--NRLF 
 
THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 HANS BRINKER; or, The Silver Skates. 
 
 A Story of Life in Holland. By MARY MAPES DODGB. One vol., 
 i2mo, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 THE SAME. New and Superbly Illustrated Edition. 
 One vol., i2mo, cloth, with profuse illustrations, $3.00. 
 
 RHYMES AND JINGLES. 
 
 By MARY MAPES DODGE, Author of "Hans Brinker." One vol., 
 small 410, cloth, with profuse illustrations, $3 .00. 
 
 THE SAME. New and Cheaper Edition. 
 One vol., i2mo, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 *** Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by the Publishers^ 
 
 SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, & CO,, 
 
 743-745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
Theophilus and Others 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY MAPES DODGE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "HANS BRINKER; OR, THE SILVER SKATES," 
 "RHYMES AND JINGLES," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY 
 
 1876 
 
COPYRIGHT. 
 
 MARY MAPES DODGE. 
 1876. 
 
 Stereotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, &> Co., Boston. 
 
TO 
 
 L. G. R. 
 
 M184149 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THESE tales and talks, most of which have appeared 
 in various periodicals, are now, at the urgent solicitation 
 of friends, &c., &c., &c. 
 
 Their preparation has enlivened hours of, &c., &c., &c. 
 
 If this little volume shall, &c., &c. 
 
 In conclusion, the author begs, &c., &c., &c. 
 
 M. M. D. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 DOBBS S HORSE i 
 
 PHILLY AND THE REST 51 
 
 OUR AGGY 64 
 
 INSANITY OF CAIN 95 
 
 SHODDY 107 
 
 MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY 141 
 
 WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO 158 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL 169 
 
 SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE 185 
 
 Miss MALONY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION .... 194 
 
 OUR DEBATING SOCIETY SKELETON 201 
 
 SUNSHINE 207 
 
 MIGRATORY HUSBANDS 213 
 
 UP WITH THE TIMES 216 
 
 MARCH. WHAT IT HAS DONE FOR us 221 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF THE BODY 236 
 
 WOMAN S DRIVING 240 
 
 UNITED AGES 243 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 
 
 JIVE years ago, Theophilus and I prepared to 
 realize the dream of our married life. We 
 bought a cottage in the country. This great 
 event really sprang from a tiny speck of ivory that had 
 made more stir in coming into this world than the most 
 enormous tusk ever thrust by elephant into an Indian 
 jungle. I need not add that it was our Philly s first 
 tooth. 
 
 Philly, christened Theophilus after his father, stood 
 third on our family record. Being the first male item, he 
 was invested with peculiar interest Indeed, to our dis 
 cerning eyes, he at once evinced traits which lifted him 
 far above all other babies in the created world. And 
 now the dear little fellow was teething. 
 
 Julie and Nelly had in turn wrestled with a similar 
 experience ; but they were only girls. They were not 
 even silent partners in the prospective BROWN & SON, the 
 very thought of which firm had made Theophilus look 
 foolish, and strut about the house, before Philly was a 
 week old. It was only when our parental career entered 
 
2 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 its third denticurate, that we doubted the force of that 
 modern emendation, 
 
 " How sharper than a thankless serpent, tis 
 To have a toothless child ! " 
 
 What wonder that, as Philly, growing paler and weaker 
 every day, kicked and screamed his protest against the 
 existing order of things, Theophilus became less pompous 
 concerning him ; and finally bowed his head meekly at my 
 announcing one morning at breakfast, that "something 
 must be done at once." Every truly wedded man knows 
 very well what " something must be done " means when 
 his wife says it. It means penetration. It means com 
 pliance. It means that all the hints lately sown on his 
 unsuspecting mind are expected to burst suddenly into 
 full flower. Therefore, when Theophilus heard me say 
 that something must be done, he at once responded, 
 
 " Well, my dear, I suppose we shall have to try country 
 air : the child certainly is failing." 
 
 The point was gained. My hints had bloomed. But 
 this was only a bud, and I wanted the full-blown flower. 
 So I remarked with the air of a woman who had other 
 things to think of that he was right ; the baby was 
 failing ; and, as far as my experience went, I thought that 
 a country hotel or boarding-house would soon finish him. 
 
 " Then what is to be done ? " cried Theophilus, thor 
 oughly alarmed, and in a highly receptive condition. 
 
 Lifting the lid of the coffee-pot, and peering into it 
 with intense interest, I remarked abstractedly, that when 
 people wished to go to the country, and had objections 
 to boarding, they generally hired a cottage or something 
 of that kind. 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 3 
 
 Now, one need not have gone through Euclid, nor 
 studied Whately, to know that this pretty breakfast scene 
 finally resolved itself into a snug little country-box. To 
 be candid, Theophilus, considering our city expenses, was 
 not in a position to purchase just such a place as we 
 wanted. Our " box " was not all that could be desired : 
 still it was in the country ; and imagination festooned its 
 porch with coming vines, and rejoiced in the proposed 
 lawn where our little ones should roll " like tumbled 
 fruit." The advertisement which had attracted us toward 
 the place, described it as being well stocked with trees of 
 every description. In fact, we purchased it mainly on the 
 representations of this same advertisement. Theophilus 
 had time to pay it only a flying visit after business hours ; 
 and, as the owner declared that no less than " six other 
 gentlemen " were eager to pounce upon the prize, we 
 really did not dare to deliberate. 
 
 Accordingly, Theoph hired a man-of-all-work, and, be 
 fore despatching him to the scene of action, gave him a 
 written list of orders, foremost among which were special 
 instructions concerning the aforesaid vines and lawn. 
 There was to be a fine vegetable-patch in the rear ; and, 
 as well as I could make out from Theoph s chart, the 
 space between lawn and kitchen-garden was to be filled 
 with roses, honeysuckles, shrubs of all kinds, and showy 
 annuals of every hue imaginable. 
 
 " Aren t you afraid, Theoph, dear," I suggested, " you 
 will have rather too much ? I like the idea of all this 
 luxuriance ; but we must avoid confusion of effect, you 
 know. Beside, it appears to me, you have left scarcely 
 room for us to walk about among the flowers." 
 
4 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " Better to have too much than too little, Emma. It 
 will be very easy to thin out after we are settled, if we 
 find the garden overcrowded. As we have named the 
 place Flowery Grove, it strikes me we can hardly have 
 too many flowers." 
 
 " That s true, Theoph : how delightful it will be ! We ll 
 sit out under the vines when you come up from town in 
 the afternoon (so different from that bleak piazza at 
 Stamford ) ; and, while the children are rolling and chas 
 ing each other about the lawn, we can read and talk to 
 our hearts content. Oh, it will be grand ! " 
 
 Theoph kissed me, and said in his cheerful way that the 
 very prospect made me look bright and rosy again ; but 
 he shook his head gravely when he heard Philly s feeble 
 cry, and asked why in the world we couldn t go there at 
 once. The gardener s wife must have the cottage all 
 cleaned by this time, he said ; and I had nothing to do 
 but to go. 
 
 With the moths already flying about, it was trying to a 
 woman with five Brussels carpets and all the parlor cur 
 tains and furniture on her mind, to say nothing of the 
 summer s shopping, to hear the grand business of mov 
 ing into the country for a summer spoken of so cavalierly ; 
 but I conquered the outraged spirit within, and even 
 entered into an amicable consultation with Theophilus 
 concerning the amount of furniture required for our five- 
 room cottage. 
 
 His counsel was invaluable. Better to take up almost 
 nothing in the furniture line, he said. We needed only 
 to fit out a comfortable sitting-room, something a little 
 tasteful, you know ; four or five bedrooms for the tamily ; 
 
DOBBS ^S HORSE. 5 
 
 a dining-room of some sort ; and oh yes ! a spare 
 room by all means, for he meant to have Dobbs up there 
 half the time ; and, above all, plenty of kitchen equip 
 ments, for if there was any thing in the world he did hate, 
 it was a half-way dinner. 
 
 Striving to look as much like St. Cecilia as possible, 
 and yet retain an impressive cast of countenance, I ven 
 tured to suggest, at this point, that there were but four 
 rooms in the house besides the kitchen. 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed Theophilus, staring innocently. 
 
 " I have counted them, my dear," I replied, with con 
 centrated quietness of tone. 
 
 "You ve counted them wrong, then, my love." 
 
 " Now, Theoph, do be reasonable. There s the large 
 sitting-room on the first floor : you surely don t call the 
 crockery-closet between it and the kitchen a room?" 
 
 " No," said Theophilus meekly, at the same time hold 
 ing up the first finger of his left hand to represent the sit 
 ting-room. 
 
 " Then, on the second floor there s the small bedroom 
 for Ellen, over the hall." 
 
 Up went another finger. 
 
 " Well, the little room makes two ; then there s the large 
 front one, where the ceiling was bro " 
 
 " By George ! " cried Theoph, dropping his patent tally 
 in a twinkling, " there s Dobbs ! " 
 
 Alas ! Dobbs was indeed crossing the street. 
 
 My husband was soon in the hall, holding the front door 
 wide open. 
 
 " Hallo ! old fellow, how are you ? " cried a hearty 
 voice. 
 
6 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " All right, thank you. Walk in, walk in." 
 
 Then there was a slight shuffling of boots on the oil 
 cloth ; and in the next instant I heard the parlor blinds 
 thrust violently open. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " laughed Mr. Dobbs ; " that is something 
 like. Now one can see out. Why in the world, Brown, 
 do all you married men keep your parlors so dark ? " 
 
 Whatever Theoph s reply may have been, it is to this 
 day locked in the bosom of Mr. Dobbs, for I couldn t hear 
 it. The question made a deep impression upon me, how 
 ever ; and after that I took care to have the parlors rather 
 lighter than formerly. 
 
 Why Mr. Dobbs should have been so fond of Mr. 
 Brown, and why Mr. Brown so doted on Mr. Dobbs, are 
 questions that I never expect to solve while in the flesh. 
 To spiritual ken the mystery may be revealed clear as day. 
 So I must be patient, and content myself by remarking 
 that, in all the annals of masculine friendship, I have 
 never met with so remarkable a case. 
 
 Mr. Dobbs was good enough in his way, but no more 
 like Theoph than I to Hercules. In the first place, he 
 was one of the restless sort, or, as he forcibly expressed 
 it, " always on the go." He was a superb gymnast too : 
 Theoph never moved a muscle unnecessarily, and looked 
 forward to a heaven of perfect rest. Theoph liked style 
 and elegance : Mr. Dobbs despised both. Mr. Dobbs was 
 soothing and conciliatory : Theophilus was an inveterate 
 tease. Mr. Dobbs evinced a peculiar distaste for children : 
 Theoph had doted on them since his own toddlehood. 
 Mr. Dobbs was never unconquerable : Theoph s stubborn 
 ness, when fairly aroused, amounted to inspiration. The- 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 7 
 
 ophilus was extremely fond of music : Mr. Dobbs wished 
 that the heavenly maid had died young. Dobbs delighted 
 to shock one with his moral and social heterodoxy : Theoph 
 was a model of propriety. Theoph was fastidious, too, in 
 his personal habits : Dobbs was careless to a fault. Theoph 
 revelled in the choicest literature : Mr. Dobbs never read 
 a line if he could avoid it. 
 
 Yet, I repeat, these two men clung to each other with a 
 love marvellous to behold. The friendship of Damon 
 and Pythias was as nothing compared to it ; for the two 
 Syracusans were willing only to die for each other ; and 
 these were willing to live in friendship in spite of differ 
 ences of opinion and taste. 
 
 Therefore, when Theophilus discovered that there would 
 be no spare room for his dear Dobbs, he stood transfixed 
 with dismay and a sense of desolation. But Dobbs, noth 
 ing discouraged, assured him it was a matter of no conse 
 quence at all: he could be stowed away anywhere, in 
 the barn, under a hen-coop, on the kitchen-dresser, for that 
 matter. 
 
 "But," exclaimed my spouse, forgetting proprieties in 
 his despair, " there isn t any dresser, hang it ! " 
 
 "Well," rejoined Dobbs soothingly, "there ll be a sofa 
 or a table ; or we ll swing a hammock somewhere : never 
 fear, man." 
 
 Just then Nelly, our bright-eyed little three-year-old, ran 
 into the room. 
 
 Mr. Dobbs felt, that, as a friend of the family, he must 
 notice her. 
 
 " Come here, sis ; " and two fingers beckoned her 
 mechanically. 
 
8 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Nelly drew back. A child can always detect the taint 
 of Herod, cover it as one may. 
 
 It was all the same to Mr. Dobbs: he had done his 
 duty. Still, for friendship s sake, he would add one more 
 touch ; so he resumed, looking sympathetically first at us, 
 and then at the ruddy little creature, 
 
 " Ah, yes ! teething, I think you said. Yes : she looks 
 badly " 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Theophilus. "That s not the 
 baby." Dobbs fell back in a mock swoon. I was too 
 indignant to make any comment. Theophilus, I am sure, 
 would have been disgusted with such stupidity in any other 
 man ; but it was only irresistibly funny and fascinating in 
 Dobbs. 
 
 The gentleman redeemed himself, however, before the 
 evening was over, by covering the chandeliers for me. 
 Theophilus would as soon have thought of offering to 
 wrap up the moon. I saw him wince, though, when his 
 Damon, taking off his coat, carelessly tossed it on the 
 piano, before proceeding to business. 
 
 We were in our country-box at last; and, before we 
 were fairly settled, Philly began to show decided signs 
 of improvement. That was the main thing, of course. 
 But how shall I describe the sense of disappointment 
 with which we gradually awoke to the conviction that our 
 imagination had been far more fertile than our land ? that 
 the vines and flowers which had sprung up so profusely 
 there were of exceeding slow growth in actual soil ? The 
 "trees of every description" were so young and tender 
 that they were visible only from particular points of view. 
 
DOBIJS S HORSE. 9 
 
 Bare was our porch in June ; and, but for a neighbor s 
 hint, bare it would have remained. Our gardener s vine 
 was one of the " slow and sure " kind, warranted to cover 
 the lattice in five years ; whereas Theoph and I were 
 hardly willing to wait as many days. 
 
 The hint proved cheering, however ; for, with our neigh 
 bor s assistance, we planted morning-glory seed on one 
 side of the porch, and Madeira roots on the other ; and, 
 1 am happy to say, Theoph and I did sit under the shadow 
 of its vines before the summer was over that is, when 
 the mosquitoes allowed us the privilege. 
 
 As for the velvety lawn, if a wide expanse bearing six 
 stones to each blade of grass constitutes a lawn, we had 
 one with a vengeance. The flower-garden also fell short 
 of our anticipations, certainly as far as luxuriance was 
 concerned. Most of the " showy annuals " were like their 
 modest sisters alluded to by Gray: they " blushed unseen," 
 if they ever blushed at all ; for we never saw any thing 
 but their tombstones, or rather the labels which, at the 
 time of planting, Mike had carefully erected over the 
 grave of each particular variety. 
 
 The kitchen-garden was more promising ; and that was 
 some consolation, after all. For what, as our neighbor Miss 
 Kimso observed, are so delightful as pure, sweet, country 
 vegetables, fresh from " your own vines and fig-trees ? " 
 It was a peculiarity of Miss Kimso, be it known, never on 
 any account to use a quotation correctly, though she was 
 overflowing with them at all hours, and upon all occasions. 
 They invariably came either in the wrong place or in 
 the wrong way. 
 
 Blithe and agile, apparently nearing her fortieth sum- 
 
 2* 
 
10 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 mer, with light curls falling, " in a spring-like way," on 
 either side of a face over which Time had tenderly drawn 
 his finger, pressing hardest round the mouth and eyes, she 
 diffused an electric influence that had light rather than 
 life in it. Her short, quick footfall impressed one with 
 a sense of the instability of things generally. If there 
 were strength anywhere, it was in her eye ; but it was the 
 strength of banded sentiments rather than of thought, 
 of kindliness rather than of sacrifice. That a warm heart 
 was fluttering somewhere in her wisp-like little body, we 
 soon had ample proof. From the evening of our arrival, 
 when she ran over with a kettle of hot tea and a dish of 
 buttered biscuit, saying, by way of apology, that she was a 
 stranger, but " were we not all men and brothers ? " we 
 felt that we should like her, whatever might be her pecu 
 liarities. 
 
 We soon discovered that she lived alone with a colored 
 servant in her little cottage near by ; but we did not know 
 for some time of the shadow that in .early life had fallen 
 upon her, and that was now only temporarily lifted. 
 
 After a while we began to feel quite comfortable in our 
 new abode. The servants ceased to complain that the 
 place was " so dreary-like." As for the children, they were 
 in Elysium, and revelled and romped from morning till 
 night. Here and there a flower bloomed on some solitary 
 spike ; and a faint greenish hue broke out in spots over our 
 lawn. Our one surviving pear-tree was an unfailing source 
 of expectant admiration ; and Miss Kimso s cow, with a 
 tinkling bell swinging from its neck, served to give a rustic 
 charm to the scene. Besides, the birds exerted themselves 
 when they found we were not dull-eared country-folk ; and 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. II 
 
 crickets and katydids gave a pulse to the very air we 
 breathed. Theoph found comfort in the dozens of books 
 which he had smuggled among the baggage, though the 
 children s muddy shoes and their freckled little noses dis 
 tressed him exceedingly. 
 
 The crowning joy of all, however, was our horse and 
 rockaway. Theophilus and I had held many a consulta 
 tion before we decided upon this piece, or rather these 
 pieces, of extravagance. But there was a snug little barn 
 on the premises, and Philly needed the rides so much, and, 
 in short, we wished it ; and when did any one ever cultivate 
 a wish without producing a plentiful crop of good reasons 
 in its favor ? 
 
 I may inform the trusty reader that our rockaway was 
 second-hand ; as good as new, however, or even better, if 
 the representations of Messrs. Jacobs & Co., carriage deal 
 ers, could be relied upon. The horse was represented to 
 be a rare combination of physical perfection and all the 
 cardinal virtues. Certainly a prettier, more graceful ani 
 mal, never trod in harness. His ways, too, were so grand ! 
 He would paw the earth with impatient hoof, and curve his 
 neck, as though he felt the blood of old Bucephalus cours 
 ing in his veins. The daintiness of his appetite was 
 charming ; and for a while our great pastime, whenever he 
 was brought to the door, was to pull up spears of grass for 
 him, and put lumps of sugar, one by one, into his lordly 
 mouth. I used often to lay my cheek against his warm 
 neck, and fancy myself Di Vernon, until one day Mike 
 startled me with, 
 
 " Have a care, or he ll be steppin on yer foot, mum ! 
 He was near takin the toes off meself this mormn ." 
 
12 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 I sprang back, knocking Julie and Nelly over in the 
 act. 
 
 " Why, Mike, you don t mean to say that there s any 
 thing vicious about him, do you ? " 
 
 " Well, indade, mum, perraps he s not afther knowin 
 that your fate s any tinderer thin his own is," he answered, 
 adjusting the harness as he spoke ; " and the flies has him 
 oneasy like. Would ye be wantin me to drive, mum, or 
 is the gentleman intendin to go ? " 
 
 " I shall drive," answered Theophilus, stepping from the 
 porch. 
 
 When we were all in, two on the front seat, and two 
 on the back, Mike retreated a few steps, and, without 
 raising his eyes, said, 
 
 " Would ye be stoppin at the village, sir ? " 
 " Yes," replied Theoph, tightening the reins. " Why ? " 
 "There s hay a-wantin, sir, if ye d plaze spake till them 
 about it down to the bridge." 
 
 Theoph nodded, and off we started. The horse went 
 beautifully, and his driver was in high spirits. 
 
 " There s a stride for you ! " he exclaimed, after a 
 moment s silence. " Free as air ; isn t it ? " 
 
 If Theophilus has one weakness greater than another, it 
 is for fine horses. 
 
 After we had stopped at the village post-office, attended 
 to a little marketing, and left an order for the hay, Theoph 
 turned the horse s head homeward. 
 
 " I say, Em, this is a glorious animal ! I can sell him 
 in the fall for double his cost. Why in the world Jacobs 
 let me have him for a hundred and fifty, I cannot con 
 ceive." 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 13 
 
 " He belonged to Jacobs s brother, you remember, who 
 was going unexpectedly to California," I said. 
 
 "Yes," returned Theoph ; "but Jacobs was probably 
 ignorant of his worth. He said he knew nothing at all 
 about horse-flesh. He s descended from the famous Black 
 Prince, you know." 
 
 " Who ? Jacobs ? " I asked, in astonishment. 
 
 " No : the horse. It strikes me, Emma," continued 
 Theophilus between his teeth, "you re inclined to be 
 rather facetious this morning." 
 
 " Oh, not at all, darling ! go on. I love to hear you talk 
 about the beautiful creature." 
 
 "Who? Jacobs?" 
 
 Of course I pouted now. Theoph would have been 
 quite restored to good humor by his own joke, had not the 
 horse s tail become heavily entangled in the lines at this 
 moment. 
 
 " That rascally Mike has forgotten the fly-net again ! 
 The fellow is too careless for any thing ! " 
 
 " It is provoking," I assented amiably ; " especially as I 
 called to him, while he was harnessing the horse, not to 
 forget it." 
 
 " By the way, Em," said Theophilus, freeing the lines 
 with a skilful flourish, " I heard you calling from the win 
 dow, Mi-eke, Mi-eke ! and do you know, dear, it jarred 
 me. If the man had any other name, I should not mind 
 it ; but Mike is so horribly plebeian ! Mike here, Mike 
 there : it really sounds badly, indeed it does, and has an 
 unhappy effect upon the children. This nicknaming of 
 servants is terrible." 
 
 " Very well," said I meekly : " we can call him Michael, 
 if you prefer it." a 
 
14 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " That is not much better," persisted Theoph. " Call him 
 by his surname : that s the only way, O Brian, or Riley, 
 or whatever it may be. Everybody does so nowadays." 
 
 So when we drove up to the front-door, and our master 
 of horse duly presented himself, Theoph accosted him 
 abruptly with, 
 
 " Here, fellow, what is your last name ? " 
 
 " Me last name, sir," stammered the man in great as 
 tonishment, " I never had but the one, sir." 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " 
 
 " It s Mike, it is, yer honor." 
 
 " Mike what?" roared Theophilus. 
 
 "Och! I ax yer pardon, sir, Mike Deerey. It s 
 yerself writ it in yer buk the day I was afther comin to ye, 
 sir." 
 
 " It will sound beautifully, Theoph, won t it ? " said I 
 wickedly, as we entered the cottage together. " I can say, 
 * Bring the horse to the door at five, Deerey. Don t for 
 get the fly-net, Deerey. Nothing could be more aristo 
 cratic." 
 
 Theoph tried to laugh good-naturedly; but I know it 
 was something besides our Deerey s carelessness that 
 caused him to be discharged about a week afterward. 
 
 One bright morning in June, it occurred to me that 
 there could not be the slightest possible harm in taking 
 the nurse and children to the village myself. The rocka- 
 way was in perfect order ; and Prince was so gentle, that, 
 as Jacobs had said, a baby could manage him. Besides, 
 Miss Kimso would be delighted to accompany me: she 
 declared that she wasn t at all afraid of horses, and would 
 gladly "hold the noble Rosinante " while I was in the store. 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 1 5 
 
 Accordingly our party was soon ready to start. Miss 
 Kimso and I were on the front seat ; and Ellen the nurse, 
 Philly, and the two little girls, were compactly stowed 
 away in the rear. 
 
 It was a lovely day ; and we enjoyed our ride to the 
 utmost. Philly actually crowed with delight; and his 
 sisters, when they ceased complaining that they were " so 
 cwowded," laughed and sang with glee. 
 
 A pleasant letter from my dear friend Mary C was 
 
 handed me at the village post-office ; our purchases were 
 made, and we were turning out of the village ; when sud 
 denly an unusual sound in that region broke upon us, the 
 sound of a brass band in the distance, playing that inspirit 
 ing air, "The Campbells are coming." It proceeded from 
 a showy-looking wagon that was moving slowly toward us. 
 The effect was really charming. Nelly cried, "So-jers, 
 so-jers ! " and but for the nurse would have sprung from the 
 rockaway in her excitement. I chirruped to Prince, and 
 gave myself up to the pleasure of the moment. 
 
 The notes grew more distinct. Flags were waved mer 
 rily from the approaching wagon, and Master Prince stood 
 stock-still, and pricked up his ears. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Miss Kimso, rolling up her eyes, " Music 
 hath charms to soothe the savage beast : let him listen." 
 
 Prince did listen ; and, listening, he concluded to accom 
 pany the music with a merry dance. He pranced, he 
 ambled, he chasse ed ; and finally he stood on his hind legs, 
 and bowed to an imaginary partner before commencing 
 the grand galopade. 
 
 Ellen and the children screamed, Miss Kimso with a 
 shriek clutched at the reins, and I instantly recalled every 
 cross word I had ever said to Theophilus. 
 
16 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 In a moment two men had the descendant of the Black 
 Prince by the head, and were speaking soothingly to him. 
 
 "Whoa, boy! whoa, boy!" 
 
 His royal highness, after a few more flourishes and fan 
 tastic turns, subsided into a pafhetic tremble. 
 
 " Jim," said one of the men in a low tone, " there s one 
 of them blasted circuses a-comin : you d best drive the 
 ladies home. It s Miss Brown, you know, the Yorkers 
 that bought Weeks s cottage. Couldn t that young woman 
 there on the back seat walk home ? " he continued, looking 
 toward Ellen, and raising his voice. " It ain t more n a 
 mile an a alf." 
 
 "It s two" muttered the other man : "it s a good two." 
 
 Ellen was glad enough to get out. 
 
 " An will I carry the child, mum ? " she asked, compos 
 ing her skirts with one hand while supporting Philly, pro 
 fessionally, with the other. 
 
 " Oh no, he s too heavy ! " cried Miss Kimso, jumping 
 nimbly over to the back seat. " Here, hand him to me, 
 the sweet, budding innocent. I ll take good care of him." 
 
 Jim sprang in beside me, and drove off cautiously amidst 
 a shower of " Thank yous " from Miss Kimso and myself. 
 
 Just before we came to a bend in the road, Master 
 Prince began to prick up his ears again. Jim gave me 
 the reins in a twinkling. " Good land ! " he exclaimed, 
 jumping out, and seizing the animal by the head, " he 
 smells somethin a-comin , depend on it ! " 
 
 Indeed he did, two great elephants, and a party of 
 horsemen. We could see them distinctly now. 
 
 " Keep yer seats, ladies : there ain t no danger ! " 
 panted Jim, as the horse s head gave his arm some pretty 
 vigorous jerks. " There, whoa, boy ! whoa, whoa ! " 
 
DOBBS ^S HORSE. I/ 
 
 Strange to say, Prince faced the elephant more bravely 
 than he did the music. He twitched and trembled all 
 over at first, and seemed ready to drop with fear ; but the 
 man s voice and touch gradually re-assured him. 
 
 It was an old elephant and her young one. What won 
 der that a poor little horse should quiver and start beside 
 that mighty bulk and ponderous tread ? 
 
 The young elephant stalked closely beside its mother, 
 and by the senseless flourishes of its trunk, and the 
 twitches of its stumpy little tail, betrayed a youthful spirit 
 that time and worldly cares had quite subdued in the parent. 
 
 " O mamma ! " cried Julie, as soon as her astonishment 
 would allow her to speak, " O mamma, do look ! see 
 the dear little baby elephant ! Isn t he too cunnin ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear, very," I responded abstractedly, looking 
 anxiously at Prince, who was about one-third of the dear 
 little creature s size. 
 
 We reached home without any further mishap. The- 
 ophilus and Mr. Dobbs who had come up by an early train, 
 stood by the gate to welcome us. 
 
 Theoph gave one of his queer looks, as he spied the 
 coatless youth beside me ; but Dobbs took in the thing at 
 a glance : 
 
 " Aha ! Horse has been a little fractious, hey ? " 
 
 Then you should have heard Theoph ! 
 
 Text : Woman s driving. 
 
 The next day, after dinner, my husband blandly proposed 
 a drive. " Will you go, Em ? " said he. 
 
 " Not to-day, dear, thank you. I have lost my confi 
 dence in Prince somewhat." 
 
 2* 
 
1 8 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " Nonsense, Em ! I d like to see the horse I can t 
 manage. Besides, one doesn t meet elephants in this 
 latitude every day. Put on your things, love : we ll drive 
 to Llewellyn Park." 
 
 Llewellyn Park was always a conquering temptation with 
 me. While putting on my bonnet, I saw our new man 
 Kelly drive Prince to the door. The beautiful creature 
 looked so gentle, and pawed the ground so reflectively, 
 that my foolish fears were gone in an instant. I called 
 out of the window to my spouse, 
 
 " Shall we take Philly, dear ? " 
 
 "Certainly, by all means," he replied, "if the little 
 dumpling is not too heavy for you." 
 
 "I ll hold her," called up Mr. Dobbs, looking utterly 
 wretched in an instant. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " laughed Theoph. " Let the nurse come 
 also, Em. There is plenty of room." Then I heard 
 him say in a severe undertone to his friend, 
 
 " How often must I tell you, Dobbs, that the baby is a 
 boy? Theophilus Brown, junior: now don t forget it 
 again." 
 
 " Beg his pardon, really; but you see the name Philly 
 misled me. I thought it was Phillis. The rest of the 
 children are all girls ; ain t they, Brown ? " he asked, in a 
 tone of deep interest. 
 
 We were off at last. Prince, thoroughly penitent, never 
 went better. If any thing, he showed scarcely enough 
 spirit : still he was superb, and Theoph and I were very 
 proud of him, especially as people in the neighborhood 
 began by this time to know who we were. 
 
 "He s a free goer," said Mr. Dobbs, regarding him 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 19 
 
 critically. " Hallo ! he doesn t interfere a little in the 
 hind legs, does he ? " 
 
 "Of course not," rejoined Theoph scornfully. "Why, 
 look at him, man ! There s not a sounder set of legs any 
 where. Did you notice his breadth of chest ? " 
 
 " No ; but I see he s uncommon high in the flanks. 
 He d make a racer, Brown, that horse would ! " 
 
 Theoph grew radiant. 
 
 " Give him the reins, Brown. George ! what a neck he 
 has ! He s kind, too, depend upon it. Not one animal 
 in a hundred but would have run like all creation, coming 
 suddenly upon an elephant in that way." 
 
 " Certainly," assented Theoph, growing ecstatic: " I don t 
 want any better test than that. You could walk him up 
 to a whole menagerie, sir ! " 
 
 Just then we heard a shout, and a muddy white pig came 
 dashing through a farm-gate. 
 
 I have a vague remembrance of clutching wildly for the 
 baby, of seeing Dobbs high up in the air, of my cheek 
 being dragged against the gravel, and of scrambling to my 
 feet just in time to see Prince dashing off madly in the 
 distance with our rockaway, minus top and passengers. 
 
 What bundle was that lying heavily on the bushes be 
 side the road ? Theoph was picking it up. It was Philly. 
 Paralyzed at the sight, I managed to gasp out, " O The 
 oph ! is he dead ? " 
 
 " No, all right ! " he shouted, clasping the terrified little 
 creature to his heart. "There s not a scratch on him, 
 thanks to those good bushes ! " 
 
 " Hallo, Brown ! " exclaimed a dusty figure sitting in the 
 middle of the road ; " allow an old sinner to correct you. 
 I d give a little credit to Providence, if I were you." 
 
20 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 "Dobbs, my dear fellow, you all safe too? Yes, in 
 deed, we have reason to thank Providence ! " he exclaimed 
 fervently. 
 
 " For which, the escape or the accident ? " asked the 
 incorrigible Dobbs, getting up slowly, and knocking the 
 dust from his clothes. 
 
 "For both," returned Theoph solemnly. "Good gra 
 cious, Emma, look at your cheek ! " 
 
 I couldn t very well look at my cheek, under the circum 
 stances ; and, as I certainly-felt no sensation there, I 
 scarcely noticed his exclamation, but ran over to Ellen, the 
 nurse, who sat upon the grass looking wildly about her. 
 
 Theophilus and Mr. Dobbs stood her upon her feet, and 
 worked her arms like pump-handles. There were cer 
 tainly no bones broken. Yet she seemed bewildered, and 
 unable to walk. 
 
 " O Theoph dear ! she is injured internally," I cried in 
 distress. " One of you must run to Orange for a doctor." 
 
 " Howly Fathers ! where am I ? " broke forth the poor 
 girl at last. 
 
 "You re all safe now, Ellen," I replied, kneeling beside 
 her, and putting my arm tenderly round her shoulder. 
 " We have been thrown from the carriage. See, here s 
 dear little Philly : don t you know him ? " 
 
 Theoph held the baby on her lap. In an instant she 
 caught him in her arms, and kissed him over and over 
 again, sobbing as if her heart would break. 
 
 " Och, me darlin , me darlin ! Is it kilt ye are ? Ah, 
 my poorty baby! Bad luk to the murtherin baste, thin ! " 
 
 We knew she was all right now. This point settled, I 
 suddenly felt a great tingling in my left cheek. Mr. 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 21 
 
 Dobbs and Theoph were talking together, I heard the 
 latter say hurriedly, 
 
 " Yes : you may try. Somebody has probably caught 
 him before this. I must stay, and attend to Em." 
 
 By this time, there were several persons around us, 
 two teamsters, a sprinkling of deeply entertained children, 
 and one fleshy lady, bearing a pitcher of water and a 
 bundle of rags, who declared it was " the most mirac lous 
 accident " she ever heard of. 
 
 The men were soon busily examining the remnants of 
 our rockaway-top, lifting broken bits of iron, wood, and 
 any amount of leather and torn-cushion arrangements. 
 
 " If it hadn t a-bin sich a rotten old thing, it would a- 
 gone harder with you," observed one of the men senten- 
 tiously to my crestfallen Theophilus. 
 
 " Yes : it must have went all to pieces at the first go," 
 remarked the other teamster reflectively. 
 
 The fat lady conducted our dilapidated party to her 
 cottage near by, and in true Oriental style gave us water, 
 and bade us wash, and be welcome. My cheek proved to 
 be badly scraped ; but Theophilus, bless his heart ! is the 
 tenderest nurse in the world, and soon made me compara 
 tively comfortable. 
 
 Our habiliments, though, were past repair. Such look 
 ing objects as we were ! My " love of a bonnet " was a 
 hopeless wreck. As for Theoph s clean linen " duster," it 
 was past redemption by either soap or needle. Ellen was 
 all excitement, and remembered the accident in its mi 
 nutest particulars. 
 
 " Och ! indade, ma am," she repeated again and again, 
 " but it was oreful. I saw the horris give one lep j and 
 
 8* 
 
22 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 thin over we wint all forninst the other ! but I never once-t 
 let go the dear child, ma am, but jist held on till him 
 through it all. If ye ll belave me, ma am, I gathered his 
 very cloak around him : so I did." 
 
 After setting our hearts all aglow with the thought that 
 God s children were good and kind to each other after all, 
 our adipose friend sent us home in her only vehicle, a 
 farm-wagon filled with clean straw. 
 
 To our astonishment, as we neared the house, we saw 
 Mr. Dobbs and the man rubbing down Prince, who, steam 
 ing and panting, stood near a cart-like looking affair that 
 proved on inspection to be the remains of our lovely, 
 " better-ash-new " rockaway. He had dashed in with it at 
 a furious rate, much to the consternation of our home 
 force. 
 
 Poor Miss Kimso, standing in her doorway, declared 
 that she had been struck motionless with terror. " I tried," 
 she said, " to ask my Phcebe to run over and find out what 
 had happened ; but the words * stuck in my throat like 
 Macbeth s dagger. Oh, what a mercy it is that you re all 
 safe ! " 
 
 A lame, aching party were we the next day. Mr. Dobbs 
 was sorely bruised, and couldn t think of going to town. 
 Theoph and Kelly took Prince back to Mr. Jacobs, and 
 entered their complaint. 
 
 All the satisfaction they could get was that " he vash 
 not a horsh-dealer it vash his brudder s horsh he know 
 notting bout him his brudder vash gone to Canadah " 
 
 " You told me California," interrupted poor Theoph. 
 
 " Veil, vat if I did ? " retorted Mr. Jacobs, in no way 
 disconcerted. " My brudder vill go to both country fore 
 
DOEBS S HORSE. 2$ 
 
 he come home. You ax me take de horsh off you hand ? 
 Vat for ? I no vant him. A horsh run vay vonce, he ish 
 no vorth zat " (snapping his ringers). 
 
 Just as Theoph, after a despairing protest, was about to 
 leave the spot in disgust, accompanied by Kelly and the 
 Prince, Jacobs called him back. 
 
 " I tell you vat I vill do ; and I can do no more. I can 
 not give you pig price for runavay horsh ; he ish not vort 
 tventy dollar. But I vill do zis. You say you carriage all 
 broke ; veil, I vill give you good coupe , most so good ash 
 new, for him : vat you say to zat, hey ? " 
 
 At first the offer was rejected with disdain ; but finally 
 my Antonio, not having his Portia there to attend to the 
 case, let it go by default. The (horse) flesh fell to Shy- 
 lock, and the coupe was sent to " Flowery Grove " by the 
 evening train. 
 
 The only excuse Theophilus gave on his return to that 
 prematurely named spot, was that he could not conscien 
 tiously sell the animal to any one else ; and he knew car 
 riage number one was past repairing. As to another 
 horse, he really did not know how in the world he could 
 spare the money to get one just then ; but he would try to 
 manage it somehow. 
 
 At this point Damon came to the rescue of his Pythias. 
 
 " Brown," he exclaimed, springing from a recumbent 
 position, and slapping Theophilus on the shoulder, " have 
 I been asleep ? Why in the world didn t I think of it 
 before ? There s just the very animal you want, over in 
 Westchester County, waiting for you to come and take 
 him." 
 
 Theoph stared hopefully, and Mr. Dobbs continued, 
 
24 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " Just the very thing, I tell you. A good, sound family 
 horse ; not young, but all the safer for that. Has been a 
 splendid-looking creature in his day ; but the people up 
 there have let him go down a little. All they care for is 
 to get the price of his board. I have had my misgivings 
 of late, that it s not exactly the right place for him. All 
 you need do is to have him brought here at once. You 
 will soon get him in high condition, and may have the full 
 use of him for his keep. There you are, my man ! Hold ! 
 I ll give him to you, though there s not another man in the 
 world that should have him." 
 
 Pythias thanked him heartily, and declared that he 
 thought, under the circumstances, it would be about the 
 best thing for both sides. 
 
 " Certainly it would, my boy ; certainly it would," said 
 Damon, tumbling back again on the sofa. "We ll have 
 him here at once." 
 
 As an interested spectator to the scene, I could not 
 help wondering why Mr. Dobbs, who evidently was not 
 burdened with a surplus of worldly treasure, should have 
 assumed the expense of keeping a horse in this way. 
 Theophilus relieved me by asking the question point- 
 blank. 
 
 Mr. Dobbs replied rather gruffly, 
 
 " He belonged to my mother," and closed his eyes with 
 pretended drowsiness. I saw his lip tremble though, 
 and from that hour have loved him in spite of his queer 
 notions. 
 
 The horse was on a farm in Westchester County, near 
 the old cottage where our friend had lived through his 
 happy childhood, and where his parents had, within a year 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 2$ 
 
 of each other, ended their days. A simple marble slab 
 in the village churchyard, bearing the inscription " Father 
 and Mother," marks their resting-place. An old woman, 
 living near the spot, has told me that she saw a tall, dark- 
 haired gentleman planting the ivy and roses there with his 
 own hands. 
 
 Great was my surprise, on the second day after our 
 upsetting, to receive a note from Theophilus, saying that 
 he would not be up that night, and that he wished Mr. 
 Dobbs, " lame or not, to come down, without fail, by the 
 first train. No cause for alarm," the letter added; it 
 was " only a business affair requiring immediate attention," 
 &c. 
 
 On the next evening Theoph came back alone. 
 
 "Well, Em," he exclaimed, while kissing all three of 
 the children at once, " Dobbs is off ! " 
 
 "Off! Where?" 
 
 "Why, he s gone. Gone to California. A splendid 
 opening for him turned up yesterday. He saw the parties 
 last night, and was off this afternoon at a few hours notice. 
 The energy of that man is prodigious ! " 
 
 " How long will he be away ? " 
 
 " Oh 1 perhaps three months, perhaps a year ; can t tell. 
 Where s Kelly ? Down in the village ? " 
 
 " Yes. Why ? " 
 
 " I shall have to send him to Westchester by the first 
 train to-morrow morning. Dobbs s horse is to be brought 
 down." 
 
 " That is good news ! " I exclaimed, quite delighted. 
 "But how did you have an opportunity to make the 
 arrangements ? " 
 3 
 
26 TPIEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " Oh ! Dobbs thinks of every thing. You never saw 
 any thing like it. Just before he started, he handed me 
 this letter, which he says will make it all right with Fowler, 
 the man who has the horse. The last thing he said, as 
 the boat was let go, was, Take care of old Charley, my 
 boy. "Love me, love my dog," you remember. And 
 then he waved his handkerchief, and was off." 
 
 It was strange to hear Theoph sigh. But we took a 
 walk around the place together ; found an isolated flower 
 or two ; counted, for the twentieth time, the four pears on 
 our tree ; watched the chickens ; looked into the stable to 
 see that all was comfortable there for the expected steed ; 
 congratulated each other upon the treasure we should 
 have in "Charley;" and by tea-time Theoph was quite 
 cheerful. 
 
 All the next day our household, Philly excepted, was in 
 a fever of expectation ; and when six o clock came (the 
 time when Kelly and the horse were expected to make 
 their appearance), the excitement was intense. Even Miss 
 Kimso ran over to witness, as she said, the arrival of 
 
 " The gallant young man on a spirited steed." 
 
 The two little girls clapped their hands, and played about 
 the lawn, in joyful anticipation ; and the cook, housemaid, 
 and Ellen were constantly running in turn to the front 
 gate, screaming, "There he comes! No, it s a wagon, 
 sure." " Faith, he s bringing two horses, mum. Oh, no, 
 it s the stage that s comin ! " At last Ellen cried out in 
 a tone of unmistakable certainty, 
 
 " An by the powers, mum, here he is ! Well, if iver 
 I saw the like ! " 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 2/ 
 
 Heralded by this announcement, Kelly (yclept " Pat " 
 by his intimates) rode in state through the grand entrance, 
 now officiously thrown open by Julie and the cook. The- 
 ophilus, who had been trying to read Motley with dignified 
 composure in the meagre shade of the pear-tree, threw 
 down his book, and came forward. 
 
