomb, one mighty sepluchre ! 
 The scars upon thy face are but the trace 
 Of the fierce race of life that once was there. 
 
 And what poet ever yet hath wetted pen, 
 However quick Fame oped her arms to him. 
 However rushed the grand themes on his mind. 
 But he hath loved thee, and sometime in life 
 His Ode to Luna hath found time to write? 
 
 I will not now the legends dear recall 
 That round thee cling ; dreamed in the days of old, 
 When thy pure, precious, streaming silver fire 
 With loftiest imagination touched 
 The Poet's soul. In fancy's realm they glow, 
 A priceless heirloom of the past and thee, 
 Since men no more such lovely tales conceive. 
 
 And thou wilt take my simple praise, oh Moon. 
 Honest though plain ; nor truer had it been 
 Thoug'h I had deeper delved, and on thee heaped 
 The learned imagery of a thousand years. 
 
 And other worlds, they say, have other moons ; 
 Jupiter, seven ; belted Saturn, eight ; 
 Mars, two ; and far Uranus, six ; and these 
 Of various hues ofttimes, designed to spread 
 The rainbow's lovely mantle o'er the earth, 
 And in fantastic spangles dye the night : 
 But I will wager my poetic skill, 
 There's not thy like in all the throng of them. 
 
ADDRESS TO LUNA 277 
 
 Shine on, thou mottle-faced Queen, shine on! 
 And thou wih shine, at least the Muse thinks so, 
 Till earth hath met her doom in "fervent heat," 
 And drifts a blackened, blasted wreck through space; 
 Thou still wilt keep thy place, and thy pale rays 
 Will light the debris of a ruined world; 
 And thou wilt keep thy place till it and thee 
 By the Omnipotent's breath are puffed away, 
 And into nothingness swept. 
 
THE STRANGE CASE OF SOLOMAN 
 TRUDGE. 
 
 How do you suppose that modern readers, for 
 whose dehght writers are fathoming every corner 
 of the known world, in search of the marvelous and 
 unusual, would like a brief, true narrative from the 
 acamedy of Lagado? So far as I know, not an item 
 of news has come from that far-away country since 
 Lemuel Gulliver published his short, prejudiced, er- 
 roneous account of it. But I must not be too severe 
 in my denunciation of Gulliver's hurried synopsis 
 of the most wonderful country under the sun — 
 though it is in truth but little more than an ignorant 
 criticism of things beyond the rude, malicious tar's 
 capacity — for his account is what first caused me to 
 set out to ascertain if such marvels really existed, 
 or if the whole fabric were merely a sailor's tale. 
 
 With this end in view, I set out at about twenty 
 
 years of age — I was older when I first read Gulliver 
 
 than most boys are — and I have never regretted a 
 
 single step taken for that purpose. I applied to the 
 
 captains of several different ships for transporta- 
 
 278 
 
CAST OF SOLOMAN TRUDGE 279 
 
 tion to that Land of Marvels ; but, while all of them 
 had heard of or seen the shores of Balnibarbi, each 
 one declared that it was the most hermit nation of 
 the world, that it had absolutely no intercourse with 
 any other country so far as they could ascertain, 
 and that when some aerial architect had contrived a 
 f]3ang machine capable of coping with Laputa, it 
 would be comparatively safe to anchor in her har- 
 bors, but not sooner. At last, however, I prevailed 
 on one, assisted by a good purse of money, to put me 
 in a small boat, as near as he durst approach to the 
 forbidden shores ; and this was done. 
 
 I was no sooner near enough to distinguish the 
 expressions on the faces of the ranks of people on 
 the shore, drawix thither by the approach of the 
 ship, than I knew the whole account by Gulliver to 
 be a mere fabrication ; for I could discern not one 
 welcoming face among them all. Laputa descend 
 to take up a way- faring stranger indeed ! It would be 
 more likely to come down tO' crush him into the 
 earth. And now it may be my courage began to 
 fail me. I looked around for the ship that had borne 
 me thither, but it was already so far away as to 
 make pursuit out of the questoin. My dilemma 
 bore the usual two horns : Those frowning people, 
 of whose language I only knew the few words found 
 in Gulliver, and the open sea. I chose the former. 
 You may be sure the people were amazed to hear a 
 stranger using some of the words of their language, 
 though part of them were obsolete. They thought 
 at first that I was one of that kingdom, who had 
 been deported many years before, and was now wan- 
 
280 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 dering back. At this thought their grim looks began 
 to relax, though no one knew me. But I knew that 
 it would not do to let the delusion survive. I told 
 them, as soon as I had sufficient command of the 
 language, how I came by the words, and that I had 
 come to their country to verify or disprove Gulliver's 
 account of it. 
 
 Well, it is an historic fact among them that a 
 certain stranger did reside in that country for 
 awhile, about one hundred and fifty years before my 
 coming, and that he suddenly disappeared; no one 
 knows how or whither, for while it is a law of their 
 country that no alien shall come into it, they also 
 have a no less stringent law, that, should one come, 
 he shall never leave it. But their historians also 
 record that this same stranger, during all his resi- 
 dence in that country, lived at the cheap taverns, 
 performing the simplest kinds of labor for his liv- 
 ing, and was never any more in the academy of 
 Lagado, or on Laputa, than was the most obscure 
 peasant in the kingdom. 
 
 I was slightly daunted by this recital of the poor 
 figure my beloved Gulliver had cut among these iso- 
 lated hermits, and was also grieved to have to de- 
 pose him from the position he had held for so long 
 in my mind as a pattern of the absolutely veracious 
 traveler. Yea, I came to know that one cannot take 
 every story for the truth, even though the narrator 
 himself tells you that it is the truth. Nevertheless, 
 though Gulliver, the only other stranger ever known 
 in the kingdom, had failed to gain an entrance into 
 either the academy or the flying island — he probably 
 
CASE OP SOLOMAN TRUDGE 281 
 
 got his knowledge of the former by bribing some 
 discharged professor, and of the latter by taking 
 the same course with some lord that had fallen 
 from favor, for the versimilitude of his account is 
 too great for it to be pure imagination, and the law 
 is most strict, and the punishment, death, concerning 
 the secrecy the people are to maintain towards every 
 stranger, if such should chance to come, as to the 
 wonders contained in these two places — I determined 
 not to despond. As I was armed w^ith no diplomatic 
 credentials, the only thing of which I knew that 
 could possibly have proven a passport to one of my 
 station to Laputa, even if it could, I turned my at- 
 tention to the academy. And, be it spoken without 
 pride or boasting, after many years of patience, 
 disappointment and rebuke, I actually won my way 
 to the very core of its mysteries ; first, as a student, 
 and later as an instructor. 
 