 There we all stood, an eager group, every eye intent 
 upon Charles and his rider. Kelly appreciated his oppor 
 tunity, and tried for once " to witch the world with noble 
 horsemanship." Alas ! it was useless. Feeling that an 
 apology was required, he exclaimed, after jerking angrily 
 at the bridle without producing any visible effect, 
 
 "Ah, sir, divil a bit off uv a walk would he move for me 
 the day ! The crayture s bones is a most through the skin, 
 sir." 
 
 At the peroration of this startling address, he presented 
 a side-view to the assembled spectators. The effect was 
 electric. Theophilus looked tragic, Miss Kimso almost 
 fainted, Ellen and Kitty giggled, and the cook clapped 
 her hands on her knees, and laughed immoderately. 
 
 " Faith, he s a jewel, sir," said Kelly, with a grin, slid 
 ing down from the animal s back, and gaining courage 
 from the sounds around him. " Upon me sowl, sir, I m 
 thinkin it s feedin him on barrels they ve bin, if seem the 
 staves betokens any thing." 
 
 " Silence ! " commanded Theophilus. 
 
 "Will I take him yonder to the stable, sir?" asked 
 Kelly, sobered in an instant. 
 
 " Yes. Stay ! " said Theophilus, with some hesitation. 
 " Are you sure you ve made no mistake, that you ve brought 
 the right horse ? " 
 
28 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " Faith, sir," answered Kelly, brightening, " it s meself 
 axed that same, sir. But there wasn t, barrin this one, 
 another horris in it. Perraps the lether, sir, will tell yez 
 about it," he continued, as, after tugging at his pocket for 
 a minute or so, he succeeded in producing a crumpled 
 note. 
 
 "Yes, it s all right," said Theoph, after reading the 
 missive, and handing it to me with a hopeless air. 
 
 " Theoph, dear," I ventured soothingly, as soon as we 
 were alone, " we may as well take it as a joke. It s the 
 funniest thing that has ever happened to us : so why not 
 kugh at it ? " 
 
 " Humph ! " replied my spouse stiffly. " If you can see 
 any fun in our keeping that snuff -colored skeleton for the 
 rest of his days, you re very welcome. What in the world 
 Dobbs was thinking of in saddling me with that lank, long- 
 backed, high-hipped affair, I cannot conceive." 
 
 "But he had not seen him for some time," I urged, 
 knowing that the best way to get Theoph into a good 
 humor was to take his Damon s part. " He told us the 
 horse would probably be in bad condition, you know." 
 
 " Yes, so he did. Let Dobbs alone for being fair and 
 honest. Well, care and good feeding possibly may bring 
 up the old nag, after all. He said he had been a splendid 
 animal, didn t he ? " 
 
 " Certainly he did. Everybody knows what a difference 
 a little flesh makes with a horse. When once we get him 
 fattened up and well brushed, and all that sort of thing, 
 he will be a different creature ; and, after all, it s a great 
 comfort to know that he will be perfectly safe and trusty." 
 
 "Now, Em," said Theoph appealingly, and working 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 29 
 
 himself into a heat as he proceeded, "why do you say 
 that ? A poor horse is never trusty. I ve told you so a 
 dozen times ! I tell you, Em, I d rather " 
 
 " O Papa ! " cried Julie, rushing into the sitting-room 
 in great excitement, " our new horse s got most no tail at 
 all, Kelly says, only bout a dozen hairs, and " 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear, never mind what Kelly said ; go 
 and wash your face, and don t scream so about the house." 
 
 " But, Papa ! " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " One of the new horse s eyes opens just as wide as 
 any thing, and the other s most shut. Isn t that the Blind 
 Staggers ? " 
 
 "There s a skeleton in every house," says some old 
 croaker, I forget who ; and sometimes one can t help be 
 lieving that it is so. Our skeleton most emphatically was 
 old Charley. Rubbing, brushing, combing, blanketing, 
 feeding the creature, were of no avail : a skeleton he 
 remained. To be sure, when compelled to use him, we 
 managed to conceal his anatomy by means of an elaborate 
 fly-net, adding a sort of double nightcap arrangement 
 which went over his ears, and, with its dangling tassels, 
 gave a slightly animated effect. This arranged, Kelly, by 
 tightening the check-rein so as to raise the long neck to a 
 slight angle with the back, and plying the whip indus 
 triously, strove to keep up appearances while conveying 
 us to church or to the village. My lazy Theophilus was 
 forced to walk to and from the station every day, for he 
 couldn t and wouldn t drive the creature ; but Miss Kimso 
 and myself sometimes, on rare occasions, assumed that 
 3* 
 
30 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 responsibility. That this was a mortification both to the 
 flesh and to the spirit, I will not deny. But the baby 
 needed mountain air ; and Kelly, who was coachman, foot 
 man, stable-boy, gardener, and wood-cutter, all in one, 
 could not always make it convenient to accompany us. 
 
 Numerous were the trials that assailed us on these occa 
 sions. Dear blundering Miss Kimso often wished that in 
 some magic way we could substitute for him the famous 
 winged horse Parnassus, or that, " like the pauper in the 
 poem, he would at least 
 
 Rattle his bones over the stones. " 
 
 Not he. In fact, the only moments in which the idea 
 of motion could be associated with old Charley were those 
 when, by suddenly standing stock-still in the middle of 
 the road, he sent a dazed consciousness through you that 
 he must have been moving an instant before. 
 
 One beautiful breezy day, after purchasing supplies at 
 the village store, Miss Kimso and I sprang gayly into our 
 seats, sure of a pleasant drive homeward. 
 
 " Come, Charley," said I, in my cheeriest, friendliest 
 tone, as I caught up the reins. 
 
 He evidently misunderstood me ; perhaps I should have 
 said, " Go, Charley." But it was too late now. He did 
 not stir. 
 
 For a full half-hour we coaxed, commanded, wheedled, 
 and exhorted that animal, in vain. 
 
 Meantime ragged boys and idle men gathered about us. 
 
 " Give him some pepper ! " shouted one. " Build a fire 
 under him ! " screamed another ; and one and all, poking 
 and pushing, shouted, " Get up!" and "Now for it!" until 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 31 
 
 we were ready to cry from mortification. At last, by dint 
 of hard pulling and urging, with three fresh men at his 
 head and four stout fellows standing like pall- bearers at 
 the wheels, we attained that soul of the universe, motion. 
 After one ecstatic moment of speed, we crawled off, fol 
 lowed by the cheers of the crowd. 
 
 In simple justice, however, to the venerable Charles, it 
 must be stated, that balking was not a frequent practice 
 with him. As a general rule, he jogged along at a regu 
 lar gait, engrossed in brown study ; and it was only when, 
 apparently, the subject under consideration became too 
 much for him, that he stopped short, in order to take it 
 up deliberately in all its possible bearings. I really did 
 not dare to tell Theophilus of this little peculiarity, lest 
 my career as a whip should suddenly be ended by impe 
 rial command. With his high sense of honor, and the 
 claims of friendship, I knew he would keep old Charley 
 at any cost ; and the luxury of another horse was not to 
 be thought of for an instant. Poor Theoph felt the de 
 privation keenly ; but he never hesitated when following, 
 as he believed, the simple line of duty. He would be true 
 to Dobbs, and Dobbs s horse, whatever might happen. 
 Sometimes, from his high altitude, he would try to regard 
 Charley as a real treasure, or, as his friend Sparrowgrass 
 would say, " a most excellent thing to have in the coun 
 try ; " but this was carrying high-toned principle a little 
 too far. 
 
 One afternoon my husband came from town by an 
 earlier train than usual. I should have been alarmed, 
 had I not heard him whistling " // Segreto " as he walked 
 up the path. 
 
32 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 "Em!" he shouted, bustling into the cottage, "want 
 to go to town to-night ? I ve taken seats at the Academy. 
 They re going to have Lucrezia Borgia for the last time 
 this season." 
 
 " O Theoph ! " I cried in dismay. " How could you ? 
 You know I cannot possibly leave the children." 
 
 "Yes, you can, my dear. I have made arrangements 
 for Aunt Ann to come up by the half-past five train on 
 purpose." 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Theoph! What a dear, thoughtful 
 creature you are ! But " And my heart sank at a 
 thought which flashed upon me. 
 
 " But what ? " asked Theoph impatiently. 
 
 " My bonnet ! " I faltered. " I have no bonnet." 
 
 " No bonnet ! Why, what in the world did you wear to 
 the village yesterday ? " 
 
 "Oh! that was a distressed old thing. My best one 
 was ruined on that day" 
 
 " Why, the day when Prince ran away with us. Don t 
 you remember ? " 
 
 Theoph did remember perfectly, of course; but he 
 wished to go to the opera, and so would not admit any 
 thing in reference to the damaged head-gear. He flung 
 the tickets upon the sitting-room table, and asked, with an 
 injured air, what was to be done ? 
 
 Suddenly his mood brightened. "I have it! Wear 
 one of those worsted things what do you call them? 
 Higgle riggle something." 
 
 " Rigolette ! " I laughed. " Yes : so I can. My rigo- 
 lette will answer admirably ; but oh, dear how can I 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 33 
 
 wear it coming home to-morrow ? No lady would wear 
 such a thing, travelling in the daytime." 
 
 Theoph threw up his arms in desperation. 
 
 " Well, if it s not easier to start a ship-of-war than a 
 woman any time ! There are hats in New York, I pre 
 sume. You can buy one in the morning." 
 
 Prudence forbade the suggestion that ladies were also 
 not in the habit of shopping by daylight in rigolettes. 
 Trusting that somebody at Aunt Ann s would lend me a 
 bonnet for the purpose, I hastened from the room, in fine 
 spirits, to make the necessary arrangements for our depar 
 ture. 
 
 In an instant Theoph called out, in a tone of despair, 
 
 " Em, it s no use ! The next train doesn t stop at this 
 station, and there is no other until nine o clock." 
 
 " Never mind," I called back, leaning over the baluster. 
 "The 5.30 train stops at Orange." 
 
 " But Orange is six miles off," groaned Theoph. 
 
 " What if it is ? " I responded cheerily. " Old Charley 
 can take us if we start in time." 
 
 " Hurrah ! so he can ; and stop for Aunt Ann too at 
 our depot on his return. Hurry, dear." 
 
 Our turnout didn t look so very badly, after all, when 
 Kelly, arrayed in his best clothes, drove around to the door. 
 That fly-net was certainly a great institution. After kiss 
 ing the children a dozen times, and thanking Miss Kimso 
 for her kind offer to remain with them until Aunt Ann s 
 arrival, we sprang into the coupe , and directed Kelly to 
 drive with all practicable speed to the Orange Depot. 
 
 Charley seemed determined to do his best; and Theoph, 
 leaning back complacently, remarked, " If we keep on at 
 this rate, we shall have time enough and to spare." 
 
34 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Before we had proceeded half a mile, however, my un 
 fortunate spouse suddenly clapped his hands on his pock 
 ets, looked blank, and gasped, 
 
 " There ! I have left the tickets in the pocket of my 
 other coat. Stop, Kelly ; we must go back for them : 
 there s ample time." 
 
 Kelly turned toward home ; and Charley, well pleased at 
 the change, started off at quite a lively pace. More for 
 the sake of saying something than for any other reason, I 
 remarked that I thought I saw him throw them on the 
 sitting-room table. Quick as a wink Theoph clapped his 
 hands on his pockets again. 
 
 "No all right I have them. I remember now pick 
 ing them up the last thing. Turn around again, Kelly." 
 
 Order easily given, and, one would suppose, easily 
 obeyed. But, alas ! what can willing mind avail against 
 obstinate matter? Kelly pulled the rein, "get up d," 
 shouted, and plied his whip all to no purpose. He even 
 stood up to give additional vigor to his strokes; then 
 jumped out, and took " the baste " insinuatingly by the 
 head. Charley s determination was evident. Go forward 
 he would : turn around again he would not. 
 
 " Then, by the powers ! " exclaimed Kelly, seating him 
 self with new energy, and lashing his horse forward, " but 
 I ll get ahead of ye yet, yer varmint ! " 
 
 " What are you going to do now ? " cried Theoph. 
 
 " I m going up a bit, sir, to the next turn there by the 
 churrich. If I can just kape his attintion till we get onto 
 the other road, it s all right wid yez yet." 
 
 Theoph looked admiringly at Kelly, and whispered 
 something to me about "native wit;" but I was too much 
 discouraged to listen. 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 35 
 
 The ruse succeeded. Charley turned down the next 
 road during one of his fits of brown study, and was soon 
 going once more, slowly but surely, toward the station. 
 
 After proceeding a few miles farther, we saw our train, 
 far in the distance, hissing its way along like some great 
 reptile. 
 
 " All right ! " exclaimed Theoph. "We ll catch it yet, 
 if this old bag of bones doesn t tumble down." 
 
 Now, what decent, high-minded horse could be ex 
 pected to stand such a remark as this ? 
 
 Charles stopped short. 
 
 " Get up ! " shouted Kelly, in a tone of alarm. 
 
 The distant train became more distinct. 
 
 " Get up, you baste ! " 
 
 We could almost count the cars. 
 
 "Ge-etup!" 
 
 The smoke-pipe would soon be visible. 
 
 " Arrah ! be gar ! whill ye get up ? " 
 
 Charles stood after the manner of a kitchen-bench, 
 legs all out at an angle of forty-five. 
 
 " I ll tell ye what, sir," said Kelly, laying down the 
 lines, " there s nothin for yez but ter get out an walk. 
 It s not near a quarter-mile, sir, and ye d be there in time. 
 They wait a good bit takin in water." 
 
 Springing out with alacrity, for I was not going to 
 miss the opera after all this trouble, I led the way reso 
 lutely, and Theoph followed. 
 
 " This is what I call seeking pleasure under difficulties," 
 he panted, gaining my side as I hurried on. 
 
 "Yes, but it s worth it," said I: "we can rest in the 
 cars." 
 
36 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 And so we might have rested in the cars, had not the 
 locomotive, with a fiendish shriek, dashed out of the depot 
 with the whole train, just as we were within twenty feet of 
 the platform. 
 
 Shall I enter into the details of that exciting six-mile 
 walk homeward, or tell how we hastened in the hope that 
 we still might find Charley in statu quo ; how we had the 
 agony of seeing him, in the distance, finally yield to Kelly s 
 labors ; how Theophilus called and shouted in vain, as the 
 equipage rattled homeward hopelessly in advance of us ; 
 how we still flew on, and trusted that Charley, who never 
 ran so before nor since, would take a rest, and enable 
 Kelly to hear our beseeching cry ; how, finally, we did over 
 take them just before we reached our own gate ; and how 
 Aunt Ann came puffing up to the door quite indignant 
 that no carriage had been sent to the station to meet her ? 
 No. Rather let the reader fancy us sleeping sweetly and 
 calmly that night after our unwonted exercise. 
 
 Let him also imagine my emotions when, in the dead of 
 night, I was wakened by a mysterious thumping, appar 
 ently within three inches of my head. 
 
 I sprang to the floor. The window was open ; but 
 it was too dark to see any thing. Presently the thump 
 ing was repeated, and I heard Kelly s voice outside call 
 ing, 
 
 " Are ye there, sir ? " 
 
 " What is the matter ? " I asked, terror-stricken. 
 
 " It s himself I m wantin , mum. The horris is very 
 bad. Would ye ask him to come till the stable, mum ? " 
 
 " Theoph, Theoph ! " I cried, " wake up. Old Charley s 
 sick." 
 
DOBJSS S HORSE. 37 
 
 He gave a dismal moan at the name, but never stirred. 
 
 " Theoph [shaking him vigorously], Theophilus ! old 
 Charley s sick, dying, perhaps : oh, do wake up ! What 
 would Mr. Dobbs say, if " 
 
 " Dobbs be hanged ! " muttered Theoph, glaring wildly 
 at me. " There goes the train ! " and he tumbled back on 
 his pillow like a forty-pounder. 
 
 After rummaging frantically for the matches, I lit a 
 candle. By this time Philly was awake, and screaming 
 lustily. Theoph yielded to our combined efforts. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he asked, sitting up and rubbing 
 his eyes. " Is the baby sick ? " 
 
 " No. Kelly wants you to go to the stable. I m afraid 
 old Charley s dying." 
 
 " You don t say so ! " exclaimed Theoph, leaping up 
 with great alacrity. " If he is very bad, we ll probably 
 want whiskey, or something of that kind, Em, and hot 
 water ; perhaps four pails too, so that we can soak all of 
 his feet at once," he added, chuckling. In fact, I never 
 saw Theoph in better spirits, though he seemed resolved 
 to do all he could to save the poor beast. 
 
 Soon after Theoph went out, Kelly came to ask for the 
 "dimmyjohn, mum." 
 
 " Och ! but there s a hape in it ! " he exclaimed, shaking 
 it as he walked out. 
 
 Next, Theoph ran into the house for a long-necked 
 bottle, with which to administer the whiskey. We had 
 quite a long search before we found one, especially as the 
 wind blew out our candle three times. At last we were 
 successful. I put on a big shawl over my wrapper, and 
 went with Theoph to hold the lantern. 
 
 4 
 
38 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 We found Kelly in excellent spirits, and more talkative 
 than was his wont amidst 
 
 " The din and telltale glare of noon." 
 
 Poor Charley took the whiskey quietly enough, though 
 he had a kind of spasm afterward. His struggles were 
 really frightful. 
 
 " Rub his legs, Kelly," said Theoph. 
 
 "Ah, begorra, sir," answered Kelly, obeying after a 
 fashion, " I wouldn t be after throubbling meself about the 
 crayture, sir. It s dyin he is, anyhow. Arrah ! an it ll 
 be an aise till his bones to be under the sod. Divil a 
 wooden overcoat he ll be wantin , at all ! " 
 
 Soon wearying of this style of eloquence, I put the lan 
 tern upon the ground, and returned alone to the house. 
 Theoph followed in a few moments. 
 
 " Em," he called, " where can I find some wood ? I 
 shall have to make a fire, and heat some water. Can t you 
 wake Bridget or Kitty ? " 
 
 Rather than call up the poor girls, who had gone to bed 
 " worn out with their week s ironing," I assisted my com 
 fort-loving spouse through this mighty performance, and 
 smiled to hear him whistling " // Segreto " as he thrust in 
 stick after stick. 
 
 " How is Charley now ? " I asked, as soon as the blaze 
 was fairly started. 
 
 "Pretty bad; may get over it, though. We ve given 
 him a stiff dose of whiskey ; and I told Kelly to rub his 
 legs (the horse s legs, Mrs. Brown) until I returned." 
 
 It seemed as if the water never would get hot. At last 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 39 
 
 Theoph, by deliberately scalding his hand in it, satisfied 
 himself that it would "do," and was about to start off with 
 a pailful, when a shrill scream caused him to spill half of 
 it upon the floor. 
 
 " Help ! Murder ! Thieves ! " screeched a voice from 
 the sitting-room. 
 
 " Oh ! " laughed Theoph, " it s Aunt Ann. Go quiet 
 the poor soul, Em, while I call Kelly to take this pail." 
 
 In vain " Kelly, Kelly ! " rang out on the midnight air. 
 No individual of that name made his appearance. Theoph 
 told me afterward, that when in desperation he carried the 
 hot water to the barn himself, he found Kelly on his knees, 
 hugging old Charley most affectionately. 
 
 " Ah, my honey ! " whispered Kelly confidentially to 
 Charles, " but we ve had the fine time thegither. It s 
 long since I ve had a drop like that to warrum me. By 
 Saint Pater ! but whiskey s the stuff for a boy, anyhow ! " 
 
 "You ve been at the whiskey, have you? you scoun 
 drel ! " exclaimed Theoph, lifting the demijohn, and shak 
 ing it with unexpected facility. " Come, get up ! Do you 
 hear ? " 
 
 " Have I bin at the whiskey, yer honor ? " replied 
 Kelly indignantly, as he raised his head from Charley s 
 neck. " Och ! is it dhrinkin I would be, an the poor 
 baste a-dyin ? " and Charley received another hug. 
 
 Theophilus may have had great trials during the re 
 mainder of that night. I do not doubt it. But that was 
 no reason why he should have been so fearfully cross all 
 the next day. Kelly was a model of penitence, and prom 
 ised by all the saints on the calendar never to transgress 
 again ; " exceptin ," he added, " I m left all alone twicet 
 
40 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 forninst a dimmyjohn wid the corrik out and St. Patrick 
 himself couldn t howld out agin the like o that." 
 
 Charley did not die not a bit of it. He was only, as 
 his groom said, "a little overdid." In a few days he was 
 quite himself again ; and, before the week was over, I was 
 tempted to travel en voiture to the village once more. 
 
 I am happy to say our steed quite redeemed him 
 self on the occasion. The only fright he gave me was in 
 showing decided symptoms of lying down while Kelly was 
 in the feed-store. To my great relief, a good-natured 
 negro boy came to the rescue. 
 
 After tugging a while at Charley s head, and giving him 
 a mouthful of water, he volunteered a remark or two : 
 
 " Dat yere horse is weak, Miss Brown, he is can t 
 har ly stan up dat s a fac, he can t pears to me dey 
 ort ter gib him more ter eat." 
 
 This was a little too much. As I had no other audience, 
 I ventured to inform the sable youth that the animal had 
 always more food offered him than he would take. 
 
 " Den he wants powders. Juss let dem gib him dition 
 powders fur de ap tite : dey d fotch him up mighty 
 quick." 
 
 The result of this little dialogue was, that before long 
 we purchased a package of Hadley s famous Condition 
 Powders. Young Africa was right. They did give Charley 
 an appetite. He became ravenous as a wolf ; but not an 
 ounce of fat appeared in consequence. As Kelly face 
 tiously remarked, it was " a race with him, whether to get 
 higher in the bone or lower in the flesh." Even Bridget 
 had her joke at his expense, and talked of borrowing him 
 for a washboard. Theophilus grumbled, and declared that 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 4 1 
 
 it cost more to feed him than it would to keep a span of 
 ordinary horses ; and finally I announced, that ride behind 
 his miserable carcass, I never, never would again. 
 
 Abandoning, therefore, all hope of using him for the 
 present, his afflicted owner, paying well for the privilege, 
 had him turned loose every day in an adjoining field. 
 Theoph even examined the fences himself, to be certain 
 that they were all secure ; for he had just received a letter 
 from his dear Dobbs, alluding to " old Charley " in affec 
 tionate terms. 
 
 Here the creature s first exploit was to deliberately rush 
 upon a broken rail, and injure himself so badly that we 
 were obliged to send for a horse-doctor. Accordingly Kelly 
 was despatched on foot to a small brick house in the vil 
 lage, proclaiming itself, by sundry signs, to be the abode 
 of one Sanders, veterinary surgeon, and also of one Amos 
 Dodd, who made and repaired gentlemen s clothing in the 
 neatest possible style. 
 
 It was mournful, after all, to see Kelly riding back with 
 the " docther " in a muddy gig, and to watch them stand 
 ing near old Charley in solemn consultation. I felt as if 
 there were a death in the family already. Dr. Sanders, 
 however, bound up the injured leg, administered a pill of 
 about the shape and size of the end of a potato-masher, 
 and proclaimed his patient out of danger. 
 
 But no : Charles keeled over during the afternoon, and 
 lay upon the grass whizzing like a capsized locomotive. 
 Theophilus used some inelegant expressions while gazing 
 upon him, and sent for Dr. Sanders again. After that, 
 the hot mashes that Kelly was forced to prepare in the 
 kitchen (especially on baking-days), the calls for flannel, 
 4* 
 
42 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Castile soap, rags, and hot water, to say nothing of the 
 " dimmyjohn," were enough to drive a woman wild. At 
 last Charles grew better. His wounds began to heal. 
 Kelly tethered him in the very centre of the field, and 
 went about his work whistling, until one day, when that 
 sorely-tried individual ran up to the house in high wrath. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Brown, sir, would ye come look at the horris ! 
 whatever it is is the matter wid his leg, bad luck to it ! 
 It s bladin worse ner ever, sir." 
 
 Surely enough : Charles, feeling something itching un 
 mercifully, and having no finger-nails, had used his teeth 
 with effect. Dr. Sanders swore when he looked at him. 
 
 "That ere horse needs knockin on the head more n 
 any thing else," he observed. 
 
 " I can t do that," answered Theoph bitterly : " he s the 
 gift of a friend." 
 
 " Friend be d ! " was the irreverent comment. " / 
 
 wouldn t give such a creetur as that standing-room." 
 
 To make a long story short, Charles repeated the biting 
 process so often, that Dr. Sanders declared it wasn t any 
 use for him to be running on this fool s-errand business 
 any longer ; he couldn t do any good to the beast unless 
 he had him down to his own place. 
 
 Theophilus was only too glad to have the patient re 
 moved ; and Flowery Grove was accordingly relieved of his 
 presence pro tern. 
 
 It was now late in August. Philly was getting on so 
 well, all things considered, that our physician recom 
 mended us to remain out of town as long as practicable. 
 
 Poor Theoph did so hate those long walks to and from 
 the station ! Still, with mental reservations, we quite 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 43 
 
 agreed with Miss Kimso that the country would be delight 
 ful when the melancholy days were come, 
 
 " The brownest of the year." 
 
 i 
 
 Meantime, letters came from Mr. Dobbs that filled the 
 heart of Theophilus with delight. 
 
 " Dobbs would be comfortable, rich, in less than two 
 years," he said ; and he shouldn t be surprised, either, 
 from certain indications, if the scamp had formed an attach 
 ment down there, or rather if he were hopelessly " smit 
 ten ; " for there had not been time for any thing deliberate. 
 " It is strange, too," he added, " that he does not reply to a 
 solitary point in any of my letters. Oh, the rascal is 
 surely in love ! " 
 
 The conclusion of Mr. Dobbs s last letter, received in 
 the autumn splendor, left no room for doubt. 
 
 " I shall start for New York by the next steamer," he wrote, " for a short 
 stay only. California must be my home for some years to come. And, 
 Brown, old boy, I shall not start alone. The loveliest, sweetest, dearest 
 woman that God ever made will accompany me as my wife. We sailed out 
 here in the same vessel, have known each other ever since, and well, wait 
 until you see her, that s all. Then, if you have any fault to find, fire away! 
 
 "If you are still at Flowery Grove (ha, ha!), and you can get a room 
 for us at good Miss Kimso s, we shall be most happy to give you a week of 
 our delightful company immediately after landing. By the way, old chap, why 
 don t you write ? Not a line from you have I received. Ruggles & Co. have 
 turned out prime. 
 
 " Pat old Charley for me, and (beg her pardon for the juxtaposition, but 
 love for that horse is my weak spot) present my warmest remembrances to 
 your dear wife. She will love my Annie, I know. Adieu ! Pray for your 
 Benedict. Yours, DOBBS." 
 
 " He will be here in ten days ! " cried Theoph blissfully, 
 
44 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 as he folded the letter ; " and here comes Miss Kimso. 
 Now we can speak about the room." 
 
 Miss Kimso assented to the plan very cheerfully, though 
 it was with great difficulty that we could prevail upon her 
 to accept any remuneration. 
 
 " What! " she cried. " Is thy servant a dog, that she 
 should do this thing ? Take the wandering stranger in, 
 and then charge him so much a week ? Never ! " 
 
 But it was satisfactorily arranged at last ; and, as we all 
 sat chatting on the piazza, I could not help observing how 
 really pretty Miss Kimso was at times, especially when a 
 look of peculiar brightness came to her eye, and some 
 sudden emotion sent color to her cheek. 
 
 Theophilus was expatiating upon the virtues of his 
 adorable Dobbs for our benefit, when Dr. Sanders, driving 
 by in his dingy-looking gig, stopped to shout, 
 
 " Mr. Brown, you d better send for that horse of yourn. 
 He s just eating his head off where he is." 
 
 " Eating his head off ! " shrieked Miss Kimso, ready to 
 believe any thing of old Charley. I explained to her the 
 meaning of the phrase, while Theoph called out, 
 
 " I ll send the man around this evening. And, Sanders, 
 just let him have your bill at the same time, will you ? " 
 
 " All right ! " shouted the horse-doctor, as he drove off, 
 leaving a cloud of dust behind him. 
 
 When Kelly brought old Charley home that evening, 
 looking more bony and rickety than ever, and delivered the 
 bill, I really was afraid Theophilus would say something 
 wrong, he looked so desperate for an instant; but he 
 evidently restrained himself. 
 
 " Eating his head off ! " he exclaimed at last, after gaz- 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 45 
 
 ing upon the startling bit of paper. " Better say eaten the 
 whole of his wretched carcass again and again. I wish 
 Dobbs s mother would come and take her own ! " 
 
 Just then I heard Nelly crying ; and Miss Kimso, com 
 plaining of chilliness, bade me good evening, and ran 
 home. 
 
 All that night I was restless. Perhaps it was because 
 old Charley, ill at ease after his long absence, neighed 
 more drearily than usual. Perhaps it was the memory of 
 Theoph s unwonted fit of temper. Certain it is, I could 
 not sleep a wink. The room was insufferably warm, though 
 it was autumn ; and two impish mosquitoes, the last of their 
 race, tormented me to desperation. Finally, enveloped in 
 a light shawl, I seated myself by the open window, and 
 watched the fleckered moonlight as it lay trembling under 
 our pear-tree. Sultry as was the air within, a light breeze 
 was stirring out of doors, and the bright moon overhead 
 seemed creeping slowly in and out among the clouds. 
 Suddenly an unusually dismal neigh startled me, and look 
 ing toward the barn I saw something that made my very 
 blood run cold. 
 
 Old Charley was walking slowly from the stable, and he 
 was not alone ! Gliding in advance, as though leading 
 him by an invisible halter, was a tall white figure, point 
 ing with outstretched finger toward the west. The face 
 was turned away ; but, with a gasp of horror, I noticed that 
 the hair falling over its shoulder was scant and gray. The 
 words of Theophilus flashed upon me, 
 
 " / wish that Dobbs s mother would come and take her 
 own /" With a shriek I flew toward the bed. 
 
 Theoph sprang up in an instant. 
 
46 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " Emma, my darling, what is it ? " 
 
 " The GHOST ! " I cried. " Dobbs s mother ! " and fell 
 fainting to the floor. 
 
 The entire household, as I afterward learned, was soon 
 around me; and, while the servants were. shuddering over 
 my incoherent exclamations, Theoph hastened to explore 
 the premises. That I had seen something viz. evident ; but 
 even Theophilus was not prepared for the phantom that 
 stood with glittering eyes, to receive him as he opened the 
 front door. In one skinny hand it held the halter that 
 had been invisible to me, while over its shoulder the eye 
 balls of old Charley glared upon him with blank, remorse 
 less stare. 
 
 Recovering his self-possession, Theoph seized the phan 
 tom by the arm. 
 
 " Good heavens, Miss Kimso ! " he exclaimed, " what are 
 you doing here ? Are you ill ? " 
 
 She awoke with a scream, and dropped the halter like 
 one bewildered. As he led her back to her own house, he 
 could see that something was wrong. She called him 
 Albert, and clung, weeping, to his arm ; and when he told 
 her he was not Albert, but her neighbor and friend, she 
 broke into a rattling laugh, and tried to get away from him. 
 She was better the next day, and in her own little room 
 gave me the sad story of her life. I shall not repeat it 
 here ; but I did not wonder, when with tearless eye she 
 told me that she had conquered herself, and ceased to look 
 forward to Albert s return, that sometimes her outraged 
 nature had vent in temporary delirium. These attacks, 
 according to the account given by her faithful servant, 
 were growing less and less frequent every year. Indeed, 
 the doctor had said she might outlive them entirely. 
 
DOBBS S HORSE. 47 
 
 The doctor was right : Miss Kimso began to grow 
 stronger soon after the night of her somnambulic walk, 
 when the moonlight silvered her floating brown hair, and 
 transfigured her into an aged ghost. Black Phcebe helped 
 us to account for, the improvement, however, when one 
 day she said confidentially, " It sartinly is won ful strange 
 now to think how Massa Albert is a comin back, just his- 
 self agin, as sorry and good as ever you see, an ready to 
 die for missus." 
 
 His first letter reached her on the very day that Mr. 
 Dobbs returned ; and the dear little woman was radiant 
 with happiness. A soft light beamed in her eyes, though 
 the quotations came thick and fast as ever. 
 
 As for Mr. Dobbs s wife, she was certainly a charming 
 young person. We were friends from the very first. It 
 was such a relief to see somebody else besides Theophilus 
 worshipping Mr. Dobbs ! 
 
 Before they had been with us an hour, we were all, 
 including Miss Kimso, clustered together near the porch, 
 laughing and chatting like old friends. 
 
 Suddenly the countenance of Theophilus assumed a 
 sardonic grin. 
 
 " Dobbs," said he, " I m going to do something hand 
 some. From this hour old Charley is yours again. Ac 
 cept him as a wedding-gift to yourself and lovely young 
 bride." 
 
 Mr. Dobbs stammered forth his thanks, and declared 
 he would be "right glad to see the noble old fellow 
 again." 
 
 "Let the noble old fellow be brought forth!" com 
 manded Theoph in a tragic voice. 
 
48 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Kelly soon appeared, dragging the wedding-gift after 
 him by main force. 
 
 Mr. Dobbs sprang to his feet. 
 
 " That s not old Charley ! " he cried, as soon as his 
 emotions would allow him to articulate. " That s " 
 And the gentleman doubled himself up with laughter. 
 
 " It is old Charley, though," returned Theoph posi 
 tively. 
 
 "I tell you it is not," gasped Mr. Dobbs. "It s oh, 
 dear, I shall die ! it s a horse that I sold long ago to 
 Jim Fowler, over in Westchester County, for fifteen dol 
 lars ! " 
 
 Theoph turned red, rushed into the house, and soon 
 came out again with a crumpled sheet of paper. 
 
 Mr. Dobbs seized it, and read aloud, 
 
 J. FOWLER. 
 
 Dear Sir, Wishing to have my old horse again, I enclose forty dollars, 
 
 which, I believe, covers every thing. Please deliver him to bearer, and (to 
 
 prevent mistake) return this letter with your receipt by same hand. In haste, 
 
 Yours, respectfully, CHARLES G. DOBBS. 
 
 " That s straight enough, sir, isn t it ? " exclaimed 
 Theoph triumphantly. " Kelly brought it back with him. 
 on that same day ; and here s the receipt. Kelly ! " 
 "Yez, sir." 
 
 " Didn t you get this horse from Mr. Fowler ? " 
 " Sure, sir, I did," began Kelly ; "and" 
 " Of course he did ! " interrupted Mr. Dobbs. " They re 
 all named * Fowler in that part of the country. But it was 
 John Fowler that had old Charley, not James. By the 
 way," he continued, drawing a package from his vest-pocket, 
 
DO BBS S HORSE. 49 
 
 " I have brought some unopened letters with me. There 
 were such stacks of them waiting for me when I landed, 
 that I ve not had time to read half. Let s see. Ah, here 
 we are ! This looks like it." And he tore a yellow en 
 velope asunder. 
 
 Mr. DOBBS. 
 
 Respected Sir [this is it, sure enough], as your remittances have not come 
 to hand since last April, I take the liberty to send my little account for your 
 horse s board ; which please to pay as soon as you can, as I have none too 
 much on hand at present to settle my spring bills. Old Charley looks better 
 now than any young horse in the place. He would fetch a price, if you 
 could make up your mind to sell him. There s people asking me about him 
 most every day. I ve rented my house and stables, out and out, after this 
 summer, but can get Charley in prime selling order in two weeks. Excuse 
 me for asking, but I do wish I knew why you sent Jim Fowler, down the road, 
 forty dollars for that old nag of his. It was twenty-five dollars more than he 
 give you for him. 
 
 Please settle the enclosed bill as soon as you can, and oblige 
 
 Your obedient servant, JOHN FOWLER. 
 
 By the time Mr. Dobbs ceased reading, Theophilus was 
 quite prepared to appreciate the joke. In fact, we all 
 laughed: Kelly roared; and even old Charley (?), who 
 stood near, threw up his head, and made a sound wonder 
 fully like ha! ha! 
 
 Theophilus spoke first. 
 
 "Dobbs," said he, "I have a proposition to make. 
 There is an unpaid bill in this pocket, from the horse- 
 doctor who has attended yonder steed through various 
 slight ailments. You must have a pretty big one for your 
 Charley s board. We both are ignorant of their amounts. 
 What say you to a blind exchange ? Will you do it ? " and 
 he held out the folded bill at arm s-len^th. 
 
 o 
 
 Mr. Dobbs glanced once more at John Fowler s " little 
 5 
 
50 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 account." Then he put his hands into his pockets, and 
 gave one long, penetrating look at " old Charley." 
 
 Finally he looked up. "No, Brown," said he sol 
 emnly : " I couldn t do it. Upon my soul, I couldn t." 
 
 After this, Charley drooped ; and what wonder ? His 
 days were numbered ; though, as his groom assured us, he 
 kept his " faculties " to the last. 
 
 " Arrah, sir," Kelly would say, " it would do yer harrit 
 good to see the crayture, wid his old ways on him as 
 strong and fresh now : ye d be astonished. Faith, it s 
 balkin he often is, a-shtandin there in his shtall, wid never 
 a sowl urgin him, at all, at all. Ye can see by the looks of 
 him that he s just tuk it int his head not to shtir anudder 
 shtep, though it s shtandin shtill he s bin all the time. 
 An to see the bones of him ! Och, but it s comin* 
 through his insides they are, since they cuddn t stick out 
 no furder. Is it oats, or carrits ? Arrah ! the more ye 
 fatten him, the thinner he gits. Bad luck to the day I 
 fetched him ! " 
 
 Poor old Charley! Even Mr. Dobbs soon stopped 
 laughing at him. He did not die after the usual manner 
 of horses, but slowly shrivelled away; and, before we 
 went to town, we laid him tenderly under our pear-tree. 
 
PHILLY AND THE REST. 
 
 |HEOPHILUS and I had quite a discussion the 
 other night, concerning our Philly. 
 
 Philly is a good boy, and a healthy boy. He s 
 straight as an arrow, and would know a hawk from a hern- 
 shaw as quickly as any one, if those two birds were in the 
 habit of flying daily before his dear little nose. But The- 
 ophilus thinks that when a youngster gets to be six years 
 old, and not only is unacquainted with his letters, but 
 evinces a decided unwillingness to learn them, it is time 
 for the parents to look at each other, and ask, " Is this 
 our child a fool ? " 
 
 Theoph generally is in the right; but he certainly is 
 unduly anxious about Philly. Any one would suppose, to 
 hear him talk, that the dear child should by this time be 
 able to recite half of Webster s Unabridged with his eyes 
 shut just as if he wouldn t be an unbearable little prig 
 if he could ! For my part, I love him all the more for his 
 dear, stupid little ways. He ll come out all right in time. 
 It s delightful to hear him try to count, " one, three, five, 
 two, seven " bless his heart ! But Theophilus always 
 looks grave and troubled at these attempts, and tries 
 
 5 1 
 
52 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 to teach him the proper sequence. Philly listens for a 
 moment ; but what can one do with him ? . He has a 
 way of wriggling under a lesson, that soon forces one to 
 kiss his rosy, laughing little cheeks, and let him go. Ah ! 
 you should have seen Theophilus just after the discussion 
 I have alluded to. Half in fun, and half because I was 
 provoked at him for his solemn way of taking Philly, I 
 took up a book, and began to read aloud a life of the 
 wonderful child Candiac : 
 
 " Candiac, John L. de Montcalm [I began impressively], a child of won 
 derfully precocious talents, was a brother of the Marquis de Montcalm who was 
 killed at the battle of Quebec. He was born in 1719; and at three years of 
 age read French and Latin fluently. " 
 
 Theophilus sighed; but I proceeded without noticing 
 it, 
 
 " When four years old he had mastered arithmetic ; and, before seven sum 
 mers had passed over his head, he had acquired Hebrew, Greek, heraldry, 
 geography, and much of fabulous and sacred and profane history. " 
 
 Theoph almost groaned. I continued, 
 
 11 His extraordinary acquirements were a theme of panegyric to many 
 literary characters of that age. " 
 
 "Seven years," moaned Theoph, "only one year older 
 than our Philly ! Dear me ! what an astonishing child ! 
 Go on, dear : what else did he do ? " 
 
 "What else could he do," I rejoined severely, "but 
 die? Here, read it for yourself. Born in 1719, and died 
 of hydrocephalus in 1726." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Theoph. 
 
 " Ah, here is another ! " I said, peering into the book ; 
 "shall I read it?" 
 
PHILLY AND THE REST. 53 
 
 " Certainly, my love." 
 
 " The annals of precocity present no more remarkable instance than the 
 brief career of Christian Heinecker, born at Lubeck, Feb. 6, 1721. At the 
 age of ten months he could speak, repeating every word that was said to him ; 
 when twelve months old, he knew by heart the principal events narrated in the 
 Pentateuch ; in his second year he learned the greater part of the history of 
 the Bible, both of the Old and New Testaments ; in his third year he could 
 reply to most questions on universal history and geography, and in the same 
 year he learned to speak Latin and French ; in his fourth year he employed 
 himself in the study of religion and the history of the Church ; and he was 
 able not only to repeat what he had read, but also to reason upon it, and ex 
 press his own judgment. The King of Denmark wishing to see this wonder 
 ful child, he was taken to Copenhagen, there examined before the court, and 
 proclaimed a wonder. " 
 
 "Tremendous!" exclaimed Theoph, "but very unnatu 
 ral. Still I must say I would be glad to have a child 
 like that." 
 
 " Would you ? " I responded dryly, casting a glance of 
 suppressed indignation toward the crib where dear little 
 Philly lay asleep. " But I ve not read it all yet." 
 
 " Ah ! excuse me, love." 
 
 " This account of him by his teachers is confirmed by many respectable 
 contemporary authorities. On his return home from Copenhagen he learned 
 to write ; but his constitution being weak, he shortly after fell ill. " 
 
 " Ah ! got sick, did he ? I believe that is the way often 
 with these extraordinary children. Probably he remained 
 always sickly but I beg pardon, go on." 
 
 " No, Theoph," I answered, in a low but awful tone, 
 " he did not remain ill at all. He died then and there, at 
 the age of four years and four months." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Theoph again. 
 
 In a few moments he rose and crossed the room. I 
 13* 
 
54 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 knew he was bending over Philly ; but I didn t look up 
 from the book. 
 
 " Come here, dear," he said at last. 
 
 I obeyed. Well, it was strange. There lay our fair- 
 browed little boy, rosy and dewy with sleep ; one adven 
 turous little bare foot was thrust out from beneath the soft 
 blanket ; his left hand tightly held a slate-pencil ; the 
 other, with chubby finger extended, was pointing to a slate 
 that lay on the coverlet beside him ; and on this slate was 
 a great big A, which Theoph had drawn upon it that after 
 noon, now criss-crossed all over with Philly s pencil-marks. 
 
 "He really does appear to be pointing at it," I said, in 
 rather an awed voice. 
 
 " We ll take it for a sign," added Theoph quietly. " We 
 wont trouble the little chap with books yet a while. 
 Plenty of time for that sort of thing when he s older." 
 
 Then he leaned over the crib, and laid his cheek close 
 to Philly s ; and, as I thought it best not to make any 
 remark, I went back to the table and took up my sewing. 
 
 Now the two children, Candiac and Heinecker, were 
 extreme instances of precocity, I admit. But we some 
 times need extreme instances to point a moral, and espe 
 cially in convincing a person like Theoph, who holds on to 
 an opinion with all his might, forcing you to do the same ; 
 and then, just as you are trusting your whole weight to the 
 obstinacy of his argument, it snaps like an overtaxed rope, 
 leaving you, as I may say, a prostrate victor. When he 
 gives in, he does it so completely that you ve nothing to 
 say, and must just sit in silence, letting your unuttered 
 arguments seethe within you till you cool off. 
 
 I might have reminded him of the wonderful boyhood 
 
P HILLY AND THE REST. 55 
 
 of Pascal, who found mathematics in his porridge, and who 
 was forced, in his infantile pursuit of geometry, to call a 
 circle a round, and a line a bar, because his wise father 
 peremptorily withheld all book-knowledge of the subject 
 from the precocious little one. Or I could have opened 
 another biography, and read to him of Bossuet, "The 
 Eagle of Meaux," as his eulogists have called him. This 
 wonderful creature, when only eight years of age, preached 
 with unction at the Hotel de Rambouillet. But, as we 
 all know, he went on preaching, growing more and more 
 able and eloquent as the years passed by, and died at 
 last in a green old age. So his was not a citable case 
 in my regard. It would have been much more to the 
 point to dwell upon the dull boyhood of some of the 
 world s most eminent men : of how Corneille was called a 
 dunce by his schoolmaster ; of how Master Walter Scott 
 was the blockhead of his class ; of how the poor, sickly 
 schoolboy, Newton, was always in trouble on account of 
 inattention ; and how impossible it was to make little 
 Danny Webster speak his " piece " at school on declama 
 tion-days, how that was the one thing he couldn t and 
 wouldn t do, any more than Philly would learn his letters. 
 But Theoph might then have turned about and renewed 
 the defence. He might have quoted, as he often had 
 before, the childhood of Galileo, of whom some old frump 
 has said ecstatically, that, " while other little ones of his 
 age were whipping their tops, he was scientifically con 
 sidering the cause of their motion." Very likely he would 
 have thrown Dr. Johnson and Lord Jeffrey at me, both of 
 whom are said to have been profoundly wise, even in their 
 petticoats. Then there was the great Frenchman, Gas- 
 
56 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 sendi, who was only four years of age when the study of 
 astronomy began to engross him ; and Humphry Davy 
 delivering scientific lectures to his nursery chairs ; and 
 Dr. Arnold, glad at the ripe age of three to be presented 
 with Smollett s " History of England." 
 
 No, it was better as it was. A relapse of the argument 
 might prove more formidable than the original attack. 
 
 Dear, good Theoph ! What differences of opinion could 
 ever come seriously between him and me ? And yet, there 
 is a great deal to be said on the subject of juvenile pre 
 cocity ; and, if he ever goes dangerously back to his old 
 views about Philly, I shall have to say it. I ll tell him 
 how direful a thing it nearly always is, this preternatural 
 activity of the faculties. I ll read physiological essays to 
 him ; and I ll ask him whether, if he were to go out into 
 his Long Island orchard on some mild day in March, and 
 find an apple-tree fairly bubbling over with rapid blos 
 soms, he would expect to find many apples on that tree 
 when summer came. Of course he wouldn t. 
 
 Perhaps it would be a more philosophical way to put it, 
 if I said, " How would you like your trees to pop forth 
 early in the spring with full-grown fruit ? Wouldn t you 
 miss blossom-time ? and wouldn t apples probably be 
 all gone before Christmas ? " 
 
 Surely we should regard with reverence the blossom- 
 time of life. If we force it into premature fruitage, we 
 shall be disappointed in the end. And how much we lose, 
 if, in a slow, beautiful blossoming, we find not the exceed 
 ing joy that childhood brings to itself and to us ! 
 
 Dwelling on my simile to illustrate another serious 
 phase of the subject, I might ask Theoph how he would 
 
P HILLY AND THE REST. $? 
 
 like to have the beautiful floral wonders stripped from his 
 trees as soon as they appeared, and hung in fantastic 
 garlands all about the outer limits of each branch. Yet 
 that is precisely what those mistaken souls do who turn 
 the simple, beautiful ways of their children into drawing- 
 room displays ; who catch at every bright little saying as 
 soon as it leaves the infantile lips, and in the child s 
 presence dangle it before admiring guests. Ah, the 
 wrongs that are committed in this way, the holy 
 childish impulses that are sent back, despoiled, into the 
 wondering, childish heart, there to wither to a little wisp 
 of vanities ! The sweet music that springs forth uncon 
 sciously at first, but in time halts in discords, because it 
 has learned to wait for the perverted maternal echo ! 
 
 Mothers, fathers all who drink in happiness through 
 the love you bear to little children revere the freshness 
 of a young nature. Don t, let your weak, doting admi 
 ration, or your still weaker pride of possession, put the 
 blight of self-consciousness upon it. I d rather see a 
 child of mine playing with the molasses-jug, just after I 
 had dressed the little one in its Sunday clothes, than to 
 hear it speak, "My name is Norval," with the assu 
 rance of an infant prodigy. I d almost rather it should 
 have the measles as a chronic institution, than to see it 
 ready at all times to display its repertoire of accomplish 
 ments before strangers. Luckily, little ones are not apt 
 to fall into this latter accommodating habit. They rather 
 protest with all their charming might against it. 
 
 " Isn t it always so ? " exclaimed a mother in despairing 
 tones the other day. " Can you ever get a child to show 
 off when you wish it to ? " And there sat her obdurate 
 
58 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 toddler, outwardly serene in its enjoyment of a candy 
 bribe, which had stickied its little mouth and nose in a 
 remarkable way, but all aflame with inward determination 
 not to sing " Bobby Shaftoe." " It s too bad ! " cooed the 
 mother: "you ought to hear him do it. He really has 
 quite an ear for music, and his pronunciation is irresist 
 ible." 
 
 Now, " pronunciation " and " irresistible " might not 
 have been quite as comprehensible terms to that baby as 
 to the youthful Candiac or to Master Heinecker ; but 
 there was one thing he could understand, and that was the 
 unguarded admiration of his mother ; not her appreciation 
 and love, these would have sunk into his child-soul like 
 nourishing dews, but the admiration, that, falling too 
 often on a young nature, blights it, or forces it to a prema 
 ture and unnatural growth. 
 
 Philly knows little songs, and long ago he could say, 
 
 " Who comes here ? A grenadier ! " 
 
 but we always have been very careful how and when we 
 brought forward these accomplishments. He knows that 
 he can please us immensely by an exercise of his dramatic 
 and musical gifts. Before he grew so old and wise, he 
 believed that he frightened us terribly, when, in saying that 
 thrilling nursery lyric, he roared forth, "A granny-deer! 
 but now he just knows that we enjoy his performances as 
 he does ours ; and we always make a point of giving a fair 
 exchange in such entertainments. 
 
 To be sure, if Philly, instead of being the simple, every 
 day child that he is, had proved to be an infant Mozart, 
 with God-given genius shining from his eyes, and twitching 
 
P HILLY AND THE REST. S9 
 
 his restless little fingers, of course we should feel in duty 
 bound to lift him to the piano-stool. We would do this 
 reverently, I think, and with joyful wonder ; glad, too, that 
 the progress of science and the arts had prepared for our 
 dear boy something better than a clavichord. We might 
 even encourage him to put his music upon paper, if his 
 overflowing soul required that form of expression. Or, 
 premising that we had seen marvellous cows, elephants, 
 and dogs chalked on the nursery doors, or on Philly s one- 
 eyed and tailless hobby-horse ; or if, when he was six 
 years old, another Lady Kenyon had walked in, and our 
 precious little one had in half an hour drawn an excellent 
 portrait of her, after the manner of the six-year-old Thomas 
 Lawrence, does any one suppose that the maternal grasp 
 would have robbed our boy s right hand of its cunning ? 
 
 But he s not a Mozart. He s not any thing in particular, 
 though he s every thing to us. He simply represents " a 
 large and growing class of the community," as the news 
 papers say ; and so his case is worthy of consideration. 
 He s the average child (ah ! how it hurts my motherly heart 
 to write that ; for it doesn t believe a word of it, though I 
 do) ; and, being the average child, we all may learn a lesson 
 from him for the benefit of the present race of little ones. 
 
 We can resolve, that, for him, all precocious development 
 is hurtful : premature ability, premature politeness, prema 
 ture pleasures, premature goodness even, Heaven shield 
 him from them all ! Heaven shield him and every other 
 child from aught that will stiffen them too soon into little 
 men and women ! 
 
 I know three little tots, five and six years old, who 
 lately have returned from a visit to Europe. One of these, 
 
60 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 under the modern hot-house plan of mental culture, has 
 grown to be such an intelligent child, such a little lady ! 
 
 I asked her the other day what she liked best of all she 
 saw in Europe. 
 
 " Oh ! the art-galleries, of course," she replied demurely : 
 " everybody likes those best." 
 
 Poor child ! Remembering her, with what comfort I recall 
 a recent morning spent with the two other little travellers. 
 
 " So you have been to Europe," I said. " Now, Hal, 
 tell me what place did you like best of all ? " 
 
 " Don t know," said Hal : " guess I liked Munich best, 
 cause they had the most sojers there." 
 
 " And I think I liked Venice," put in wee, bright-eyed 
 May " because it was there that mamma bought me this 
 sweet little doll " [taking it up caressingly]. " Her name s 
 Katie. I must finish putting on her clothes : it s very late 
 in the morning for dolly not to be all washed and dressed, 
 I think. Ah ! " she continued plaintively, as she attempted 
 to pin dolly s skirt, " this band is too big. Katie used to 
 just fit it ; but she s real thin now, she s lost so much saw 
 dust ! " 
 
 Happy little May ! Her days are fresh and simple and 
 beautiful, because she is allowed to be a child. Whatever 
 training is expended upon her is so loving and wise, that 
 she grows naturally into all that can be rationally expected 
 of a child of her age. Her goodness is the goodness of a 
 warm-hearted, unperverted little girl, who loves the dear 
 God already "for making father and mother and every 
 thing," but who has no startling Sunday-school predilec 
 tions, suggestive of an early transplanting. Her politeness 
 comes from no formal schooling, but is the simple out- 
 
P HILLY AND THE REST. 6 1 
 
 growth of the "love one another" that comes of being 
 loved, not of being doted upon, but of being loved as 
 God intended she should be. 
 
 May s pretty ways are in her presence never made the 
 subject of admiring comment ; nor are her sweet, childish 
 sayings echoed by the mountains of appreciation with which 
 children among the comfortable classes are so apt to be 
 surrounded. If she asks a question, it is thoughtfully 
 answered ; and if she makes any of those sweet, childish 
 blunders in speech or conduct that often are the charm 
 of our homes, they either are apparently not noticed 
 at all at the time, or they are gently and cheerfully cor 
 rected. But never are they met by that domestic dyke, in 
 the form of a general laugh or an encouraging deception, 
 which invariably sends them back upon the child in an 
 overflow of pain or bewilderment. 
 
 The fondest of us parents often are the most cruel to 
 our children. This comes from selfishly regarding them 
 as an especial personal gift to ourselves, something to 
 delight and amuse us ; while at the same time we forget, 
 that, if they are given to us, just as surely are we given to 
 them. 
 
 As a general rule, we are not half thoughtful or courte 
 ous enough in our manners toward our little ones. We 
 are too apt to content ourselves with a general conscious 
 ness of being right in the main, with theoretically intend 
 ing that they shall grow up to be good Christian citizens, 
 and an honor to ourselves. We make big sacrifices in 
 their behalf, revolve fine schemes, and bring out the heavy 
 artillery of our nature on very slight occasions. But our 
 graces, our courtesies, our delicate acts of appreciation 
 
62 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 and lofty consideration are not for them. These are re 
 served for adult friends and select acquaintances, as if to 
 any one living were due more of the best and sweetest 
 that is in us than to those whom we have brought into the 
 world, to meet its jars, temptations, and cruelties. 
 
 Think of the really coarse way in which the best of 
 us sometimes wound our children s sensibilities. How we 
 parade their special traits and accomplishments, and 
 ignore their individuality ; how recklessly we break in 
 upon their little plans and pleasures ; how carelessly we 
 comment upon their defects ; how we laugh at their child 
 ish distresses, because the grieved look or the tragic little 
 scowl is " so cunning ; " how we visit our vexation of 
 spirit upon their innocent heads ; how we resent their 
 inexperience ; how needlessly or sharply we deny their 
 little petitions, and how we ignore our "Thank you," and 
 insist upon theirs ; how we jerk or push them in our 
 impatience ; how we flout their earnest questions, and deal 
 out cutting, cruel words of "wholesome reproof," when 
 perhaps the little heart is quivering under some real or 
 fancied wrong ! It is terrible to think of ! 
 
 Many, seeing these charges in the aggregate, will indig 
 nantly deny them. Yet what parent, answering each in 
 turn, could plead guiltless to them all ? 
 
 I shall not dwell upon the monstrous wrongs of chas 
 tisement too often inflicted upon children, such as beat 
 ing, threatening, frightening, and that meanest act of all, 
 the " boxing " of ears. The dear Christ teaches no hard 
 lesson of harshness or brute force toward the little ones 
 committed to our care. Even as he was "subject unto" 
 his parents, returning meekly with them from Jerusalem 
 
P HILLY AND THE REST. 63 
 
 while his child-soul yearned to be about his Father s busi 
 ness, so would he have our little ones subject unto us. 
 They are ours to lead and protect, to teach and warn and 
 cherish ; ours to love wisely, to deal with firmly and rever 
 ently, mirrors of our example, gleaners of the harvest 
 of our home-life, not ours to humor and rebuff, and 
 sacrifice to our hundred weaknesses. Well for the father 
 and mother to whom their child s heart is as a holy of 
 holies ; and their child s foibles and human tendencies as 
 stumbling-blocks, not to vex and upset parents, but which 
 the little one must wisely and lovingly be taught to over 
 come. Heaven bless the always cheerful, gentle-voiced, con 
 scientious parent ! And Heaven help all those, who, when 
 it is too late to atone, remember with anguish the quivering 
 lip and pleading look of a little face that has passed away ! 
 
 Mothers, when in your hearts rises that first blessed 
 thought, God has given to me a child, then and there say, 
 " O child ! He has given me to thee. He has chosen me 
 to be thy mother." 
 
 Then, with His help, shall your little one be reared. No 
 selfish fondness nor pride shall rob it of its just rights ; 
 not a tithe shall be taken from its innocent, sweet baby 
 hood, from its growing infancy, its blithesome childhood. 
 Sufficient unto each day shall be its daily progress. Van 
 ity shall not warp it, nor school-books crush, nor undue 
 stimulus wrong it of its fair and just proportions. 
 
 When you say, with the woman of old, "Lo, I have 
 given a man unto the world," be guarded lest you cheat it, 
 and Heaven too, by not allowing that man first to be, in 
 the fullest sense, a little child. 
 
OUR AGGY. 
 
 [DVISABLE, Mrs. Winthrop ! " I exclaimed, " ad 
 visable ! Why, it is a clear case of duty ! If no 
 one else can be induced to take the poor girl, I 
 will assume the responsibility myself, though I have three 
 servants already." 
 
 Mrs. Winthrop, a Bostonian, of " Mayflower " descent, 
 who had only lately entered our New York set, and who 
 was considerate and deferential accordingly, gave an ad 
 miring start, and suggested her fear that ." The creature 
 would drive me wild." 
 
 " I have no such apprehension," was my lofty reply : 
 "kindness and firmness must inevitably overcome the most 
 refractoiy natures. Besides, the child may not be half as 
 bad as Mrs. Grimmons imagines." 
 
 Mrs. Winthrop inclined her head slightly toward her 
 left shoulder, and, as if yielding to an irresistible internal 
 flood of argument, ejaculated (for the twentieth time dur 
 ing our morning s conversation), " Yes-s ! ? " 
 
 And here allow me to relieve myself concerning this in 
 explicable Boston " Yes." It cannot be written ; and I 
 defy the most skilful printer, by means of any complica- 
 
 6 4 
 
OUR AGGY. 65 
 
 tion of italics, dashes, or notes of interrogation or excla 
 mation, to express it in all its fulness, its provokingness. 
 It is yielding, defiant, coaxing, snubbing, conciliatory, and 
 threatening, all in a breath. It is susceptible of every 
 shade of meaning, of almost every slang reply that one 
 can hear from the Atlantic to the Pacific. It says, " Just 
 so," and " You can t come it over me ! " " Go it, my 
 hearty ! " and " A leetle tough ! " " What a whopper ! " 
 and " Them s my sentiments ! " " Go it blind ! " " Aren t 
 you stretching it ? " " Bully for you ! " " Hit em again ! " 
 " No, yer don t ! " and " Sartain now ! " And all the time 
 it is so Bostonianly elegant that one must wince under it 
 with folded hands, and take its meaning as one best can. 
 
 Mrs. Winthrop s " Yes-s /?" meant a great deal, and I 
 knew it. 
 
 In the first place, it meant, " You think so, do you ? " 
 Second, " I hardly think you can succeed where the intel 
 lectual Mrs. Grimmons failed ; but who can tell ? " Third, 
 " What a conceited woman you are if you only knew it ! " 
 Fourth, " You are entirely wrong ; but you must find it 
 out in the regular way." And Fifth, " Well, we re fortu 
 nate, at least, in getting the girl temporarily off our 
 hands." 
 
 Taking in all this with my usual acumen, I cut the mat 
 ter short with, 
 
 " You will please inform the ladies of my resolve, Mrs. 
 Winthrop, as I cannot attend the sewing-meeting to-day. 
 They may send the girl to me on Monday morning if she 
 is not otherwise disposed of by that time." 
 
 " I shall do so," rejoined my visitor, rising gracefully 
 from the sofa. "And now, my dear friend, when may we 
 hope to see you and your good husband at No. 69 ? " 
 
66 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 "Very soon, thank you," I answered, throwing aside my 
 business air; "on the first evening, in fact, when I can 
 succeed in enticing Mr. Brown from his library chair. 
 How is your little Everett, Mrs. Winthrop ? " 
 
 " Oh ! nicely, thank you. He and Annie are attending 
 school now. Do allow your little ones to visit them on 
 Saturdays. Your Julie is so charming and well-behaved 
 that I should really admire to have Annie become intimate 
 with her." 
 
 I assured Mrs. Winthrop, who, whatever may be her 
 peculiarities, has certainly fine instincts where children are 
 concerned, that I considered Julie quite too young to 
 leave " mother " yet. 
 
 " Yes-s ! ? " returned Mrs. Winthrop musingly, adding, 
 in a more sprightly tone, "but cannot mother come 
 also ? " 
 
 By this time the door was reached ; and, after many a 
 pleasant smile and nod and half-heard sentence on both 
 sides, we parted, the lady s elegant skirts sweeping down 
 the stone steps, while I mounted slowly and thoughtfully 
 to the nursery, feeling morally sure that " the creature " 
 would make her appearance on Monday. 
 
 Yes, morally sure. All the rest of that day I kept ask 
 ing myself, a la Bulwer, "What will I do with her?" 
 And next, the married woman s watchword, " What will 
 He say ? " came forcibly to mind. Poor Theophilus ! my 
 faultless, ease-loving, propriety-worshipping master of the 
 house ! What would he say, indeed ? I trembled to think 
 of it. Why, even Ann McNamara, our peerless cook, had 
 narrowly escaped being " dismissed " by him the day be 
 fore, just because she had served the ragout in an unsuita- 
 
OUR AGGY. 67 
 
 ble dish ; and Bettys and Biddys innumerable had been 
 banished from our domicile for the most petty offences 
 against his fastidious taste. Probably we should not by 
 this time have had a servant in the house, had I not, a 
 few weeks before, " taken a stand " in rather a decided 
 manner. Yes, the small-failings question had been 
 then and there settled between us for all time. Thence 
 forth no girl who suited me should share the fate of my 
 sainted highly respectable ones of the past. But could 
 my new girl, my rara avis, take shelter under the statute ? 
 I had seen her, and knew, or fancied I knew, what was 
 before me. But Theophilus ! 
 
 Well, the only way was to put a bold face on the matter. 
 Accordingly, as the shades of evening approached, I sum 
 moned all my forces, and prepared to meet his lordship. 
 Under the circumstances, his first salutation was not en 
 couraging. 
 
 " Emma, dear, judging from appearances, one would 
 suppose Mary s usual way of laying the door-mat was to 
 fling it from the second-story window. I am afraid she 
 never will be tidy enough to suit us." 
 
 " I fear so too," I replied amiably ; for a bright idea 
 had just struck me. " The fact is, Theophilus, it is im 
 possible to teach these competent help any thing. What 
 we really want is a raw girl." 
 
 " A what ! Emma ? " exclaimed Theophilus, horror- 
 stricken, as, after placing his boots with mathematical 
 accuracy near the polished register, he stood with arrested 
 slipper in each hand. 
 
 " A raw girl ; one that is not hopelessly set in other 
 people s ways, that, in short, one that is, as you 
 
68 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 may say, ignorant, but willing to learn," said I sweetly, 
 giving his elegant "wrapper" a caressing shake as I 
 handed it to him. 
 
 " A Castle-Garden emigrant, for instance, newly-landed, 
 or a blushing Huyter-spluyter fresh from the Vaterland ? " 
 suggested Theophilus, with intense humor, as he softly 
 slid himself into the gown, and assumed his waiting-for- 
 dinner attitude before the fire. 
 
 " No, no ! " I laughed nervously, " nothing of that sort ; 
 but, ahem ! " as if the idea had just flashed upon me 
 "what do you say, now, Theoph, to my trying a colored 
 girl ? " 
 
 Theophilus either was speechless, or did not choose to 
 reply ; and I proceeded, 
 
 " Not one of those deceitful, half-and-half yellow kind, 
 that are neither one thing nor the other, but a genuine 
 negress. They re generally such docile-tempered crea 
 tures, you know, Theoph ; and, nowadays, it really seems 
 to be a Christian duty to " 
 
 " Christian fiddlestick ! " interrupted Theophilus pro 
 fanely. " Why, Emma, you re crazy ! " And my gentle 
 man significantly consulted his watch. 
 
 Remembering at this critical moment the advice of the 
 ancient philosopher concerning hungry men, I adjourned 
 at once to the dining-room, and there held a session of 
 great length and brilliancy, which, it is needless to add, 
 resulted in the total subjugation of the refractory member. 
 What I said, or what I did not say, can not be detailed 
 here. Oh ! the arguments I was forced to drive into that 
 man before he admitted what by this time had grown to 
 positive conviction with me; viz., that to have a real 
 
OUR AGGY. 69 
 
 Southern negro in our house, all things considered, was 
 one of the greatest blessings that could befall us. 
 
 All this happened long ago, during war-times. I had 
 learned this poor slave-girl s history at our last society- 
 meeting. She and her father had escaped from Virginia 
 into the Union lines. Theoretically a welcome had been 
 shown them ; but practically the girl had, by her insubor 
 dination and impishness, proved too much for their hospi 
 tality, and a unanimous ticket-of-leave had soon been voted 
 her. Two young soldiers coming Northward had, out of 
 pity for the good old father, brought him and his child to 
 New York, and presented them to our Ladies Soldiers 
 Aid Society. 
 
 The old man was soon disposed of ; but the girl, ah ! 
 there was the rub. One by one impulsive members cour 
 ageously gave her a trial ; but at each weekly meeting the 
 despairing mistresses would in turn restore her to the 
 bosom of the Society, declaring that they could do nothing 
 with her. No direct charges were made ; and all that.one 
 could gather from the exclamations and complaints usually 
 vented on these occasions, was that the girl had proved to 
 be "queer," "forlorn," "unmanageable," and "awful," 
 singular qualities, certainly, in one who had worked in the 
 fields all her young life, who had never known a mother s 
 care, and to whom all womanly and household duties were 
 sealed mysteries. 
 
 Meantime the strange creature would stand in a cor 
 ner of the fine parlor, rolling her great dark eyes about, 
 glancing from the company to the ceiling, and from the 
 ceiling to the floor, in quick flashes of white and black, 
 her hands folded meekly before her, with now and then a 
 
70 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 restless movement of her feet that invariably caused the 
 ladies near her to start in spite of themselves. Some 
 times, while looking the image of mute despair, she would 
 suddenly clap her hands upon her knees, and burst into a 
 sputtering laugh, only to appear more solemn than ever 
 the next instant. 
 
 She was about fifteen years of age, and the blackest 
 of the black. Her dress was a scant blue calico skirt, 
 reaching nearly to the ankles, over which a long crash bib 
 was drawn without a fold from neck to knee. Each tem 
 ple was adorned with a few stiffly-plaited spikes emerging 
 from the luxuriant wool ; and her feet were covered with 
 good new shoes and stockings, very much against her 
 will, as it subsequently proved. 
 
 " Why not take the child myself ? " I had thought, while 
 sitting near her corner at the last meeting, and fancying I 
 could detect a promise in her face of something better than 
 she had yet chosen to display to her Northern friends. 
 But the scheme had soon been abandoned as impractica 
 ble, and probably never would have recurred to me had 
 not Mrs. Winthrop, during her morning call, suggested, in 
 her non-committal way, that it was " advisable " a home 
 should be found for the poor creature. 
 
 Theophilus, as I have already intimated, had been brought 
 to that state of mind so often attained by the acquiescing 
 Barkis. Still the work of preparation was not complete. 
 Our last nurse had contrived to smuggle into the nursery 
 a story of a " big black nigger," who thought nothing of 
 gobbling down naughty boys and girls. Her hearers, 
 strong in faith, had listened and believed ; and, ever since, 
 negroes in general, and his sable cannibalship in particu- 
 
OUR AGGY. 71 
 
 lar, had been the terror of their young lives. Of the chil 
 dren, young Theophilus (though it may be unwomanly 
 and quite out of my sphere for me to say so) was a greater 
 coward than either of the girls. He was afraid of his own 
 shadow. A dark room was fuller to him than Madame 
 Tussaud s Chamber of Horrors. Once he locked himself 
 in a pantry, and screamed till he fell almost into a convul 
 sion before it occurred to him to unlock the door and come 
 out. These I mention merely as slight psychological 
 peculiarities. Being our only son, his father and I centred 
 our fondest hopes in him. 
 
 Well, what poor little Philly would do or say when my 
 " contraband " should appear I couldn t imagine. Mean 
 time, however, I resolved to clarify his ideas somewhat on 
 the negro question, and trust to fate for the result. As 
 for Julie and Nelly, they soon became sound to the core 
 on the subject ; but I dreaded to think of the effect of that 
 woolly head and those great rolling eyes upon the baby. 
 So much for upstairs. 
 
 On Sunday morning I descended to the kitchen while 
 Theophilus was preparing to shave. Ann was there in full 
 glory. It was her Sunday out ; and her winter style set 
 off her portly figure to advantage. The instant my foot 
 crossed the door-sill I could not resist a secret recognition 
 of her local supremacy. Nora soon came in with the 
 coal-scuttle, and crinoline twice as extensive as my own ; 
 while Ellen, conscious of her unimpeachability as first-class 
 waitress, was washing dishes in the corner. Now was the 
 time to strike the final blow. In a few feeling words I 
 told my assembled audience the story of the poor " con 
 traband." They heard me in silence, preferring, as usual, 
 
72 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 to defer comment until they had the kitchen entirely to 
 themselves. Finally I plunged into the catastrophe, and 
 went on swimmingly, until arrested by Ann s indignant 
 outburst, 
 
 " Och ! is it take the dirrity crayture yerself, yer mane, 
 ma am ? " 
 
 " Certainly," I returned firmly, " if no one shelters her 
 or teaches her to work, the poor girl must perish in the 
 streets." 
 
 " An it s what I never did, ma am, slape and ate wid 
 nagers ; an I ll not be afther beginnin it now. So, if ye 
 plaze, ma am, ye ll be engagin another cook agen me 
 month s up." 
 
 Nora said nothing; and Ellen, after swinging into the 
 pantry with a tray full of china, came out with a lofty, 
 
 " I d like to be lavin with Ann, too, ma am." 
 
 Here was a fine dilemma ! But I was determined to 
 carry out my project. 
 
 " You need neither eat nor sleep with her : she can take 
 her meals at a side-table, and use the small garret-room. 
 The girl is coming to-morrow ; and I intend that she shall 
 be treated kindly." 
 
 With these words I strode majestically from the kitch 
 en, giving no token of the sinking at my heart : not even 
 when I reached the dressing-room, except by shutting the 
 door after me so violently that Theophilus, I regret to say, 
 cut his chin. 
 
 On Monday morning we were startled by the most 
 terrific yells and screams that ever mortal parents heard. 
 Theophilus rushed first ; I followed, quite sure that Mr. 
 
OUR AGGY. 73 
 
 Norris s bull-dog had got in from the next yard, and was 
 crunching every one of dear little Philly s bones. 
 
 Arriving at the turn of the stairs, we saw at a glance 
 that our boy was safe and sound, though screaming in an 
 agony of terror. His little sisters were with him in the 
 hall, both talking at once, trying to bring him to reason ; 
 while Ann, Ellen, and Nora were on the spot, " speaking 
 their minds " at concert pitch. 
 
 Meanwhile the innocent cause of all this commotion 
 stood near the hat-stand, with a half-doleful, half-mischiev 
 ous expression of countenance, her hands plucking nerv 
 ously at the fringe of her coarse shawl, and her whole 
 aspect betokening either amusement or distress, it was 
 impossible to decide which. 
 
 " Mrs. Grimmons s boy left her here, ma am. She 
 wouldn t sit, nor go up stairs nor down," whispered Nora, 
 hurrying toward me. " The child was frightened into fits, 
 indeed he was, ma am, at the very sight of her." 
 
 Philly was soon high and safe in his father s arms, 
 being lectured and hugged at the same time. Without 
 replying to Nora, I nodded to the new-comer, saying 
 with my usual dignity, as I led the way to the room at the 
 end of the hall, " Step this way, please." 
 
 On reaching the door, a suppressed giggle from the 
 top of the kitchen-stair caused me to turn. The maiden by 
 the hat-stand had not budged an inch. 
 
 " Will you come this way, please ? " I repeated kindly, 
 in a louder tone. 
 
 No answer and no movement. The children, seeing fun 
 ahead, fairly danced with delight. 
 
 " Behave yourselves, children ! " I commanded. " There, 
 1 
 
74 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 the baby is awake : run up, Nora ! Now, my girl," re 
 suming my bland tone, " just come this way, will you ? " 
 
 Was she marble, or, more properly speaking, ebony? 
 Her immovability was scarcely human. 
 
 At this juncture Theophilus, whose manner never 
 seemed to me half so impressive as my own, caught her 
 eye. He pointed to the room-door. The girl darted 
 through the hall, and stood beside me in an instant, her 
 lithe frame all in a quiver. 
 
 " Don t be frightened, my child," I said gently, feeling 
 really sorry for the poor creature : " no one here will harm 
 you. What is your name ? " 
 
 " Nuffin," she replied, with a sulky pout. 
 
 " You certainly must have some name. What did the 
 soldiers call you ? " 
 
 " Nig." 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 " Nuffin else, cept fractory an debbil." 
 
 " But your father, what does he call you ? " 
 
 " What he call me ? He call me gal." 
 
 " Nothing else ? " 
 
 " Nuffin , cept when I se sick er bin whipt : den he call 
 me Aggy." 
 
 "Aggy s your name, then. Was that your mother s 
 name ? " 
 
 " What say, missy ? " with a blank stare. 
 
 " Was your mother s name Aggy ? " 
 
 " Spect not; spect I didn t hab no mudder. I se 
 gwine ; " and with these words Miss Aggy turned, and 
 started resolutely for the door. 
 
 Theophilus stepped nimbly in advance of her, locked it, 
 
OUR AGGY. 75 
 
 V 
 
 and put the key into his pocket. From that moment he 
 was her acknowledged master. 
 
 The breakfast-bell rang. " Aggy," said I, not wishing 
 to consign her yet to the tender mercies of the help, 
 " come back and sit down." 
 
 She obeyed. 
 
 " Don t leave this room until I return." 
 
 "No, missy." 
 
 I gave one penetrating look at the girl, and saw that 
 she was in earnest. Mustering the children (Philly was 
 long ago safely perched upon the kitchen table), we 
 descended to the basement. 
 
 Theophilus behaved pretty well at breakfast, consider 
 ing ; merely hinting that I should have my hands full, and 
 that firmness must be the order of the day, as if I didn t 
 know that already. 
 
 Suddenly he broke out with one of his speeches. 
 
 "I say, Em, as the secretary of your society was not 
 present to take minutes, wouldn t it be well for me to draw 
 up a report of this morning s pro " 
 
 The sentence was cut short by a tremendous crash, a 
 heavy fall, and a noise as of breaking glass and timbers 
 above stairs. 
 
 " By Jove ! " cried Theophilus, " what s that ? " 
 
 With my heart in my throat, to say nothing of the hot 
 coffee, I flew up the stairs, followed by children, servants, 
 and Theophilus bringing up the rear. When we reached 
 the first landing, what a spectacle presented itself ! 
 
 There, in the hall, lay a confused heap of rubbish, com 
 posed of what remained of our superb new hat-stand, 
 splinters of rosewood, umbrellas, canes, cloaks, hats, 
 Aggy, and any quantity of broken looking-glass. 
 
?6 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 The furniture was precious; but, of course, humanity 
 ranked first. We pulled Aggy from the ruins. 
 
 " What is the matter, child ? Are you killed ? " I asked, 
 almost hoping that she was. 
 
 " Spect I be, dat s a fac," replied the girl, glaring around 
 her in a frightened way, but moving off nimbly enough as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " O Aggy, you naughty girl ! what were you doing ? 
 How came you to break the hat-stand?" I demanded, 
 endeavoring to restrain my temper. 
 
 " Donno ; spect I us too hebby fur it," answered Aggy 
 sullenly. " Tain t wurf nuffin ." 
 
 By dint of super-woman exertions, I succeeded in get 
 ting the rubbish cleared away, and restoring order without 
 becoming exasperated. Theophilus provoked me dread 
 fully, however, by saying he wished he could stay at home, 
 and see the fun. 
 
 Why attempt to detail the tortures of that first day ? It 
 was over at last, with all its trials and aggravations, and 
 my weary head pressed its uneasy pillow. Children and 
 servants were asleep, Aggy was long ago stowed away in 
 her little room, and in the quiet of the starry December 
 night Theophilus and I held a consultation. 
 
 His arguments were unanswerable ; his sarcasms scath 
 ing ; but I held my ground. A few mishaps at first, I 
 urged, were to be expected. In a day or two the girl 
 would improve indeed, there was a slight change for the 
 better already Philly would become ashamed of his 
 foolish terrors it was a clear case of charity and, in 
 short, I wanted to give the girl a fair trial, because be 
 cause I wanted to. 
 
OUR AGGY. 77 
 
 At last the energies of Theophilus, overcome either by 
 sleepiness or the force of my reasoning, began to flag. He 
 had even said, " Perhaps so, my dear ; " and after that, 
 his replies grew fainter, more wavering, and, like certain 
 rare visits, very few and far between. Finally, after wait 
 ing nearly five minutes for a reply to a perfectly self-evident 
 proposition, I heard something. 
 
 Not from Theophilus : he had gone off on a dream- 
 journey, like Christian, leaving his poor wife in the City of 
 Wakefulness. It was a noise in the house ! 
 
 Not a daytime noise ; but one of those stealthy, indefin 
 able, long-interval noises, that, coming in the darkness of 
 the early morning hours, make one s blood creep and cur 
 dle ! Creak creak softer and softer then dying 
 away entirely. Pshaw : I thought, it s the back shutter ! 
 No : shutters don t throw up a phosphorescent light ; and 
 now, looking from my bed into the room where the chil 
 dren slept, I could plainly see a faint glimmer through the 
 ventilator window. This ventilator, or " well," went through 
 the centre of the house, from basement to roof. In a 
 moment the light, though faint still, grew stronger, more 
 definite. It was the gleam of a lighted candle from below, 
 flashing an instant, then vanishing. 
 
 " Theophilus ! " I cried, in a stage whisper : " wake 
 up ! quick ! " 
 
 He turned over like a sick buffalo. 
 
 " O Theoph ! " bending nearer, and giving him a slight 
 shake, " do get up ! there s a man in the house !" 
 
 " Ye-e-s," grunted my natural protector, " I know it ; go 
 to sleep, dear." 
 
 There s no use mincing the matter. I did get agitated : 
 7* 
 
78 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 I poked him, shook him, jerked the pillow from under his 
 head, and finally restored him to consciousness. 
 
 As thoroughly alert now as myself, he sprang to the 
 floor, and, after a few hasty tiptoe preparations, started for 
 the basement, pistol in hand. 
 
 I rushed frantically into the children s room, and sat on 
 the foot of their bed, inwardly praying that the robber s 
 blood might not be upon my poor husband s soul. 
 
 Good heavens ! The stealthy steps were coming up the 
 stairs, approaching my very door ! 
 
 I flew, and locked it. 
 
 " Em," said Theoph s voice outside, " if you want fun, 
 come down." 
 
 Decidedly relieved, I hastened into the hall. He 
 motioned me to follow him silently. Arrived at the head 
 of the kitchen-stairs, Theophilus crammed the corner of 
 his dressing-gown into his mouth, and made signs for me 
 to look. 
 
 There on the lowest step, sat Aggy ; a lighted candle 
 and the open cake-box were on the floor beside her, and 
 on her lap was a half-eaten apple-pie, which she was 
 rapidly demolishing. 
 
 "Aggy/" cried Theoph, in an awful voice. 
 
 The pie fell from her lap, as, with a scream, she darted 
 up, flew to the end of the kitchen hall, and stood at bay, 
 with her back against the door. 
 
 " Aggy," said I, " what in the world possessed you to 
 come down here like a thief, at this hour of the night, 
 to take what did not belong to you ? " 
 
 She crouched to the floor, looking up at us nervously. 
 Something in the expression of our faces re-assured her. 
 
OUR AGGY. 79 
 
 " Couldn t he p it nohow, missy : I was mos starved. 
 Don lick dis nigger dis time, missy." 
 
 She had eaten three hearty meals that day, to my cer 
 tain knowledge ; but a chance glimpse into the dining- 
 room pantry had proved too much for her. 
 
 "I shall not whip you, Aggy," said I, "though you have 
 done a very wrong act. Put the cake-box back into the 
 pantry. 
 
 She obeyed. 
 
 " Now go to bed, and never attempt any thing of this 
 kind again. Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Yes, missy. I se sorry for sturbin you, missy, I jess 
 is," answered Aggy, bending furtively to the floor, and 
 clapping a big piece of the broken pie into her mouth 
 " but I likes em dreffel." 
 
 Obeying a sign from Theophilus, the damsel pre 
 ceded us in our ascent with perfect decorum, until half 
 way up the garret flight, when apparently seized with some 
 droll idea concerning the night s adventure, she broke 
 into a loud "Gorry ! " and doubling herself with laughter, 
 bounded with something between a spring and a caper, 
 up to her room. In a moment or two we heard her clear 
 voice falling through the "startled air" in an. exultant 
 verse, each line ending with a jerk, as though the undress 
 ing process kept time with it : 
 
 " All de good people when dey die 
 
 Hally-lujee-rum I 
 Go to lib in de happy sky 
 
 Hally-lujee-rum ! " 
 
 All things considered, it was astonishing how well our 
 
80 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 charge comported herself for a day or two after this. My 
 kindness-principle evidently worked well, and I was not 
 without hope that Aggy might yet become a useful member 
 of society. To be sure, she had some very troublesome 
 peculiarities, such as shouting, in a loud but not unmusical 
 voice, snatches of hymns and quaint negro songs, at all 
 hours and under the most inopportune circumstances ; 
 snapping her great white teeth at poor Philly whenever 
 she caught him alone, thereby throwing the little darling 
 almost into spasms; and, when not watched, invariably 
 going up stairs outside the balustrade, to the delight of the 
 children, who risked their necks daily in humble imitation. 
 Shoes and stockings were her especial detestation ; and in 
 many a delightful barefoot hour did she elude my vigil 
 ance, sometimes going, like 
 
 "... my son John, 
 With one stocking off and one stocking on," 
 
 in order to have a presentable foot ready for a surprise. 
 On these occasions, meeting her suddenly in the halls, I, 
 dupe that I was, contented myself with a glance, little sus 
 pecting that the fact of her hopping, or being perched upon 
 one foot, meant any thing more than an every-day antic. 
 
 Added to these eccentricities was an inconvenient habit, 
 strangely out of keeping with her usual animation, of fall 
 ing asleep any time and any where. Keyholes and cracks 
 of doors were a certain conquering power with her. Many 
 a time we found the creature lying at full length upon the 
 floor, her ear pressed to the carpet, and every nerve 
 strained to catch the conversations going on in the room 
 below ; and more than once Theophilus, entering his li- 
 
OUR AGGY. 8l 
 
 brary, found her curled up on the rug, match in hand, 
 sound asleep before his unlighted fire. 
 
 One of the most singular traits of the girl was her sud 
 den fits of temporary docility. Often, at these times, I 
 would speak to her of her good old father, and of that 
 higher Love which knows no difference of hue or tongue. 
 She would listen attentively, and even kneel beside me, 
 repeating word for word some simple prayer with true 
 pathos in her tone, only to break away at last with a con 
 temptuous " Pooh ! what stuff ! Dis chile can t stan sich 
 truck, missy ! " Or she would suddenly change to a sit 
 ting posture on the floor, and with hands clasped about 
 her knees, rock backward and forward, wagging her head 
 between each chuckle, " Oh ! Lorry me, missy, you kill dis 
 nig ; you do. Yah ! yah ! it s wuss den wucken, he ! he ! " 
 
 But, as already stated, Aggy really did improve in many 
 respects. She soon learned to scour the knives, build fires, 
 and wash and scrub in a way that quite propitiated Ann 
 and Nora ; though Ellen, my fine waitress, would not be 
 appeased. " Nagers was what a dacent girl cuddent and 
 wuddent putt up wid, nohow." She left, and I conceived 
 the wild idea of trying Miss Aggy as her substitute. 
 