 And I could write volumes of the wonderful 
 place, that would be richer in marvels than the 
 Arabian Nights, but with this difference : My story 
 would be true. But, alas ! this can never be. Every 
 stage of my advancement into the academy of Laga- 
 do is covered by an' oath of secrecy; not made w'ith 
 any mental reservation : and I cannot be perjured 
 merely to be famous. And what real honor would 
 it be to me, anyway ? What honor is it to any man 
 merely to tell what other men have done ? Anyway, 
 I shall not break my oath for such honor. Hence, 
 all I can offer the world as the result of my many 
 years' sojourn in that land of marvels, Balnibarbi, 
 is a short account of a certain fat, drowsy student. 
 
282 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 and what came of his failure to obey the instructions 
 in a certain instance; and this, as I take it, will not 
 violate a single one of my many oaths of secrecy. 
 
 But before I begin, a few words of explanation 
 may not be amiss, and also of self-defense. The 
 misfortune then that happened to the fat, drowsy 
 boy could only have occurred in some place where 
 knowledge is administered in the manner there em- 
 ployed. An ill-natured, antagonistic, half-wrong 
 account of this method, the universal one there of 
 instilling wisdom into the empty polls of youth, and 
 which I must admit is far ahead of any of the 
 schemes of any of the most advanced instructors of 
 our own country, may be found in the last para- 
 graph of the first chapter of the treatise on the 
 academy by Gulliver. Now, as this is already in 
 print, and likely always to be, I cannot, in spite of 
 my oaths, refrain from correcting its errors. Nor is 
 Gulliver to be exculpa,ted on the score of advance- 
 ment having been made since he visited the kingdom ; 
 for as the acadeni}^ is now, so was it then, and has 
 been for above five hundred years past. Indeed, it 
 has long been perfect, and can go no further. Its 
 method of inculcating knovv^ledge is, as Gulliver 
 says, by means of a sapient wafer ; but vv^hereas he 
 limits this plan to the infusion of mathematical 
 knowledge, it is in reality employed in imparting all 
 kinds of learning. Indeed, it is the only method 
 used, or allowed to be used, in the academy, for none 
 other conceivable could equal it in efficiency. 
 
 But one condition is connected with it of which 
 Gulliver's informant failed to tell him. It is this : 
 
CASE OF SOLOMAN TRUDGE 283 
 
 The candidate for the flowers of wisdom is obliged, 
 immediately after swallowing the wafer, to stand 
 for half an hour on his head, or at least to remain 
 by some means in a topsy-turvy position; because, 
 unless this is done, as the circulation distributes the 
 essence of the dissolving wafer, all the other organs 
 in the body would receive as much of it as would 
 the brain, the one for which it is of course intended ; 
 and the professors dare not fancy the result of such a 
 condition. But if an inverted posture is assumed, 
 the contents of the wafer, charged with the gravity 
 of wisdom, sink into the organ for which they were 
 intended, and no more maleffect is observed among 
 the students than if they had acquired their learning 
 turning over ponderous tomes by the light of a mid- 
 night candle; indeed, not nearly so much, for hol- 
 low eyes and pale cheeks in students is unknown 
 amiong these people; it is only the instructors who 
 look worn out and forlorn. 
 
 Now, I know that the above paragraph might 
 be construed b}^ some malicious, flaw-seeking critic 
 as an infringement of my oath. Well, what if it is? 
 Does not the aim justify it? Is it not better that I 
 should give the true account of this thing, than that 
 the crude sailor's crazy, ill-natured condemnation 
 should continue to heap fuel on the world's prejudice 
 against these people? Anyhow, I shall venture it, 
 and, as Shylock says, "the sin be on my head." Be- 
 sides I have not betrayed a single one of the golden 
 secrets they guard so sedulously from the world. I 
 have not given the formula of the sapient wafer, 
 though I coiild; and yet, my true object in saying 
 
284 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 what I have said, is to put the world's appetite on 
 edge for a more intimate knowledge of the wonder- 
 ful advancement of these people. And from this, 
 old as 1 am, I hope to see their methods and progress 
 enjoyed by all the peoples of the world. For what 
 moral right has any man or nation to the exclusive 
 use of one of God's hidden blessings, just because 
 he happens to be the first to find it? Would not 
 the broader and better policy be to apply it as quickly 
 as possibly to the benefit of all God's creatures? 
 And not, as is almost always done, take every pre- 
 caution that its value shall tend only to the ag- 
 grandizement of the discoverer or inventor ? But this 
 digression grows to tediousness ; I must go on with 
 my story or else leave it untold. 
 
 Well, then, it so happened that during my tutor- 
 ship in the sapient seat of Lagado, one Soloman 
 Trudge, the fat, drowsy boy already mentioned, 
 came to the academy for instruction. He was indeed 
 the most saturnine, phlegmatic individual I ever saw. 
 The two pale blue slits of sleepiness that showed be- 
 tween the two pairs of his eyelids were scarce a quar- 
 ter of an inch in width. And when he spoke, which 
 was only on the cue of obvious necessity, an ordinar- 
 ily quick-tongued person could have interposed a 
 considerable oration between each of his syllables; 
 and a thought had never any more passed through 
 his adipose brain than a sunbeam has through a cess- 
 pool. After a hasty consultation the professors de- 
 cided to administer first a Freethought wafer, con- 
 cluding that if anything could cause him to think, 
 it would be to dazzle him with the so-called freedom 
 
CASE OF SOLOMAN TRUDGE 285 
 
 of thought. The wafer, therefore, upon which was 
 written the essence of a most cogent atheistic trea- 
 tise, was administered, and the corpulent candidate 
 for the flowers of Mercury was told to stand for 
 half an hour on his head in a certain corner. But 
 this inverted posture the fat student found himself, 
 on trial, unable to attain. So three of the fragile 
 instructors helped him to assume the topsy-turvy, 
 and judging from the limited activity of tlie turtle, 
 the animal with which one most spontaneously com- 
 pared the fat boy — and which, when on its back, 
 cannot get on its feet, and when on its belly, cannot 
 get on its back — that he would be unable to get on 
 his feet again without aid, they went about their 
 tasks, leaving the fat boy to struggle with the dis- 
 solving bomb of scepticism as best he could. 
 
 But alas, for the fallibility of human calcula- 
 tion, even when made by the learned professors of 
 Lagado. When the instructors returned, at the 
 end of the stipulated time, they found the fat boy 
 sleeping, "all of a heap." Pandora's box is open! 
 As the frightened professors looked aghast at each 
 other, the drowsy cause of their alarm, utterly un- 
 conscious of the Damoclean sword hanging over 
 him, slept on. And now behold the craftiness of 
 human nature, which even learning cannot eradi- 
 cate. After a hasty consultation, the professors, 
 with an infinity of calling and pulling, awoke the 
 sleeping boy, told him that if he could do no better 
 than that, they could learn him nothing, and started 
 him back to his parents. But being interested in the 
 result of the mistake, we did not fail to keep an eye 
 
286 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 on the unfortunate boy; and this was the result of 
 our unpardonable blunder : 
 
 In a few days strange phenomena began to be 
 manifest in the fat boy. Any of his bodily organs, 
 was liable at any time, without a moment's warn- 
 ing, to discontinue performing its function ; and no 
 amount of physic seemed to have the slightest effect 
 on it. Of course we were sorry for the poor boy, 
 but we dared not mention what we know about it — 
 and the boy's own fat mind was too sluggish even to 
 dream of the real cause of his trouble; indeed, it is 
 very likely that he did not even remember having 
 swallowed the wafer — lest the angry father, in the 
 damages he could have recovered, should bankrupt 
 us all. 
 