 A few days indefatigable drilling did wonders, and, I 
 am proud to say, produced a profound impression upon 
 Theophilus. To be sure, she generally ate half the sugar 
 from the bowl while setting the supper-table ; and dishes 
 of pickles grew strangely less on their way from pan 
 try to dining-room ; yet she was generally good-tem 
 pered, and, when "massa" was absent, very anxious to 
 please. Why he should have had such an influence upon 
 her is incomprehensible ; but there is no denying the fact, 
 
82 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 that a word or a look from him always either frightened 
 her immoderately, or possessed her with the spirit of a 
 hundred imps. Now and then, especially when we had 
 friends to dinner, mischief reigned supreme. At such 
 times interference or notice only made matters worse. 
 The more important the guests, or the greater the solici 
 tude of poor Theoph that no faux pas should occur, the 
 more apt was her ladyship to wickedly fill the tumblers so 
 full that they could not be lifted without accident ; or to 
 slyly take possession of the knife and fork of some embar- 
 rassed guest ; or even to burst into a shout of laughter, or 
 cut an unexpected " pigeon-wing " in the fulness of her 
 mood. I shall never forget the day that the Rev. Dr. 
 Barrilpreech dined with us. Just in the middle of his 
 impressive grace, Aggy burst into the room, singing at the 
 top of her voice, 
 
 " I se boun fur de Ian ob Canaan," 
 
 and then apologized with, 
 
 " Gorry ! missy, what yer habbin bressin to-day fur ? 
 Missy Grimmons use ter nab em regular" 
 
 After this Theophilus became unmanageable. I was 
 constrained to hire another waitress, reserving Aggy for 
 the "generally useful" department. Here her principal 
 labors resolved themselves into eating, drinking, sleeping, 
 and hiding between her mattresses every stray article in 
 the house. Odd shoes, pieces of old suspenders, empty 
 spools, bits of ribbon, tea-spoons, tooth-brushes, and even 
 Theoph s cigars, all were stowed away with equal care and 
 cunning. How they got there, Aggy never could "tink." 
 "Mus hab bin de cat or Philly ;" she "didn t know nuffin 
 at all about em." 
 
OUR AGGY. 83 
 
 One day Theophilus remarked rather pompously to a 
 friend at dinner, that of all the books in his collection, he 
 valued most a certain rare edition of Sir Thomas Browne. 
 " You shall see it to-day, sir," he added, " as I know you 
 will appreciate it." After dinner my beloved biblioma 
 niac attempted to fulfil his promise. The precious volume 
 was gone ! Theophilus was in despair. He had been 
 reading the book that very morning. At last, with an 
 intuition quite equal to De Quincey s " electric aptitude 
 for discovering analogies," I stole up to Aggy s room, and 
 slyly disinterred Sir Thomas from his tomb between the 
 mattresses. A moment afterward my unsuspecting The 
 ophilus was surprised at finding it in his chair, " just where 
 he had left it." 
 
 Still I repeat and insist that the girl steadily improved. 
 
 A few weeks after Aggy s advent circumstances com 
 pelled me to commit a conventional sin, in other words, 
 to tell a polite lie, by announcing, at one of the sewing- 
 meetings of our society, that I would be pleased to see the 
 ladies at our house on the following Wednesday. 
 
 Now, I love freedom. I idolize soldiers. But, for all 
 that, I do not like to hold a sewing-society meeting, with 
 its scraps and threads, on our velvet carpets. Yet the 
 thing had to be. Indeed, St. Grundy sent me a consola 
 tion by way of reward. It would certainly be a triumph to 
 exhibit Aggy, in her advanced state, to the society. No 
 other member had been able to keep her longer than a 
 week. She should attend the door. I felt there could be 
 no chance of accident in that, while, at the same time, the 
 neat appearance and improved bearing of the girl would 
 speak for themselves. 
 
84 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Wednesday arrived. Concluding that discretion was the 
 better part of valor, I did not betray my anxiety to the 
 damsel, but simply directed her to remain in the hall, make 
 no noise, and to admit the visitors respectfully. 
 
 Every thing worked charmingly. As I stood at the end 
 of the long rooms, engaged as " cutter," I could hear 
 Aggy s pleasant voice saying, " In de frun parlor, ladies ; " 
 and now and then a cheery, " Yes, marm, I se berry happy," 
 in answer to some kind inquiry. She attended to her 
 duties so promptly ! The ladies had not time to ring 
 the bell before they were admitted, and so noiselessly too, 
 by my little handmaiden. I was quite elated, and could 
 not forbear indulging in a few remarks to those near me 
 concerning Aggy s improvement, and the immense pains I 
 had taken to make her a good servant. 
 
 "Yes-s!?" said Mrs. Winthrop, replying in a rapid 
 scale of C ; and I translated it, " You have indeed suc 
 ceeded, my dear Mrs. Brown. How in the world did you 
 acquire such wisdom and energy ? " 
 
 Our meeting over, the company departed almost in a 
 body. As soon as the last lady left the house I called, in 
 a cheerful voice, from the parlor, 
 
 " Come here, Aggy." 
 
 Her sable face appeared at the door, grinning with satis 
 faction. 
 
 " You have been a very good girl, Aggy, and shall have 
 sponge-cake for your supper." 
 
 " Tanky, missy," was the honest response ; " but, bress 
 yer ! dis nigger didn take no troubP. I jess lef de do 
 stan in open, an hitched up on de hall table, dis way." 
 
 She vanished. She was suiting the action to the word. 
 With a sinking heart, I hurried into the hall. 
 
OUR AGGY. 85 
 
 My young lady was indeed upon the table, swinging her 
 naked feet therefrom in great glee. 
 
 " Good gracious, child ! " I cried, seizing her by the 
 shoulder, " where are your shoes and stockings ? " 
 
 " Gorry ! " ejaculated Aggy, drawing up the offending 
 members in a twinkling, and blinking her great eyes at me 
 in terror. 
 
 There lay the cast-off articles, in full view, midway be 
 tween the entrance and the parlor-door. 
 
 " When did you take them off ? " I gasped, ready to cry 
 with mortification, as the memory of my rather boastful 
 words surged within me. 
 
 " I tuck em off fore de ladies cum," whined the girl, 
 " coz yer tole me ter be quiet : can do nufnn in dem yar 
 shoes." 
 
 " Aggy," I asked, in a tragic voice, " did you swing your 
 feet in that outrageous manner while the ladies were in the 
 hall ? " 
 
 " Donno, missy," sobbed Aggy, scratching her head ; 
 "mose like I did, coz dey allers swings nat ral when I 
 sits on any thin high." 
 
 Just then Theophilus came in, and, rather than put him 
 in possession of the facts, I hastily gathered up the girl s 
 impedimenta, and allowed her to depart for the kitchen with 
 out further comment. But it was trying, to say the least of 
 it, to hear her singing obliviously, as she bounded down the 
 
 stairs, 
 
 " Oh ! Pse goin to be an angel 
 I se goin to be an angel, 
 An lib in de big blue sky." 
 
 In the evening Aggy s father came in. He was a noble- 
 8 
 
r 
 
 86 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 looking negro, though evidently worn by toil and suffering. 
 His " Well, gal ! " and the twinkle in his bright eye as 
 Aggy entered the room, told their own story of love and 
 long forbearance. For his sake my resolve to return her 
 to the society was abandoned at once. I shall never for 
 get the glow of honest pride with which he forced upon 
 me a small sum of money, his first savings as a free 
 man, " to buy de chile some close." 
 
 " Ef it s de same to you, marm," was his dignified reply 
 to my remonstrance, " I d ruther de gal ud hab it. She 
 hain t had no mudder since she woz a nussin chile, an ole 
 Cudjoe s nebber had no chance to hev the sponsibility uv 
 her afore. May de Lor bress you, marm, an de gem man 
 too, fur shelterm uv her an larnin her." He looked at 
 Aggy a moment, and continued, " An oh ! missus, ef yer 
 could, ef yer only could, wid de Lord s he p, make her a 
 Christian, it ud" He stopped, and burst into tears. 
 
 " We will try," I said, grasping the old man s hand ; 
 " and you, Aggy, I know, will endeavor to be a good girl 
 for your father s sake." 
 
 " Can t, missy," sobbed Aggy, with sudden vehemence, 
 as she plunged her woolly head in the old man s bosom, 
 " tain t no use I se fractory sojers sed so I se got 
 de debbil in me ! " 
 
 At this point Theophilus walked into the room with the 
 baby in his arms. Aggy sprang up in an instant. 
 
 " Dar, missy, dat s it ! She ain t a bit afeard uv niggers 
 she s liked Aggy frum de furst, cept Nora sed yer d es 
 leaf hev a monkey han le her es me. Ef yer d on y let 
 me hole an ten de baby, I cud be a Chrisshen I tink I 
 cud dat s a fac." 
 
OUR AGGY. 87 
 
 And with these words, after wiping her eyes upon her 
 apron, she commenced dancing frantically before the baby, 
 stopping occasionally to let the soft dimpled hands clutch 
 at her wool while the little one crowed and screamed with 
 delight. 
 
 Half tempted to consent, and yet dreading a positive 
 fiat from Theophilus, who idolized the baby, I turned the 
 subject, and was glad when the door-bell summoned Aggy 
 from the room. 
 
 After old Cud joe left, Theophilus and I held another 
 consultation. He was inexorable. 
 
 " What ! " he cried, "let that crazy imp take care of the 
 baby ? never ! Isn t it enough to have the furniture, win 
 dows, and crockery broken ; to find the children s hoop- 
 les hung across my best beaver ; to be made ridiculous 
 before my friends ; and to have my youngsters all talking 
 and laughing like darkeys, without having poor little 
 Pinky s brains dashed out into the bargain ! I tell you, 
 Emma, this notion of yours is Quixotic, absurd, positively 
 criminal under the circumstances ! " 
 
 Now, when Theophilus forgets himself in this manner, I 
 simply blush for him, and quietly resolve to follow my own 
 calmer judgment. Consequently, Aggy was duly installed 
 the next day as under-nurse, and did so well, that before 
 the first week elapsed even Theophilus admitted that mat 
 ters were not so very discouraging after all. 
 
 One bright, icy afternoon shall I ever forget it? 
 while little Philly, at the prospect of a bath, was suffering 
 under a severe attack of Psychrophobia, the baby, held in 
 Aggy s now careful arms, was gazing through the window 
 panes. Suddenly, like Rasselas, she was seized with an 
 
88 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 ardent desire to visit the outer world, and, of course, soon 
 set up a vigorous " dey-dey ! dey-dey ! " which, being in 
 terpreted, means, " I want somebody to put on my street 
 fixings, and take me out quick ! quick ! " 
 
 "Do lef me take her, missy, jes in frun ob de house ; 
 please do, missy," pleaded Aggy, pressing the baby to her 
 heart in eager anticipation. " I keep her wrap up jess es 
 warm es I kin, an I promis," she continued, rolling her 
 great eyes solemnly till they showed more white than black, 
 " I promis I wunt go no furder dan de house." 
 
 " Very well," said I, " I ll trust you, Aggy. Look up at 
 the window every few moments, and I ll wave my hand 
 when I wish you to come in." 
 
 We wrapped the little darling up warmly, and I couldn t 
 help congratulating myself on my recognition of Aggy s 
 true sphere, when I saw how tenderly and cautiously she 
 descended the stairs with her precious burden. 
 
 In a moment I raised the window, and saw Aggy walk 
 ing demurely up and down in front of the house, her head 
 bobbing like a mandarin s in dutiful watchfulness of my 
 signal. I could not resist the temptation to run down to 
 the front parlor, where Theophilus, in dressing-gown and 
 slippers, sat reading the paper, to show him how glorious 
 ly my system worked. He looked up as I entered. 
 
 " Theoph, dear, do come and see how carefully Aggy 
 carries the baby," said I, raising the sash lightly. 
 
 Aggy was singing in a subdued voice, as she paced 
 slowly up and down, 
 
 " Massa gone, missy too, 
 Cry ! niggers, cry ! 
 Tink I ll see de bressed Norf 
 Fore the day I die." 
 
OUR AGGY. 89 
 
 All would have been well, if Theophilus had only kept 
 quiet; but the man was possessed. He dashed the 
 blinds open with a bang, and called out sternly, 
 
 " Be careful, girl ! The sidewalks are slippery. Mind 
 you don t go a single step past the house ! " 
 
 This was enough. Aggy raised her eyes to his face, 
 and we saw in a flash that her impish spirit was aroused. 
 Off she started. Theophilus, without taking time to get 
 coat or hat, rushed to the door, and reached the side 
 walk just in time to see her dart around the corner. He 
 hurried on, but only to catch the gleam of the baby s 
 white cloak, as it disappeared at the next turn. Another, 
 and yet another corner was gained with no better success. 
 People stared to see a hatless man rushing along at such 
 a rate. Crowds gathered, and every idler in the street 
 joined in the chase, but to no avail. The girl had wings 
 to her feet. Theophilus shuddered, lest in her excitement 
 she should dash the baby to the ground ; but he dared not 
 slacken his pace, because to lose sight of her, he felt, 
 was to lose his child forever. Shouts filled the air : cries 
 of " Stop, thief ! " " Run, sis ! " " Shake your pins 
 nimbler, old fellow ! " " Hurrah for the gal ! " resounded 
 on every side. Meanwhile the rabble, Theophilus in 
 their midst, pressed on faster and faster. More than once 
 the fugitive ran almost under the heads of passing horses, 
 causing them to leap and prance ; but she never once 
 faltered or staggered. On she ran, until, turning her 
 head, she saw that her pursuers were gaining upon her. 
 Halting an instant, she laid the baby on a pile of mats 
 in front of a grocery, and flew around the corner. 
 
 No one followed ; for all stopped to see whether what 
 8* 
 
90 THE&PHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 she had cast away was a bundle or a living thing. Not 
 a sound escaped it ; and only when its panting father 
 clasped it to his bosom, did the poor frightened birdie 
 utter a cry. Theophilus told me afterward that that cry 
 was the sweetest sound he had ever heard in his life ; which 
 struck me as rather a queer idea, though I said nothing. 
 
 Poor Theophilus ! His position, considering his tem 
 perament, was certainly not an enviable one. Standing 
 in slippers, bareheaded, with a screaming baby in his 
 arms, nearly a mile from home, and in a part of the city 
 where not a hack, not a hat-store, was to be seen, sur 
 rounded by a gaping crowd, who deluged him with ques 
 tions, and incensed him with their jokes, he was indeed 
 to be pitied ! Matters were not much ameliorated either 
 by the appearance of a policeman, who coming late to the 
 rescue, as usual, insisted in stentorian tones upon knowing 
 "what all this meant." 
 
 Humbled and grateful, I clasped the baby in my arms 
 that evening, scarcely daring to look at Theophilus. 
 
 We might never have heard of Aggy again, had not our 
 little one been carried to Madison Park, months after, by 
 its new nurse. 
 
 When they returned, I could hear baby chattering in 
 pure Choctaw all the way up stairs. 
 
 " Why, darling, what is it ? " I asked, meeting her at the 
 door, and almost smothering her with kisses. " What did 
 baby see in the park ? " 
 
 " Goo goo, Ag, goo goo, Ag, zoo whoo ! " 
 
 " Bless her heart, ma am," cried nurse, " I declare if she 
 don t almost tell you." 
 
OUR AGGY. 91 
 
 "Tell me what, Betsey?" 
 
 " Why, do you believe, ma am, when me and baby was 
 a-going in the park, what should come bouncing up to us 
 but an ugly little nigger ? " 
 
 " Ag ! Goo-ug, gug ! " explained the baby. 
 
 " Yes, you pet : goo goo. So it was," continued Betsey, 
 taking off its " things," and putting all the pins into her 
 mouth : " it was a nassy black thing, it was." 
 
 " Well, what about the colored girl ? " I asked, becom 
 ing impatient. " Was it Aggy ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma am, that very young un you ve been tellin 
 me of. Well, if she didn t laugh and cry and dance, and 
 clap her hands, till I thought she d go into fits. Then she 
 whisked the baby out of my arms in a jiffy, and most 
 strangled it with kisses ; and, do you believe, ma am, the 
 more I tried to pull baby away the more it wouldn t come, 
 but just held on to the dirty black neck, and hollered. 
 At last, when I got baby safe in my arms again, and it 
 a-screaming to go back to her, I jest up an told the 
 sassy thing to go about her business. 
 
 " Well, says she, * I se gwine (these niggers talks like 
 heathen). Tell missy Aggy lub her fus-rate, on y I se 
 got anudder missy now ; " and ran off, after kissin baby 
 again, and laughin and cryin like wild." 
 
 Betsey paused from sheer exhaustion ; for during the 
 narrative she had been tossing her charge up and down, 
 shaking her head, and making herself interesting to it 
 generally. 
 
 "Ran off? Didn t you call her? Couldn t you stop 
 her ? " 
 
 " Bless you, ma am ! There ain t a person living could 
 
92 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 V stopped her. Why, she run faster than the very wind, 
 ma am. I misgive me she s kind o wild, savin your pres 
 ence ; or maybe she s afraid the master d have her took 
 up, as most any gentleman would after such work. 
 P r aps " 
 
 " But didn t she say she would come and see the baby ? 
 Didn t she tell you where she is living ? " 
 
 " Not a word, ma am," persisted Betsey solemnly, shak 
 ing her head. " She just run and run, as if the very ter 
 rors was after her." 
 
 That was the end of it. Aggy, who is no creature of 
 fancy, but a real, living girl, never again ventured near 
 the spot that held Theophilus. She was gone, and with 
 her my philanthropic scheme, but not my faith in her race, 
 my hope for their future. 
 
 Often in the quiet spring afternoons, while sitting in 
 the nursery, that lithe figure seems before me again ; and 
 I almost hear her quaint snatches of song ringing through 
 the house. When baby shouts with keener delight than 
 usual, the clatter of those wild dances once more rings in 
 my ears ; and often in the dim twilight, the old father s 
 words come back : " Ef yer could, ef yer only could, wid 
 de Lord s he p, make her a Christian ! " 
 
INSANITY OF CAIN. 
 
INSANITY OF CAIN. 
 
 |HATEVER is startling in the fact of questioning 
 Cain s sanity only goes to prove the simple jus 
 tice of the doubt. For more than five thousand 
 years humankind has been content to look upon the First 
 Born as a murderer. Each new generation, convicting 
 him as it were without hearing of judge or jury, has felt 
 far more concern that the conviction should be under 
 stood as a so-called religious fact, than that a remote and 
 defenceless fellow-creature should have the benefit of 
 human justice. One-tenth of the zeal and candor with 
 which our own Froude has endeavored to make a saint of 
 England s chronic widower might have sufficed to lift a 
 world s weight of obloquy from the shoulders of Cain. 
 But, until to-day, no philosopher has chosen to assume 
 the difficult and delicate task. No jurisprudent has 
 dared to investigate a charge that has been a sort of 
 moral stronghold for ages. So grand a thing is it to be 
 able to point away far back, deeper and deeper, into antiq 
 uity, to the very First Families, and say, Behold the foun 
 tain-head of our murder-record. 
 
 Doggerel has much to answer for. It has driven many 
 
 95 
 
g6 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 a monstrous wrong into the heart of its century. It has 
 done its worst with Cain, but not the worst. 
 
 C is for Cain, 
 
 Who his brother had slain, 
 
 though winning in cadence, lacks spirit as a charge. It is 
 too non-committal. The feeble soul that contrived it was 
 fit only for jury-duty. It wants the snap of preconceived 
 opinion. But CAIN, THE FIRST MURDERER, is grand, 
 unique, statistical. Hence its vitality and power. Gene 
 ration after generation, taught to loathe his very name, has 
 accepted the statement on general principles. There had 
 to be a first murderer ; and why not Cain ? Again, why 
 not Abel for the murderee ? 
 
 There was no miasma in that sweet, fresh time ; no 
 scope for contagious diseases. There were no pastry- 
 shops, no distilleries, no patent medicines, no blisters, no 
 lancets, and no doctors. Consequently, there was no way 
 for a man to die unless somebody killed him. Cain did 
 this thing for Abel. That we do not dispute ; nor that he 
 did it gratis and unsolicited. But was he a murderer? 
 Setting aside the possibility that Abel s time had not 
 come, are we to judge Cain by the face of his deed? 
 May there not have been palliating conditions, tempera 
 mental causes ? In a word, was he sane ? 
 
 For centuries, ages, the world has overlooked the tre 
 mendous considerations involved in this question, placidly 
 branding an unfortunate man with deepest ignominy, 
 and taking it for granted that his deed was deliberate, 
 the act of a self-poised, calculating, and guilty mind. Let 
 us see. 
 
INSANITY OF CAIN. 97 
 
 In the first place, Cain, for a time, was the only child 
 on earth. That in itself was enough to disturb the strong 
 est juvenile organism. All the petting, nursing, trotting, 
 coddling, and watching of the whole civilized world fall 
 ing upon one pair of baby shoulders ! Naturally the 
 little fellow soon considered himself a person of conse 
 quence, all-absorbing consequence, in fact. Then came 
 Abel, disturbing and upsetting his dearest convictions. 
 Another self ! A new somebody ! A kicking counterfeit, 
 held fondly in his mother s arms, riding to Banbury Cross 
 on his father s foot ! 
 
 A Brother ? What did it mean ? There were no books 
 to tell him ; and if there had been, the poor child never 
 knew a letter. There were no philosophers nor metaphysi 
 cians in those days to explain the phenomenon. The 
 earliest Beecher was not born ; Darwin was still a linger 
 ing atom in some undreamed of, unorganized pseudo-pro 
 toplasm of a monkey. The child had no friends, not even 
 a school-fellow. Adam s time was taken up with what 
 modern conundrumists have called his express company ; 
 Eve had the baby to mind, and Cain was left alone to 
 brood over the unfathomable. Think of the influence thus 
 brought to bear upon the delicate, sensitive brain of that 
 very select child. A mature intellect would have given 
 way under a far less strain. 
 
 But Cain survived it. He became reconciled, we will 
 say, to the little Abel. They played and shouted together 
 as children do in our day, racing the fields at will, growing 
 to be strong, brave little animals, fierce, impulsive, and 
 aggressive especially Cain. But how did they fare 
 aesthetically no academies, no Sunday-schools, no gym- 
 9 
 
98 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 nasiums, nothing to direct and balance their young 
 minds ! 
 
 Their parents were plain people, caring little for society, 
 we imagine, and any thing but dressy in their tastes. 
 There were no lectures in those days, remember ; no con 
 certs, no Young Men s Christian Associations, to make life 
 one long festivity every thing was at a dead level. 
 Probably the only excitements Adam and Eve had were 
 thrashing the children and making them "behave." What 
 ever sensation Adam may have made among the beasts of 
 the field, the only public movement possible to his active- 
 minded wife was to notify all mankind (i.e., little Cain and 
 Abel) to look out, for Adam was coming! Naturally, 
 Abel, being the baby, the last and therefore the best and 
 dearest, was spared these thrashings and public excite 
 ments to a great extent ; and so the burden of social re 
 sponsibility fell upon poor little Cain. Who shall blame 
 him, or wonder at the act, if now and then he indulged in 
 a sly kick at Abel, Abel, the goody boy of the family, 
 the "rest of the world," who would not on any account be 
 as naughty and noisy as brother Cain ? 
 
 Yet who of us can say that any such kick was admin 
 istered ? At that early stage of his existence, the controll 
 ing mind of Cain had not yet given way. 
 
 It is no light matter to be the first man in a world like 
 this ; and Cain certainly was preparing to hold that posi 
 tion. Adam, his father, was created for a purpose. Like 
 Minerva, he sprang into life full grown ; therefore, though 
 we may safely consider him as the first human creature, 
 he certainly was not the first man. For how can one be 
 a man who never was a child ? 
 
INSANITY OF CAIN. 99 
 
 Here we have another argument in favor of Cain. Be 
 sides having no bad boys to pattern after, he was under 
 the constant direction of his parents, who certainly, if 
 only from an instinct of self-preservation, would have 
 trained him never to be passionate or cruel, when in his 
 right mind. To be sure, they labored under a peculiar 
 disadvantage. Herbert Spencer himself, coming into the 
 world booted and spurred, with no childhood to look back 
 upon, might have been at a loss how to manage the first 
 boy. We must never forget that there was a time when 
 instinct and reflex action had the start of the doctrine of 
 precedent and law of consequences; when the original "I 
 told you so ! " had yet to be uttered. Even the warning 
 example of Cain was denied to the moral advancing of 
 this first boy. 
 
 Still the situation had its advantages. There were no 
 fond uncles and aunts, no doting grand-parents, to spoil 
 the child, and confound the best endeavors of Adam and 
 Eve. Fortunately for the boy, Poor Richard s Almanac 
 was yet unwritten ; George Washington s little hatchet 
 was never brandished before his infant mind; and Cas- 
 abianca had not yet struck his attitude on the burning 
 deck. So young Cain was spared a host of discouraging 
 influences. In short, there is every reason to believe, that, 
 in spite of depressing conditions and surroundings, he 
 grew up to be at least a better man than his father, who 
 never had any bringing up at all. That he did not kill 
 Abel in his boyhood is proof enough of this. There was 
 discipline somewhere. 
 
 And in the name of developed science and Christian 
 charity, why not, in considering subsequent events, make 
 
100 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 due allowance for whatever phrenological excesses the 
 cranium of young Cain may have possessed? An intel 
 ligent father of to-day, figuratively speaking, can take his 
 child s head by the forelock. He can detect what is within 
 it, and counteract proclivities. If an ominous bump rise 
 near his baby s ear, he is ready to check combativeness 
 with " Mary had a Little Lamb," " Children, you should 
 never let," and other tender ditties. In a word, he may 
 take observations from the little mounts of character on 
 his child s head, and so, if he be wise, direct the young 
 life into safe and pleasant places. But Adam knew noth 
 ing of phrenology. Nor have we great reason to believe, 
 that, if he had known of it, he would have discreetly fol 
 lowed its indications. Children are not always cherubs. 
 We all know how the dearest of our little ones sometimes 
 become so " aggravating " as to upset our highest phil 
 osophies. Was Adam more than human ? Say, rather, 
 he was the fountain-head and source of human passion. 
 
 Again, both children were the victims of an abiding pri 
 vation. They had the natural propensities of childhood. 
 They had teeth, stomach, appetite, all the conditions, 
 we will say, of cholera inf antum, except the one thing 
 for which they secretly yearned, green apples ! These, 
 of course, were not to be had in that house. They were 
 not even allowed to be mentioned in the family. Not 
 once in all their lonely childhood were those children 
 comforted with apples. Think of the possibilities of in 
 herited appetite, and then conceive of the effect of these 
 years of unnatural privation ! 
 
 Again, who shall question that at times the deepest and 
 most mysterious gloom pervaded that household ? Even 
 
INSANITY OF CAIN. IOI 
 
 if Adam and Eve did not confide in their children, their 
 oldest boy must have suspected that something was wrong. 
 What was it? the terrible something to be read, and 
 yet not read, in the averted faces of that doomed pair ? 
 They evidently had seen better days. Where? Why? 
 How ? What had become of some vague inheritance that 
 Cain felt was his by right? Morning, noon, and night, 
 misty and terrible suspicions haunted his young mind. 
 Night and noon and morning, the mystery revolved and 
 revolved within him. Was this conducive to sanity ? 
 
 Conceive of the effect of the animals seen in the chil 
 dren s daily walks ! There were no well-ordered mena 
 gerie specimens then, with Barnum or Van Amburgh in 
 the background as a foil against terror. Savage beasts 
 glared and growled and roared at every turn. Whatever 
 geologists may say to the contrary, we must insist that the 
 antediluvian animals did not necessarily antedate Adam. 
 Taking the mildest possible view of the case, the plesio- 
 saurus, pterodactyl, mastodon, and megatherium, in their 
 native state, could not have been soothing objects of con 
 templation to the infant mind. 
 
 Well, the boys grew up. But how bleak their young 
 manhood ! No patent-leather boots, no swallow-tails, no 
 standing-collars, no billiards, no girls to woo, no fellows to 
 flout ! Nothing to do when the farm-work was over, and 
 the sheep in for the night, but to look into each other s 
 untrimmed faces with a mute " Confounded dull ! " more 
 terrible than raving. 
 
 Fathers of to-day, would your own children pass un 
 scathed through such an existence as this ? Your little 
 Abels might stand it, but how about your little Cains? 
 
 9 * 
 
102 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Would they not "put a head" on somebody? Would 
 they not become, if not stark, staring mad, at least non 
 compos mentis ? Gentlemen of the jury, these considera 
 tions are not to be lightly passed by. 
 
 In judging of Cain, look at the situation. On the one 
 hand, a terrible family mystery, no schools, no churches, 
 no lectures, no society, no amusements, no apples ! On 
 the other hand, the whole burden of humanity borne for 
 the first time ; paternal discipline ; undue phrenological 
 developments ; monotonous employment ; antediluvian 
 monsters ; antediluvian parents, and an antediluvian good 
 brother, in whose mouth butter would have remained intact 
 for ages. 
 
 Undoubtedly that brother had an exasperating smile. 
 He was happy because he was virtuous. He had a way 
 of forgiving and forgetting that for a time would deprive 
 the offender of reason itself ; above all, he had a cool, col 
 lected manner of his own, added to a chronic desire to be 
 an angel. His offerings always fulfilled the conditions. 
 His fires needed only to be lighted, and the smoke was 
 sure to ascend with a satisfied, confident curl far into the 
 sky. 
 
 Cain s, on the contrary, refused to burn. We can see 
 it all. The smoke struggled and flopped. It crept along 
 the ground, and, clinging to his feet, wound about him like 
 a serpent. It grew black and angry, shot sideways into 
 his eyes, blinding and strangling him 
 
 And there stood Abel beside his pile, radiant, satisfied, 
 wanting to be an angel ! 
 
 It was but the work of a moment. The pent-up, dis 
 organizing influences of a life-time found vent in one wild 
 moment of emotional insanity. Abel was no more ! 
 
INSANITY OF CAIN. 103 
 
 Why dwell upon the tragedy ? The world is familiar 
 with its sickening details. We shall not repeat them here, 
 nor shall we question the justice of the punishment that 
 came to Cain, the remorse, the desolation, the sense of 
 being a fugitive and a vagabond on the face of the earth. 
 He had killed his brother, and the penalty must be paid. 
 Sane or insane, a terrible retribution must have overtaken 
 him. But how about his guilt ? Would it have been the 
 same in either case ? Are hereditary organism, tempera 
 mental excitability, emotional phrensy, to be disregarded ? 
 No ! a thousand times NO ! What " competent juror " 
 would acquiesce in such a proposition ? 
 
 " Am I my brother s keeper ? " cried the poor wretch, 
 when called upon to name the whereabouts of the missing 
 Abel. Who can doubt here that Cain, like any lunatic of 
 our own time, believed himself alone to be sane, and those 
 about him stark mad ? His use of the word " keeper " 
 proves this. True, there were no lunatic asylums in that 
 day ; but if the first original representative " inmate " 
 was at large, where should or could the first representative 
 keeper be but in that inmate s diseased imagination ? 
 
 Friends, the time has come when this case must be taken 
 up. Its mighty issues can no longer be set aside. If Cain 
 was not sane at the moment of killing, the stain of murder 
 must be wiped from his brow now and forever. This 
 tardy justice may at least be done him. Our children and 
 our children s children must be taught to speak of Cain 
 the man-slaughterer ; Cain the mentally excitable ; Cain 
 the peculiarly circumstanced ; but Cain the murderer ? 
 Never ! 
 
 A man s own testimony shall neither convict nor acquit 
 
104 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 him. But are we not to take into account, as indicative 
 of his state of mind, actions and declarations coincident 
 with the commission of the crime alleged against him ? If, 
 at or about the time of the fatal deed, there was positive 
 evidence of incoherence, what then? Witness the last 
 recorded words of Cain : 
 
 Is this the utterance of a sane mind ? " Every one that 
 findeth me, shall slay me ? " Gentleman, Cain at this 
 point was not only crazy he was the craziest man that 
 ever existed ! No ordinary lunatic, however preposterous 
 his terrors, expects to be killed more than once. But to 
 this poor madman retribution suddenly assumed a hydra- 
 headed form. His distracted brain, unconscious that 
 Adam was the only other man in the wide world, instantly 
 created an immense population. He saw himself falling 
 again and again by the strokes of successive assassins, 
 even as Abel had fallen under his hand. His first dazed 
 glimpse of death expanded and intensified into a horror 
 never since conceived by mind of man. His happiness 
 overthrown ; his reason a wreck ; a prey to fears that 
 stretched before him forever, with no possible hope of 
 final destruction, the only consolation is, that he could 
 not know the merciless verdict of posterity. He did not 
 recognize in himself The First Murderer. Rather than 
 dream of such ignominy as this, was it not better that he 
 should cry in his ravings, " Every one that findeth me 
 shall slay me ! " 
 
 We leave the question to the intelligence and the justice 
 of this faithful and enlightened century. 
 
SHODDY. 
 
SHODDY. 
 
 " Show me the fortunate man, and the gods I forget in a moment." SCHILLER. 
 
 on this broad earth can always be 
 found fit prototypes of the most wildly-conceived 
 heroes and heroines of the fairy-tales. There are 
 little Jacks in our day, subduing giants quite as formidable 
 as those of the time of the great Blunderbore. The genii 
 steam and electricity are offering seven-league boots and 
 listening-caps to old and young ; and bean-stalk ladders 
 are springing up at the feet of the restless Jacks whom 
 fortune favors. The age has its drowsy Gullivers and its 
 wide-awake Lilliputians ; its Sindbads, big with adventure ; 
 and its "army of faithful believers," tilting at every thing. 
 There are still Pussies-in-Boots, faithfully serving my lord 
 the Marquis of Carabas; daughters spinning weary threads 
 from distaffs never growing less ; social harps which at 
 last cry " Master ! " and waken terrible ogres, and inquisi 
 tive wives vainly trying to re-polish the tell-tale key. We 
 have Blue Beards, with sheathed cimeters, grimly extend 
 ing their matrimonial relations ; and sister Annies ever 
 watchful of another s needs. There are Sleeping Beauties, 
 
 107 
 
108 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 alas ! by the thousand ; and fair ones with golden locks 
 for whom princes and poets struggle. There are beasts, 
 too, whom we learn to love, after we have entered their 
 rose-lit sanctuaries ; and monsters who have sung, 
 
 " Fee 1 fo ! fum ! 
 I smell the blood of an Englishman I " 
 
 There are Strong-backs who bear the world s burdens, 
 and Hop-o -my-Thumbs who contrive to slip its responsi 
 bilities ; maidens, whose tongues shed dangerous vipers, 
 and maidens whose words are a shower of roses and 
 pearls. Proud sisters are every day being humbled, and 
 patient Cinderellas dropping the slipper that shall win 
 them the prince. Foolish old couples are wasting their 
 " wishes " on black-pudding ; and wise younger ones are 
 finding the " treasure of life " in each other. There are 
 saintly, ministering Red Riding-hoods, and, Heaven save 
 the mark ! grandams, with very big eyes and ears, eager 
 to devour them. Men and women are still sighing for 
 the waters of perpetual youth; and duenna-dragons are 
 guarding enchanted and enchanting maidens. There are 
 Ali Babas and envious Cassims ; sham oil-merchants and 
 avenging Morgianas ; wicked but lucky peddlers and 
 tailors, like those in the tales of the brothers Grimm; 
 and Aladdins with very wonderful lamps indeed ! 
 
 And here, after drifting down the stream of fairy lore, 
 we cast anchor ; for it is with these peddlers and tailors and 
 Aladdins that we have to deal. In short, at the risk of 
 mixing the metaphor, I propose to " strike oil," the oil that 
 fills the Aladdin-lamps of our own matter-of-fact day, when 
 
SHODDY. 109 
 
 men cry Cui bono ? to every thing, and expect title-deeds to 
 castles in the air. 1 
 
 The discerning reader need not be told the name of 
 this oil ; nor that the tailors and peddlers alluded to, with 
 their fleet-winged geese and magic packs, are the so-called 
 Shoddy contractors of the land of Stars and Stripes. 
 
 Verily, it is true. In this fair land, the wildest tales of 
 fairy chroniclers are rivalled by every-day experience. 
 What are the exploits of Ali Baba compared with the dis 
 coveries of those who first said " Open Sesame " to the 
 caves of Cali Fornia ? And what was good Mrs. Cassim s 
 zeal compared with that of the indefatigable Want-to-get- 
 rich of modern days ? Then, when the caves were opened, 
 how everybody rushed in, some coming out richly-laden, 
 and some finding themselves (metaphorically) drawn and 
 quartered, like poor Cassim ! But why tell an old story ? 
 There is newer material for fairy work than this. There 
 are these tailors and peddlers and Aladdins, at whom all 
 America is just now gazing with distended eyes, wonder 
 ing at the new palaces flashing into existence, at the 
 streams of wealth flowing into startled pockets, at the 
 presto-touch changing ragged clowns into dazzling "gents," 
 and, above all, at the fearful spell being cast upon 
 American life by these strange creatures, lifted, as it were, 
 by enchantment, into sudden wealth and importance. 
 
 We shall consider the peddlers and tailofs, i.e. the shoddy 
 contractors, first. " Shoddy," according to one Simmonds, 
 
 1 This paper originally appeared in the London Cornhill Magazine, about 
 a dozen years ago. It is given a place in this volume because it records a 
 state of things that in some respects has passed away, and become part of 
 the social history of the Republic. 
 
1 10 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 whom both Worcester and Webster use as a cat s-paw 
 in handling the ugly dissyllable, is "a fibrous material 
 obtained by * devilling refuse woollen goods, old stock 
 ings, rags, &c. It differs from mungo, " he says, " in 
 being of an inferior quality, and is spun into yarn with a 
 little fresh wool, and made into coarse cloth, drugget, 
 padding, and other articles." 
 
 So say the lexicographers. But, in this fast age, yester 
 day s dictionary is almost as much out of date as yesterday s 
 newspaper. In the world s great book of synonyms we 
 find that shoddy has been given a far wider signification. 
 If Liszt, in his "Life of Chopin," can devote pages to 
 the explanation of the Polish word zal, we should require 
 volumes fairly to describe the American word " shoddy." 
 It means pretence, vulgarity, assumption, the depth of 
 folly, and the highest height of the ridiculous ; also gilded 
 ignorance, mock-patriotism, wire-pulling, successful knav 
 ery, swindling, nay, treason itself. On the other hand, it 
 implies innocent good luck, reward of merit, and the 
 miraculous and sudden appearance (in the newly-rich man) 
 of super-intelligence and all the cardinal virtues. It 
 means vast expectations in hovels, and discomfort in pal 
 aces ; hippoo-birds, wretched with real golden crowns, the 
 secret envy of hippoos with the comfortable yellow crest 
 common to hippoodom. It means bare penury in the 
 father, and gorgeous affluence in the son. It will mean 
 ignorant dismay in the son at the scornful superiority of 
 the grandson, and grandsons who will feebly ignore the 
 name and character of the founder of their illustrious 
 house. 
 
 And this word, with its varied meanings and strong sig- 
 
SHODDY. Ill 
 
 nificance, has been raised to its present altitude by no less 
 a lever than the great American Rebellion. 
 
 Now, a great rebellion calls for two things, men to 
 carry it on, and men to resist it ; and these, whatever may 
 be their several patriotic aspirations, their valor, and en 
 thusiasm, must be fed, clothed, and equipped. Their 
 respective governments, having no time to lose, stand on 
 the " outer wall " of circumstance, and call loudly for the 
 vendors of food, clothing, and ammunition to draw near. 
 Honest industry hears the call, and prepares to answer it 
 as far as conscience and means will allow. Meantime 
 enterprise, whether honest or not, pricks up its ears, 
 " Hallo ! here s luck ! country in trouble wants some 
 thing in a hurry no time to examine little down-hearted, 
 I see no harm in cheating the government." And the 
 consequence is, a contract made so advantageously to the 
 Treasury Department, that honest merit sighs, "I can t 
 afford to go in," and settles down to the old routine. 
 
 The fortunate contractor at once buys up all the floating 
 " poor stuff " at home and abroad ; and his minions, with 
 their sub-contracts, fatten themselves like vampires on the 
 poor sewing-women of the land. Then come immense 
 supplies of army-clothing, flannel under-shirts, made of 
 " human creatures lives," and blankets and uniforms of 
 veritable " shoddy." The armies march forth in gallant 
 array. Soon follow innumerable catastrophes like that 
 described by an observing troubadour of 1861 : 
 
 " March ! said the colonel. Forward, march ! 
 
 Crack went the seams in halves ! 
 A hundred steps, a hundred men 
 Showed just two hundred calves 1 " 
 
112 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Notwithstanding this sad event, confiding officials still 
 trust to the shoddy garments. They fade and rip, and 
 burst apart, and drop to pieces, but the contractor feels 
 secure. His fortune is made, let the soldiers shiver and 
 curse as they may. What are a few thousand poorly-clad 
 men to him ? He is comfortable, in his marble halls. 
 
 Then come the peddlers with their packs, every thing by 
 this time valued at an exorbitant rate ; for must not the 
 army be fed and equipped ? With lying tongues and exult 
 ant hearts they present their wares. The inspectors are in 
 a hurry ; in fact, their eyes are dim with war-smoke. 
 Every thing is "passed," leaky tents, glued shoes, 
 mouldy oats, hickory beef, rusty pork, poor muskets, and 
 worse ammunition. Broken-down horses and donkeys are 
 transmuted (on paper) into war-steeds and mules ; and 
 leaky, unseaworthy tugs, ycleped " vessels " by Shoddy, 
 are sold at fabulous prices for the pursuit of nimble priva 
 teers, and the safe transportation of the country s defend 
 ers. The treasury grows lean ; but, like Mynheer Von 
 Dunderland, the peddler-contractors grow fat. They count 
 their gains in hundreds and thousands and millions ; they 
 thrive and feast and are merry, while their victims, they 
 who feel the real weight of their iniquity, are cheated of 
 their soldier-death, and must fall in swarms, from the 
 effects of insufficient shelter, bad food, and positive 
 poison. 
 
 Of course there are marked exceptions to these contracts 
 and contractors ; but that they are exceptions, and not the 
 rule, seems to be generally admitted. 
 
 When a great nation, overgrown with the mosses of 
 peace, is stirred and shaken like a huge rock on the way- 
 
SHODDY. 113 
 
 side, we all know what squirming, slimy things run forth 
 helter-skelter ; how they wriggle and reach and burrow ; 
 how nimble and eager and greedy they are, and how they 
 fatten on the disturbed debris. But when the sunshine 
 peers in among them, and freshening winds play about the 
 old foundation, these slimy things soon disappear amid 
 the chirp and hum of a better activity. This sunny-breeze 
 state of things is now prevailing at the North ; but there 
 are crowded graves east and west, in the Shenandoah 
 Valley, on the green banks of the Potomac, and the sunny 
 slopes of Virginia, on which the Shoddy contractors 
 dare not look ; and homes, the very atmosphere of which 
 should stifle them. 
 
 If there are Shoddy sinners, there are also Shoddy 
 saints ; men who, having committed no wrong, find them 
 selves suddenly very " well off ; " contractors, too, some 
 of them, who fulfil their part like good Christians, and, 
 strange to say, make money by that same. A certain 
 class of lucky inventors, inspired speculators, sudden-rise- 
 of-property men, and men who have " struck oil," or gam 
 bled successfully in stocks, make up the rest of the ranks 
 of Shoddy ; and strange, motley ranks they are, swelled by 
 the consequences and requirements of the civil war into 
 a formidable body indeed. 
 
 Shoddy has its shibboleth, but it is difficult to detect it 
 amid the din of the times. It is en mascarade, and there 
 fore not always easily recognized. It has changes of 
 surface like the chameleon, and stages of development 
 rivalling the wonders of the polliwig. It can darken the 
 very air around, and yet, like Peter Schlemihl, it has far 
 more " substance " than shadow. Full of mysteries and 
 contradictions, how shall we detect it ? 
 
114 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Shoddy minces its words with anxious affectation ; 
 Shoddy pours forth slang with a recklessness unparalleled ; 
 Shoddy carelessly jingles its wealth, and invites mankind 
 to come and see ; Shoddy clutches its gains with the sleep 
 less vigilance of the miser. Villanous Shoddy rises to a 
 foam of sparkling benevolence ; virtuous Shoddy, like the 
 rat in the fable, preaches industry to the starving from a 
 pulpit of cheese. Shoddy sinners doze in the best pews 
 on Sunday ; Shoddy saints stay at home, paralyzed by 
 their sudden good fortune ; Shoddy merchants stand well 
 " on the street ; " and Shoddy merchants dodge the sheriff 
 round the corner. In fact, there is scarcely a form of 
 human antithesis in which this same Shoddy does not shine 
 supreme ; and we in turn bemoan it, laugh at it, despise 
 it, envy it, insult it, and flatter it. We warn our children 
 against its example, and sedulously emulate its display in 
 our own humble manner. We cry, " Lord be merciful unto 
 these miserable sinners! " even while we long to be able, in 
 some mysterious and consecrated way, to go and do like 
 wise. We sneer at Mrs. O Flaggerty s huge diamond, 
 and conceive an intense dissatisfaction concerning the 
 "mean little stone " that once had power to gladden bur 
 hearts. In fact, I am afraid, if Shoddy be absurd, we are 
 foolish ; if Shoddy be sinful, we are without charity : but 
 let that pass ; what we have to deal with now, is the ser 
 pent itself, not the community that, " charmed " and 
 scotching by turns, is in danger of writhing within its 
 folds. 
 
 Nothing could be a greater mistake than to consider 
 Shoddy as an invariable synonym for newly acquired 
 riches. Men are frequently to be found who cast no 
 
SHODDY. 115 
 
 reproach on sudden prosperity, but rather exalt good for 
 tune by accepting it. These can hardly be called Shoddy, 
 though their entire wealth come in a day. Neither, of 
 course, can those be so classed who, by inheritance, fall 
 from the bare limb of "good family" into the warm nest 
 of plenty ; nor those whose honest gains, long withheld, 
 are unexpectedly rendered to them en masse. The lines 
 are wiredrawn, and yet the practical distinction to a close 
 observer is as broad as day. 
 
 When you see, as I have seen, a coarse-visaged, angular 
 woman, dressed or rather covered in the very extreme 
 of the mode, weighted with velvet, silk, and sparkling 
 jewels, and hear her exclaim, " Lor ! expense ain t no 
 manner of consequence to us ? " you will undoubtedly 
 detect a taint of Shoddy in the air. When you hear an 
 " honored citizen " boasting, in bad English, of his well- 
 known wealth and general can t-be-beativeness, you will 
 know that Shoddy is not far away. When you enter a 
 magnificent mansion, redolent of newness and fashion, 
 and search in vain, amid the gorgeous upholstery, showy 
 frescoes, and mongrel adornment, for the trailing home- 
 flowers of elegance and repose, be sure that " Shoddy" is 
 written on the wall. 
 
 Sometimes a mere glance, or tone, or footfall, will 
 betray the presence of Shoddy ; or a comment on life, 
 science, art, music, or literature, will proclaim it as from 
 the house-top, though you may have passed its legions, 
 unaware, in the street. In brief, to really comprehend 
 Shoddy, you must see its home, hear its conversation, and 
 observe its actions, note its tastes and desires and aspira 
 tions. Then, and not until then, you can say, " This is 
 
Il6 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Shoddy," "This is not Shoddy," with the force of a 
 Delphic decision. 
 
 Meantime, this deponent, having valiantly penetrated its 
 recesses, can offer certain personal testimony which may be 
 of interest. No matter how or why these glimpses were 
 obtained. Enough to say "I have been there to see." 
 
 Never shall I forget my first entree into those hallowed 
 precincts. We were a party of four, two ladies and two 
 gentlemen, who, in consequence of having received a gold- 
 lettered invitation to Mrs. G s grand reception, had, 
 
 on the appointed evening, proceeded in state to her showy 
 residence on Fifth Avenue, New York, an avenue, by 
 the way, believed by " the Shoddy " to lead to heaven 
 direct. 
 
 Our " dressing-room " experiences were peculiar, and 
 suggestive of strange scenes to follow; but being, as we 
 believed, well endowed with the repose of the Vere de 
 Veres, we descended toward the scene of action with a 
 tranquil consciousness of being in every way equal to the 
 occasion. At the very foot of the stairway we were 
 accosted by no less personages than the hostess herself, 
 and her grown-up daughter. The latter looked pale 
 and anxious ; but the mother, gorgeous in an intensely 
 blue silk, and a huge coronet of pink and purple artificial 
 flowers, evidently felt no misgivings. Both stared at us 
 unconditionally. Suddenly a light illumined the counte 
 nance of the elder lady, as she broke forth in a loud, 
 emphatic tone, 
 
 " Well t I declare ! Mrs. D. and Mr. E. ! How do you 
 do? And Miss E. ! glad to see you, I m sure; but the 
 lights and every thing dazzles me so, I don t hardly know 
 
SHODDY. II/ 
 
 people. Miry, my dear, this is Mr. E. and Mrs. D., both 
 kind friends of your pa, and Mr. E. s daughter." (Aside 
 to me.) " Who did you say the other gentleman was ? 
 Oh, yes! Mr. Stevens. Glad to see you, sir, you may 
 depend. Young gentlemen are so scarce. Couldn t hardly 
 get up the party for it. The war, you see, takes the best 
 of em off. Oh, excuse me; ha, ha! I didn t mean no 
 offence ! But every young gentleman at a party counts 
 one; don t they, Miry?" 
 
 " Lor , ma ! " simpered Miss G., blushing violently. 
 Here Mr. Stevens, always superbly master of himself, 
 gracefully hastened to the rescue, and in a moment Myra 
 was laughing the girlish laugh which, thank Heaven ! 
 even Shoddy cannot make unmusical. 
 
 " Dear me ! " sighed the matron pathetically, without 
 offering to allow us to pass into the drawing-room. 
 " They ve been pouring in thick as sirup all the evening ! 
 I m so exhausted I can t hardly stand up." 
 
 Then followed a painful silence. Through the arched 
 rosewood doorway we could see the gayly-dressed throng 
 within, a sea of blue, pink, and white, in which frantic 
 creatures in black broadcloth and white neckties seemed 
 to be insanely bobbing and whirling. Suddenly the music 
 ceased. The waves, crested with gauze and gossamer, 
 heaved violently for a moment, then parted like another Red 
 Sea, and an army of Israelites, bearing silver trays laden 
 with ices, passed safely through the temporary opening. 
 
 " Gracious ! " exclaimed the hostess at last, with an 
 apologetic start, "I ought to take you in. Miry," she 
 added, nodding her head sidewise towards us as she spoke, 
 "you must introduce them." 
 
Il8 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " O mother ! " was the sotto-voce reply, " I can t do it : 
 I feel too used up." 
 
 " Yes, you must," very austerely, "7 sha n t do it." 
 
 Instinctively our devoted band, feeling that this " intro 
 duction " was inevitable, glanced at each other to ascer 
 tain whether any especial peculiarity rendered us unpre 
 sentable ; but we were faultless. 
 
 Myra pouted, and looked toward the animated sea 
 aforesaid, as if contemplating a suicidal plunge. 
 
 "Myra Jane I" pursued the now irate mother, "do as I 
 tell you, miss, and stop putting on airs ! " 
 
 The refractory daughter was conquered. " Well, moth 
 er," she replied in a stage whisper, " I ll do it altogether, 
 but I can t introduce em separate" 
 
 Thus encouraged, we humbly followed the young lady ; 
 and, after being presented in a most novel and remarkable 
 manner to the staring mermaids and mermen, we found 
 ourselves slowly drifting toward an anchorage in the glit 
 tering saloon. 
 
 Young faces were there, radiant with intense enjoy 
 ment; older faces, with a startled, puzzled look upon 
 them, as though the unaccustomed scene wrought more 
 anxiety than pleasure ; hard faces, varnished with a mastic 
 smile ; soft, uninterpretable faces, which were either saintly 
 or horribly vicious ; and faces without any expression at 
 all. 
 
 Meantime the violins, being "under treatment," were 
 relieving themselves by sundry melancholy squeaks. 
 Groups of gentlemen, who seemed to have been recently 
 presented with their hands and feet, were making desper 
 ate efforts to appear at ease. Neglected dames were sub- 
 
SHODDY. 119 
 
 lime in a wretched nonchalance. Portly individuals in 
 watch-chains were glancing uneasily at matrons, whose 
 coiffures rivalled the Hanging Gardens of Babylon ; and 
 youths and maidens, all apparently more or less afflicted 
 with the dance of St. Vitus, were chatting merrily together. 
 Of these I cannot say that, 
 
 " Their voices, low with fashion, 
 Not with feeling, softly freighted 
 All the air about the windows 
 With elastic laughters sweet." 
 
 In truth, "and pity tis, tis true," shrill tones, posi 
 tive guffaws, and giggling responses, rather predominated 
 over the murmurs suggestive of a pleasant evening at the 
 Lady Geraldine s ; and when the music floated forth once 
 more, there was a rush, among the dancers, for " places," 
 that would have been quite impossible in the days, 
 
 " When persons of fashion and taste, 
 
 In dresses as stout as chain armor of old, 
 The parties of Ranelagh graced. " 
 
 Shall I describe the dancing or the dresses ? No ! It is 
 enough to say of the former that I have seen nothing 
 precisely like it elsewhere ; nor can my imagination find 
 its prototype in the revel of bacchante, faun, or fairy. It 
 was not wholly ungraceful, nor at all unconventional. It 
 was just Shoddy, simple, uncompromising Shoddy, as for 
 eign in its fulness to the New York of a few years before as 
 the dance of Eastern Houri or South Sea Islander. Of 
 the dresses there might be much to say, were this a fash 
 ion article, or a low-tariff essay bearing upon foreign 
 
120 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 importations. As it is neither, I will simply affirm, that, 
 with but a few exceptions, bad taste and money seemed to 
 have vied with each other as to whose power should 
 predominate. 
 
 We had quite lost sight of our amiable hostess, and 
 were contemplating a dignified retreat to the dressing- 
 rooms above, when we saw that lady bearing toward us 
 under full sail. There were costly laces floating about 
 her expansive shoulders, and glittering bracelets upon her 
 roseate arms : still there was something so grotesque in 
 her manner and appearance, that we were forced to risk 
 the Scylla of an alarming gravity, in order not to fall into 
 the Charybdis of an uncontrollable smile. A pang of 
 rebuke smote me, however, when her ladyship, in a tone 
 of genuine interest, whispered, 
 
 " You look kind o lonesome, Mrs. D. ; fraid you ain t 
 enjoyin yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed ! " I answered, with the ardent imbe 
 cility with which persons usually perpetrate social fibs. 
 
 " Ain t you danced ? " with a look that said, " If people 
 dare to slight you here, just let me know." 
 
 " Thank you ! I really would prefer " 
 
 " Nonsense ! Come along ! I ain t a-going to have 
 no wall-flowers in this company. I want to introduce you 
 to a gentleman from Washington monstrous rich ! " (she 
 added in an intense whisper) " made a hundred and ninety- 
 five thousand dollars in the last two months ! " 
 
 It was in vain to resist. I remember a huge Titan in 
 dancing-master attire, a flabby, villanous countenance, 
 diamonds flashing from the centre of a wall of ruffled 
 linen, an atmosphere heavy with pomade, and an 
 
SHODDY. 121 
 
 avalanche of " excuse me, marms," following sundry acci 
 dents to my attire, and innumerable heartrending deser 
 tions and escapades during the progress of " The Lancers." 
 Beyond this my impressions are vague and unsatisfactory. 
 In fact, there are many things connected with the occasion 
 that I would " willingly let die," not excepting the mon 
 strous rich gentleman himself. 
 
 Before the evening was over, I found myself in a smaller 
 apartment, gorgeously furnished and rendered truly re 
 markable by the abominable, showily-framed paintings 
 which nearly covered the walls. A human quartette was 
 seated upon the sofa a la Kenwig, and it needed no second 
 look to convince me that I saw the four children of our 
 hostess. Feminine treble and masculine base were repre 
 sented there in equal parts j but that effect was purely a 
 matter of faith, as nothing in their faces betrayed that 
 they ever had uttered a sound. 
 
 Soon the mother appeared. " Lor ! Mrs. D., you here ! 
 Well, I had to get out of the parlers for a minnit, it s so 
 suffocating there. This is our family setting-room. Ellen, 
 stick in your shoulder, miss ! " (This last was a dramatic 
 aside directed to the sofa department). " I see you re 
 lookin at the paintin s. Well, we have got lots of them, 
 that s certain. I tell Mr. G. we ll have a picture-gallery 
 before we know it ha ! ha ! but that s nothing, for the 
 man s bound to have every thing that mone} 7 can buy " 
 
 (Here a radiant, satisfied ripple of expression ran across 
 the quartette upon the sofa). 
 
 I tried to say something ; but alas ! the allusion to the 
 possible art-gallery had jeopardized my gravity to such an 
 extent that I could only cough pathetically. 
 11 
 
122 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " This ere big picture," pursued Mrs. G., " is a land- 
 scape, a I tm&scape by children ! who is this land.srtf/<? 
 by?" 
 
 " Mr. Benson," they all answered in a breath, closing 
 their mouths instantly like four traps. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Benson. He s a Western man, Mrs. D., and 
 don t charge more n a quarter what these New York paint 
 ers ask. He paints pretty, though. Ain t that white fence 
 too natural ? " she added, letting her head drop sideways 
 with its weight of admiration. 
 
 Alas, the fence was too natural, but I did not trust my 
 self to say so. I merely bowed, and stared vacantly at an 
 ideal work representing, as I suspected, Cupid and Psyche, 
 since the blue damsel depicted therein balanced a huge 
 butterfly upon her shoulder, and her youthful companion 
 had the inevitable wings and quiver of the mischievous 
 God of Love. 
 
 " That picture," broke forth Mrs. G., standing in superb 
 disdain beside me, "ain t my taste Mr. G. bought it. 
 It s a fancy piece you see Cupid and children ! what 
 did your pa say was the name of this picture ? " 
 
 "Cupid and Per-sifc/i / " answered the two elder ones 
 simultaneously. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Cupid and Per-stfc/i / But, Mrs. D., you must 
 look at our portraits : we ve had one artist for a year 
 past doing all our family. Here s Mr. G. and me. You 
 may think the yellow gloves in my picture ain t mates 
 anyone might but they are. The artist was bound to 
 put one of them in shadder, in spite of all 7 could say. 
 This is Dan el s picture (sit up straight, Dan el, and let go 
 your sister s sash) : it s like him, all but the hair. The 
 
SHODDY. 123 
 
 naughty boy " (looking severely at Daniel) " burnt off one 
 side of his curls last week, and we had to cut off the rest. 
 Here s our youngest, Tommy the end one on the sofa 
 there most beautiful boy! Always just as sassy and 
 lively as you see him in the picture : ain t it like him, 
 Mrs. D. ? " And, following the example of Lord Chatham, 
 on a certain well-known occasion, Mrs. G. " paused for a 
 reply." 
 
 Shade of Polonius, pity me ! Tommy was a blue, moist- 
 skinned little fellow, who looked as if he were in a state 
 of chronic somnambulism. What could I do but falter, 
 " Very like," without venturing to take a second look at 
 the original ? 
 
 "Mr. Benson said he never seen a harder child to 
 paint," resumed Mrs. G. : " it was so difficult to get his 
 expression." (Alack ! I should think it would have been 
 very difficult.) " He took him at first with only one shoe 
 on, and the other layin on the carpet ; but I wasn t goin 
 to have a child of mine lookin like that, so I made Mr. 
 Benson just change the shoe on the carpet to something 
 else, and put good pumps on the poor child. It s bad 
 enough to have your young ones looking like wild about the 
 house, without having their likeness took all in a muss ! " 
 
 At this moment I saw, with a mingled feeling of mirth 
 and apprehension, Mr. Stevens and Miss E. enter the 
 " setting-room." The lady continued her picture-showing : 
 
 " This next one is Katy," she said : " the child ain t 
 as plump and rosy as that, I know, but her pa and me 
 felt so in hopes she d pick up that we had her took fat. 
 Now, I had Ellen, here " (halting before a remarkably 
 pigeon-breasted specimen of high art), " painted correct in 
 
124 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 every thing but her chest. I ordered Mr. Benson to make 
 that high, because the poor child is so awful flat, that it 
 would only worry her father and me to see it hangin be 
 fore us all the time. Besides, Ellen s going to Dr. Lewis s 
 what-you-call-it ? Children! what s the name of Dr. Lewis s 
 place?" 
 
 " Gym-naz-jum ! " replied the sofa promptly. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! gym-naz-jum, that s it. Well, she s going 
 there reg lar after this, and Dr. Lewis says it ll soon fetch 
 her chest out perfect." 
 
 Oh! the agony, to me, of this protracted interview 
 the consciousness of being watched by that unpitying, fun- 
 loving pair the convulsive laughter deep in my very 
 heart as my good-natured chaperon led me from one mas 
 terpiece of artistic abomination to another ! There were 
 a few other persons in the apartment, all speaking at once, 
 their voices mingling strangely with the rise and fall of 
 the mpsic surging through the mansion ; but I dared not 
 look upon them as the irrepressible mother talked on. 
 
 " Here is something now that you must -see " (pointing 
 to an execrably painted waterfall, resembling a combina 
 tion of green calves -foot jelly and gingerbread). " This 
 picture is my daughter Miry s work ; ain t it beautiful ? 
 but do you know, her real talent is figger-paintiit that s 
 her talent ! I showed Mr. Benson (the one that does all 
 our pictures, except the frames they come from Goupil s) 
 I showed him this picture, and told him that Miry s 
 teacher said she had great talent for painting ; and says 
 he, * Madam, if your daughter has a talent for art, it must 
 be for figger-paintin , he told me just from looking at 
 that waterfall ! " she added triumphantly. 
 
SHODDY. 125 
 
 It is possible that by this time my expression had be 
 come idiotic, or at least blank. Mrs. G. evidently felt 
 that further elucidation was required. 
 
 " Figger-paintin ," she continued, raising her voice to a 
 didactic pitch, " is paintin of riggers and animals, you 
 know; that s what the artists call it figger-paintin " 
 laying down the information with a patronizing emphasis. 
 
 " Ah ! " I ventured. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Benson, being a painter, could put his finger 
 right on Miry s talent it must be, madam, says he, * it 
 must be it s heavens ! Ellen Ann ! catch Dan el ! " 
 
 This startling peroration was caused by an eccentric 
 movement of the child Daniel, who, having fallen asleep, 
 upright, upon the sofa, was announcing, by a preliminary 
 pantomime, his intention of shortly precipitating himself 
 upon the floor. Fortunately, Ellen Ann was equal to the 
 emergency. " Dan el s " precious nose was saved, and 
 the youth restored to partial wakefulness by means of a 
 brisk maternal shaking. 
 
 " Gracious ! " exclaimed Mrs. G., becoming suddenly 
 conscious that, though art may be " long, time is fleeting," 
 " I ought to be in the parlor with the company. What 
 will folks think of me ? Dear me ! what a bother ! " 
 So saying, the lady vanished in a glimmer of blue, purple, 
 and pink. 
 
 Those last significant words were echoed in my brain 
 again and again that night, during the wakeful hours that 
 followed my introduction into " Shoddy " society. Poor 
 Mrs. G. ! what will folks think of her ? What a bother ! 
 what a bother ! 
 
 A full and faithful record of the manners and customs 
 
126 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 of Shoddy of its histories, thoughts, feelings, and deeds 
 who could write it ? We have had time to afford but 
 a glance into the home of one of the lucky " peddlers." 
 As for the " tailors," with their fleet-winged geese, " we 
 could, an if we would," tell much of them but mean 
 time the genii of the lamp are waiting. We must move 
 onward. Come with me to the chief domain of the great 
 magician, he who fills the thousand lamps which Aladdins 
 uncounted are now rubbing in bewildered delight. You 
 will be surprised to learn what a noisy, dirty, crazy-looking 
 place it is. 1 The good old Quaker who named the State 
 which encloses it would lift his hands in horror at the 
 sight. Squalid and tumble-down, yet at the same time a 
 very wilderness of newness, with its swarming population, 
 with its sheds, hovels, improvised hotels, and unsightly 
 new houses, it appears to have been conjured by the 
 magician during a severe fit of nightmare. For miles 
 and miles, crowds of derricks rear their heads in every 
 direction. Engines, bound to the spot, are puffing and 
 laboring ; engines on distant rail-tracks, screeching be 
 neath an invisible lash as they hurry away with their 
 burdens ; and huge blackened reservoirs are pouring forth 
 torrents of wealth. Near by are the bluffs, sitting like 
 Memnons guarding the rivers of oil beneath. Big with 
 the secrets of ages, they lean forward as if humanity had 
 at last awakened their interest. Sometimes a great 
 tongue of flame darting upward, as if to lap coolness from 
 the clouds, tells us that an oil-spring has been accidentally 
 set on fire. Miles of carts, groaning like living things, 
 
 l Oil Creek, Venango Co., Penn. 
 
SHODDY. 127 
 
 wriggle their way through the heavy mud, led on by 
 patient horses and swearing men. Women in motley 
 attire, anxious to buy impossible wares, run out to meet 
 the occasional dray of the itinerant grocer or market-man. 
 Dirty boys, with the flutter of possible wealth in their 
 rags, bully the scions of " recent arrivals," or anxiously 
 hang around " dad " as he sinks the great shaft " on 
 shares " with McConnaky. Truly " Oil Creek " presents 
 a strange scene, and all its wildness and oddity culminate 
 in its metropolis. Desolate and crowded, neglected and 
 thriving, abject and enterprising, ruinous in aspect, yet 
 grand with invisible golden domes, is Oil City ; and above 
 and around floats the breath of the great magician, stifling 
 and nauseous to unconverted mortals, yet like a glorious 
 incense to the pilgrims who bow down and worship him. 
 
 Verily the city is worthy of its name. Every thing is 
 oil. The one long, crooked, bottomless street glistens 
 black with mud and oil. The shanties and houses are 
 oily. Oily derricks stand in the back-yards ; and men 
 with their thousands " in bank " walk the oily planked 
 sidewalk in garments grimy with oil. Oil-boats, laden 
 with oil, float sleekly past on the oil-covered river. Even 
 the dogs and horses are oily ; and the little fish crowding 
 under the oily shore, find themselves packed like sardines 
 before they know it. There are oily shops, where the very 
 wrapping-paper breaks out in transparent blotches ; and 
 oily banks, attended by oily cashiers, where oily money is 
 deposited as the product of oil. There is oil in the very 
 atmosphere you breathe, oil in the water you drink, and a 
 mysterious unction about your daily fare. The inhabitants 
 " talk oil," too, until your senses are in danger of slipping 
 
128 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 away from you. Then, again, oil is the one great social 
 leveller. Good " blood " is at a discount, and a derrick 
 can lift to the plane of the highest. Your teamster 
 yesterday may be your Rothschild to-day; and your 
 neighbor, however detestably vulgar in speech and manner, 
 can snub you with a successful " drill." If he has " struck 
 oil," and you have not, local ethics will exalt him, and 
 defy you to prove your superiority. 
 
 Here are the headquarters of the great magician. Of 
 course, like other magicians, he has been for ages popping 
 up in all sorts of places ; but it was at Oil Creek that 
 he first touched the rock for the benefit of modern Alad- 
 dins. They were rough, homespun fellows, ignorant and 
 wretchedly poor, for their lands had barely yielded a sub 
 sistence. One would have thought them just the men to 
 venture desperately into the jewelled cave. But no : 
 " ready cash " was too tempting. Nearly every man of 
 them sold his lamp to the highest bidder, and left for 
 more fertile fields. Consequently the genii of wealth and 
 enterprise were soon, as all the world knows, serving new 
 masters. 
 
 One of these Aladdins, however, had an adopted 
 mother, a shrewd old soul, whom we will call the widow 
 McGannon catch her selling the lamp ! No, she rubbed 
 it, and rubbed it, and daily the genii brought her, first 
 gold, then " greenbacks ; " she stowed the treasure away 
 in every nook and cranny of her tumble-down shanty, 
 until it could hide no more. This was all very well. But 
 one day the old lady was trying to light her fire : the 
 rusty stove had been troublesome of late, harboring spite 
 it seemed to the green wood cast aside in loading rafts 
 
SHODDY. 129 
 
 for Pittsburg. This day there was a great spluttering 
 and hissing when the wood went in, but no blaze. In her 
 dilemma the old lady poured from a bucket some of the 
 great magician s oil upon it, when presto ! the demons of 
 flame sprang forth ! In vain the Widow McGannon 
 screamed and struggled : they never let go their wreath 
 ing hold upon her until she and her money were parted 
 forever ! 
 
 This old lady had recently drawn a will, making her 
 adopted son Tommy sole heir. For fifteen years past, the 
 young gentleman had been content to do odd jobs in the 
 village, diverting himself in the meantime with toad- 
 sticking and " making of little mud-pies : " now he col 
 lected the treasure so carefully hidden behind board, 
 rafter, and beam, and proceeded to investigate his affairs. 
 
 Half of the original farm had been sold by the widow 
 at the commencement of the oil-fever. The remainder 
 she had prudently divided, and leased, on shares, to differ 
 ent " companies," with the agreement that she should re 
 ceive half of the oil obtained. By this time the yield was 
 prodigious. The ragged, ignorant country boy became at 
 once a millionnaire, with an additional income variously 
 estimated to be from three to six thousand dollars a day ! 
 
 Remembering Malvolio cross-gartered, we need not 
 wonder that the widow McGannon s heir should feel 
 inclined to make, in Shoddy phrase, a " splurge " on the 
 occasion of his sudden good fortune. Young men do not 
 fall every day into fields yellow with real golden butter 
 cups. Besides, Tommy was good-hearted and generous ; 
 and, since the roots were sure to bloom again, he scattered 
 the buttercups in every direction. 
 
130 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 As may be supposed, Thomas lost no time in " seeing 
 the world." Wherever he went, tales of his queer ways 
 and startling expenditure split the ears of the groundlings. 
 To hire the grandest suite of apartments of the leading 
 hotels, as he passed along ; to entertain his acquaintances, 
 intimate and casual, with princely munificence while he 
 staid, and when he left for an absence of a month or 
 more, to retain the rooms, with directions that his 
 "friends" arriving in the mean time should be "made 
 comfortable " at his expense. All this was a mere baga 
 telle to him. There were rumors that, when he pat 
 ronized the theatres (eschewing private boxes as "too 
 confinin ") he secured a dozen seats, in order to have 
 room to " spread himself," as he said ; but I record this 
 eccentricity with mental reservation. 
 
 Certain it is, however, that once, while visiting a West 
 ern city, he directed his friends to obtain for him " a 
 prime bang turn-out," which, translated, means a carnage 
 and two or more steeds to draw it. Soon he became sole 
 proprietor of a " five-thousand-dollar team," with equipage 
 to correspond. Now Tom was glorious ! Never rode 
 young man more incessantly. His " team " seemed des 
 tined to solve the problem of perpetual motion ; and the 
 gaping bystanders could hardly tell whether they were 
 witnessing a pleasure-ride or a " runaway." 
 
 But what youth of spirit could be expected to derive 
 satisfaction forever, even from a " turn-out " ? At the 
 expiration of a fortnight, Tommy s coachman, having 
 vainly waited two days for orders from " the boss," pre 
 sented himself before his employer. 
 
 Our Aladdin was lounging in an elegant apartment, 
 
SHODDY. 131 
 
 moodily nibbling a cigar. Perhaps he had grown tired of 
 "fun ; " or it may be, he was thinking of a kind voice that 
 the flame-demons had stilled. At all events, he was medi 
 tative. 
 
 The man coughed, and said, " Yer honor," twice, before 
 Tommy looked up, with a gruff "Hey? What do you 
 want now ? Who are you ? " 
 
 " John, sir, the coachman, sir. Did you want the 
 carriage brought round to-day, sir ? " 
 
 " No : I m going off in half an hour, going East." 
 
 " Coin , sir ! An will I be stoppm wid you any longer, 
 sir ? " 
 
 " No, I s pose not. Here, take this. That ll square 
 us." 
 
 " Thank ee, sir. Sure, that s good pay, sir. But, if I 
 may make so bold, what s to be done wid the horses, sir ? 
 Is it kept at Williams s they ll be, yer honor ? " 
 
 " The hosses ! Oh, I don t want em no longer ! I m 
 going off for good in a few minnits." And Tommy, 
 quietly puffing his cigar, consulted an enormous gold 
 watch. 
 
 "But, yer honor" 
 
 " Oh ! go long with you. I don t want the team, I tell 
 you. Take em, and keep em : kill em, or do what you 
 please with em ; only clear out." 
 
 " Be the Lord, sir ! And is it kape the craytures meself 
 you re sayin ? " 
 
 Tommy nodded, gave another puff, and pointed to the 
 door. " Yes : take em, carriage and all, and go about 
 your business." 
 
 One day, when Tommy was " doing " New York, he 
 
132 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 strode into Tiffany s magnificent jewelry establishment on 
 Broadway, and startled the assembled salesmen with a 
 loud, " Show us a dimond ! " 
 
 " Here is one, sir," responded an elegantly modulated 
 voice from the " diamond department." " Eighty dollars, 
 sir." 
 
 " Pooh ! not such a speck as that ! Something big 
 ger ! " 
 
 " Allow me to show you this. Very pure stone, sir, 
 one hundred and sixty dollars." 
 
 " Nonsense bigger ! " 
 
 Herewith the gentlemanly salesman (whom I have 
 always suspected to be a noble lord in difficulties) pro 
 duced a brilliant of about the size of a small pea. " Exqui 
 site stone, sir first water eight hundred." 
 
 " Look here ! " cried Tommy, becoming exasperated. 
 " If you ve got a reg lar dimond, fetch it out : if you 
 haven t, just say so." 
 
 My lord, half-amused, half-vexed, here, by way of to 
 tally annihilating his rough customer, brought out the 
 Koh-i-noor of the place. " Will this suit you, sir ? Mod 
 erately fine stone : price, fifteen thousand dollars." 
 
 " Now you re comin to it ! " cried Tommy, decidedly 
 mollified. " Is this the tiptop biggest ? " 
 
 " It is, sir," replied his lordship coolly (stroking his beard 
 at the same time, as if to say, " Now, my rustic friend, I 
 have wasted quite enough time upon you : you may go.") 
 
 " You ain t got nothin bigger now ? " 
 
 " Nothing, I assure you." 
 
 " Then I ll take it." 
 
 My lord, I grieve to say, lost his presence of mind, and 
 
SHODDY. 133 
 
 stared ; but Thomas at once produced a huge roll of 
 " greenbacks," counted out the money, and the sale was 
 concluded. 1 
 
 This, as I am told, occurred in the early days of Shoddy. 
 Now my lord, having become familiar with its ways and 
 means, would scarcely lift his eyelids, were his coal-heaver 
 to propose to buy out the entire concern. 
 
 Not all the newly rich, however, allow their money to 
 be seen among men. There are instances in the oil-coun 
 try, as it is called, of persons who a few months ago were 
 at least tranquil in their poverty, and are now suffering all 
 the tortures of the miser. I know of one whose wealth 
 has come upon him so fast as literally to overwhelm him. 
 He is bowed with the mere weight of possession. The 
 flowing wells upon his single acre are yielding him four 
 thousand dollars daily, as his share of the profits. He is 
 afraid to trust to the banks, and government bonds do not 
 look enough like money to satisfy him. He must have 
 gold. Consequently, as fast as his money pours in he 
 converts it into specie, and packs it in boxes and butter- 
 firkins. These he buries in his cellar, each one, as he 
 hides it away, leaving a corresponding weight of care in 
 his weary heart. Nothing is added to his personal com 
 forts, and matters of luxury are unthought of. His sole 
 extra outlay is to hire a guard of twenty men, to watch his 
 house night and day. A less number might suffice, but 
 perhaps half of them are required to act as a check upon 
 the others. Poor rich man ! Who would dream his 
 dreams, or share his waking cares, to be worth a million ? 
 
 On the other hand, I can point out a late hard-working 
 1 These accounts of Tommy, and others, are cited from actual life. 
 
134 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 rustic, whom wealth has truly blest. A grand, startled, 
 honest look beams from the man s face. A millionnaire, 
 he can hardly write his own name ; but when the first great 
 wave of " riches " surged through his heart, some noble 
 thoughts, long buried under the sands of want and toil, were 
 laid bare, thoughts that he will cherish reverently. They 
 will tell him new things of humanity, of his own undevel 
 oped powers. They will guide him with an unerring wis 
 dom in training his sons and daughters. The satirists of 
 Shoddy must bow to that man, and let him pass. 
 
 In contrast to the bright, contented spirits, bubbling up 
 on the surface of Oil Creek prosperity, we have circulating 
 thunder-gusts in the form of men who have invested largely 
 in untried lands, and failed to realize their expectations. 
 Forsaken wells are seen in every direction, their derrick- 
 monuments marking the spot where hope and cash lie 
 buried, without a chance of resurrection. Not more black 
 are the smoke-stacks, everywhere dotting the scene, than 
 the looks of these men ; and their talk is a marvellous 
 mixture of gall and oil. Sometimes you meet a weary, 
 well-dressed man, anxiously scanning the "operations," 
 and asking questions of every clown and laborer he meets. 
 He is an investigator, and he lacks " grit." You can see 
 it in his eye. If he have not already lost his money " in 
 oil," he will lose it soon. 
 
 One of these heavy-hearted men lately hastening along 
 the plank sidewalk of Oil City, accidentally knocked over 
 a starved-looking little girl, whose tattered garments 
 seemed to have passed beyond the reach of soap. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon ! Are you hurt, my poor 
 child ? " he exclaimed, stooping to lift her. 
 
SHODDY. 135 
 
 " Go long ! " cried the girl, springing to her feet, and 
 shaking down her rags with immense hauteur. " I ain t 
 poor ! Dad struck ile yesterday ! " 
 
 We can imagine the wistful gaze that followed the child 
 on her onward way. 
 
 It is instructive to watch the developments of the would- 
 be Shoddy. In the conflict of pride and cupidity, the best 
 part of the man is taken captive, literally falling into the 
 hands of the enemy. Instructive, too, and sad, to note 
 the trials and mortifications befalling the elect of Shoddy. 
 Think of the chagrin of the new billionnaire at Washing 
 ton, when he saw in the morning papers comments like 
 this on his first grand ball : " A truly magnificent affair ; 
 cost, it is estimated, $100,000, which represents the exact 
 profit on one hundred cannon, large numbers of which 
 have been furnished the government by this contractor." 
 
 Think of the weariness of the Shoddy lady, who, ennuied 
 with her superb house and uncongenial surroundings, said 
 to a friend of mine, " Ah ! it s all very fine ; but my old 
 friends kind o stay way from me, and my new ones make 
 fun of me, I know they do. Every thing that money can 
 buy I ve got by the bushel ; but I ain t happy, Miss Mary, 
 I really ain t happy." 
 
 Study Shoddy while you may. It is a transient " insti 
 tution " at best. Soon its strong characteristics will be 
 lost, its peculiarities worn away. Its like has never been 
 on earth. Remembering those ten remarkable years when 
 speculation ran mad over Europe, when the South Sea 
 bubble encompassed all England, and John Law ruled 
 France with his Midas-promise and dissolving views, it is 
 safe to assert that the Shoddy of to-day stands without a 
 
136 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 parallel in human history. It is the one new thing under 
 the sun not dreamed of by Solomon. America, in common 
 with all Christendom, regards it with mingled feelings of 
 disgust, amusement, and concern. " Where will it end ? " 
 is the question on every lip. 
 
 Verily it will end just where it began, in human 
 nature itself. It is not more American, after all, than it is 
 Adamite. That it has, for the present, found a local habi 
 tation and a name in America, is because nowhere else 
 has Nature so lavishly and unexpectedly poured forth her 
 treasures among the people, or a national emergency arisen 
 offering temptations so unparalleled, both to enterprise 
 and cupidity. And Shoddy has its mission. It will en 
 able mankind to see more plainly than ever before the 
 absurdity of pretence, the vulgarity of display, and the 
 folly of imagining that money alone can make a gentleman. 
 It will point a brazen ringer, for all time, at imposture and 
 treason, and the rottenness of the virtue that presents its 
 fair side to individual men, but yields to temptation in 
 dealing with governments and corporations. It will de 
 velop new necessities and new industries, bring a fresh, 
 hardy element to society, by educating new classes, open 
 a channel through which the poor may receive a share of 
 the refining influences which surround the rich ; and, what 
 is of very great importance, it will put money into the 
 national purse. 
 
 Large capitalists are needed in these days for vast 
 enterprises ; and Shoddy, with its bursting coffers, can 
 furnish its quota of these. The Americo-Russian tele 
 graph has its prospective message to Shoddy. The Pacific 
 Railroad is its humble servant. Other proposed public 
 
SHODDY. 137 
 
 improvements beckon to it invitingly. Science, even, is 
 pointing the way that Shoddy must go. From north, 
 south, east, west, wherever gold, oil, quicksilver, or coal 
 lie buried, there is a call for Shoddy to come and grow 
 richer still ; and Shoddy will eagerly answer the summons. 
 Just now, when the nation is coming out of its struggle for 
 life or death, when it requires fresh explorers and new 
 resources to enable it to meet the tremendous demands 
 made upon it, Providence reveals these long-kept secrets, 
 discloses these hidden stores, these illimitable reservoirs 
 of wealth, and let us believe it gives us Shoddy. 
 
 It may seem whimsical to begin my argument with fairy 
 land, and end it with Providence ; but does not life itself 
 so open and close ? The magic delights of our childhood 
 become recognized as God-given in our age. Our early 
 wishes are for fairy benefits j our later prayers are for 
 divine blessings. 
 
 12* 
 
SKETCHES. 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 
 
 [The following narrative is a true record of incidents which occurred in 
 New York, not many years ago. The affair made some talk in private circles, 
 but I believe it never got into the papers. For obvious reasons fictitious names 
 are used. The account is given to the public in the belief that it may throw 
 light upon the mysterious question of Natural Antipathies.] 
 
 NEVER liked him. Nay, my whole nature re 
 coiled in terror when my glance first met his 
 small, piercing eyes, as he suddenly passed 
 through the reception-parlor, where I sat chatting with 
 Lieutenant Charles. The lieutenant noticed my terri 
 fied start, and the change of color which doubtless ac 
 companied it; for he sprang up instantly, and would 
 have followed the intruder had I not promptly checked 
 him, and, with a forced smile, endeavored to resume the 
 conversation so unpleasantly interrupted. 
 
 " And you will not give me the picture, Fanny ? " asked 
 the lieutenant, after a few moments pleading concerning 
 my carte dc visite which had lately been taken. " You will 
 not give it to me ! " he echoed sadly, after reading his 
 answer in my countenance ; " but surely I may see it ? " 
 "Certainly," I answered, half regretting the coquetry- 
 Hi 
 
142 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 which had prompted me to deny him in the matter. 
 " It is in my room : I will bring it to you in an instant." 
 
 Rising from my seat as I spoke, I hastened into the 
 hall. Good gracious ! there He stood, at the very foot of 
 the stairway, motionless, as though he had been listening 
 to our conversation. I sprang back into the room with a 
 beating heart, and tears of vexation in my eyes. 
 
 " You have seen him again ! " exclaimed the lieutenant, 
 starting from his seat. 
 
 But before the door was reached my hand was upon his 
 arm 
 
 " No," I urged, " do not go : it will be useless, and ex 
 cite an unnecessary alarm in the household. In a moment 
 he will go away, and I will then get you the picture, and 
 laugh at my folly at the same time." 
 
 " Your folly in getting me the picture ? " bantered the 
 lieutenant gayly. Then he added quickly, with a new 
 anxiety on his face, " Forgive me, Fanny, this matter is 
 more serious with you than I at all imagined. Surely there 
 is" 
 
 " Say no more about it," I interrupted, trying to smile. 
 " There are some influences which it is useless to attempt 
 to explain. We can only recognize, and, if need be, strug 
 gle to resist them. I am ashamed of the weakness which 
 you have witnessed this morning, and must trust to 
 your generosity not to interpret it too harshly." 
 