 And thus the matter went on. Wise doctors, 
 attracted from all over the kingdom, as much by 
 the unusual nature of the case as by the father's 
 purse, were nonplussed. They had never seen or 
 heard of anything like it. And this was something 
 of the nature of the case: At any time, any organ 
 in his body (except the heart and lungs) his stomach, 
 liver, kidneys, bladder, etc. : or any muscle, nerve, 
 vein or pore (but to a lesser extent) was liable to 
 sudden cessation of function, always followed by a 
 period of abnormal activity. But strange to say, 
 none of the perverse organs would continue their 
 vacation until death ensued. Yes, the essence of 
 the sapient, fatal wafer had been carried to every 
 organ, muscle, nerve and vein in the body ; infusing 
 into them independence and individuality, instead 
 of subserviency. The brain, the monarch of the 
 
CASE OF SOLOMAN TRUDGE 287 
 
 man, had lost its supremacy, and had become merely 
 a servant among servants. But fortunately, or un- 
 fortunately, the enlightened members knew to about 
 what extent their periods of perverseness could be 
 carried and death not ensue. 
 
 And thus, at one time, the poor boy's skin, dur- 
 ing a siesta of the liver, would become yellow as 
 gold. While at another, the stomach would not di- 
 gest a particle of food, and he would begin to lose 
 flesh. Again, his brain zvoidd think, but his tongue 
 would not speak; and so his thoughts accumulated. 
 Another time, his legs would refuse to support him, 
 or he would be unable to raise his hand. And thus 
 he lived for twenty years, at no time during which 
 period were all the organs of his body performing 
 their proper functions. After a few years of fruit- 
 less and expensive doctoring, he quit trying any 
 medicines, and calmly submitted to his fate. 
 
 But at last a remedy was thought of, and that, 
 too, by the very men who had wrought his mis- 
 fortune. Why not administer another tablet? It 
 may seem strange, but it takes just twenty years for 
 a valuable idea to mature. We invited the strangely 
 afflicted fat man to come to the academy, as we 
 thought we could benefit him; and, after consider- 
 able persuasion, he complied. We induced him to 
 take our remedy. This time we administered the 
 wafer of the Infallibility of the Human Reason, and 
 this time three fragile professors held the candi- 
 dates' heels in the air until the tablet had time to 
 operate. And now behold the triumph of science, 
 such science as is taught and practiced in the acad- 
 
288 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 emy of Lagado! The remedy was a complete suc- 
 cess. The brain (the man) was reinstated in its 
 sovereignty, and its belhgerent subjects were sub- 
 dued. But more, the subjugated members, seeing 
 no hope of their tincture of wisdom ever again being 
 sufficient to rebel against the reinforced brain, de- 
 termined to employ it in the performance of their so- 
 long-neglected functions. And such was the result, 
 that when I left the kingdom, some nine months ago, 
 the once fat boy and afflicted man had the reputa- 
 tion of being one of the most healthy and clear- 
 minded men in the country . 
 
 After it was all over, and the man had been 
 restored to more than his normal condition, we, the 
 professors of the academy, published a true and 
 complete account of the entire affair. Well, we had 
 the pardon of almost everyone, including the man 
 himself, but there are still some few old cranky 
 foggies in remote parts of the country who blame us. 
 And this little story is all I can suffer to run past 
 the paws of my watchful oath concerning the many- 
 marvelled academy of Lagado, where I spent so 
 many pleasant years. Indeed, I was allowed to 
 leave the country only in consideration of the long 
 lease of service I had served therein. 
 
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 Beside the long, white road the Haunted House, 
 A thing of terror stands ; neglected now. 
 And in the yard, inclosed by rotten pales. 
 Black poisonous weeds in wild profusion grow; 
 And to decay the Haunted House has come ; 
 And yet done no man good, but many harm. 
 P*or far across the country side its fame 
 In all hearts holds, and rumor says that here, 
 The spirits of the dead convene again; 
 Yea, that it is a very muster-place , 
 
 And rendevous for earth-returning manes. 
 And many and various are the pranks they play. 
 The murderer kills his victim here again ; 
 The ruined maiden to her lover prays, 
 And still in vain, and slaughters then herself. 
 And many a terror-telling shriek is heard. 
 And dismal, ghastly, murder-muffled cry. 
 And then sometimes it takes a festal form ; 
 The infernal orgies all are acted o'er; 
 And hellish mirth the hollow echoes wake. 
 
 And such a reputation bears the house 
 
 .289 
 
290 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Among the simple souls, that no one dares 
 To lift his foot the fatal threshold o'er, 
 And stay the night. 
 
 And is this so ; and do 
 Souls, from the earth untimely hurled, return, 
 Seeking for justice, to the Haunted House? 
 Or has a loose board, sighing in the wind, 
 Or half-starved rations, gamb'ling in the dark, 
 By man's imagination magnified, 
 Caused all the ado? 
 
AN INFERNAL DREAM. 
 
 Even from the first quickening of intelligence 
 in the mind of Sabul Gules, an abnormal part of his 
 attention had been given to trying to find out how 
 affairs are conducted in the lower regions. Every 
 word connected with infernal mysteries, Greek, 
 Latin or English, had for him a peculiar charm. 
 While he was yet of very tender years, he used 
 to pore with fiendish relish over the dictionary 
 definitions, and the mythological accounts, of every 
 word, person and incident relating to Tartarean his- 
 tory. And when he grew older, though still young, 
 following the call of his irresistible fascination, 
 he greedily devoured all poetic accounts of it. Mil- 
 ton's flame-lapped treatise first fell under his eye, 
 and he thought it unapproachable; but later on he 
 was of course obliged to admit that the Hadean 
 impression left by Homer and Virgil, though not 
 perhaps so fierce, was more deeply poetic. And, 
 still later, he was constrained to confess that the fire 
 of the Hell-wandering Dante distances them all. 
 He studied and compared the ideas of all peoples, 
 from the most remote to the most modern, about 
 
 291 
 
292 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 posthumous punishment, and could scarce decide 
 which best agreed with his own. But, strange to say, 
 with all his relish for knowledge of the unseen, the 
 welfare of the people in the other place never 
 troubled him for a moment. His parents had with 
 grief noted this quenchless thirst for perditional his- 
 tory in their son, and were casting about for some 
 remedy. 
 