 He pressed my hand respectfully, and was silent. But 
 what meant that shrewd, almost sarcastic smile, when a 
 moment afterward, as we heard the hall door shut heavily, 
 he said, " Your enemy is probably out of the way now : 
 will you bring me the picture ? " 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 143 
 
 This " enemy," as, alas ! the lieutenant had only too 
 truly called him, was, like myself, a lodger in a boarding- 
 house. The landlady, Mrs. Hone, heard me sympathet 
 ically when, in confidence, I hinted at the annoyance he 
 caused me, and, in her peculiar phraseology, promised "to 
 rid the house of him " as soon as she possibly could ; but 
 begged me not to speak of the matter in the mean time, 
 for there was nothing, she said, which she dreaded so much 
 as " a stir " among her boarders ; and among her lady 
 boarders she was sure " this business would make a stir if 
 any thing could." 
 
 I promised to remain silent, though more than once 
 afterward I was tempted to regret my hasty acquiescence. 
 Mr. Williams, a strong young man, with whom I was a 
 favorite, lived on the fourth floor ; and he could doubt 
 less soon have effected the removal I so much longed for. 
 As for leaving, myself, that was impossible. I was an 
 orphan, a dependent on a wealthy invalid uncle, who, 
 being once comfortably settled in Mrs. Hone s excellently 
 kept house, would not of course be tempted to leave it 
 except for some more potent and tangible reason than I 
 could offer. 
 
 Whether my tormentor knew my sentiments toward him 
 or not, I cannot say ; but I never, during the uneasy days 
 that followed, heard him hurrying along the hall, or 
 stealthily passing my room close to its very door, but I 
 felt an involuntary shudder, and with difficulty suppressed 
 the cry that rose to my lips. Once I met him on the 
 stairway, and, scarce conscious of what I was doing, I 
 bounded past him with a quick scream, and rushed into 
 my room. Why, I cannot tell, except that my whole being 
 
144 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 loathed the creature, and felt a presentiment of coming 
 evil from his presence. Not one word had we ever ex 
 changed, and I do believe if he had spoken to me I should 
 have fainted with terror ; but his restless, intense glance 
 had more than once met mine, and that was enough. 
 There was a natural antipathy between us : we were born 
 to be enemies. 
 
 Meantime my brave lieutenant had gone back to 
 the war. He had, after all, taken my picture with him 
 and my heart also. Only those who love, and are doomed 
 for a while to be parted, with chances of danger and death 
 between them, can know of the eagerness with which I 
 awaited his first letter. Soon it came, one glorious sum 
 mer afternoon, with its more glorious news : "Our army is 
 moving rapidly. We shall fight ! We shall conquer ! " 
 the letter said, " and some of us must fall ; but, living or 
 dying, dearest, remember that one heart shall " 
 
 I read no more ; for at the bare thought of the possi 
 bility of losing my hero, the half-read sheet fell from my 
 hands, and there, in the solitude of my room, I leaned 
 upon the window-sill, and wept long and bitterly. I loved 
 my country, freedom, and the right ; but oh ! did I love 
 them enough for the chance of this ? My brave, noble 
 lover ! If he should perish, what would freedom, kindred, 
 the light of heaven itself, be to me ? Suddenly a rustling 
 outside of my slightly-opened door aroused me ; and re 
 called to my letter, I stooped to pick it up. // was gone! 
 
 Bewildered and alarmed, I hastily shook the folds of my 
 dress, and searched floor, table, and chair, quite certain 
 that no other human being had been in the room since I 
 had entered with the letter, when the door opened wider, 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 145 
 
 and our landlady s head, decked in all the pride of her 
 gorgeous dinner-cap, was thrust into the apartment. Her 
 face was paler than usual, and her manner somewhat flur 
 ried, as she laughingly exclaimed, 
 
 " Miss Fanny, if you leave your love-letters lying about 
 the halls, you can t expect to keep your secrets long. Not 
 that I have learned them," she added quickly; "but some 
 less trusty personage might have picked it up, you know." 
 
 " Mrs. Hone," I gasped, scarcely heeding her words as 
 I almost snatched the precious sheet from her hands, " I 
 entreat you to tell me how you came in possession of this 
 letter." 
 
 " Why, I ve told you already," she replied rather sharply. 
 " I picked it up in the entry, just outside of your door. It 
 was no ghost dropped it there either (so you needn t turn 
 so white), but only that R" 
 
 A sudden thought seemed to check her intended confi 
 dence ; for she muttered something about people being so 
 " awful nervous," and, breaking into a disagreeable laugh, 
 hastily left the room. A moment afterward I heard her 
 angry voice chiding Betty, the housemaid, for some real 
 or fancied neglect of duty, with the sharp reprimand not 
 to " leave that door open again, if she valued her place." 
 
 That door ! Could she mean my door ? And was I, as 
 far as practicable, to be kept shut up in my room, so that 
 he might wander unrestrainedly about the house ? And 
 what had meant my landlady s flurried manner, her sud 
 den reticence, if in some way my tormentor had not been 
 concerned in this mysterious occurrence ? For though I 
 by this time knew well enough who had taken the letter, 
 how it had been accomplished without my knowledge was 
 3 
 
146 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 a mystery. It was not more than a week since I had first 
 spoken to Mrs. Hone of the object of my fears ; and 
 already she would flush angrily if I even alluded to the 
 conversation and to her solemn promise to relieve me of his 
 odious presence. She had even gone so far as to say that 
 " some persons were too fidgety for comfort ; and for her 
 part, she couldn t for the life of her see what there was to 
 make such a fuss about. Goodness knew, she didn t want 
 any such creature as him in her house ; and if I thought 
 she did, I was mistaken : that was all ! " After this sin 
 gular change of feeling, I kept my own counsel in the 
 matter, though I fully resolved to avail myself of the first 
 opportunity of persuading my uncle to change his board 
 ing-place. 
 
 This was the way that matters stood on the day that 
 my letter was so mysteriously borne away almost from my 
 very hands. After recovering it, I eagerly read it through 
 again and again, shuddering, in spite of myself, at a cer 
 tain passage which the reader shall see. The lieutenant, 
 considerate in all things, had evidently tried to express 
 himself so as to annoy me as slightly as possible ; but it 
 thrilled me for all that. Here is the passage : 
 
 " By the way, my dear Fanny, you must know that there came into our 
 tent last night what seemed to me the very identical being who so startled you 
 that evening. Has he disappeared from No. 123? If so, it was himself. 
 If not, it was his double. Size, style, and gait were the same. He had the 
 identical quick, glancing eye, sharp, white teeth, and pointed nose. Can 
 there be two such beings ? Was it from sympathy with you that I felt such 
 an instinctive aversion to him ? I made a dash at the fellow ; but he escaped 
 into the darkness as mysteriously as he had come. Our captain and a few of 
 our boys were in the tent at the time, and seemed to be much astonished at my 
 violent movements ; and at my remarking (as I quietly sat down among then? 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 147 
 
 again), That fellow came precious near receiving his finishing-touch, they 
 all protested that they had seen no one enter the tent> and begged for an ex 
 planation ; but I chose to let them remain in their mystified condition. A 
 mysterious coincidence, at least, was it not ? " 
 
 To me it would have been a terrible circumstance ; and 
 so I told him in my reply. But my brave hero knew not 
 the meaning of fear. 
 
 At last, after reading the letter over (I am ashamed to 
 tell how many times), I sought the bedside of my uncle, 
 and endeavored to render the long summer afternoon less 
 tedious to the dear sufferer. He was aged ; and the 
 natural infirmities of his years had been hastened and 
 increased by a slow, incurable disease. How my heart 
 went forth toward him as, with loving hand, I brushed 
 back the silver locks from his temples, longing that my 
 touch might heal as well as soothe ! Ere long he passed 
 into a tranquil slumber ; and carefully adjusting the sashes 
 so that the soft breeze might play refreshingly about him, 
 I slipped noiselessly into my chamber. 
 
 And now, at this point, I must become minute, and per 
 haps even tedious in detail ; for I have a strange story to 
 tell, and wish faithfully to relate the occurrences of that 
 night. 
 
 There was but one other boarder on the second floor of 
 Mrs. Hone s house besides my uncle and myself. This 
 was a stern, unsociable man, named Foster ; a bachelor, 
 who always returned one s cordial " Good-morning " with 
 an unmoved face and a jerky bow, as though his good 
 angel had suddenly pulled some invisible string to prevent 
 him from seeming the surly fellow he really was. This 
 gruff personage stalked up the stairs, and into his room, 
 
148 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 soon after I had entered mine. Our apartments were at 
 the back of the house, and adjoining ; though his, being 
 but a small chamber at the end of the hall, had its door 
 standing at a right angle with my own. I could hear him 
 moving briskly around his room for a while ; and finally, 
 as I arose to close my door, saw him emerge, carpet-bag 
 in hand, and disappear at the turn of the stairway. Soon 
 after there were other footsteps in his chamber, apparently 
 those of two persons ; and I could hear my landlady s 
 voice saying, in her usual indiscreet over-tone, 
 
 " There is no other way : we will have to try poison, 
 though I dread the consequences." 
 
 Then there was some muttered reply ; and a discussion 
 ensued, through which I could plainly distinguish the 
 words, " No one in here to-night " " never knew it to 
 fail children " " horrible ! " " the uncle s room " 
 " danger " " uncle can t get out of bed " " no, it s 
 better here," &c. 
 
 Just then uncle s hand-bell tingled its familiar sum 
 mons, and I hastened to his bedside. 
 
 " Fanny," he said, " can t you make it a little lighter 
 here ? I ve had one of my ugly dreams ; and I want to 
 be certain you re all right." 
 
 " To be sure I am, uncle, dear," I rejoined cheerfully, 
 at the same time lighting the gas near the head of his bed. 
 " Is that too bright for you ? " 
 
 " No, no : leave it up so. Now come tell me what 
 you have been doing this afternoon." 
 
 Should I tell him every thing ? No. He either would 
 be distressed at his own powerlessness, or would laugh at 
 my nervous fears. So I replied, at the same time placing 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 149 
 
 a small table near his bed, preparatory to bringing up his 
 supper, 
 
 " Doing, uncle ? Why, I have been here with you most 
 of the afternoon ; and before that I was reading a letter 
 from" 
 
 u Ah, I understand ! Well, it s all my own fault for ever 
 letting that fellow with the buttons have a word to say to 
 you. I shall have to hire some fat old nurse in a year or 
 two, while you ll be sporting around with that scamp, 
 hey?" 
 
 My only answer to this was a laughing threat to go to 
 the young scamp at once, if uncle were not more respect 
 ful ; though at heart I felt quite resolved, that, married or 
 single, I should never resign my self-imposed duty of 
 nursing him. 
 
 "Well, well," said uncle, "you ve always been such a 
 good girl I sha n t be hard on you. See if it s time for 
 my mixture." 
 
 " No, not for an hour yet. You must take your supper 
 first." 
 
 " Very well. Don t put any butter on the toast to-night ; 
 and if the chicken s as tough as it was yesterday, bring up 
 something else." 
 
 " Yes, uncle." 
 
 On my way from the dining-room with uncle s supper, I 
 could not resist the temptation of taking a look into Mr. 
 Foster s apartment. Resting my tray in a vacant niche at 
 the head of the stairs, I turned the knob ; but the door 
 would not open. It was locked, and the key had been 
 taken away. Thrust partly under my own closed door, 
 was a pencilled note from one of the lady-boarders, re- 
 3* 
 
150 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 questing, that, if my patient were well enough, I would 
 pass the evening in her room. Well pleased at the pros 
 pect of a cheerful gossip with Mrs. Gray s delightful fam 
 ily, I resolved to avail myself of the invitation after my 
 uncle had fallen into his usual slumber, and so I lost no 
 time in attending to my evening duties. 
 
 It was nearly half-past eight before I found myself in 
 Mrs. Gray s parlor ; and by this time the beautiful after 
 noon had passed into a chilly, unpleasant evening. 
 But we soon forgot outside darkness in the brightness 
 and comfort within. 
 
 I lingered in Mrs. Gray s apartment until ten o clock. 
 Then, after seeing that uncle was comfortably settled for 
 the night, I sought my own room, and, carefully locking the 
 door leading into the hall, began to undress. This done, 
 I stood in my long night-wrapper near the gaslight, and 
 began reading once more the words of my absent soldier.. 
 I had just come to the passage, " By the way, my dear 
 Fanny," when a sudden but continuous clicking startled 
 me. It might have been the sharp dropping of rain on 
 the roof of the piazza beneath my opened window, or the 
 ticking of the queer clock in Mr. Foster s room; or it 
 might have been caused by some leakage in the Croton 
 pipes, or the creaking of the poor sick baby s cradle in 
 the room above. It might, in short, have arisen from 
 any of these or twenty other innocent causes ; and so I 
 tried to believe. Hastily putting the letter away, I turned 
 the gas entirely off (unintentionally, for that matter, but 
 my hand was not steady), and sought my pillow, quite 
 sure that I should not sleep a wink that night. But youth 
 and health are often proof against more serious alarms 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. !$! 
 
 than mine had been ; and I soon sank into a profound 
 slumber. 
 
 Hours afterward I awoke with a start from some trou 
 bled dream. What it had been, I could not precisely 
 recall ; but I was agitated, and my brow and neck seemed 
 fairly dripping with moisture. In an instant the deep 
 tones of a neighboring church-clock striking " two " re 
 assured me, with its familiar, every-day sound ; and I soon 
 floated off again into the land of dreams. This time the 
 sleep was far less sound ; and more than once, without 
 quite awaking, I instinctively drew my muslin night- 
 sleeve across my forehead. It was strangely wet, 
 though I could feel the cool night air stealing through the 
 darkness from the open window opposite. After turning 
 uneasily upon my pillow for a while, I finally sank into a 
 deeper slumber once more, and must have remained un 
 conscious for nearly an hour, when suddenly I started up 
 with a sense of acute pain, and, wide awake in an instant, 
 became conscious that / was not alone. Else why that 
 heavy thump upon the floor, arid the quick rush that fol 
 lowed ? All was dark ; but I could feel that the pillow, my 
 face, neck, and the shoulder and sleeves of my nightdress, 
 were soaked with the strange, clammy moisture. Seized 
 with a horrid suspicion, and darting from the bed in an 
 agony of terror, I flew to the other side of the chamber, 
 and, groping for my uncle s door, burst with a cry into his 
 room. 
 
 Dimly lighted as it was, I could see every object dis 
 tinctly as I entered; and first of all, because the long 
 mirror hung directly opposite the door, and the small gas- 
 jet threw its rays full upon me, I saw my own reflection in 
 
152 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 its bright surface. Great heavens ! I was covered with 
 blood ! My hands were wet with it, while my cheek and 
 throat were crimson with the streams which flowed pro 
 fusely from my temples. What could I do ? My uncle 
 still slept soundly, under the effects of an opiate which 
 his physicians had prescribed for him. Frantic with fear, 
 I tore into the hall, flew up stairs, and would have gone 
 into Mrs. Gray s room, had I not come into collision with 
 my landlady at the landing-place. 
 
 " Goodness ! Miss Fanny, was it you that screamed ? 
 What has happened ? Hush ! " and she drew me quickly 
 into her little room. " Why your shoulder s all wet ! 
 Gracious ! child, what is the matter ? Here, you re safe 
 enough now : don t cry. Oh ! where are the matches ? 
 I haven t had my room dark at night before, I don t know 
 when. Here they are ! Hush ! you ll scare Mrs. Gray." 
 
 By this time the room was lighted, and apparently Mrs. 
 Hone was as much alarmed as myself when she saw my 
 condition. She was, however, a woman of strong nerve, 
 and in a moment was coolly bathing my face and neck, 
 and endeavoring to stanch the blood still flowing from my 
 temples. When the bleeding ceased, she lost no time in 
 changing my garments, and making me as comfortable as 
 possible. 
 
 For some time I staid in the landlady s room, and we 
 talked over the affair together. There was but one solu 
 tion of the matter ; and when, with a shudder, I suggested 
 it to her, she answered softly, 
 
 " Just so, Miss Fanny : it was nothing else, depend upon 
 it. Poor child ! Did you see him ! " 
 
 " No," I whispered, " the room was dark ; but I heard 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 153 
 
 him distinctly. Oh ! Mrs. Hone, I can never sleep in that 
 room again. I must leave the house to-morrow." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Hone. " It s always 
 some trouble with me, first one thing, and then another. 
 But I m sure I can t blame you, Miss Fanny ; though, if 
 you would stay, I could get somebody here to-morrow who 
 told me he could soon put a stop to all such troubles. 
 But I hated to have him come before, because I knew it 
 would make so much talk in the house, and make the 
 help saucy. Goodness knows, they re unbearable enough 
 already ! " 
 
 I felt sorry for the landlady, but in my own mind fully 
 resolved to leave her roof as soon as possible. The clock 
 boomed "four." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Hone ! " I exclaimed, struck with a new 
 fear, " I have left uncle all this time. What if Oh, will 
 you go down stairs with me ? I can t go alone ! " 
 
 The landlady was naturally unwilling to run any further 
 risk of disturbing the household, and tried to persuade me 
 not to go, but I was resolute. 
 
 The dear old man lay there safely enough when we 
 entered his room ; but his sleep was heavy, too heavy, 
 and his brow was burning hot. The next day he was 
 worse ; and when I asked the physician concerning him, 
 the reply was, 
 
 " Oh ! it s nothing very serious. Perfect quiet for a 
 week or two, and careful nursing, are all that will be 
 necessary." 
 
 So there, of course, was an end for the present of my 
 plan to leave the house. But I did not attempt to sleep 
 in my apartment again, or even to undress at all. For 
 
154 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 four nights I staid in the sick-chamber, resting only in a 
 large armchair, or perhaps indulging in a brief repose 
 upon the lounge. On the fifth day uncle was so much 
 better, that, unconscious of all that had happened, he 
 insisted upon my retiring to my own room and seeking 
 rest. Willing to relieve his anxiety, and being really very 
 much exhausted from continued watching, I obeyed ; and 
 in a few moments was comfortably reclining on a sofa 
 which stood near the window across the corner of my 
 room. 
 
 That pleasant sunny room ! How different its appear 
 ance was now from what it had been less than a week 
 ago ! Then all was order and neatness ; and the mantle, 
 toilet-table, and walls had been- decked with various taste 
 ful articles and engravings, brackets and images. Now 
 the walls were bare, and the pictures stood on the floor, 
 ready to be taken away as soon as uncle should be able 
 to leave the house (for I felt confident I could per 
 suade him to go), and the little knick-knacks and souve 
 nirs were already stowed away in trunks. The curtains 
 were drawn tastelessly back by Betty s ruthless hand ; 
 and on the furniture lingered a peculiar bloom, neither 
 cleanliness nor dirt, left by the housemaid s duster. 
 To add to the air of discomfort, in one corner stood a pile 
 of trunks (which had been noiselessly packed while uncle 
 slept) ; and in another, lay portions of a dismembered 
 bedstead and a quantity of bedding, which the landlady 
 had asked permission to leave there, " being as the room 
 wasn t used." 
 
 All these things were duly noted as I lay there, vainly 
 courting the sleep which I so much needed. I could 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 155 
 
 hear my uncle s heavy breathing in the next room, and the 
 occasional passing of footsteps along/ the hall, as the 
 boarders came straggling up from dinner. It was no 
 feverish dream then that possessed me, when there, in the 
 broad daylight, I saw the detested creature who had 
 attacked me in the dead of night, and the traces of whose 
 diabolical work were still upon my temple, cautiously 
 enter my room, and gliding slowly and stealthily along, 
 close up to the very wainscot, actually secrete himself 
 under the bedding in the corner ! 
 
 Goaded to desperation, I leaped from the couch, and, 
 scarce conscious of what I was doing, flew to the spot, 
 and seizing a small bedpost which lay there, beat with all 
 my might upon the place where I believed his head and 
 breast to be ! No sound escaped him, but from the first 
 stroke I felt that he was in my power. Blow after blow 
 fell ; for I had the strength of a maniac, and I dared not 
 stop. By this time my cries were heard, and the landlady 
 and several of the boarders rushed into the room. They 
 forced me into a seat, and lifted the bedding from the 
 floor. There he lay, motionless ; they turned him over : 
 he was dead stone dead and by my hand ! 
 
 " By Jove ! " exclaimed Mr. Williams, the strong young 
 man from the fourth story, as he lifted my victim from 
 the floor, " he is dead, big as he is. How did you ever 
 find courage to kill him ? " 
 
 " I m sure I hardly know," I gasped, " except that I 
 was desperate. He has tormented me almost to death 
 for two or three weeks past, and last Saturday night he 
 actually did come near killing me in earnest." 
 
 " How ? how ? " cried everybody but the landlady, 
 crowding more closely. 
 
1 56 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 The good lady winked prodigiously at me just then, 
 and tried to change the subject ; but I was too excited to 
 heed her. Turning with a shudder from the lifeless cause 
 of my past miseries, I explained how I had felt a natural 
 antipathy to him from the first moment I had encoun 
 tered him in the hall at Mrs. Hone s ; how terrified I had 
 been when I saw him pass through the reception-parlor 
 where I sat conversing with a gentleman ; how I had heard 
 and seen him several times since ; how he actually had 
 dragged a letter from my room out into the hall ; and, 
 above all, how he had bitten my temple on that fearful 
 night. I had just raised the hair carefully from my brow 
 to show my audience the still unhealed traces of those 
 cruel teeth, when Biddy, the chamber-maid, came bustling 
 in. The moment she saw the lifeless body she shrieked, 
 
 " Who killed him ? Not you, Miss Fanny ! I d have 
 been skeered to death. I m glad he s dead, any how. I 
 told you, ma am," she added, turning to Mrs. Hone, 
 " twa n t no use tryin to pizen him. We couldn t have 
 had no peace or comfort after it Then all his relations 
 would be comin to the funeral ; and " 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! " exclaimed Mrs. Hone angrily. 
 
 Thus tenderly admonished, Biddy subsided, only mur 
 muring under her breath, that " Massy on us ! peo 
 ple s lives hadn t been safe with a critter like that runnin 
 round ; " and finally uttering a piercing shriek as the 
 strong young man lifted IT from the floor. 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Hone s son, Fred, burst into the 
 room. He stopped for a moment, surveying the strange 
 tableau. There was I, flushed with the excitement of my 
 exploit ; Biddy, angry at being checked in her voluble 
 
MY MYSTERIOUS ENEMY. 157 
 
 exclamations, and shrinking from the corpse ; Mrs. Hone, 
 severe in her dignity as head of the house, glad that the 
 dreadful creature was destroyed, yet anxious to prevent 
 any talk among her boarders ; and Mr. Williams holding 
 up the dead body so that all could see it. 
 
 Master Fred, who, being six years my junior, was my 
 sworn admirer, and hated my mysterious foe as much as I 
 did, took in the whole affair at a glance. 
 
 " You ve killed him, Miss Fanny, have you ? " he ex 
 claimed. " Bully for you ! He s the biggest fellow I 
 ever saw ! A rat, dead for a ducat, dead ! " he added, 
 imitating as nearly as he could the tone and attitude of 
 Edwin Booth, whom he had seen the evening before in 
 Hamlet, pointing at the dead body of the huge rat whom 
 I had just killed, which Mr. Williams was handing to the 
 shrinking Biddy to be duly disposed of. 
 
 Possibly the reader of this narrative may, like my Lord 
 Hamlet, have taken this slaughtered rat for " his better." 
 If so, he has read with his imagination instead of his 
 eyes : " a bad habit ; I pray you avoid it." 
 
 I have only to add here, that " My Mysterious Enemy " 
 was the first and the last of his kind that ever succeeded 
 in penetrating into the immaculate mansion of Mrs. 
 Hone. 
 
 4 
 
WHAT A LITTLE SONG 
 CAN DO. 
 
 A TRUE INCIDENT. 
 
 GAY young visitor said to me the other day: 
 
 " M , do you remember that little English girl, 
 
 who made dresses for me last summer ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied : " she usually worked by the corner 
 window of your sitting-room ; a delicate, fair-haired girl, 
 wasn t she ? seemed to be a rapid sewer, what of her ? " 
 
 " Why, I heard her story lately, a terrible story ; and do 
 you know, it seems so strange to think that during all 
 those days, when she used to sit and sew for me, I never 
 once thought of her as an individual ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean just what I say. She never appeared to me 
 in the light of an individual. She was just the dress 
 maker ; and whenever I thought of her, it was only in 
 connection with fashions and mantua-making. I remem 
 ber noticing, sometimes, that the sunshine fell brightly 
 upon her head as she sat sewing, and that she had a shy, 
 trembling way with her. But it never occurred to me that 
 she had interests apart from her work, personal affairs 
 158 
 
WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. 159 
 
 you know, such as you and I have. It s awful to say it, 
 but it s really true : I don t believe it ever crossed my mind 
 that she cared for any thing but making dresses. And 
 oh ! such a terrible life as that poor girl endured ! She s 
 dead now ; and I m glad of it, poor thing. Good-by ! " 
 
 " Wait a moment, Lu ! " I cried : " what a strange child 
 you are ! You surely will not go without telling me more ? " 
 
 " Yes, I must. It s time for my music-lesson. Good- 
 by, dear : I ll come again soon ; " and off she ran, lightly 
 humming a tune as she hastened down the stairway. 
 
 I have not seen her since, or I should, perhaps, be able 
 to tell you the poor sewing-girl s story. But I can relate 
 an incident that came vividly to my mind, even before the 
 sound of Lu s light, receding footsteps had died away. 
 
 One lovely day, in the spring of 187-, I made a start 
 ling discovery. Just when the fields were putting on their 
 brightest green, and the fruit-trees were wreathing them 
 selves with blossoms, I suddenly became aware that I 
 needed raiment. All my last year s stock seemed shabby 
 in contrast with the vernal freshness of things. In short, 
 as my friend Helen Fitz tenderly hinted, there was noth 
 ing left me but either to look like a fright or to get some 
 new dresses. 
 
 Then arose a new trouble : the mantua-makers were in 
 the height of their busy season. Not one could I find 
 who would take in another order. What was I to do ? 
 The Flora McFlimsy within me grew faint. If I should 
 make the dress myself, it wouldn t have a particle of style. 
 So my best friends assured me, with a mysterious shudder 
 which made me feel only too thankful that my humble 
 aspiration had been nipped in the bud. 
 
160 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 (All this time Nature was laughing with her blossoms, 
 and slipping so softly and easily into her new spring 
 dress !) 
 
 Well, the only plan open to me was to employ a visit 
 ing mantua-maker. After what seemed, at the time, an 
 endless succession of vexations and disappointments, I 
 succeeded in hearing of that rara avis, a dressmaker 
 who not only could but would make a dress, a visiting 
 dressmaker, and a " perfect treasure " as Helen declared, 
 such a "good hand at conjuring," could "fit " admirably: 
 her only fault was that she was slow. If I could stand 
 that, Mrs. Bond was the very person I wanted ; and, won 
 derful to relate, she had a few disengaged days. So I 
 sent a messenger, and received word in return that she 
 would be with me early on Monday morning. 
 
 Was I satisfied then ? Not quite. A strange unrest 
 came over me ; an unrest that increased as the interval 
 of waiting diminished. 
 
 To make this thing clear, I must confess that I am of a 
 peculiar temperament. Employees of all kinds hold a 
 mysterious power over me. I shrink from my waiter-girl, 
 and feel condemned in the presence of my cook. Some 
 times I am almost tempted to say, " Excuse me, Ann ; 
 forgive me, Kitty. It s not entirely my fault that some 
 must work while others play. I know you are far more 
 clever at washing windows, ironing, and cooking than I 
 should be. I never, in the world, could wait at table, 
 or answer the door-bell as patiently and cheerfully as you. 
 I m afraid I shouldn t have the fortitude to rise before 
 daylight, on snowy winter mornings, and attend early mass 
 before commencing a hard day s work. I m not sure that 
 
WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. l6l 
 
 I could deny myself as you do, in order to send money 
 across the water to bring my cousins over. In short, Ann 
 and Kitty, if life seems hard to you, if my kitchen is 
 dreary, and my visitors too many, forgive me, bear with 
 me. You might, either of you, have been a poor, helpless 
 lady yourself, you know." 
 
 The same feeling comes when with those who, higher 
 in the social scale, still serve me ; for all mankind are, 
 after all, servants in some sense. I always submit my 
 pulse deprecatingly to my physician, fearful lest my case 
 be too unimportant for so august a personage ; wonder 
 what I should do if I had to consult a lawyer ; and in 
 church I sometimes feel so crestfallen and ashamed, that, 
 if the sexton were not so very like the Lord Chamberlain 
 in suppressed greatness and noiseless sublimity, I would, 
 during the service, ask him to step up to the pulpit, and 
 tell Dr. Blast, that, if my particular case of sinfulness 
 aggravated him, I would willingly get up and go home. 
 
 Even shopmen are formidable creatures in my eyes. 
 When at Stewart s, I never can throw off the impression 
 that the clerk who is waiting upon me owns the entire 
 establishment. But all this is nothing to the appalling 
 influence of fashionable milliners and dressmakers. Only 
 the thought of the lilies of the field can sustain me when 
 in their presence. 
 
 What wonder, then, that I dreaded this particular Mon 
 day ? It came, all the same, however ; and when, just 
 before breakfast, the door-bell rang, Ann, who answered 
 the summons, was a grander, lighter-hearted young woman 
 than her mistress, who stood in an upper room bracing 
 herself to meet the coming presence. 
 14* 
 
1 62 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 In a moment Ann came up, saying mysteriously, " She s 
 down-stairs, mum, and she s had her breakfast. My ! but 
 she s the quare-looking old crayture, though ! " 
 
 " Show her up, Ann." 
 
 She entered, a quiet-looking, mild old woman of 
 seventy ! 
 
 I had not expected this. Fancy had conjured a dressy, 
 fussy young person, with a manner as quick and snipping 
 as her scissors, and a roll of fashion-plates in her hand, 
 somebody with an iron will, who knew the exact size 
 that a lady s waist ought to be, lungs or no lungs. 
 
 But this quiet, sober old body, clad in dingy black, how 
 could I ask her to make up my finery ? 
 
 " Good-morning. Is this Mrs. Bond ? " I asked, half 
 hoping that it was not. 
 
 " I believe it is," she answered, with a pleasant smile, 
 taking off her shawl and bonnet as she spoke, and ad 
 justing her spectacles carefully, so as not to tear her 
 simple white cap. " Shall I sit here, ma am ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly ! " and somehow, before I knew it, 
 the old lady was cutting out a lining, and I was up-stairs 
 again (after having taken a hasty breakfast), and seated 
 near her, running up the breadths of a skirt, every thing 
 just as easy and natural as possible. 
 
 Yes, she was slow ; but I think it was because she took 
 so much interest in her work that she rather lingered over 
 it. It was wonderful to see how she would turn a refrac 
 tory bit of goods this way and that, until at last it would 
 fit in exactly where it was needed ; wonderful to see her 
 stitch, stitch, in such a steady, resolute way, and all the 
 time with that placid expression on her face, her wrinkled 
 
WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. 163 
 
 little mouth pursed up, and her gray eyebrows arching 
 mildly over her spectacles. 
 
 About eleven o clock in the forenoon, without looking 
 
 up from her work, she said, " Mrs. D , would it be 
 
 asking too much if I wanted a cup of tea at lunch-time ? 
 It keeps me awake for the afternoon, and I can do better 
 justice to the work." 
 
 Awake for the afternoon ! Poor old soul ! 
 
 " Certainly ! not at all ! " I exclaimed, in a startled way. 
 " We always have tea at luncheon ; but, whether or not, 
 you should have it and welcome. Why not lie down a 
 while, though ? Please do. Rest yourself, now, on that 
 lounge." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, indeed ! thank you ! " and she laughed, 
 a quiet, sober little laugh, with a tear in it. " The tea ll 
 keep me up now, ma am," she added cheerily: "if you ll 
 please get ready to try on, I ll be through in a minute." 
 
 She staid with me for three days, working steadily and 
 slowly all the time, kept awake by the tea, and resolutely 
 resisting my entreaties that she should take an occasional 
 nap. One peculiarity puzzled me. On several occasions, 
 when, after a brief absence, I entered the room, I saw her 
 quietly slip something into a little covered basket, which 
 sat on the floor beside her, and resume her work as I 
 approached. Otherwise, she sewed as steadily as though 
 she were moved by slow machinery. 
 
 But if Ann and Kitty awoke apologetic emotions within 
 me, how much more this patient, silver-haired old lady. 
 I could scarcely bear to see her working for me ; and it 
 was only by planning various trifling benefits for her that 
 I could feel in any way reconciled to it. She was so old, 
 
164 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 poor soul ! and yet she so firmly thrust away the infirmi 
 ties of age, as if saying constantly to herself, "That s 
 right back, keep straight; eyes, keep strong; fingers, 
 keep nimble, for I have this dress to make." 
 
 Ah ! if trouble were to come upon her, I thought, a real, 
 heart-rending sorrow, she could not be like this. For it so 
 happened that I had one great trial to bear, and I knew 
 what important allies were youth and strength. But I did 
 not understand her yet. 
 
 On the third day I hardly can say how it came about 
 she told me the story of her life, or rather it seemed to 
 slip from her as the work slipped through her fingers; 
 and what a life it was ! Trial upon trial, sorrow upon 
 sorrow ; prosperity at first, then misfortune and poverty ; 
 then sixteen years of married life, and three or four little 
 graves ; sickness ; the prop of the home smitten down, a 
 helpless invalid ; then widowhood, with four children to 
 support and educate ; next, one of the children a hopeless 
 cripple labor, ceaseless labor ; then sorrow and trouble 
 in a married daughter s misfortune ; then her two daugh 
 ters widowed and in delicate health, and with several 
 young children, all upon her hands, she their only help and 
 refuge ! Her youngest, an only son, she had bravely edu 
 cated through it all. He had finally joined the Union 
 army, without a word of opposition from her. At that 
 very moment he might be lying wounded on the battle 
 field, or his bones might be gathered in some nameless 
 grave, for she had not heard from him for months. And 
 there had I been consulting with her about my sleeves ! 
 
 " And you support them all, children and grandchil 
 dren ? " I asked, making believe to search for a spool of 
 cotton, for I felt too fidgety to sew. 
 
WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. 165 
 
 " Yes, deary, mostly " (she had given me this name on 
 the second day). " Annie s laid up with her side most of 
 the time ; and what with grieving, and taking charge of 
 the little ones while I m off workin , poor Esther don t 
 earn much, though she s a fur-maker by trade. Now, 
 ma am, I m ready for this shoulder again." 
 
 (How blithely she spoke ! I had been rather low- 
 spirited of late, I with my one illumined sorrow, she 
 with her load of crowding cares) ! As soon as the shoul 
 der was arranged, I went into the entry to speak with 
 Kitty concerning dinner. When I re-opened the door I 
 saw that mysterious movement again. My dressmaker 
 was slipping something into her basket. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, with a slight jump, "what a little 
 thing starts me ! I was just reading my little song." 
 
 " Your little song ? " 
 
 " Yes : it s a bit of writing I ve had four or five years, the 
 greatest comfort of my life ; almost," and she lowered her 
 voice, " like my Bible. It kept me up when I do believe 
 nothing else would." 
 
 She said this in such a cheery way, while picking out 
 the basting-threads, that I hardly knew how to reply. But 
 at last I said, stupidly enough, 
 
 " Don t you ever get sick, Mrs. Bond ? " 
 
 " No, not often ; leastwise, not enough to make me lose 
 my day. Thank you, deary, I ll go on with that sleeve if 
 you hain t finished it, and you can take up the cording." 
 
 " It s wonderful," I said, tacitly following her direction, 
 " really wonderful, to think of your supporting all your 
 family so, and on two dollars a day." 
 
 " Sometimes I do wonder," she said quietly, " how I do 
 
1 66 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 it ; but God helps us, and then, you know, I have my little 
 song. I ll take them black hooks, please." 
 
 We sat silently working for a few moments. At last I 
 said, softly and reverently, 
 
 f Mrs. Bond, will you teach me your little song ? " 
 
 She looked up with a surprised " What, deary ? " 
 
 " That little song you were speaking of. It would do 
 me good, too, I am sure. Will you teach it to me ? " 
 
 " You, child ! You don t need it, young, bright, and 
 happy. It s only for tired old bodies like me." 
 
 " Ah ! but perhaps I do," I persisted : " life is very vex 
 ing to me sometimes." 
 
 She bent down, and, lifting her little basket, slowly 
 raised the lid, then took out a folded piece of paper, worn 
 and dingy. She opened it tenderly as she handed it to 
 me. 
 
 " This is my little song, deary. I know all it says ; but 
 it always helps me to read it, especially when things comes 
 into my mind that oughtn t too." 
 
 I had expected to find one of the sweet old hymns that 
 tell of comfort and joy to come, as a reward for sorrow 
 suffered here. But the verses that I saw surprised me. 
 
 " Where did you find this poem ? " I asked. 
 
 " I didn t find it. The Lord sent it to me sort of mys 
 terious. A young girl read it out once in a room where I 
 was sewing ; and when I had a chance, I asked her to write 
 it down for me. I don t take to such things, gen rally ; 
 but this song is kind o by itself." 
 
 And so it was. For the poem was Adelaide Procter s 
 " One by One." 
 
 " I have a whole book of verses written by the same 
 
WHAT A LITTLE SONG CAN DO. 167 
 
 lady," I said, still looking at the paper : " shall I bring 
 it, and read you a few of them ? " 
 
 " No, deary, I thank you kindly ; but most like I 
 wouldn t understand em. This little song ll last me out 
 well enough. As you re looking at it, deary, would you 
 mind saying it for me out loud ? " 
 
 For the first time during our conversation, she laid down 
 her work, and leaned back in her chair, while I read in a 
 voice that tried not to tremble : 
 
 " One by one the sands are flowing, 
 One by one the moments fall ; 
 Some are coming, some are going, 
 Do not strive to grasp them all. 
 
 " One by one thy duties wait thee, 
 
 Let thy whole strength go to each ; 
 Let no future dreams elate thee, 
 
 Learn thou first what these can teach. 
 
 " One by one (bright gifts from heaven), 
 
 Joys are sent thee here below ; 
 Take them readily when given, 
 Ready, too, to let them go. 
 
 " One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, 
 
 Do not fear an armed band ; 
 One will fade as others greet thee, 
 Shadows passing through the land. 
 
 " Do not look at life s long sorrow ; 
 
 See how small each moment s pain ; 
 God will help thee for to-morrow, 
 So each day begin again. 
 
 " Every hour that fleets so slowly 
 
 Has its task to do or bear ; 
 Luminous the crown and holy, 
 If thou set each gem with care. 
 
168 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " Do not linger with regretting, 
 
 Or for passing hours despond ; 
 Nor, the daily toil forgetting, 
 Look too eagerly beyond. 
 
 " Hours are golden links, God s token, 
 Reaching heaven ; but one by one 
 Take them, lest the chain be broken 
 Ere the pilgrimage be done. 
 
 I looked up. Mrs. Bond was busily sewing, her " whole 
 strength " going to the present duty, her little wrinkled 
 mouth pursed intently as usual, her gray eyebrows arched 
 mildly above her spectacles, and her sweet old face more 
 placid than ever. 
 
 Adelaide Procter is with the angels now. The tumult 
 of this busy world shall never more disturb her. But she 
 is a gladder, more blessed angel, we may be sure, when 
 ever that dear old woman reads her little song. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF THE WATER 
 FALL. 
 
 A HUSBAND S STORY. 
 
 )LLA M FLIMSEY was cousin to the world- 
 renowned Flora, but she was a better girl. Fair, 
 stylish, coquettish, with bewitching blue eyes, 
 and hair of the fashionable golden hue, she was the pride 
 and glory of our set. I had gazed upon her, given her 
 smile for smile, and more ; had attended her through 
 scores of " Germans," and gone to paradise with her on 
 the wings of the Redowa. Her very fans and gloves were 
 daguerrotyped on my soul. Yet, looking back, I cannot 
 remember that I had ever heard her seriously give an 
 opinion, or utter even a sentiment to reveal of what 
 manner of woman she was. As for her daily life, all that 
 could be known to me was that she flourished in the " best 
 circles," and in every way comported herself as became 
 an unmurmuring child of fashion. I, a busy bee all day 
 and a butterfly at evening, found my flower under the gas 
 light ; and, under the gaslight I hovered about her, en 
 chanted, yet not quite satisfied. Some ruthless spell 
 
 169 
 
170 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 seemed to hang over her beauty. Face and form were 
 perfect. Her hair, too, ah, how lovely it was ! and yet, 
 even in its sunny meshes the demon of shall I say it ? 
 of ugliness seemed to lurk. " Sunny meshes " hardly 
 describes it ah, sunny maze ! Yes, a sunny maze over 
 her temples ; and beyond that ? But it was beautiful 
 hair that I said to myself a hundred times. What, 
 then, was the mystery? Something within me recoiled 
 even while I admired most ardently ; and she, poor child ! 
 seeing my waywardness, wondered (I knew it in spite of 
 her well-trained, beautiful eyes) wondered and grew 
 serious between dances. 
 
 Alas ! we knew not the direful spell that had been cast 
 upon us ! But the end came at last. Now that all is 
 over, I am vexed that I did not in some way take trouble 
 by the forelock, and grapple with it single-handed. But I 
 have said I wooed as a butterfly flits about a flower. 
 Do butterflies think ? When an ugly blight threatens a 
 peerless blossom, what can her Papilio do but hover 
 wretchedly overhead ? 
 
 One stormy December night (she has told me all about 
 it since) my poor Ella, returning from a brilliant " recep 
 tion," sought her chamber puzzled and unhappy. Almost 
 in tears, she flung jewel after jewel upon her dressing- 
 table, jerked the drooping flowers from her hair, and 
 loosed the glittering zone, which, it had seemed to me, 
 was all that kept the gauzy clouds trailing about her from 
 floating away into the air. Then came more arduous 
 toilet undoings ; there were curls two long, golden, 
 beautiful curls then braids then a golden mass of 
 wealth, and then the maze ! But why speak of these. She 
 
SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 1 7 1 
 
 was sad she, my matchless flower, my pearl ! Ah ! if I 
 could have seen her then, seen her earnest, but an instant, 
 perhaps but no. The spell was not yet broken. 
 
 It had been a brilliant evening. Even Cousin Flora 
 had pronounced the affair "faultless." The Harrises, the 
 Van Doodles, everybody in town, that is, everybody 
 worth knowing, had been present ; and Ella had stood 
 acknowledged belle of the hour. But it had been the 
 same, or nearly the same, every night for weeks and 
 weeks. She was weary. It may be her soul was asking 
 " Is it well ? " I had been hovering near her, as usual, 
 fascinated, yet secretly dissatisfied ; and she, in some 
 strange way, had felt slighted and distressed, though she 
 must have known that at least a dozen among those who 
 looked upon her were longing to cast their fate and 
 fortune at her feet. Ah ! it is a cruel problem this of life. 
 It should know better than to force itself upon a gay, sin 
 less girl. With a sigh, Ella, after dimming the gaslight, 
 put on a long, soft robe of wadded cashmere, and cast 
 herself in a big armchair by the fire. Dear little blossom ! 
 Did the great senseless thing know what it held, I wonder? 
 
 How plainly I can see her sitting there, in the flickering 
 firelight, wfth that new sadness on her face. The lofty 
 room, with its curtains, its frescoed panels, its carvings of 
 dull, dark wood, its dainty work-stand rarely used, its 
 costly rack of books never opened, its delicate traceries 
 of gold, its soft, harmonious colors, its toilet-table (a mar 
 vel of lace with rosy draperies blushing through), all 
 these were quite familiar to me ; for the apartment had 
 sometimes done duty as " the gentlemen s dressing-room," 
 and afterward that very armchair became But I must 
 not anticipate. 
 
1/2 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 How long Ella s reverie continued she cannot remem 
 ber. It was broken at last by a sharp sense of dread. 
 Her eyes had been fixed upon the toilet-table. Fascinated 
 by its cloud-like canopy and curtain, where pink and 
 white seemed floating together in airy softness, with here 
 and there a bright gleam from the fire deepening its hue, 
 she had wondered whether the effect might not be some 
 thing like the " early dawn " that travellers talk about, 
 
 when suddenly its curtain was stirred ! 
 
 What could it mean ? There was not space enough 
 under there for a robber to stow himself. Her pet spaniel 
 she knew was already sound asleep in the housekeeper s 
 room. Cats and kittens were forbidden the house ; but it 
 might possibly be that some vagrant puss had stolen in 
 during the day. 
 
 Even this solution almost paralyzed her with fear. 
 After all, it might be merely fancy. 
 
 With a half-smile at her weakness, she sat upright, and 
 looked steadily at the offending drapery. It stirred again 
 
 not feebly this time ; but with a quick, resolute move 
 ment stirred and parted ! 
 
 A bouncing little figure stepped forth. 
 
 " Blaze up, Fire ! " said the little figure, " and let the 
 lady see me." 
 
 Instantly the fire sent out frisky jets of flame. 
 
 " That s right," said the figure jauntily. " Now, am I 
 not a beauty ? " 
 
 A beauty ? It was the ugliest of all ugly gnomes, gob 
 lins, or whatever one might choose to call it. It was 
 short, stumpy, of a dingy brown, and made entirely of 
 matted hair I Even its arms were of the same material ; 
 
SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 173 
 
 and its eyes were formed of rings of white and black 
 hair, with the light of a golden curl shining through them. 
 
 " Who are you ? " gasped my poor girl, ready to faint. 
 
 " Who am I ? " pertly replied the figure : " why, one of 
 your friends to be sure. My name is Sheniona. I m the 
 Spirit of the Waterfall ! " 
 
 " Oh, oh ! Go away ! " shrieked Ella. 
 
 " All in good time, my dear," said the visitor coaxingly ; 
 " all in good time. Now, don t be frightened in that foolish 
 way. I m sure I expected a different reception from you. 
 But never mind that. Business is business, you know. 
 If I hadn t had business I would have staid away 
 though, really, who would have dreamed that you could 
 hate me so, seeing that " and Sheniona nodded signifi 
 cantly toward the toilet-table. 
 
 Ella was gradually becoming less alarmed : there was 
 a saucy, friendly air about the Spirit, that was rather win 
 ning after all ; so she ventured to ask timidly, 
 
 " What business ? " 
 
 "Well, my dear, business of rather an embarrassing 
 nature, if you must know. (Brighten up, Fire !) The 
 fact is, though I seem such a plucky, self-reliant Spirit, I 
 am really somewhat dependent upon others. In short, if 
 it were not for others, I couldn t be the beauty that I often 
 am. (Now, Fire, don t be lazy !) I m Queen of them all, 
 and they know it. Every one bows to the Spirit of the 
 Waterfall. But you see, my dear, sometimes those who 
 have been forced unconsciously to help me get to be a 
 little troublesome : they come again and again, pestering 
 me and asking for their own, as they call it. Even when 
 I haven t used em a bit they keep whining out, It s all 
 
1/4 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 your fault all your fault ! till I m most dead. It s 
 enough to put me all out of tangle it really is ; " and 
 the Spirit struck a despondent attitude. 
 
 " Well ? " asked Ella, longing to make a rush for the 
 door, and yet not daring to stir, " what s all this to me ? " 
 
 The Spirit laughed a quick, fuzzy little laugh. 
 
 " What s it to you ? Well, if that isn t too much ! Why, 
 it s every thing to you (Fire, don t go to sleep, please) 
 every thing to you just now, I mean. The fact is, 
 you ve got something that don t belong to you, and the 
 owners want it. 
 
 " I ? " faltered Ella, " I ? " 
 
 "Yes, you," answered Sheniona, with an encouraging 
 nod. " Now, don t be so nervous. Brush up ; do ! I ve 
 no idea of calling you a thief. Neither have they. Of 
 course you haven t intended to do any thing wrong. But 
 they want their own. They ve been at me ever so 
 long about it ; and at last I thought I d just lay the matter 
 before you. What do you say ? " 
 
 " W T hat do I say ? Oh, yes ! take it, good Sheniona, 
 whatever it is, and go home." 
 
 " Home ! " echoed Sheniona scornfully, but in a 
 smothered tone, " what do I want of a home ? My object 
 is to make headway in the world ; but that s nothing here 
 nor there. Besides / can t take it. They must help 
 themselves. What do you say, yes, or no ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear ! y-yes," answered Ella, closing her eyes. 
 
 " Very well. That s something like. Now, good people, 
 you may come. Fire ! " 
 
 This last ejaculation was not a military order to the 
 " good people," but was addressed in a warning " aside " 
 
SPIRIT OF 7 HE WATERFALL. 
 
 to the members from Liverpool. Accordingly the room 
 grew light in a twinkling. 
 
 Ella tried to keep her eyes shut, but they opened in 
 spite of her. In every corner of the apartment she saw 
 women ; not exactly ghostly women, though they could 
 not have been mortal, since neither door nor window had 
 opened to admit them, but women very different from 
 those whom she was in the habit of seeing ; and every 
 one of them was looking reproachfully at her. 
 
 "Now," commanded Sheniona, in an injured tone, at 
 the same time collecting something from the toilet-table, 
 and throwing it into Ella s lap, " now come and claim 
 your own." 
 
 Ella trembled. As the women slowly approached, she 
 noticed that they made no sound as they walked, and that 
 the heads of nearly all of them were closely cropped. 
 They gathered in silent groups about her, casting eager 
 glances upon what she held on her lap. She tried to rise, 
 and throw the coveted things upon the floor ; but she was 
 powerless. 
 
 Suddenly one of the women, a worn, dark-browed crea 
 ture, came close to her, and, bending, snatched one of the 
 articles. It was a curl ( yes, one of the very curls that I 
 had seen drooping upon Ella s bosom that evening !). 
 
 " This is mine ! " she cried fiercely. 
 
 " Yours ! " sneered Sheniona, " what did you ever do 
 with that, you old raven ? " 
 
 " I ll tell you what I did with it. I held it to my heart 
 a thousand times with the only thing I loved on earth. I 
 kissed it night and day. I stroked it on my poor, toil- 
 stiffened fingers until some of its gold seemed to light up 
 
I ?6 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 my soul. It was like a chain leading me to heaven. 
 But harder times came. I couldn t get any work. I sold 
 clothes, furniture, every thing I had, to keep her, my little 
 one, from starving, every thing went but my wedding- 
 ring and her hair. The wedding-ring went first ; then her 
 beautiful curls, yes, I curled them even when we were 
 crying with hunger, but it was all of no use. She died. 
 But she s not starving now thank God for that ! Not 
 cold either ; but I can t find her I can t see her. She 
 went where I can t go yet. But I know this is one of 
 her curls, and I must have it. That other one isn t mine. 
 Where are the rest ? " turning fiercely to Sheniona. 
 
 " Never mind now about the rest, my good woman. 
 They re not here, that s plain. Begone ! " 
 
 The woman, pressing the curl to her lips, moved away, 
 and Ella saw her no more. 
 
 " Who does the other curl belong to ? " cried Sheniona. 
 " Move quickly now. Don t be all night about it." 
 
 At these words four young girls stepped forward. One 
 of them lifted the curl ; and, without a word, they began 
 rapidly to untwist it. Each with busy fingers drew out 
 strand after strand ; and when it was all divided they 
 vanished with their treasure. 
 
 " Humph ! " exclaimed Sheniona, " if that s all, you ll 
 be bothering me a good while before you can recover your 
 headfuls. (A plague to these fellows with their sorting 
 and lengthening, and so scattering one lot of hair to 
 every corner of the earth ! ) Ah, you thief ! " 
 
 Ella looked up quickly. 
 
 " No, not you. I m speaking to that thing who just 
 grabbed a braid. She s a thief and a murderer." 
 
SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 1 77 
 
 " I know it," sullenly retorted a woman who now stood 
 pulling and shaking out the braid. " I was as bad as the 
 worst. Why not ? Who had any mercy for me ? They 
 cut off my hair in prison. Yes, a thief and a murderer. 
 But who was any better ? They murdered me on a scaf 
 fold ; and they stole my hair. It was the only bright 
 thing I ever had. " It s mine, and I want it ! " 
 
 "Well, well, not so much noise, old jail-bird. Who 
 says you can t have it ? " 
 
 " She s said it ! " retorted the woman, looking savagely 
 at Ella. " She s claimed it for her own, and you wouldn t 
 let me come. Haven t I seen her many a time, here, in 
 this very room, smooth it and braid it as if God had given 
 it to her. Yes ; and haven t I seen her carrying it about 
 in gay ball-rooms, among splendid ladies and gentlemen, 
 with their flowers and jewels and scents, the very hair 
 that I used to trail in the dust ? Yes ; and didn t she 
 twine it with pearl, and didn t I see a man who danced 
 with her put a white rose-bud in it once, ha ! ha ! and " 
 
 "Oh, oh! Stop her, Sheniona," cried Ella "stop 
 her, or I shall go mad ! " 
 
 The woman, scornfully acknowledging a signal from the 
 Spirit of the Waterfall, vanished with angry mutterings. 
 
 " Mad ! " echoed a voice ; " I did go mad, raving mad, 
 and they cut off my locks, sunny locks, he used to 
 call them. But that was when I lived on earth. I m not 
 mad now, and " seizing another braid from Ella s lap, 
 "I want my hair." 
 
 " Not mad now, eh ? " said the Spirit of the Waterfall. 
 " Any one would think, from the way you act, that you 
 were stark, staring mad." 
 
178 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " It s the sight of the hair does it," returned the other 
 mournfully, and in a gentler tone. " The hair was what 
 he always praised most." 
 
 "Who was he?" asked Sheniona with some interest. 
 " Was he a barber ? 
 
 "No, indeed," said the girl: "he was a soldier, as 
 handsome and brave a soldier as ever breathed noble 
 and good too ; but you can t understand any thing about 
 that." 
 
 " That s because I m all in a snarl, perhaps," assented 
 Sheniona ironically. 
 
 "But you can," turning to Ella. "He was so noble 
 and good ; and when the word came that he was lying 
 dead on the field, lying all mangled and trodden, I 
 couldn t stand it. I thought I should never, never see 
 him again. I know better now. But this hair is his be 
 cause he liked it. I couldn t rest while I knew it was 
 being carried about by others in the bustling world. I 
 died soon after they took it. Why couldn t they lay it in 
 my grave where it belonged ? Ah ! if you knew all, my 
 pretty lady, you would have perished sooner than have 
 carried my poor hair into gay houses." 
 
 "Yes, yes," sobbed Ella. "O Sheniona! I ve been so 
 wicked, so dreadfully wicked ; but it s all your fault." 
 
 "Oh, certainly, of course ! " returned Sheniona. "You re 
 just like all the rest. Now, ladies, if you ll be kind enough 
 to divide the waterfall, and each take your own, we can 
 be gone. (Come, Fire, a little brighter ! ) " 
 
 The Fire obeyed. Instantly the girl who had been a 
 maniac vanished ; the rest of the women seized the golden 
 waterfall from Ella s unresisting hands, and with many 
 
SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 
 
 struggles, exclamations, sighs, and sobs, began to tear it 
 to pieces, and pick out "their own," hair by hair. 
 
 What strange-looking creatures they were, and dressed 
 in what motley variety of costume ! Some of them had 
 long, wavy tresses, that had grown out since they had 
 been shorn of their wealth ; but most of them were closely 
 cropped, and had a weird, restless look. There were 
 pretty, blue-eyed Bohemian girls among them, dressed in 
 picturesque attire ; heavy Dutch lasses with great wooden 
 shoes, that now made a strange, unearthly clatter : Swiss 
 women with freckled faces and high caps ; and two Swed 
 ish sisters, who stamped their ghostly feet indignantly to 
 think how their bright locks had been boiled and twisted 
 and baked. 
 
 Some seemed to have died, and others were the spirits 
 of the living ; but one and all were equally eager. Dur 
 ing their rapid work they cast reproachful words or bits of 
 personal history at Sheniona, and sometimes addressed 
 themselves to Ella, who, with clasped hands and tearful 
 eyes, sat wondering a throng of new thoughts and reso 
 lutions rushing into her soul. Some told how their hair 
 had been taken off in illness ; some how they had been 
 forced to part with theirs through poverty ; some told tales 
 that brought a burning flush to Ella s cheek ; and others 
 confessed that when they were working in the fields or at 
 household duties, the hair-peddlers came along, shears in 
 hand, and induced them to allow their tresses to be cut 
 off in exchange for tawdry trinkets. Nearly all had some 
 thing to say ; and Ella vaguely wondered that their 
 voices seemed so lifelike and natural. If she had but 
 thought of the potent influence of Sheniona, she would 
 
180 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 have wondered less. Under the spell of the Spirit of the 
 Waterfall, all things seem real. 
 
 One of the Dutch girls turned angrily toward Sheniona. 
 " What does this mean ? I find only four hairs." 
 " It means that only four hairs of all your headful were 
 fit to put with this lot," was the answer. " It was nearly 
 all turned to flax. How did you fade yourself out so ? " 
 
 "Ah!" said the jufvrouw, " my hair had a poor chance. 
 I couldn t wear caps all the time ; but I had one for Ker 
 mis-days. What, with tending geese, and working on the 
 polders, and picking hemp for the mills, there wasn t much 
 to save my good looks. Blazing sun and high winds, and 
 the heavy breath of the ditches, don t go to make up fine 
 ladies. Where is the rest of my hair ? " i 
 
 "Scattered about everywhere, if you want to know," 
 said Sheniona: "it made about twenty different shades 
 when they came to handle and assort it. Part of it is in a 
 set of side-curls in London, part in a lawyer s scratch 
 somewhere in Boston, part in a mustache owned by a New 
 Yorker who is always dodging the detectives, but most of 
 it s on dolls." 
 "Dolls?" 
 
 "Yes, dolls, those tow-headed, wax dolls. I shouldn t 
 be surprised if you fitted out a dozen of em." 
 
 " I ll find it all yet," hissed the Dutch lass between her 
 teeth. " I ll find it all yet." 
 
 " Not unless you re civil you wont. Now, good people, 
 don t stand all night disputing over one hair ! " 
 
 The scene was over at last. The "golden mass of 
 wealth " had dwindled to nothing. One by one the women 
 vanished. The fire flickered wildly, and Ella was once 
 more alone with Sheniona. 
 
SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. l8l 
 
 " Don t cry," said the Spirit : " I ve not deserted you 
 yet. Tell me what I can do for you." 
 
 " Nothing, nothing ! " sobbed Ella. " Only leave me, 
 and never, never come near me again." 
 
 " Never ! " repeated Sheniona, in astonishment. 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Why, you will look like a fright." 
 
 " No," said my brave little Ella, quite herself now. " I 
 shall not look like a fright. I am not bald. But for your 
 wicked spells, I should never have slighted the adornment 
 Nature had already given me." 
 
 " Nature ! " sneered the Spirit, with intense scorn. 
 
 "It is you, Sheniona," continued Ella, "who all these 
 months have made me look like a fright ; you who have 
 loaded my poor head till it ached ; you who have made me 
 almost a liar and a cheat ; you who have made me wrong 
 those poor women, and worry them in their graves ; you 
 who " 
 
 "Hold! " cried Sheniona, now in a great passion. " You 
 have said enough. From this hour I am done with you. 
 Yes, I and my army shall withdraw from you forever ! " 
 
 " Your army ! " 
 
 " I have said it. Come forth, my brave followers ! " 
 cried the Spirit of the Waterfall. 
 
 Instantly numerous boxes and drawers about the room 
 flew open ; and out hopped a regiment, it seemed, of crimp 
 ers and crinkling-pins. These were marshalled by a num 
 ber of puffy officers, brevetted " rats " and " coils ; " while 
 conspicuous among them stalked a stately pair of curling- 
 tongs. 
 
 " This way ! " commanded the Spirit turning savagely 
 about. l6 
 
182 THEOPH1LUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 She marched toward the fireplace ; her army followed 
 in rattling procession. At the hearth she stepped upon 
 the pan. From the pan she hopped upon the bars. From 
 the bars she sprang into the blaze ; and in the b?aze she 
 vanished, army and all. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! She s gone ! " cried Ella, starting 
 up. " But what a dreadful odor of burning ! And how 
 hot it is ! Oh ! " 
 
 An instant, and she was in the hall, screaming, " Help ! 
 Fire ! " with all her might. 
 
 The household were awake by this time. Men were 
 rushing in at the front door. Ella, looking back into her 
 room, saw the toilet-table a blackened mass; saw her beauti 
 ful dress on the chair suddenly leap up in a fiery flash; saw 
 the curtains near by curling and blazing ; and realized how 
 that star of gaslight had treacherously done its work, light 
 ing the slow-burning damask, that in time had fired the light 
 draperies of her toilet-table. She would have ventured in 
 to rescue a few precious notes that were locked in her work- 
 table ; but a gruff voice shouted through the smoke, 
 
 " Don t come in, miss ! Here, Jim, down with them 
 curtains the first thing ! " 
 
 " Mercy on us ! Oh, my ! oh, my ! " shrieked the house 
 keeper, who at that instant burst upon the scene, an image 
 of frantic despair in double-gown and night-cap. " Mercy 
 on us ! Come quick, Miss Ella, before the stairs goes ! " 
 
 Thanks to prompt action and the good offices of Croton, 
 the fire was soon arrested with scarcely more damage done 
 than that which we have already seen. In a week or two 
 carpenters, painters, gilders, upholsterers, and cabinet 
 makers had come and gone, leaving every thing as it was 
 before. 
 
SPIRIT OF THE WATERFALL. 183 
 
 Every thing ? No, not quite. Ella was changed. No 
 longer a victim to the spells of Sheniona, she became 
 faultless in her beauty as she was true and tender at heart. 
 Left to itself, her lovely hair, tossed lightly back from her 
 temples, soon fell into a waving way of its own, beautiful 
 to behold ; and the golden net in which her looped-up 
 tresses were imprisoned seemed to shine with gladness 
 because it held only Ella s hair. What a pretty trick of 
 thoughtfulness, too, came over my little girl ! Why, in 
 her girlish wisdom she could put a dozen pompous men 
 to shame ! She became an inspiration to me, waking into 
 healthy activity the drowsy instinct that had been dis 
 gusted with shams, yet had not strength to denounce 
 them. She even asked me timidly one evening, whether I 
 didn t think we d be happier if we were to spend more 
 time quietly together, and less in the whirl of ballrooms. 
 Bless her heart ! before long we actually read books to 
 gether. Think of that! Read books, good, sensible 
 books too. When the time came, as it did last winter, 
 that we had a pretty house of our own to furnish, we went 
 out together to see about pictures : my darling is really 
 growing to have quite an eye for that sort of thing. We 
 bought photographs too, and a piano and a bookcase ; 
 but the great treasure of all to me, in the furniture line, 
 is that big armchair. If it hadn t been saved that night, 
 I really am not sure that I would have cared to go to 
 housekeeping. 
 
 " You foolish boy ! " exclaimed Ella, the other night, 
 when, thinking aloud, I uttered this sentiment in her 
 presence. " You foolish, crazy boy ! How can you talk 
 such nonsense ? " 
 
184 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 I was grave in an instant. 
 
 " Ella, dear," I said, " in my opinion that chair (inci 
 dentally, of course) changed the whole current of our 
 lives. You know we ve neither of us had one clouded 
 moment since the night of the fire, when you fell asl " 
 
 " Now, Willie, stop ! " cried Ella, blushing tearfully. 
 " Don t you know we were never, never to speak of that 
 dreadful night again ? " 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A 
 POOR-HOUSE. 
 
 |OME persons have a way of showing their keen 
 appreciation of pleasant conditions by rushing 
 off in thought to their extreme opposites. 
 As last Sunday was a glorious day, golden with sunlight 
 and rich with blithesome messages sent through the whis 
 pering air and written on the blue sky in cloud-white hiero 
 glyphics, and as I was surrounded by luxury and could 
 hear the sweet voices of a score of church-bells, my enjoy 
 ment reached such a height that I concluded to go to the 
 Poor-House. Fortunately the mood was readily commu 
 nicated to a friend. We joined hands with a true Yankee 
 " Let s ! " and started. 
 
 It was easy enough to open the Poor-House gate ; easy 
 enough to look up at the great red brick building, with its 
 massive wings that had no thought of flying, its many 
 windows, looking out nowhere in particular, and its Ironic 
 order of architecture generally ; easy enough to mount the 
 steps, ring the bell ; and, alack ! wofully easy instantly to 
 wish one s self a mile away. What would the Poor-House 
 
 16* 185 
 
1 86 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 folk say ? Who would come to the door ? Would they 
 let us in and on Sunday ? 
 
 The door opened something rushed out. For an 
 instant I was sure it was a crowd of paupers. But no : 
 it was only voices, a mingled swell of voices that sud 
 denly ceased as we went in, as if, somehow, we had pinched 
 it to death by shutting the door. A mild young man 
 looked inquiringly at us, without speaking, and then mo 
 tioned us to enter and go to the left. I noticed several 
 things in a flash. In the first place, we were in a great 
 bare hall, covered with bright oil-cloth ; second, the sur 
 rounding wood-work was very white and shiny ; third, the 
 ceiling was high ; and, fourth, though every thing seemed 
 strangely silent, there was a great noise somewhere. It 
 might have been in the air, or in the oil-cloth, or in the 
 mild young man s eyes, I didn t exactly know. This lasted 
 only for an instant ; then I felt sure there was a crowd of 
 persons near us, and that the noise came simply from the 
 fact of their being alive : a voice became audible as we 
 turned into a narrow passage-way. 
 
 Some one was praying. The rush of sound we had 
 heard was the closing note of a hymn. There were open 
 doors around this inner hall ; through one we saw a room 
 full of men, and at the others, strange figures of women, 
 who were flitting about uneasily. We moved on softly, 
 and took the chairs that the young man offered us. They 
 were just inside the doorway of the room where the 
 men sat. Now we could see a row or two of bare-headed 
 women at the far-end of the apartment and all along one 
 side. Dingy-looking men sat against the opposite wall. 
 What revelations we saw in those rows of pauper faces I 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE. 1 87 
 
 They seemed to be mute visitors from some land of rags 
 where the sun never shone, to have sprung into life full 
 grown, yet with only misery for heart-blood, so restless 
 and desolate their look. In the centre of the room stood 
 a table with an open Bible upon it, and around this table, 
 several feet away from it, about a dozen well-dressed men 
 were seated, men with furrowed, earnest faces, restful 
 yet anxious eyes, and nearly all of them had their hands 
 clasped in eager interest. They were the members of the 
 
 Praying Band of N , who visit the Poor-House every 
 
 alternate Sunday, and spend an hour with its inmates. 
 
 The prayer had almost imperceptibly changed to an 
 appeal to those present. The rich, deep voice of the 
 speaker was answered in various parts of the room with 
 sighs of sympathy and occasional bursts of " Amen ! " 
 " God be praised ! " " Ah, yes ! " All that he said was 
 admirable, no rhetorical display was needed here. He 
 had a message of love and mercy for his hearers, and he 
 told it simply, with tears in his eyes. " There is help for 
 all ! " he almost sobbed, " help for all ! I have read a 
 glorious promise for you and for me. Jesus loves you : 
 he is knocking now at your door. Will you turn him 
 away ? " 
 
 " No, no, God forbid ! " moaned a fervent voice. " Let 
 him in ! let him in 1 " 
 
 It came from an old woman in a faded cotton skirt and 
 shawl : she was bent nearly double, the big ruffle on her 
 cap flapped over a sallow little face that seemed to have 
 neither eyes nor mouth, but only wrinkles, a chin, and a 
 nose, a poor, miserable little speck of a woman ; and 
 yet how she took her place with earth s mighty ones at 
 
188 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 that moment ! A human soul is grand, even in a poor- 
 house. 
 
 Then there was a hymn, the Doxology, we all 
 stood up and sang, even the bent old woman and a very 
 aged man, who trembled as if he were afraid of falling. 
 While we stood, the blessing was invoked, and the Pray 
 ing Band, after saying a few hearty words to this one and 
 that, went off cheerily enough, and left us alone with the 
 overseer and the paupers. 
 
 My friend talked with the overseer ; but I walked along 
 the hall, exchanging a word or two with the women who 
 stood around. One of the poor creatures was crazy 
 " harmless," they said ; but she seemed tortured with in 
 ward bitterness. I smiled at her, trusting to the magnet 
 ism of kindness and sympathy ; but she glowered at me 
 with a hideous grimace that sent the blood running back 
 icily into my heart. Then she stood aside and nodded. 
 I tried again, offering the smile as before. How good 
 my friends have been never openly to complain of its 
 quality ! This poor creature candidly testified her disap 
 proval, and sent it back to me in horrible travesty. Poor 
 creature, what has wrecked her, I wonder ? There was 
 no time to ask questions, for there was too much to be 
 seen. 
 
 I noted one woman, whose possible history opened 
 before me like a revelation. She was thin and gaunt, with 
 a skin like old parchment, and a loose under lip that 
 seemed to say sullenly, " Once I was pretty and red, and 
 I used to smile, and say saucy things." She seemed about 
 forty years old ; her head had great bald spots over the ears, 
 and its little wisp of yellowish-gray hair was gathered into 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE. 189 
 
 a knot by a broken red comb that long ago had been showy. 
 Her dress was of a dim, nameless hue, and hung as if its 
 life had long ago been washed away ; a once gay necker 
 chief was folded over her flat breast, and lying over this 
 was a wide frill of cotton lace, gathered at the long sinewy 
 throat. The collar evidently had been washed for Sunday ; 
 and, strange to say, the woman, after all, had something 
 of what is called a stylish look. There was an old-time 
 grace lurking somewhere among her bones, ugly and faded 
 and wretched as she was. I would have spoken to her, 
 but she turned stiffly away, as if with a haughty sense that 
 I did not belong to " her set." Near her stood a sad-faced 
 German woman, who held a little girl by the hand. How 
 much alike the two faces were, and yet one was fresh and 
 bright, and the other wan with poverty and trouble ! In 
 one, life showed like a dawn that threw a ruddy light on 
 the clouds around ; in the other, it stood shrouded like a 
 ghost behind the pale cheek and weary eye. Something 
 about this mother and child made me ask the overseer 
 whether they did not sometimes find good places for the 
 inmates, where they could earn a livelihood. " Oh, yes ! " 
 he said, " it often happens so ; and we do all we can toward 
 getting the able-bodied ones into service. We try to send 
 them away better men and women than they were when 
 they came." 
 
 Just then I spied an old woman with large, dark eyes, 
 looking rather more comfortable than the rest, though she 
 leaned on a crutch, and her hands were badly swollen at 
 the knuckles. She had a little room on the main floor. 
 It had a comfortable bed in it, a chest, a table, a 
 chair, and on its window-shelf were growing a few gera- 
 
190 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 niums in pots and boxes. Just now the old woman stood 
 in her doorway, and smiled brightly as I approached. 
 
 " Were you in at the meeting ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," she answered, with a bright glance that lighted 
 up her thin face, and deepened the flush on her ckeek, " I 
 didn t go in. My rheumatiz wont let me sit down, when 
 it ain t a mind to ; but I stood outside here, and heerd it 
 all." 
 
 " Well, that s better than nothing," I said, catching her 
 cheery manner. " It s a happy thing, I am sure, for you 
 to have these meetings." 
 
 " Oh, certain ! " she answered. " Folks take heaps o 
 comfort out o religion. It s beautiful to hear em prayin ." 
 
 This was uttered in such an outside way, that I was 
 tempted to add, " Yes, and to pray one s self. Don t you 
 think so ? " 
 
 " Lor ! yes," she answered, staring at me in that uncom 
 promising way peculiar to paupers. "Lor! yes. I took 
 religion two year ago, and prayin is every thing to me." 
 
 " I knew something made you happy," I said, "because 
 you take pains to have those geraniums growing in your 
 window. Did you raise them yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh, certain ! " nodding her head and still staring. 
 " Raised em, and have great luck with all such. I look 
 at em when I m doubled up with rheumatiz ; but, thank 
 the Lord, I off an on can use some of my fingers right 
 handy ; and then I sew, which is nice, having good eye 
 sight." 
 
 Just then a forlorn-looking man came out from the 
 kitchen. " That s him" she said, shaking her head side- 
 wise, " my husband lost his health and broke down. 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE. 191 
 
 But he s a baker by trade, and when he kin, he helps with 
 he bakin ." 
 
 " That s good," I said : " it must make both of you 
 happier to feel that he is useful." 
 
 " My ! yes," she answered, with a superb wag of her 
 head. " Oh ! in course. It makes me quite airy and 
 independent, it does." 
 
 Poor old woman ! Grand old pauper ! 
 
 Next to the room where the services had been held, 
 was the eating-hall. We saw the long bare tables, and 
 women standing beside them, eating their early supper. 
 A girl came in with a large wooden bowl, rilled with 
 slices of buttered bread. These were distributed around ; 
 and in addition each had a tin cup filled with milk. Cer 
 tainly all appeared neither under-fed nor sickly, though 
 they wore the inevitable look that comes with long hard 
 ship, and which rarely is driven away by relief. 
 
 Next, after a few enterprising explorations, we found 
 ourselves on a little back porch of the building, my 
 friend and the overseer discussing points that did not in 
 terest me, and I peering about with a vague dread that I 
 might see something which it would not be pleasant to 
 discover. 
 
 Of course I did that very thing. Behind me was the 
 smooth-walled hall with its shining oilcloth ; above me, 
 the blue sky with its suggestion of bird-song ; before me, 
 trees in which a soft breeze was sporting ; and so I peered 
 into a kind of square area, or wall-corner, or whatever it 
 was, and saw what ! 
 
 Two women, one clinging to a bench, and looking 
 more like a huge, gray, half-dead bat than a woman, so 
 
192 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 dustily flimsy were her rags and hangings ; and another, 
 at brazen-looking thing, in the very bravery of squalor. 
 The brazen-looking thing was either an idiot or a lunatic, 
 I could not tell which : the busy, aimless look in her face 
 meant nothing. She seemed the guardian of the bat. 
 Near by, where some scrubber had left it, stood a pail of 
 dirty water with a sponge in it. Suddenly the half-witted 
 thing stooped, and, taking the sponge from the pail, lifted 
 it all dripping to the other woman s bowed face. There 
 was no remonstrance, only a wretched jerk of the head, 
 which ceased with the second stroke of the wet sponge. 
 When for a third time it was dipped for a fresh supply, 
 again to be aimlessly thrust into the poor helpless face, I 
 called to the overseer ; and he stopped the proceedings 
 with a sharp "stut-t-t ! " that sent the half-witted creature 
 off to a corner, grinning, and rubbing her wrists, as though 
 she were a monkey. 
 
 In again for further explorations, and up, up, to the 
 very top of the building. Then after we had mounted to 
 the cupola, which, after the manner of most cupolas, was 
 not at that moment in a condition to afford us a " look 
 out," we turned, and went down again past the bed-cham 
 bers, and the sitting-rooms, dining-hall, kitchens, wash 
 rooms, boiler-rooms, and cellars, until we found ourselves 
 in the open air, quite at a distance from the neat doorway 
 by which we had entered. 
 
 Then, with many thanks, we bade our guide good-by, 
 and sought the front gate, my friend filled with grand, 
 philanthropic ideas, and I bathing in a grateful sunbeam 
 of thought, in which floated, mote-like, bathing-tubs, 
 patent ventilators, bare tables, tin cups, a tumbled-down 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN A POOR-HOUSE. IQ3 
 
 old man, a bald-headed, stylish pauper, a bright little 
 child-face, the Praying Band, my " airy and independent " 
 old woman, the dreadful creature with her sponge, and 
 the mild young man who had let us in. 
 
 But the clouds had risen meanwhile : the air was grow 
 ing chill. As I looked back at the great red building, a 
 choking sense of human misery came over me. The 
 brooding friend beside me was silent j and so, true to my 
 nature, I said, 
 
 " Let us walk fast. There ll be a bright fire at home ; 
 and they ll all be sitting round it, waiting for us." 
 7 
 
Miss MALONY ON THE 
 CHINESE QUESTION. 
 
 JCH! don t be Jalkin . Is it howld on, ye say? 
 An didn t I howld on till the heart of me was 
 clane broke entirely, and me wastin that thin 
 ye could clutch me wid yer two hands. To think o me 
 toilin like a nager for the six year I ve been in Ameriky 
 bad luck to the day I iver left the owld counthry ! to 
 be bate by the likes o them ! (faix, an I ll sit down when 
 I m ready, so I will, Ann Ryan ; an ye d better be list- 
 nin than drawin yer remarks). An is it meself, with five 
 good characters from respectable places, would be herdin 
 wid the haythens ? The saints forgive me, but I d be 
 buried alive sooner n put up wid it a day longer. Sure, 
 an I was the granehorn not to be lavin at once-t when 
 the missus kim into me kitchen wid her perlaver about 
 the new waiter-man which was brought out from Californy. 
 "He ll be here the night," says she. "And, Kitty, it s 
 meself looks to you to be kind and patient wid him ; for 
 he s a furriner," says she, a kind o lookin off. "Sure, 
 an it s little I ll hinder nor interfare wid him, nor any 
 194 
 
MISS MALONY. 19$ 
 
 other, mum," says I, a kind o stiff; for I minded me 
 how these French waiters, wid their paper collars and 
 brass rings on their fingers, isn t company for no gurril 
 brought up dacent and honest. Och ! sorra a bit I knew 
 what was comin till the missus walked into me kitchen, 
 smilin , and says, kind o sheared, " Here s Fing Wing, 
 Kitty j an ye ll have too much sinse to mind his bein a 
 little strange." Wid that she shoots the doore ; and I, 
 misthrustin if I was tidied up sufficient for me fine buy 
 wid his paper collar, looks up, and Howly fathers ! may 
 I niver brathe another breath, but there stud a rale hay- 
 then Chineser, a-grinnin like he d just come off a tay- 
 box. If ye ll belave me, the crayture was that yeller it 
 ud sicken ye to see him ; and sorra stitch was on him 
 but a black night-gown over his trowsers, and the front of 
 his head shaved claner nor a copper-biler, and a black 
 tail a-hangin down from it behind, wid his two feet stook 
 into the haythenestest shoes ye ever set eyes on. Och ! 
 but I was up stairs afore ye could turn about, a-givin the 
 missus warnin , an only stopt wid her by her raisin me 
 wages two dollars, and playdin wid me how it was a Chris 
 tian s duty to bear wid haythens, and taitch em all in our 
 power the saints save us ! Well, the ways and trials I 
 had wid that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn t be tellin . 
 Not a blissed thing cud I do, but he d be lookin on wid 
 his eyes cocked up ard like two poomp-handles ; an he 
 widdout a speck or smitch o whishkers on him, an his 
 finger-nails full a yard long. But it s dyin ye d be to see 
 the missus a-larnin him, an he grinnin , an waggin his 
 pig-tail (which was pieced out long wid some black stoof, 
 the haythen chate 1) and gettin into her ways wonderful 
 
196 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 quick, I don t deny, imitatin that sharp, ye d be shur- 
 prised, and ketchin an copyin things the best of us will 
 do a-hurried wid work, yet don t want comin to the knowl 
 edge o the family bad luck to him ! 
 
 Is it ate wid him ? Arrah, an would I 
 be sittin wid a haythen, an he a-atin 
 wid drum-sticks ? yes, an atin dogs an 
 cats unknownst to me, I warrant ye, 
 which it is the custom of them Chinesers, till the thought 
 made me that sick I could die. An didn t the crayture 
 proffer to help me a wake ago come Toosday, an me fold- 
 in down me clane clothes for the ironin , an fill his hay- 
 then mouth wid water, an afore I could hinder, squirrit it 
 through his teeth stret over the best linen tablecloth, 
 and fold it up tight, as innercent now as a baby, the dirrity 
 baste ! But the worrest of all was the copyin he d be 
 doin till ye d be dishtracted. It s yerself knows the tinder 
 feet that s on me since ever I ve bin in this counthry. 
 Well, owin to that, I fell into a way o slippin me shoes 
 off when I d be settin down to pale the praities, or the 
 likes o that ; and, do ye mind, that haythen would do the 
 same thing after me whiniver the missus set him to parin 
 apples or tomaterses. The saints in heaven couldn t ha 
 made him belave he cud kape the shoes on him when he d 
 be paylin any thing. 
 
 Did I lave for that ? Faix, an I didn t. Didn he get 
 me into throuble wid my missus, the haythen ! Ye re 
 aware yerself how the boondles comin in from the gro 
 cery often contains more n 11 go into any thing dacently. 
 So, for that matter, I d now and then take out a sup o 
 sugar, or flour, or tay, an wrap it in paper, and put it in 
 
MISS MALONY. 
 
 me bit of a box tucked under the ironin -blanket the how 
 it cuddent be bodderin any one. Well, what shud it 
 be, but this blessed Sathurday morn, the missus was 
 a-spakin pleasant an respec ful wid me in me kitchen, 
 when the grocer buy comes in, and stands fornenst her 
 wid his boondles ; an she motions like to Fing Wing 
 (which I never would call him by that name ner any other 
 but just haythen) she motions to him, she does, for to 
 take the boondles, an empty out the sugar an what not 
 where they belongs. If ye ll belave me, Ann Ryan, 
 what did that blatherin Chineser do but take out a sup o 
 sugar, an a han ful o tay, an a bit o chaze, right afore 
 the missus, wrap em into bits o paper, an I spacheless 
 wid shurprize, an he the next minute up wid the ironin - 
 blanket, an pullin out me box wid a show o bein sly to 
 put them in. Och, the Lord forgive me, but I clutched 
 it, an the missus sayin , " O Kitty ! " in a way that ud 
 cruddle your blood. "He s a haythen nager," says I. 
 " I ve found yer out," says she. " I ll arrist him," says I. 
 " It s yerself ought to be arristed," says she. " Yer won t," 
 says I. " I will," says she. And so it went, till she give 
 me such sass as I cuddent take from no lady, an I give 
 her warnin , an left that instant, an she a-pointin to the 
 doore. 
 
 17* 
 
LITTLE TALKS. 
 
 BY SUSAN SNAPP. 
 
OUR DEBATING SOCIETY 
 SKELETON. 
 
 HERE S a skeleton in every house," says some 
 old growler ; and it s true. John and I managed 
 to keep ours away for a long time, but we knew 
 it would turn up at last. Sure enough, it s come ! It has 
 only got as far as our Debating Society as yet ; whether it 
 ever gets any further, or not, is a matter of single combat 
 between it and John. 
 
 Now, if Mr. Snapp shines anywhere, it is in debate, 
 The opposing side always loses heart as soon as he begins, 
 He makes a point of being master of his subject, never 
 loses his temper, and invariably throws the balance in 
 favor of his own side of a question. I don t say this be 
 cause he s my John not at all. If he couldn t debate 
 well, I d be sure to know it, for we often take up little 
 questions between ourselves. Besides, I m always so 
 anxious when he rises to speak in public, that my whole 
 soul listens. Consequently his weak points, if there are 
 any, always strike me with tremendous force, though that 
 may be rather a contradictory way of putting it. 
 
 201 
 
202 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 I m not the only one who holds this opinion. The 
 whole town thinks the same. They always try to have 
 two or three extra speakers, " to balance Snapp " as they 
 say ; or, rather, they did so until our skeleton appeared at 
 the Debating-Society meetings, a real skeleton, with a 
 skin drawn over it, and called by courtesy a man. Yes, 
 he s a plain, gaunt, high-shouldered, long-nosed old farmer, 
 who carries a red bandanna, and talks through his nose, 
 with a most atrocious twang beside ; one of your per 
 verse, aggravating creatures, who utters about six words a 
 day, and sets you foaming. This old fellow has attended 
 but two of our meetings ; and already he s turned every 
 thing inside out and topsy-turvy that is, as far as John s 
 position is concerned. The first time he came shall I 
 ever forget it? he sat in the darkest corner of the old 
 schoolhouse, taking a nap through the greater portion of 
 the debate. At last John s turn came ; and, in the pleas 
 ant rustle and stir that always take place when John rises 
 to speak, our skeleton woke up. 
 
 Well, John spoke beautifully, if I do say it. The ques 
 tion was, " Which has the Greater Effect upon Mankind, 
 Hope, or Fear ? " Luckily John was on the Hope side, 
 which, having good sense, religion, and poetry with it, 
 made his task as inspiriting as it was easy. The other 
 side had been cleverly sustained. Collins s Ode on the 
 Passions had been quoted with great effect ; but it was 
 really wonderful to see John carry his audience away from 
 the point where his opponent, an eloquent young college 
 graduate, had left them shuddering. 
 
 No : Fear was low, Hope was high ; Fear was cowardice, 
 Jlope was courage ; Fear was this, Hope was that ; and 
 
OUR DEBATING SOCIETY SKELETON. 203 
 
 so on, until even those on the opposite side, forgetting 
 their defeat, grew radiant. As for me, I could hear the 
 Bow-bells of my ambition saying, " Turn again, Snapp, 
 member of the Legislature." At last, after asserting 
 something about Hope springing eternal in the human 
 breast, he gave a peroration that made me say " Dear old 
 John " under my breath, and 
 
 Up jumped the skeleton. 
 