 One evening as he was sitting for a few more 
 breaths of the balmy night breeze before retiring, 
 having just bathed his feet after a day's plowing, 
 being a farm boy, and thinking as usual of Nastrand, 
 Avernus, etc., a bright idea suddenly struck him. 
 Indeed, it struck him so forceably that it raised him 
 to his feet, and he could scarce refrain from making 
 his pleasure audible. And this splendidly luminous 
 conception merely consisted in his remembering an 
 old saying he had heard to the effect that anyone 
 who goes to sleep without emptying the vessel of the 
 water in which they had washed their feet, would 
 dream of the Devil. Half angry at himself for not 
 having thought of it sooner, he determined to try 
 it ; not that he had never dreamed of the Devil, but 
 because dreams of that nature could not come too 
 often. Leaving, therefore, the ebon liquid (if the 
 solids did not preponderate) he went immediately 
 to bed. But his excitement over the prospect of an 
 infernal dream kept him for awhile awake. 
 
 Two or three days after the incident above re- 
 corded, Sabul attended a barbecue. More than once 
 he had decided not to attend the merry making, his 
 head was aching so terribly, but he had promised 
 
AN INFERNAL DREAM 293 
 
 some friends to meet them there, so he went to keep 
 his word. But when he arrived at the scene of the 
 broil, not a friend could he see, nor indeed a single 
 person that he knew. Not that he was there alone, 
 for there were countless myriads present; in fact, 
 a much larger crowd than he had ever seen before 
 at a barbecue or anywhere else. But not one that 
 he knew. Sabul might have marvelled not a little at 
 this, but he had not time to do so; wonder followed 
 wonder so closely that he had not space to be amazed 
 at one, before another was upon him. In the first 
 place, the men and women (he observed no children) 
 at the great roast were unlike any he had ever seen 
 before. In fact, they were mere skeletons ; the very 
 persons, Sabul thought to attend a barbecue. And 
 then the smoke! Sabul had expected to see some 
 smoke; but the thick, black clouds that arose from 
 the thousand pits of roasting meat actually hid the 
 sun, and wrapped the entire scene in a close, ill- 
 smelling vapor. 
 
 Through this hideous mist the ghastly, skeletal 
 ghosts of men and women were rushing like mad. 
 At first Sabul thought of returning home, but his 
 curiosity to stay and find out if possible what it all 
 meant conquered him. With this end in view, he 
 plunged into the mad, rushing crowd. The first 
 thing that attracted his attention was a man with a 
 basket on his arm, yelling "ham sandwiches !" See- 
 ing everyone else eating, Sabul thought he might as 
 well follow the fashion. So he called to the man, 
 who came to him, gave him a sandwich, and turned 
 away without taking the proffered coin. Surprised 
 
294 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 at this, but not beyond the point of eating, Sabul 
 raised the refreshment towards his mouth, and was 
 just about to sample it, when he noticed something 
 unusual in the appearance of the slice of meat. He 
 hastily removed the top slice of bread, and oh hor- 
 ror of horrors! the slice of meat was a nicely- 
 browned human hand. In disgusted haste, he drop- 
 ped the eleemosynary viand, and gave close heed to 
 the cry of the receding distributer. Instead of "ham 
 sandwiches" he was carying "hand sandwiches." 
 
 Sabul now determined to see what was being 
 cooked in the earth ovens. He approached one and 
 gazed down into the horrible depths, and oh, sicken- 
 ing sight!. There, stretched along on the black, 
 charred rods, the body of a man was being roasted I 
 Almost crazed at the sight, Sabul turned and fled. 
 How far he ran he knew not, but at last he found 
 his course barred by a wide river, the waves of 
 which were flame-tipped. Surprised at this sight, 
 Sabul managed to gasp out to a bystander : "What 
 river is that?" "The Styx," replied the stranger, 
 with a look of infinite wonder at the questioner. 
 Sabul looked across to the opposite shore; there, 
 dimly seen through the mists, the ghostly proces- 
 sin still surged onward. He looked down the stream, 
 and saw a strange kind of suspension bridge, over 
 which the ghastly crowd was treading on each 
 other's heels in their eagerness to get across the 
 fatal river. "What is that?" he asked of the by- 
 stander, pointing towards the novel bridge. "The 
 bridge of monkeys," his informant replied, his won- 
 der increasing. Here Sabul's infernal learning came 
 
AN INFERNAL DREAM 295 
 
 in. ''But I thought that Charon carried the souls 
 of the departed over the Styx," he said, looking 
 keenly at his aerial companion. "So he did," the 
 Shade replied. "But Charon is getting old, and the 
 hosts that rush here during the 'lonesome latter 
 years/ especially throug'h the holidays, were entirely 
 too much for him, and the bridge of monkeys had 
 to be resorted to." Having said which, the Shade, 
 w^ith a parting look at Sabul, turned away. A 
 bridge of roasted monkeys across the Styx! 
 
 Feeling his thirst of infernal secrets to be 
 quenched, Sabul turned to leave the place. But alas, 
 which way should he go ? He was lost ! The place 
 was so vast, and the multitude so numberless, that 
 it bewildered him. Seeing a party drinking and 
 making merry around a bubbling fountain, Sabul 
 turned his steps toward them, intending to seek in- 
 formation. As he approached, one who stood near 
 the fountain, and whose duty semed to be to serve 
 out the drink, dipped up a cup of the liquid and of- 
 fered it to him. Sabul took the proffered cup, and 
 was just raising it to his lips, when he saw a mantle 
 of pale flame playing over the contents. "Burning 
 alcohol!" said Sabul, as he let the cup fall. The 
 warm beverage of Hades! Yet all around him 
 everyone, the women especially, were quaffing it 
 with avidity. Sabul now determined either to get 
 out of the place, or farther in. But he had scarce 
 taken a dozen steps when he was again stopped. 
 His progress was cut off this time by no river, but 
 by a crowd of angry looking ghosts, as the leader of 
 whom Sabul recognized his informant of a few 
 
296 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 moments before. At sigfht of him the Shade began 
 to cry out: ''There he is; there is your fleshly in- 
 truder into the mysteries of Hades! Seize him!" 
 In an instant Sabul was secured, and yet he felt no 
 weight of a hand on his arm, only a kind of com- 
 pelling influence that made him go wherever it 
 would. 
 
 In a few minutes they came to an ensanguined 
 block, with a bloody ax lying beside it. His in- 
 formant spoke again : "Here is the place, young 
 friend, where you are to render yourself worthy the 
 society of spirits, by disposing of your body." An- 
 other ghost, with a hideous mask on his face, took 
 up the bloody ax, and all stood aside as if expecting 
 Sabul to lay his neck on the block. And this Sabul 
 was just about to do, when a low whisper in his ear 
 caused him to turn his head and there, oh angT,iish 
 and agony ! at his very elbow stood his own darling 
 girl, his own sweet Annie Short! With the most 
 devine smile in the world she calmly said to him : ''I 
 saw you coming here and I followed, to save you 
 if I can, if not, to die with you." The appearance 
 of Annie caused Sabul to pause on his way to the 
 block. The blood-thirsty spirits looked to see what 
 caused the delay in the execution and noticed that 
 the girl also was in the flesh. Whether from mo- 
 tives humane or brutal can never be told, but at any 
 rate some ghost cried out : "Let the girl die first." 
 And, as if impatient at the reluctant manner in which 
 she was complying with the command, he, likely not 
 
 having been dead long himself, and the instincts of 
 
AN INFERNAL DREAM 297 
 
 the flesh still in him, attempted to seize her by the 
 arm. 
 
 This was more than flesh and blood could en- 
 dure, and Sabul was still flesh and blood. With a 
 blow of his fist he sent the officious ghost flying 
 through the smoky sky as if he had been a bag full 
 of hot air. Sabul then put himself on the defensive 
 in front of Annie for the next spirit that should take 
 up the quarrel. But it was useless, for the stroke 
 had also served to shatter the clammy fetter of the 
 nightmare ; and his parents, sitting in the dark room 
 occupied by their son, as he turned in bed and sought 
 the repose of his other side, heard him say, "my! 
 but I've had an infernal dream!" 
 
 But Morpheus in shaping the above dream had 
 other assistants besides Icelus, Phobeter, Phantasus 
 and the dirty water. For Sabul's parents had over- 
 head his exclamation of delight, and, after he was 
 asleep, had gone into his room to find out if possible 
 the cause. Seeing the foul water and knowing their 
 son's failing, they had devined all. They also de- 
 cided to have a hand in the game. Having read or 
 heard of the terrible effect produced by allowing 
 water to fall, drop by drop, on the brow of a sleep- 
 ing person, they determined to try it, hoping that 
 the effect might render more awful the dream of 
 their son. They did try it, not using, however, the 
 inky fluid in which the pedal lustrations had been 
 performed, and the above described offering of 
 Oneirus came from the Ivory Gate as a result. And 
 I have heard that it had the effect desired bv the 
 
298 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 experimenters, and that Sabul has now turned his 
 attention to the acquisition of celestial lore. 
 
AT THE END OF THE VISTA. 
 
 Once on a time, through a dark, gloomy wood, 
 Three travelers, a poet, minister, 
 And their hunter-guide, did chance to pass. 
 And as they went around on every side 
 They cast their eyes, but most of all, adown 
 The long, leaf-curtained vistas loved to gaze; 
 And as they looked, each thus, in turn, beheld : 
 
 As round on every side, before, behind. 
 His foilage-piercing eyes the hunter turned, 
 How much he saw that his companions missed. 
 And never dreamed of! but only of the eye; 
 For as his quick and penetrating glance 
 Pierced through the gloom, nor plume nor fur eih 
 
 caped. 
 Nor form of bird or beast, however screened. 
 If but an ear were bare ; the forest folk, 
 Had they but known how little it availed. 
 Their umbrageous shelter, I almost believe, 
 Would have forsaken, and stood forth to view. 
 But not an image did this mind supply. 
 With these, to people the dim forest aisles. 
 
 299 
 
300 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Behind the hunter came the minister, 
 And he, too, closely peered on every side; 
 As if he would the forest's secrets pierce. 
 But oh, how different he beheld the scene! 
 'Tis true that to his kind old eyes, unused 
 To piercing the dim caverns of the wood, 
 Whatever choose, of the wild life lay hid. 
 But in their stead, imagination poured 
 A strong and constant stream of images. 
 That acted life-like on the leaf-strewn stage. 
 
 Thus at one time a band of martyred men. 
 Who died for truth, would stand beneath the trees ; 
 Another, some strange rite or ceremony. 
 Borrowed from religion's infancy, 
 And savage men, perhaps, would be performed ; 
 Another time, the Passion was reviewed; 
 And still, in evanescent glory draped, 
 Apepared a vision of the great white throne. 
 With Christ enthroned, and angels standing 'round. 
 
 Last came the poet. He with kindling eye 
 The scene surveyed, and from it took his cue ; 
 And ne'er a glinting plumage did he see. 
 Or glimpse of restless fur among the leaves. 
 But his imagination dressed it up 
 As glance at passing fairy, elve or faun. 
 And thus his facile fancy reproduced 
 All the wood-folk that e'er man's fancy made. 
 Great Pan and all his hairy-legged kind 
 Appeared. Next, in some glade perhaps, he'd see 
 Cisseta, Coran, Draco and Echnobas 
 Tearing the stag-changed Actaeon ; as away 
 Pale Dian walked beside her dappled fawn. 
 
AT THE END OF THE VISTA 301 
 
 Or sometimes would be gently muse upon 
 Some poet's words, inspired by scenes like these; 
 Written perhaps a thousand years ago, 
 And which unto this distant day have stood, 
 Cast in the mould of immortality. 
 
 And thus it is, o'er all the plain of life ; 
 And at the vista's end no two, perhaps, 
 See the same scenes in fancy's shimmering glow. 
 
THE DISCONTENTED PEBBLE. 
 
 The Pebble was not large, but its discontent 
 was. Indeed, it was about as small as a pebble well 
 could be, not to degenerate into that inferior species 
 known as gravel, while its dissatisfaction was about 
 as large as anything, animate or inanimate, ever en- 
 tertained. And what was the cause of this unpleas- 
 ant state of affairs. Everything. 
 
 There was not a single condition that affected 
 
 the Pebble with which it did not disagree. In the 
 
 first place it was thoroughly disgusted with its 
 
 diminutive stature. If it had to be a pebble, why 
 
 had it not been made a large one ? Or, why had it 
 
 been made a pebble at all? It would rather have 
 
 been anything else. Why had it not been made one 
 
 of the pretty iris-tinted shells that are sometimes 
 
 found on the beach, and for which the tourists search 
 
 so eagerly ; to be found perhaps by one of the lovely 
 
 women that passed up and down the beach in crowds, 
 
 and carried away to who knows where? But who 
 
 ever cares for a pebble? Of course, everyone knows 
 
 that the beach is the best place in the world for a 
 
 302 
 
THE DISCONTENTED FAIRY 303 
 
 pebble, but this little non-content would rather have 
 been any place else, or thought it would. It was 
 irked by the daily soaking and buffeting of the tide, 
 and all during its submersion it was in mortal ter- 
 ror lest it should be covered up, being so small. And 
 if one tide should leave it in such a position that it 
 could see something, the next was sure to undo all, 
 and leave it in some depression, so surrounded by 
 mammoths of its kind that often it could scarce get 
 even a glimpse of the sky. The hot sun blistered 
 it and the cold nights of winter chilled it through, 
 though it was never cold enough to freeze anything. 
 It was in constant terror lest some passerby should 
 press it down into the sand with his foot, whence it 
 could never hope to emerge. In a word, it was 
 fretted and irritated by everything, nothing pleased 
 it, and it did not believe that any change could pos- 
 sibly be for the worse. 
 
 As it lay one day thinking as usual of nothing 
 but the hardness of its lot, it saw a fish-hawk rise 
 heavily out of the water, its prey in its talons. Now 
 of all things the little Pebble had wanted to be a 
 bird of some kind, capable of motion of its own 
 accord, and not obliged to be in one spot till some- 
 thing else moved it; and then it could have soared 
 away and found out what kind of stuff it was that 
 made the eternal whiteness of the high hills beyond. 
 But as it watched the fish-hawk, it saw another bird, 
 one that never fished itself, but that always robbed 
 the other of its catch whenever it tried, swooping 
 fiercely down on the home-flying fisherman. Fierce 
 was the conflict, for the fish-hawk, though the 
 
304 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 smaller bird, was no coward, and had no intention 
 of giving up its lawful prey to the courageous drone 
 without a struggle, though it was always beaten. 
 As the fight continued the fish-hawk released its hold 
 on its prey and the fish fell to the ground, and it 
 alighted squarely on the little Pebble. The drone 
 no sooner saw the fish, the cause of the aerial battle, 
 falling toward the earth, than he paid no more heed 
 to his antagonist, but swooped after it. while the 
 other went back to the sea to catch another fish. 
 And when the drone raised his loot off the ground, 
 behold, the viscid slime on its scales held the little 
 Pebble prisoner; and thus as the bird steered aloft 
 its wish for motion was being gratified in a man- 
 ner of which it had never dreamed. 
 
 And now did its discontent cease? No; for I 
 would have you note that from the very instant 
 when its memory-long desire began to be realized, 
 its discontent, instead of ceasing, grew tenfold 
 w^orse; or, better, it turned into fright and terror. 
 Its hold on the fish was but slight and it feared 
 every instant that it should break; and if break it 
 did, the poor Pebble, never having been off the 
 ground before, dared not think what would be the 
 consequence. On, on, flew the bird, and the air 
 whistled around the poor Pebble, and colder and 
 colder it grew. They were flying over the white- 
 mantled hill and the air was colder than the Pebble 
 had ever felt before. Oh, how it longed to be back 
 on the old familiar beach once more, and how it 
 realized, when it was too late, that it was the best 
 place in the world for a pebble, and how it vowed 
 
THE DISCONTENTED PEBBLE 305 
 
 that if it should ever get back there again it would 
 never more be discontented. 
 
 But all in vain! On, on flew its conductor. 
 They were now passing over the very crest of the 
 white mantled hill, when snap! the Pebble came 
 loose from the bird and began to fall! fall! But 
 strange to say it did not alight on the white, for as 
 it came near it saw a dark, narrow fissure crossing 
 the white, and into this it fell. Down, down it de- 
 scended, until the daylight was extinguished and 
 the stars began to appear. At last it struck some- 
 thing soft, but exceedingly cold, in which it was com- 
 pletely submerged. And there it lies till today, in 
 the cold and dark; the little Pebble that had all the 
 beautiful beach for its home, and, but for its dis- 
 content, might still have had. And there it shall 
 remain until God shall deem its expiation sufficient. 
 And even so will God eventually put away in the 
 darkest corner of his devine displeasure all who 
 presume to grumble at his dispensations. 
 
THE POWER OF PRAYER. 
 
 What means this ominous gathering in the air? 
 The green leaves tremble, thoug'h no breeze is felt. 
 But not for long suspense is entertained: 
 
 For all around, 
 
 With louring frown, 
 
 The storm comes down; 
 Plow dark, how dark, the face of nature grows ! 
 
 Adown the peaceful vale 
 Destroying Boreas drives; 
 His car by night-black steeds, 
 In resistless fury hurled; 
 
 And gnarled and brittle alike he tears, 
 As with the merest puff, 
 
 The monarch of a thousand years, 
 From's rooted place is wrenched, 
 
 And into debris hurled. 
 Oh, where, alas ! is gentle Zephyr now ? 
 
 Upon a rising mound. 
 
 With flowers and green grass round, 
 
 306 
 
THE POWER OF PRAYER 307 
 
 The shepherd's blind daughter stands. 
 
 She hears the hideous roar, 
 
 And though ne'er heard before, 
 
 It thoughts of terror wakes; 
 And in the alarm of danger undefined, 
 Her sightless, streaming eyes to heaven she raised, 
 Her thin white hands she clasped above her head ; 
 
 Yet not of self thought she, 
 
 As thus she prayed : 
 '^Oh, spare my father and my father's cot, 
 And spare his flocks that feed within the o-rot ; 
 And spare my mother and my sisters, too; 
 And oh ! my weet pet lamb if thou'dst but spare, 
 And take me in their stead !" 
 
 The wild tempest was awed, 
 The fierce winds recoiled; 
 
 And all heaven trembled at the blind girl's 
 prayer. 
 A moment in suspense the fury held, 
 And then dissolved the raging element; 
 And back to their mountain caverns. 
 Like chidden curs, slunk the crest-fallen winds; 
 
 And Boreas hung his head in shame ; 
 While on, as if it all had been but play, 
 Passed the blind girl, gathering flowers: 
 
 Such an obstacle is innocence to rage, 
 And such giant power hath unalloyed prayer! 
 
A MODERN FABLE. 
 
 Once upon a time, as the all-awakening kiss of 
 spring, like that of a mother on the brow of her 
 sleeping child, spread genially, with sunshine and 
 showers, up from the Southland, its magic touch 
 fell upon a little rose-seed that had lain for it knew 
 not how long under some protecting leaves and 
 earth; and the seed, at so kind a touch, began to 
 put forth its tiny stem and roots. 
 
 At first everything went lovely, and to grow 
 was mere joyous play ; the sun was just warm 
 enough, the mould in which its life was cast, moist, 
 rich and loose; and the young plant revelled in the 
 mere joy of being alive. But after awhile came 
 times that were not so easy. There came long lapses 
 without rain, and the nights brought no dew, and the 
 tiny rose-bush, too, found that although the ground 
 in which it grew was rich, yet it was no richer than 
 it needed to be, to support the wild profusion of 
 bushes, weeds and grass that grew in it, most all 
 of which were stronger and hardier than the little 
 rose bush. And at last conditions became almost 
 
A MODERN FABLE 309 
 
 insufferable; the ground became baked dry and 
 hard ; no rain fell out of the pitiless sky ; the blazing 
 sun scorched and withered it, and the clouds of dust 
 stirred up by the constant stream of passersby (it 
 grew beside the road) smothered and suffocated it. 
 Indeed, if the hard-pressed little plant had been a 
 human being, gifted with a higher intelligence, it 
 might have deemed the obstacles altogether insur- 
 mountable, and have ended its existence; but being 
 a mere plant, it only knew to make the best of condi- 
 tions, be they however adverse. 
 
 There was one thing, however, that more than 
 anything else tended to cause the little plant to 
 conclude its life-lot the hardest possible. Just across 
 the road from the fence corner in which it tried to 
 grow, was a garden of the most magnificent flowers 
 imaginable, watched over every day by the constant 
 care of a faithful gardener. The little plant (it 
 could grow but slowly) sighed bitterly that its lot 
 had not been cast in that princely paradise, where 
 there was never any lack of moisture, and never any 
 weeds or sprig of grass to obstruct the growth of 
 the rightful occupants, and never any cause to dread 
 the deracination of wanton boys, or the tread of 
 grazing cow. But there was one custom connected 
 with this earthly paradise, where gaily dressed ladies 
 and gentlemen came to stroll and admire almost 
 every day, that our plant did not relish. It was, 
 that the gardener, the very man who tended them so 
 carefully, often carried away from the laden bushes 
 large basketfuls of their rich blossoms ; and, strang- 
 est of all, the parents did not seem in the least to 
 
310 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 mind having their children thus snipped away from 
 them, perhaps because they had so many. 
 
 But our little plant felt that if it should ever 
 bear a bloom, which it was beginning to doubt, it 
 would feel very sorry to have anyone take it away. 
 But at last, however, the little plant did have two 
 buds, one of which finally opened into a rose. But 
 it did not in the least resemble its rich, rank, hun- 
 dred-petaled kinsmen of the garden. Its petals (of 
 which there were but five) were very thin and deli- 
 cate, with almost as much white as red in them. The 
 mother of course thought it the finest rose in the 
 world, and her envy of the better fortune of he gar- 
 den flowers was all lost in love and anxiety for her 
 own frail bloom. Luckily, however, it met with no 
 mischance, but lived the "lease of nature," not a 
 very long lease, to be sure; and its thin, delicate 
 petals one by one withered up and dropped to the 
 ground. And the mother's heart, even at this 
 natural consummation, was wrunk with grief. But 
 her sorrow was somewhat tempered by the remem- 
 berance that her other darling bud would soon un- 
 fold its glories; and for this she waited patiently, 
 forgetting in the meantime all the unfavorable condi- 
 tions under which she had and still labored to pro- 
 duce her children. 
 
 Now, it so happened that about this time the 
 Master of the Celestial Garden needed some more 
 rose bushes — the flowers in heaven being the same 
 as they are on earth, and the rose being queen of 
 her kind there even as she is here — and an angel that 
 had never been to the earth volunteered eagerly to 
 
A MODERN FABLE 311 
 
 go for them. He descended one splendid night, when 
 the full moon was at the zenith of her glory, and 
 chance destined that he should alight near the superb 
 garden that our little plant used to envy so much. 
 
 At first, he thought he had found just what he 
 came for, as he wandered up and down through the 
 labyrinths of quaintly-arranged, bloom-laden mag- 
 nificent bushes, and thought them fully as glorious 
 as any he had seen in heaven. But strange to say, 
 not a rose could he find; not that there were no 
 roses in the garden, but because the additions and 
 "improvements" that men have made in them ren- 
 dered them unrecognizable to the angel. And so he 
 wandered all over the garden and at last came to a 
 halt before a bush of the nearest approach to roses 
 he could find. But he could not persuade himself 
 that these rich, rank, hundred-petaled things were 
 roses. To be sure, he was conscious of a kind of 
 beauty in them, but it was a rank, terrible beauty, 
 which his subtile, angelic intuition warned him to 
 shun and avoid. He obeyed the delicate warning 
 and left the garden. As for the flowers, all during 
 the angel's stay, they had thought him to be some 
 nude thief; and, if they could, would have cried out 
 an alarm, for they were not used to his kind of dress, 
 as the ladies that came among them wore dresses 
 that revealed only the "charms," and not the entire 
 person. 
 
 When the angel left the garden he crossed the 
 road in an aimless kind of way, scarce knowing 
 where to go next, and came over very near to our 
 little plant; and just as he was going to use his 
 
312 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 wings once more, he happened to cast his eyes upon 
 the ground and perceived it. Instantly he was in- 
 terested and stooped down to examine the little plant, 
 the other bud of which was now in full glory. Here, 
 growing in neglect, was the very thing he was look- 
 ing for, and he started to pull off the seed-pod, into 
 which the first bloom had now developed. But a 
 thought seemed to strike him. He paused. He ob- 
 served that the plant had only one other blossom, 
 and besides that it was very small ; what could be 
 the harm in carrying the entire bush to heaven? 
 With the aid of a small stick he soon had the dry, 
 baked earth from around its roots, and an instant 
 later he shot aloft through the moon-litten sky, bear- 
 ing the little hardy-nurtured plant, with its one rose 
 and one seed-pod, lovingly in one hand, and with no 
 very high opinion of the earth-born flowers. 
 
 And thus it happened the little plant that con- 
 tinued in the parching sun, the dry, baked earth and 
 the choking dust, to live and make the best of things, 
 was borne aloft to be transplanted in the fields 
 above ; while the rich, luxuriant garden flowers, 
 tended like a princess, with nothing to do but grow 
 and blossom, lived on in entire ignorance of the 
 fact that they had even been visited by an angel, but 
 continued to think of him, if indeed they thought of 
 him at all, as merely a nude midnight thief. 
 
THE POET'S RESPONSE. 
 
 I sent you lately a poem, Sir, 
 
 Of my living self a living part, 
 
 A fragment torn from my throbbing heart ; 
 And you send it back to me ; 
 
 But just the same, 
 
 ril cross my legs and dream of fame, 
 As I have always done. 
 
 Your paper's columns are narrow things, 
 
 And to a class peculiar; 
 To fill them you must have poets ^'trained/' 
 Who write per string and ruler; 
 
 But my mind is as wide as the world is wise 
 And my soul drinks in the universe. 
 
 Thou sayest the age hates poetry, 
 
 And bid'st me scribble in prose. 
 
 I say, whenever the true poet comes, 
 
 In whatever land, under whatever sun; 
 
 Let his verse be neatly or roughly done, 
 
 So they come from the heart, and the heart 
 
 be true, 
 
 319 
 
314 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Be it now, or hence a cycle or two, 
 He shall not lack a hearing. 
 
 For I shall still as famous be 
 
 As any in creation ; 
 What matter whether I thank thee, 
 
 Or kind hallucination? 
 
 Thou sayest the age hates poetry, 
 
 Pray where did you get the thought? 
 Survey thou but the transcient throng 
 That now usurp the stage; 
 
 Whose work will scarce remembered be 
 A year when they are dead ; 
 
 And yet they earn a livelihood, 
 While Homer "begged his bread." 
 
 Or, if I must needs rhyme, thou say'st, 
 
 *Xet your lyre acquire a metallic ring, 
 
 And praise the love of gold." 
 Your advice may be bad, or it may be good, 
 But to it I'll thus reply : 
 
 Upon my mind, be it light or blind, 
 
 It some such impression makes 
 
 As the tiniest star, on the cloudiest night, 
 Makes on a blind man's eye. 
 But my heart is aflame, with the weird fire of fame, 
 And your puerile n. g. cannot quench it. 
 
 And yet with you I sympathize. 
 In your ticklish guessing job ; 
 
 The public taste so wretched is. 
 And thine so exalted. 
 
THE POET'S RESPONSE 315 
 
 And now I'll take my little pet, 
 
 And scan it over slowly, 
 Shift a comma here and there, 
 
 Or, maybe, change the title; 
 And to some brother of yours then 
 In its new clothes I'll dispatch it; 
 
 And he, perchance, will rub his hands, 
 
 And say, "aha! but here's luck!" 
 
 And now farewell, dear editor, 
 
 For I have other patrons ; 
 And of my call this slight mishap 
 
 rU try to keep from rumor; 
 And likely visit you again, 
 
 When you're in better humor. 
 
 Farewell, thou croupier of destiny. 
 And oh ! as down the path of life you go. 
 From one hand scattering fair immortal fame. 
 And from the other pestilential germs, 
 That kill young aspiration in the bud ; 
 If e'er to surly pride you should incline, 
 Or vanity of power, remember this: 
 The cue of the learned sect that you adorn. 
 From history's dawn till now, hath been and is, 
 To heap your praise on some oblivion's bird, 
 At the expense of such as Racine. — Farewell ! 
 
THE SHEPHERD'S REQUEST. 
 
 On his meridian burned the golden sun, 
 And far and wide his shimmering beams out-f king ; 
 Which from the level meads the shepherds drove, 
 To seek the bosky dell and shady grove ; 
 Where on the wild-flowers still the dew drops stay, 
 And fresh and sweet the cooling breezes play. 
 
 And there were two, apart from all the rest, 
 Who e'en in youth and kindred minds confessed; 
 Nor had they changed, for still their fleecy care 
 Together grazed along the meadows fair. 
 Now, 'neath the self-same yew-tree's shade they 
 
 steal. 
 At noontide hour to eat their mid-day meal ; 
 The meal being done, they seek a cool retreat, 
 And deck the idle hour with converse sweet. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 How is it with your sweet love these fair days ? 
 
 Methinks, I do not hear you sound her praise 
 
 As once you did. Can there be aught amiss 
 
 That you are now so silent upon this, 
 
 316 
 
THE SHEPHERD'S REQUEST 317 
 
 The theme wherein you late were wont to pour 
 The highest praises, uttered o'er and o'er ? 
 
 Daphnis. 
 
 ril tell thee, friend : Too true it is, alas, 
 1 have not prospered as I well could wish; 
 Nor can I find the cause, whether she deem 
 My heart's sincerity is but a dream. 
 Or lingering memory of some former friend, 
 Defend the fortress that my thoughts would tvin, 
 I cannot tell; but sure it is that I 
 Advance but slowly, where I fain would fly. 
 And so, my friend, if still you would prove true, 
 I will in this a boon desire of you. 
 I'll ask you in her praise some verse to write, 
 Which to her listening ears I will recite. 
 Oh, who could ever the result foresee 
 When love invokes the aid of poetry ! 
 
 Damon. 
 
 Why not yourself? 
 
 Daphnis. 
 
 I can, at need be, will, 
 But in this matter you have greater skill. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 Why, then, I'll not deny the boon you ask, 
 But set myself at once unto the task. 
 But hold ! what error halts us on the brink ? 
 Should I write now? For surely, as I think, 
 I have not yet observed your lady's face, 
 
318 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 How could I then its lovely picture trace 
 
 In hues of woven verse ? So now begin, and shew 
 
 How, through love's medium, she appears to you. 
 
 Daphnis. 
 
 Oh now you set me a delightful task, 
 When you of her a living picture ask ! 
 But could you tear my hindering breast apart, 
 And see the face engraven on my heart, 
 You would not then need ask me to describe 
 A face which e'en an angel well might bribe, 
 To leave his starry station in the sky, 
 The world to try, to struggle, suffer, die. 
 
 Imprimis, then : She is not very tall, 
 Just reaches tO' my heart, but over all 
 Her pretty actions such a grace doth play 
 That added stature were but in the way. 
 Her hair, an auburn steeped in deeper dye, 
 On her fair head in woven braids doth lie, 
 And lustrous coils, which doth fairest show 
 Just where it curls around her neck of snow^ 
 Her glorious eyes they mock the heaven's blue, 
 So deep, pathetic, tender, speaking, true ; 
 And that when she is serious, when she smiles 
 They dance and play like elvish lights beguiled. 
 Her dainty cheeks the tints of twilight own ; 
 Her nose is carved like ancient classic stone. 
 A perfect mouth, of fair words never drained. 
 Two rose-hued lips, in love's sweet honey stained; 
 Between which, when she speaks or smiles, is seen 
 The polished ivory's glinting, dancing sheen. 
 Her snow-white arms are softer than the fleece 
 
THE SHEPHERD'S REQUTST 319 
 
 From cossets shorn; what then, to judge from this, 
 Must be her darling bosom, seat of bliss ! 
 
 And in the small pink hollow of her hand 
 There lies my fate, my destiny ; oh friend. 
 There lies of earthly joy my only hope, 
 My spirits, this lost, in thickest darkness grope. 
 
 And now, my friend, I have described the one 
 That holds my soul in thrall. But by yon Sun, 
 I would not seek her peerless charms at all 
 Without the soul that moves and breathes through 
 
 all. 
 And oh, my friend, to me she is more dear 
 Than is the North Star to the mariner. 
 It warms my heart to mention but her name, 
 And sends light sunshine dancing through my veins. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 And in this case you would invoke my pen, 
 To write the praises of so sweet a friend? 
 'Twere but superfluous, a labor vain 
 As his who lashed the billows of the main. 
 What you have said, if properly unfurled, 
 Would win the coyest lady in the world. 
 
 Daphnis. 
 But in her presence there I still am dumb. 
 
 Damon. 
 No; love lends eloquence to every tongue. 
 
 Daphnis. 
 Not so with me, when her sweet face I see 
 
320 TALES FROM A BOY'S FANCY 
 
 Deep-mazed I stand in mute perplexity ; 
 
 My voice grows dumb, my very thoughts grow 
 
 weak 
 My passion smothers me, I cannot speak. 
 But with the praises of a friend, I know 
 I then could speak, and should not find it so. 
 So, Damon, do your best. 
 
 Damon. 
 
 No, ril not aid. 
 
 Daphnis. 
 
 Do not deny me ! make the effort ! try ! 
 
 i Damon. 
 
 You lack but courage; that I can't supply.