 No ; he didn t jump up at all. He just slowly stretched 
 his neck upward, and kept on until it brought him stand 
 ing. Then he looked about him with such an air ! It 
 was not conceit, nor assurance, and certainly it was not 
 meekness ; it struck me as being more of an anti-John 
 air than any thing else but I may have been mistaken. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," said he, through his nose, " I 
 didn t come here to-night with any notion of speakin , nor 
 hev I any thin pertickerlar to say except on one p int. 
 The question is, whether Hope or Fear has the greatest 
 effect upon mankind ; and how have you decided it ? " 
 
 " Hope has it," exclaimed a voice. 
 
 " That s so," said another. 
 
 " Order ! " shouted the chairman. 
 
 " I go in for Hope," cried a daring young fellow near 
 the door. 
 
 Thereupon a timid friend of the other side essayed a 
 faint "Fear." 
 
 Instantly the place was in what may be called an orderly 
 uproar. Scores of voices shouted " Hope ! Hope ! " and, 
 at every faint solo of " Fear," the Hope chorus gathered 
 strength and audacity. 
 
 Meantime I nudged John proudly ; and he looked be 
 nignly at the chairman, as if to say, 
 
204 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " The audience is slightly won over, you see." 
 
 The skeleton coughed. Instantly the voices went out 
 as if they had been lights. 
 
 " So do I go in for Hope," he twanged, "go in for it 
 most entire ; but that hain t the p int under discussion. 
 The question is, which has the greatest influence upon 
 man ? Now, I calc late you can t affect a man any more 
 serious than to kill him." 
 
 " That s so," responded somebody aloud, and everybody 
 mentally. 
 
 " Very well," drawled the old fellow, beginning to sit 
 down, and finishing his sentence just as he touched the 
 seat ; " there s lots o instances of men and women dyin 
 of fear, but who ever heerd of any one a-dyin of hope ? " 
 
 Poor John ! What chance had he with a country audi 
 ence after that ? The vote was taken at once, and FEAR 
 carried it almost unanimously. 
 
 Then the subject for the next debate was proposed and 
 accepted : 
 
 " Which has proved the Greater Blessing to the Human 
 Race, Literature or Agriculture ? " 
 
 The sides were given out ; and as good luck would have 
 it, John was put down for Agriculture, and the skeleton 
 was made the champion of Literature ! 
 
 This was too good a joke to be passed by. Everybody 
 laughed except the skeleton. He merely stuffed his ban 
 danna into his hat, put it on, and walked out like a 
 somnambulist. 
 
 I was worked up, I confess. The idea of John, who is 
 nothing more nor less than pure gold, being made to 
 appear like German silver by a creature like that ! How 
 ever, I said nothing, but waited for the next meeting. 
 
OUR DEBATING SOCIETY SKELETON. 20$ 
 
 It came off last week, and, like Tarn O Shanter 
 though, I m glad to say, in a different way John was 
 glorious. He put Literature on a very little shelf in less 
 than no time ; but Agriculture he made to shine as the 
 second sun of the universe, Agriculture, the great feeder 
 and ennobler of man. Literature seemed generally weak 
 that night. Its seven advocates took it out mainly in 
 coughing, and saying, " Mr. Chairman ; " but nearly every 
 man and woman there knew the blessings of a farmer s 
 life, its freedom, its pride of honest toil, its slow but 
 sure rewarding. 
 
 Four of the advocates of Agriculture excelled them 
 selves. They were nearly as good as John ; but then, you 
 see, their subject gave them every advantage, especially 
 as all who had spoken on the other side were country 
 bumpkins, and didn t know an epic from an almanac. 
 There was but one speaker left for them, and that was the 
 skeleton, who, of course, would flounder helplessly if he 
 attempted to ford this question. 
 
 At last he rose ; and I assure you, his side didn t " die 
 of hope " when he began. 
 
 " Friend Scott has called upon me to say somethin " 
 said he, after his neck had pulled him to his feet ; " but it 
 don t hardly seem worth while." 
 
 [" Aha ! " hissed my revengeful heart, and even John 
 smiled grimly.] 
 
 " I hain t an argermentative man, myself," he continued, 
 " and I don t hold to take part in these ere debates ; but 
 I do hold that this is a good Christian assembly, and it 
 does go ag in me to see what the Almighty entailed on 
 man as a curse bein held up in this ere place as a 
 blessin ." l8 
 
206 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Down he sat. The audience, sound and orthodox to a 
 man, ahemmed, hawed, and, I need not say, passed a 
 unanimous vote on the side of the skeleton : even John 
 held up his right hand for Literature. 
 
 That s all. I don t know that any thing can be done 
 about it. Setting aside slang, which I abhor, my only 
 hope is, that, as the old fellow hasn t more than a pint of 
 blood in him, he may dry up before long, and disappear. 
 
SUNSHINE. 
 
 JEELING rather blue to-day, it occurs to me to 
 say something about sunshine. A good idea ! 
 Already the blessed word shows brightly upon 
 the paper. Its alliteration seems to appeal directly to me. 
 " Sun, Susan ! Shine, Snapp ! " it says in brisk, peremptory 
 tones ; and why shouldn t I try ? It will be better for 
 John, for the children, for the servants, for all of us. 
 
 Shine in here, please, good Sun, and let us find out 
 what s the matter. Ah ! I see. A little discontent, a 
 little laziness, a little selfishness, and a moiety of that 
 vague feeling of apprehension which loves to steal in upon 
 one unawares. Why, I thought it was some real trouble ! 
 Already the wee, restless motes are floating off in the 
 bright beams, and I am happy. My prayer without words 
 is answered. How beautiful every thing is out of the win 
 dow, the sky, the trees, the grass, even the flower-beds 
 that need weeding, and the garden-paths gullied afresh by 
 last night s rain ! It is pleasant, after all, to see so much 
 out-of-door work to be done. It gives one a familiar fel 
 lowship with Nature, a sort of tussling, you-and-I feeling, 
 that adds vastly to one s sense of importance. 
 
 207 
 
208 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Glancing roomward from the window, the view still is 
 pleasant. There s a home look about things, though the 
 armchair does need a new cushion. (So there is Dick ! 
 Sing away! What! jolly, and in prison? There, I ll put 
 you in the sun too.) 
 
 Dick likes that. Ah ! how he" sings now ! I never 
 thought of it before ; but really that trill is just full to 
 the brim of household names. As I listen, I can hear 
 them all not distinctly, but strangely blended in a few 
 shrill, ecstatic notes. Is the sunshine on the carpet really 
 quivering, or do I fancy it ? No, it s the shadow of Dick s 
 fairy cage, as he hops about and makes it swing. Look 
 ing at the sunshine that giver of life, health, and joy 
 reminds me of a true story that never has been printed. 
 
 Dear little Kitty G used to live next door with her 
 
 widowed mother and a very irritable grandfather, who 
 poor old man ! couldn t bear the play of children, and 
 always, in chiding them, let his aches and pains get the 
 better of his once cheery voice. Kitty, with her floating, 
 golden-brown hair, her blue eyes and dimpled little shoul 
 ders, looked too pretty a thing to growl at ; yet he would 
 growl often at the mere sound of her voice. At other 
 times he would sit silent for hours, scowling darkly, and 
 seeming to have wilfully stalked away from all warmth 
 and kindliness. Strange to say, little Kitty had certain 
 ways so like his that they really alarmed her mother. 
 The child often would become moody without a cause, or 
 go off into shocking fits of baby-passion. Her health 
 seemed excellent ; her eyes were bright, and her cheeks 
 rosy, even when the "grandfather look," as the household 
 called it, was settling upon her face. Various plans of 
 
SUNSHINE. 209 
 
 cure were tried in vain. At last, during one of Kitty s 
 worst spells of sullenness, a sudden inspiration came to 
 the poor mother. 
 
 The sunshine was streaming into the room. 
 
 " Kitty," she said, moving a tiny rocking-chair to a 
 brightly lighted spot on the carpet, " come sit here a little 
 while." 
 
 The child obeyed in angry silence. 
 
 " What you want me to sit here for ? " she snapped forth 
 after a few moments waiting. 
 
 " Because it is such a glad place, Kitty. The sun is 
 shining there, all the way from heaven." 
 
 " I don t care ! " is Kitty s irreverent comment. 
 
 " 7 care," answers the mother softly ; " for the sun 
 makes the world light and the waters bright. It puts 
 color into birds, flowers, butterflies, and every thing. It 
 brings gladness and new life to the world every morning. 
 It comes from God, Kitty ; and I pray that He will let 
 some of its brightness and gladness steal into you." 
 
 Instantly Kitty jerked her chair aside, out of the bright 
 beam, as if resolved that no unfair advantage should be 
 allowed, and again muttered, " I don t care." 
 
 The mother made no reply. She could not, for the 
 tears that were welling up in her heart. Still Kitty rocked 
 and scowled, holding her pretty blue dress and white apron 
 close to her side, as if to keep it entirely out of the sun 
 light. Meantime her eyes were fixed defiantly upon the 
 bright spot on the floor. 
 
 Suddenly she looked up in amazement. 
 
 " Mamma," she cried, " it s creepin it s comin to 
 Kitty ! " 
 
 18* 
 
210 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " That s because God loves you," said the mother, trem 
 bling, yet not knowing why. " Oh ! if my little girl would 
 only let the sun come to her straight from God, it would 
 brighten her, I know : all the ugly shadows would run out 
 of her heart." 
 
 Kitty did not answer : she was watching the bright spot. 
 In her eagerness, she slid from her chair, and knelt upon 
 the carpet. The light crept nearer, nearer ; it touched the 
 hem of her dress, it climbed up her little apron, it folded 
 her in its splendor, it danced in her eyes ; and she burst 
 forth into a happy, childish laugh. 
 
 " It s come, mamma ! " she cried joyfully. " It s come ! " 
 " Don t cry, mamma ! " she said coaxingly, as her mother, 
 kneeling beside her, kissed her again and again. " Don t 
 cry, mamma ! I dess Kitty wont never be naughty any 
 more." 
 
 " My own darling, I am so glad ! Wont you thank 
 God, Kitty, for all this ? " 
 
 " I dess I will," said the little girl, as if deliberating 
 upon it ; "p rhaps I ll put something about it in my Now 
 I lay me, to-night, because I do like the funny old sun. 
 Now, you rocking-chair, you must go back to the wall, 
 mustn t you ? " 
 
 So, childlike, happy, and full of loving pranks, the little 
 one spent the rest of the long day in a manner that aston 
 ished all the household, accustomed as they had been to 
 her almost hourly fits of gloom and ill-humor. That night, 
 as she kissed her mother for good-night, the rosy mouth 
 lingered a moment to whisper, " How shall I thank Dod 
 about that ? " 
 
 Sunlight had indeed entered her soul. To be sure, the 
 
SUNSHINE. 211 
 
 naughty spells were not gone entirely ; but the intervals 
 between them grew longer and longer, and each time they 
 were checked in nearly the same way. The little creature 
 would willingly sit or stand in the sunshine, at her mother s 
 suggestion; and good-humor would come almost instantly. 
 Once, on a rainy day, when she felt her temper rising, she 
 said suddenly, " Oh ! if Kitty is naughty now, she can t 
 det back ; can she, mamma ? " And mamma laughed, told 
 her a pretty story, cooed a sweet song, in her ears, any 
 thing to take the sunshine s place, until the little heart 
 grew bright again. 
 
 But this is not the end of the story. Months passed. 
 The old grandfather evidently was failing : he would sit in 
 his chair now nearly all day without noticing any one, except 
 to mutter ill-humoredly when addressed. One beautiful 
 morning his frown was even darker than usual. Kitty 
 stole into the room with a hatful of cherries, and ventured 
 to offer him some. His sharp rebuff sent the child trem 
 bling to her mother s side. For a moment they both 
 looked wistfully at the poor old man, but the incident was 
 too common to surprise them long. Soon Kitty had 
 
 slipped away, and Mrs. G was sewing as busily as 
 
 ever. 
 
 At last something caused the mother to raise her head. 
 
 There stood Kitty, near the south window, the sunlight 
 streaming full upon her, lighting her bright hair, her eager, 
 upturned face, and her apron, which she held up at the 
 corners, with her chubby little arms extended. 
 
 It was a beautiful picture ; and it stood so still, it might 
 easily have been taken for a picture in reality. 
 
 "What are you doing, Kitty?" asked the mother at 
 last. 
 
212 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 11 I m catchin sunshine to t row over dran pa," said 
 Kitty. 
 
 The old man leaned back in his chair with an amused 
 smile. Then, as the child began to move very slowly and 
 cautiously toward him, he watched her with interest. Sud 
 denly she stopped short, with a pitiful, " O mamma ! it 
 wont stay. It s all spilling out. Dran pa, dran pa ! you ll 
 have to come here quick." And with an eager cry she 
 caught up the apron, with its little remnant of sunlight, 
 and hugged it to her breast. The grandfather smiled 
 again, and was almost tempted to rise ; but Kitty was too 
 delighted to wait. In a moment she had rushed to him, 
 and he was lifting her to his lap, while she hurriedly 
 opened her apron to toss the sunshine into his face. 
 
 Did it stay there ? Yes, it did ; for somehow grand 
 father never was really cross to Kitty after that day. 
 
MIGRATORY HUSBANDS. 
 
 NEVER had one of them, thank heaven ! but I 
 know they must be dreadful, these heads of 
 families who are forever popping up in new local 
 ities, with a " Lo ! I ll build here. Here s a rising bit of 
 property;" or, "This old cottage I ll renovate, clap on 
 a wing and a piazza, live in it six months, and sell out at 
 a bargain." Then those husbands who are forever shift 
 ing their business from place to place, now to a village, 
 now to a city, now to the backwoods, a delightful time 
 must their wives have of it ! Never mind how faithful, 
 devoted, and enterprising a woman may be, it s a great 
 trial for her to be continually pulling up stakes, and tear 
 ing away home-tendrils, even if her migratory spouse is in 
 other respects the best in the world. I d like to see the 
 person who would tell me that I wouldn t go with John, if 
 he decided to set up a soda-fountain in the Desert of 
 Sahara. No. I d go ; but I should suffer in the going, 
 though I told my woes not even to old Cheops himself. 
 But what if, instead of one grand move, he flitted about 
 like a grasshopper ? What if he tried Bloomfield, and 
 Flatbush, and Woodside, and Harlem, and a dozen other 
 
 213 
 
214 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 places, from the coming of the first nursery-tooth to the 
 going away of the last nursery-measles? What if he 
 dipped the children into twenty schools, filled every April 
 air with mournful farewells to all our neighbors, and kept 
 the parlor carpets in a perpetual spasm of contraction 
 and expansion ? Could I be the blessed, happy woman 
 that I am ? Shouldn t I be thin, weary, and heart-sore, 
 and the children morally just little waifs made of the 
 shreds and patches of many villages ? Certainly. Far be 
 it from me to question established similes of wifehood : 
 but your oaks don t hop about. They stand still and 
 give the clinging vines a chance to take root beside them. 
 
 Only yesterday, while shopping in town, I chanced to 
 find myself in a street-car beside a man and a stout 
 woman engaged in earnest conversation. His was a thin, 
 flushed face, with restless eyes, and lips that asked 
 "Why?" "Who? ""Where?" even when they were 
 silent. Hers was soft, fleshy, massive ; and its little eyes 
 were full of temporary affability and interest. He evi 
 dently was speaking of some recent bereavement, while 
 the lady leaning toward him wore a sort of wash of deep 
 feeling which was " not a dye," though it gave her a 
 hue of sympathy quite proper in a street-car. Presently I 
 caught the words, 
 
 " She was in-deed. You lost a treasure when you lost 
 her? 
 
 -" Yes, and a wonderful creature for moving about," 
 pursued the man, with deep feeling. " It didn t make 
 any difference : you could take that woman, and set her 
 down anywhere ! " 
 
 His eyes filled with tears; and I looked out of the 
 
MIGRA TOR Y HUSBANDS. 2 1 5 
 
 window, sorry for his sake, but glad that the angels had 
 taken at least one poor woman away from a migratory 
 husband. 
 
 The country abounds with these naturalized Bedouins. 
 I say nothing against men who go North, South, East, 
 or West, and settle. They are the nerves of the body 
 politic, and indispensable to our new civilization. But I 
 do feel impelled to quote mother s favorite expression, 
 and whisper to hundreds of men within hearing distance 
 at this moment, " Do stay put." For the sake of wives, 
 home, children, yourselves, take root somewhere. Help 
 to build up in America the beautiful homestead feeling 
 common to Europeans, and almost unknown to us. Let 
 your very saplings understand that in time they are to 
 shade your great-great-grand-children. 
 
UP WITH THE TIMES. 
 
 )HN and I have had a visitor, a man who is up 
 with the times. He s gone now, and we re pretty 
 well, thank you. This very morning he waved an 
 unsubdued farewell to his friends from the deck of an out 
 ward-bound steamer slowly gliding down the bay. But 
 he was at our cottage yesterday, and the day before, and 
 the days before that, away back to the dim, distant morning 
 when first he appeared, valise in hand. Ask the walls if 
 it isn t so. 
 
 Did we enjoy the visit? Certainly. I don t think John 
 and I ever had a happier moment than when, after saying 
 " good-by " a dozen times, we went back into the cottage, 
 sank heavily upon the nearest chairs, and stared breath 
 lessly at each other. 
 
 " He s gone, John," I gasped, " and I like him." 
 
 " Yes," panted my spouse ; "capital fellow is Hobkins, 
 such company ! Been here a fortnight, hasn t he ? " 
 
 " Sakes ! " exclaimed Aunt Betsey, passing through the 
 room at that moment, " if you two are not com-plete-ly 
 worn out ! " 
 
 I smiled feebly in reply ; and John, simply remarking 
 216 
 
UP WITH THE TIMES. 2 1/ 
 
 that there were no two words about it, it really did people 
 good to have a thorough waking up once in a while by 
 men like Hobkins, tumbled over upon the sofa, and was 
 soon fast asleep. 
 
 To understand the situation, one must know Hobkins. 
 He is one of your thoroughly posted men. He is a con 
 stant reader of every thing. He knows John Doe s mother, 
 and Richard Roe s grandfather. A false quotation sets 
 his teeth on edge. He whisks an encyclopaedia on every 
 eyelash. He goes to the roots of things, yet knows all 
 about the last leaf on the outermost branches. You d 
 think, to hear him talk, that he heard Beecher, Adams, 
 Bellows, Cuyler, Chapin, Spurgeon, Brigham Young, and 
 Moody preach every Sunday, and that he went everywhere 
 and saw everybody and every thing every evening of his 
 life. 
 
 And yet he doesn t pretend, or put on airs. He simply 
 inhales the events of the day, and breathes them out per 
 sonally. His oxygen comes to him in paragraphs. He 
 flashes items. His very boots creak with facts. His 
 "good-morning" is a sort of universal preface, and his 
 " good-night " a general " to be continued." 7 call him 
 a man in fifty volumes ; and John says it s a silly idea, but 
 that, while I m about it, I may as well make it a hundred. 
 
 How the creature ever has time to wash and dress is a 
 mystery to me. Yet his toilet is perfect. It seems as if 
 he must force knowledge in with his hair-brush, and rub 
 in definite ideas with his towel yes, and grind in words 
 with his tooth-brush. I never saw such a man ! 
 
 Mr. Snapp prides himself on always being able to see 
 both sides of an argument ; Hobkins turns the simplest 
 19 
 
218 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 question into a dodecahedron. He is so plausible, too ! 
 every illustration fits. He was born, so to speak, with a 
 silver "why and wherefore " in his mouth. It makes no 
 difference what you think : you ll agree with Hobkins if 
 you live to hear the end of his statements and demonstra 
 tions. 
 
 Dear me ! How much John and I know just from being 
 with him a fortnight ; or, rather, what vistas have been 
 opened to us, with Hobkins always standing at the far 
 end! Sometimes he would clinch the universe in his 
 fist, and hammer it into our centre-table for us to examine 
 at leisure ; and sometimes I actually had to take hold of 
 my chair, he made the world spin by so fast. One day, 
 when he chanced to allude incidentally to his wife, I al 
 most swooned. Mercy on us ! the idea of having that 
 man for a husband ! I d sooner marry the British Museum, 
 and done with it. No : all the New York, Boston, Phila 
 delphia, San Francisco, New Orleans, and European news 
 papers represent him more fitly. His wife must feel like 
 a Mrs. Associated Press. 
 
 Hobkins gave us so many new ideas ! Woke us up, as 
 it were. Only to-day I got a letter from Mrs. de Kuyster, 
 secretary of the half-orphan society, signed " Yours, etc., 
 Mary de Kuyster." Now, what did she mean by that ? 
 A week ago I might not have noticed it, but Hobkins has 
 been among us. Was she too lazy, too proud, or too con 
 scientious, to tell me exactly in what way I was hers ? or 
 was the " etc." resorted to as a cowardly detour from can 
 dor ? Why didn t she sign herself simply Mary de Kuys 
 ter, or " Yours moderately," " Yours somewhat," or even 
 " Disrespectfully yours " ? Any form would be preferable 
 
UP WITH THE TIMES. 21 9 
 
 to that paltry et ccetera. I find myself vexed, not with 
 Mrs. de Kuyster especially, but at the custom which per 
 mits these senseless impertinences. It s all wrong, this 
 having to say, "Your something," for courtesy s sake, 
 whether it s true or not. Like " All send love," " Yours 
 truly " is often just bosh, - mere sentiment without a 
 backbone of fact. Ah ! the shams that have knelt in the 
 closing words of letters ! the downright lies that have 
 stridden forth in " Your humble servant," who is always 
 respectfully or cordially somebody s ! 
 
 You should have seen Hobkins at our table. I d no 
 idea plain diet could be so suggestive. He found spec 
 trum analyses in the salt-cellars, international rowing- 
 matches in the spoons, balloon-travelling in the omelet, 
 and co-operative housekeeping in the hash. He drew 
 " survival of the fittest " from the very cheese ; and, as 
 John confidentially remarked, actually shook kindergar 
 tens and juvenile delinquents out of the baby s feeding- 
 apron. He found prison-discipline in the bread ; and 
 female colleges, universal suffrage, and bland opinions 
 generally, in the butter. The calves-head soup brought 
 forth capital punishment ; the beef, labor-union systems ; 
 and the dessert was full of Gates Ajar and spiritual mani 
 festations. Once, while filling his teacup, I felt as if I 
 were pouring out the entire Suez Canal, and I m sure I 
 often dropped in a railroad accident with the sugar. What 
 with iron cars, and elastic platforms, and wide gauges, and 
 new brakes, car-starters, and compensating expansible 
 rail-joinings, I grew confused in spite of myself. 
 
 Really, I ve not used so many big words in an age of 
 Sundays. Some of them were new to me two weeks ago ; 
 
220 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 but now I d like any one to show John and me any thing 
 of which we haven t some sort of an inkling. 
 
 Talking of ink, Hobkins says they ve invented a sub 
 stitute for the present tedious process of writing, which, 
 after all, is a primitive and barbarous method. And, by 
 the way, speaking of barbarous things, what an absurd 
 idea is now going the rounds of the English and French 
 papers, though one of our countrymen started it ! that the 
 Americans are fast going back to Indian characteristics. 
 They say it even of Americanized foreigners ; so that in a 
 few generations here, a Dutch face comes out with high 
 cheek-bones, piercing eyes, straight black hair, and an 
 expression like Big Thunder. 
 
 Talking of thunder, Hobkins is delighted with Mr. 
 Quimby s practical ideas on self-protection during thunder 
 storms. He says he will have in future a long iron chain 
 trailing to the ground from his summer umbrella, never 
 mind who laughs. By the way, talking of Quimby and 
 electricity, Hobkins says Benjamin Franklin was a brick, 
 if he did wear costly laces when he wrote Poor Richard s 
 Almanac. 
 
 Talking of bricks, perhaps you may not know that the 
 Bricklayers Association of New York has just 
 
 Horror ! I m growing to be like Hobkins ! I must 
 stop. 
 
 He s a capital fellow, though, and good company ; only 
 John and I have come to the conclusion that we really 
 can t stand having another visitor yet awhile. 
 
MARCH. WHAT IT HAS 
 DONE FOR US. 
 
 BY HOBKINS. 
 
 [Talking of Hobkins, John happened one day to speak of somebody hav 
 ing been born in the month of March. Straightway Hobkins opened a dis 
 course, which, biographically and chronologically, surpassed any thing I have 
 ever heard. In fact, John was so favorably impressed, that our guest prom 
 ised to "work the thing up evenings." He did so, and here is the result. 
 The wonder to me is, that Hobkins was able to follow the same trail of 
 research so steadily. No doubt he was stimulated by the difficulties arising 
 from a conflict of authorities. It is needless to say that John and I were 
 delighted; but somehow we were careful, during the rest of Mr. Hobkins s 
 visit, not to mention any other month by name. S. S.] 
 
 |N the good old times, when wolves thought nothing 
 of taking princes to nurse, and the ingratitude 
 of republics was undreamed of, there were fewer 
 spokes in the year s revolving wheel than now; or, at 
 least, men counted them differently. Romulus, who, as 
 everybody knows, introduced the Roman calendar, with its 
 ten spokes, very properly named the first Martius, or March, 
 after his respected father, the god of war. Then came 
 added months and re-modellings, from Julius Caesar down, 
 until 1752, when the new style was adopted in England, 
 and January was made the first month of the twelve. 
 
 19* 221 
 
222 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 However this arrangement may have served to lessen 
 discrepancies between the calendar and the true solar year, 
 I am sorry March could not have maintained the place 
 given it by Romulus. Verily his reckoning was inspired 
 by Nature herself ; for is not March the first, the waking 
 month, the resurrection of the dead year ? Does she not 
 start the forest into leaf and song, with her rushing tide 
 of air and sunshine ? Does she not chase away the snow 
 drifts, and set the brooks running, and powder the soil 
 with busy, invisible fingers, that the seed may send down 
 its tender roots ? Does she not whistle her shrill sum 
 mons to the birds, and startle the drowsy insects into life? 
 Of course she does. Therefore, in Nature s almanac, 
 March shall be first to the end of time. As she rushed 
 through the seven-hilled city ages ago, she sweeps through 
 our midst to-day, crying, " Arise, arise ! the spring is 
 come ! " 
 
 There are other good reasons why March should make 
 some little commotion when she visits the earth. We 
 should bluster twice as loudly with one-half the cause. 
 Few months can show such a record as hers. Many a 
 March victory, a March discovery, a March invention, has 
 left the world richer than it was before. She has ushered 
 in some of the noblest lives humanity has ever known ; 
 and, in God s time, has brought the final summons to those 
 who left an undying name behind them. 
 
 To be sure, there have been black sheep in her flocks ; 
 but by that same blackness we can trace their fleece, be it 
 never so finely spun, through the woof and warp of history. 
 Whether the March weaving started or ended their course, 
 they belong to her record. Perhaps, when her voice is 
 
MARCH. 223 
 
 shrillest, when she goes screaming distractedly through the 
 fields and forests, she is telling of them ; just as, when she 
 bends in grand, majestic whisperings to the sunshine, she 
 may be saying, " Angelo was one of my children. I car 
 ried Beethoven to heaven." 
 
 Not a day in March but has its story to tell : if idle in 
 one year, it is busy in another. Let us take up each in 
 turn, and learn what we can. 
 
 On the FIRST of March, 1469, William Caxton, at the 
 request of the queenly Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, 
 commenced translating the " Recuyell of the Historyes of 
 Troye." This remarkable work met with great favor in 
 England ; and its large sale in manuscript copies, being at 
 best slow and unsatisfactory, led to his putting it in type, 
 the first English 1 book that ever was printed. 
 
 The opening number of Addison s " Spectator " came 
 in 1711, on the ist of March ; and so, in 1483, did a very 
 different order of spectator, Francis Rabelais, who doubt 
 less saw more, thought more, and jested more, than any 
 fifty other Frenchmen of his day. 
 
 On the SECOND, in 1791, died Wesley, the founder of 
 Methodism. On its anniversary, six years afterward, 
 Horace Walpole, " slave of elegant trifles," yielded up his 
 breath. It was on the 2d, in 1848, that Louis Philippe 
 and his queen escaped from France, and sought shelter 
 on British shores. Another 2d of March, long ago, sent 
 a man-child into England, destined to become a bright 
 ornament during the golden days of Elizabeth, and to 
 leave the Bodleian Library as his monument upon earth. 
 
 1 English, though really printed in Bruges. Very rare copies of this work 
 are still to be seen ; one of them was sold, many years ago, at the Roxbury 
 sale, for .1,060. 
 
224 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 On the THIRD, in 1632, George Herbert, he who sang, 
 
 " Sweet day ! so cool, so calm, so bright," 
 
 verified his own, " all must die ; " and, on the 3d, came 
 two sweet-voiced poets into England, in 1605, Edward 
 Waller, the smoothest singer of his day; and, forty-six 
 years later, Thomas Otway, famous in dramatic verse. 
 
 The FOURTH of March has had honorable work on hand 
 many a time since our own national life began ; but, above 
 all, that of 1865 stands apart, consecrated to a memory. 
 
 On the FIFTH, in 1827, Laplace, the great philosopher, 
 was ushered into that world whose mysteries even his 
 piercing gaze had not been able to penetrate ; and on the 
 5th, centuries before, Correggio was suddenly summoned 
 to behold, in all its fulness, the grandeur and beauty that 
 he had yearned to embody while on earth. But the man 
 of many greatnesses had come earlier. In 1474, the 6th 
 brought a tiny hand into the world, that afterwards pro 
 duced those masterpieces of art, the works of Michael 
 Angelo. 
 
 March the EIGHTH, 1817, is identified with the birth of 
 Layard, explorer of the antiquities of Nineveh, and with 
 the death of two kings, William III. of England, in 1702, 
 and Bernadotte of Sweden, in 1844. 
 
 The NINTH, in 1792, brought forth William Cobbett, the 
 most obstinate politician, the stanchest lover of agricul 
 ture, that ever lived. More than a century before, it had 
 taken away a very different politician, Richelieu s pupil, 
 the famous Cardinal Mazarin, slave of ambition, lover of 
 art, and a man so wedded to appearances that he literally 
 dressed for his death, so that his corpse might be well 
 
MARCH. 22$ 
 
 shaven and rouged. In 1825, the Qth brought summons 
 to a gentler victim, the venerable Mrs. Barbauld, after she 
 had devoted nearly fifty years of her long life to the in 
 struction and entertainment of the young. 
 
 The TENTH was noted, some two thousand years ago, for 
 being the date of an interesting surgical operation, viz., 
 amputation of the head, performed upon one Helioga- 
 balus ; a complicated case of imperial villany. Men have 
 nearly forgotten it now : the remedy has become less 
 novel ; and, besides, more interesting events have .come 
 to pass on the loth, such as the birth of Playfair the natu 
 ral philosopher, in 1748; of William Etty the painter, in 
 1787 ; and, in 1820, the death of Benjamin West, the 
 American President of the Royal Academy. 
 
 Torquato Tasso, one of the greatest of Italian poets, in 
 turn the pet and victim of Duke Alphonso of Ferrara, 
 was born on the ELEVENTH of March, 1544. 
 
 On the TWELFTH, in 1684, came Bishop Berkeley, the 
 philosopher, now chiefly remembered on account of his 
 pet theory, the non-existence of matter ; though his 
 scheme of Christianizing the savages of America, and 
 his persevering attempt to carry it out, show the man 
 in a truer and nobler light. 
 
 The THIRTEENTH, in 1 68 1, gave birth to a little English 
 girl, whose name is recorded, in her parish church in 
 Surrey, as Esther Johnson ; but to this day the world will 
 insist upon calling her Stella, and all because of one Jona 
 than Swift, who loved her cruelly. Fifty-two years after 
 wards, on the same day, came the renowned Dr. Priest 
 ley, he of the English cradle and American grave, whose 
 philosophical writings extend to nearly eighty volumes. 
 
226 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 Among those who went on the thirteenth, I find the 
 well-known names of Belisarius in A.D. 565 ; and, passing 
 over many centuries, La Fontaine, prince of fable-writers, 
 Mignard, the eminent French painter (both in 1695), and, 
 in 1711, Boileau, who was considered almost a dunce till 
 he was thirty, and then electrified France by his poetry, 
 his wit, his sparkling companionship. On March 13, 1845, 
 Regina Maria Roche, author of " Children of the Abbey," 
 opened the eternal Book of Mysteries, which all who die 
 shall read ; and on the same day, just nine years later, 
 departed Thomas Noon Talfourd, the never-to-be-forgotten 
 author of " Ion." 
 
 Ninety-five years ago, on this same day of March, a 
 lone watcher of the skies saw a new planet swim into his 
 ken. It was William Herschel ; and the planet was Ura 
 nus, or, as he named it, the Georgium Sidus. 
 
 The FOURTEENTH, in 1803, took Klopstock, the great 
 German poet, away from a world that had used him more 
 fairly than it generally uses men of genius ; and the same 
 day, nearly fifty years before, saw Admiral Byng led out 
 to die, in punishment for his having, as Voltaire said, u not 
 gone near enough to a French admiral to whom his coun 
 try required him to give battle." 
 
 March FIFTEENTH stands immortal in the records of the 
 past ; for on that day, on the ides of March, forty-four 
 years before the Christian era, Julius Caesar, the greatest 
 man of all antiquity, gathered his mantle about him, and 
 fell. What must his dying glance have been to one among 
 that crowd of murderers, if to this clay, " Et tu, P-rute ! " 
 gives humanity a pang ! 
 
MARCH. 227 
 
 The calends, the nones, the ides how strange and 
 unmeaning the words to us ! Yet, in the old Roman 
 times, all public events, all household changes, weddings, 
 births, festivities, and funerals, were registered according 
 to one or another of these leading divisions of the month. 
 An event occurring on the ist of March, for instance, 
 was dated the calends, the first or call day ; if later, then 
 as so many days before the nones, or ninth ; if later still, 
 by giving the number of days before or after the ides. 
 
 Thus each item of news had its sounding phrase. The 
 little Flavius Augustus possibly cut his first tooth on the 
 fourth before the nones of June ; his sister Antonia, it 
 may be, went with young Aurelius to the Games on the 
 calends of April ; and their noble uncle Caius Strabo (no 
 relation to the historian) died at twilight on the ides of 
 November. 
 
 This last date would be styled by us November 13 ; 
 for it was only in October, March, May, and July, that 
 the ides fell upon the fifteenth of the month. 
 
 We have remembered how, on the ides of March, ages 
 ago, Brutus and his fellow-conspirators did violence to the 
 noblest life of all antiquity. I am reminded now of one 
 who, in our own generation, died a peaceful death on a 
 1 5th of March, and was laid to rest in an old Italian 
 church, beside the grave of Torquato Tasso. This is 
 Mezzofanti of Bologna, probably the most remarkable 
 linguist the world has ever known. There was scarcely a 
 tongue, living or dead, that he did not master. It is said, 
 that at the age of fifty he was proficient in as many lan 
 guages as he had lived years ; and, before he died, he was 
 well acquainted with seventy. Think of a man who could 
 
228 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 read or converse fluently, not only in Latin and Greek, in 
 English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, and 
 Portuguese, but also in Chinese, Russian, Turkish, Sanscrit, 
 Coptic, Ethiopian, Abyssinian, and Sabaic, and scores of 
 other languages and dialects, the very names of which would 
 sound as unfamiliar to us as their own idioms ! Lord 
 Byron once described him as " a walking polyglot, a mon 
 ster of languages, and a Briareus of parts of speech." It 
 seems to me, that, since life at the best is short, to have 
 spoken and studied in all his tongues, he could have been 
 little else than a human Tower of Babel. 
 
 And now, passing the ides of March, we must deal 
 briefly with the remainder of the month ; for its days are 
 rich with chronicled events, and with names already bla 
 zoned in the annals of fame. 
 
 Archbishop Cranmer, who, but for the fickleness of 
 that afflicted widower Henry VIII., would possibly never 
 have become eminent, and, but for the fidelity of the 
 same many-sided monarch, would never have lived to 
 call young Edward his king, was burned at the stake 
 in March, 1556. Many a noble head has touched the 
 block in this same eventful month. March has brought 
 many a monarch into the world ; and to many it has 
 brought death, sometimes rudely, sometimes with mer 
 ciful gentleness. We know how Pompey, son-in-law of 
 Caesar, triumvir of Rome, and only second among the 
 conquerors of his day, fled at last, a hunted fugitive, into 
 Egypt, and was murdered there two days after the ides of 
 March, B. C. 45 ; how Nero fell by his own guilty hand 
 just one hundred and thirteen years from that day ; and 
 how, on the 23d of March, 1369, a new Cain rose up 
 
MARCH. 229 
 
 on Spanish soil to slay that black-hearted tyrant, Peter the 
 Cruel. 
 
 We know how the summons came to James the First 
 in March, 1625, leaving his double crown to a head that 
 sat firmly enough on its shoulders then ; and who does 
 not remember that royal death-bed on the 24th of March, 
 1603, from which Elizabeth of England went forth sceptre- 
 less and unattended into the unknown land ? 
 
 March gave us Raffaelle in 1483,* and Vandyck in 
 1599. The birthday (22d) of the latter is richer since 
 1822 ; for it marks the years of Rosa Bonheur. Seven 
 days later comes the anniversary of Thorwaldsen s death 
 in 1844; and on the last of the month, in 1837, tnat f Con 
 stable, noted among the landscape-painters of England. 
 
 To Beethoven and Haydn also, March gave the same 
 birthday; for on the 3ist, in 1732, Haydn was born into 
 this life ; and on the 3ist, in 1827, Beethoven was born into 
 heaven. One year before, Von Weber had left the world 
 his "last waltz ;" and on March 2, in 1854, the match 
 less voice of Rubini was stilled forever. 
 
 In the course of the research necessary in giving 
 March her due, one truth has manifested itself which 
 would have been invaluable to Buckle. 
 
 March is lavish in bringing fresh and beautiful impulses 
 to Nature. There is no death in her touches here only 
 life ; life in tree and shrub and blade ; life in the quickened 
 sunshine, in the very stones, in old logs and timbers, in 
 the stirring pavement of the woods ! But with mankind 
 she is less prodigal in her gifts ; indeed, more inclined 
 
 1 Some authorities say April. S. S. 
 
230 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 to rob than to enrich. Though she often has sent rare 
 lives into the world, she oftener does the same work among 
 mortals that her good sister November does to the fields, 
 blights them for a fresher blooming. Her glorious 
 cradles are fewer than her honored graves. 
 
 Let there be no misunderstanding : I mean to cast no 
 slur upon March babies in general. Millions and millions 
 of these there have been, all astonishing in their way, 
 each more remarkable than any before, in fact, the very 
 paragons of babyhood ; but somehow their names flour 
 ish in the family record rather than in the biographical 
 dictionary. Their waxen, baby fingers may have tugged 
 at the very heartstrings of their household, (God be 
 praised for that same !) but the pioneer axes of progress, 
 the tillers of government, the torches that light humanity 
 through the darkness, but few of them have grasped. 
 Therefore I repeat, March, as a rule, does not show her 
 strength in her cradles. 
 
 There have been some famous ones, however, in which 
 lay folded nearly all that is great or possible in humanity, 
 whether for good or evil. If you are willing to stride over 
 a century now and then, we can take a hasty peep into 
 some of the cradles of the past. 
 
 First of all, see Ovid lying asleep through his first day 
 light, March 20, 43 years B. C. [Qy. Did they have 
 cradles in ancient Salmo ?] Next, making a leap over 
 time and space, see Robert Bruce, a dear, sonsie little bud 
 of a king, shaking his tiny Scotch fist at England in the 
 March of 1274 ; next in 1516 see Conrad Gesner at Zurich 
 on the 26th, a few hours old, unconscious that he is des 
 tined to be one of the noblest men, one of the most learned 
 
MARCH. 231 
 
 philosophers, of his day; and, all the while, Botany is 
 waiting for him to grow up and introduce her to the world 
 as a science. And then, in March, 1596, take a peep at 
 the helpless, new-born Descartes, whose philosophies shall 
 one day muddle mankind. 
 
 Step onward, please, into the eighteenth century, 
 March 29, 1738. 
 
 Who is this little creature, with his soft, peachy cheek, 
 and his smiling mouth, already a miniature copy of his 
 beautiful French mother ? Be careful ! It is Joseph Guil- 
 lotin : already he may have taken a hint from the carven 
 cradle-top over his head. That same Joseph, in his hu 
 manity, not his cruelty, shall one day tell the National 
 Assembly to put its victims to death, if they must do it at 
 all, with mercy and skill ; and he will make them a guil 
 lotine for the purpose. 
 
 While Joseph is still a child, promoted to marbles and 
 kites, and proud of his ten years of boyhood, we can visit 
 another March cradle (23, 1749), containing Peter Simon 
 Laplace, swaddled in flannel, but smiling a meaning baby- 
 smile. Who knows ? Perhaps spirit voices are telling 
 him of all that he shall live to accomplish. No : the smile 
 is too simple for that. I think it is because he hears that 
 Napoleon will some day make him a count, that Louis 
 XVIII. will honor him still further. Moving onward, we 
 note a grave also. Its stone is dated March 5, 1827 ; and 
 beneath it sleeps the form of the Marquis de Laplace. 
 
 Ah ! here is a cradle, all trimmed with snowy muslin 
 and ribbons ! It is only a girl-baby, to be sure, and the 
 parents are plain people ; and there is a shock-headed 
 boy of twelve peeping in at the door, asking when he can 
 
232 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 kiss his new sister. But see what the father, a well-known 
 musician of his day, is writing on a certain leaf of the fam 
 ily Bible ! It is German ; but we can translate it : " Born 
 March 16, 1750, Caroline Lucretia Herschel." The boy 
 William, standing outside, will be proud of his sister one 
 of these days. 
 
 Two years later, on the i6th, another little girl, destined 
 to be famous, opened her eyes to the light. She is re 
 membered now as Madame Campan, the French histori 
 cal writer. 
 
 There are not, I believe, many more March cradles 
 worth noting. That of the renowned Dr. Chalmers grew 
 heavier, by a baby s weight, on the iyth of March, 1780; 
 and so, precisely one year afterward, did that of Ebenezer 
 Elliott, the Corn Law Rhymer. 
 
 Still another cradle was filled, on the i8th, in 1782. 
 Fortunately the rockers, not believing in independent 
 sovereignty, moved in unison, or the little John C. Cal- 
 houn would not have slept so peacefully. Sixty-eight 
 years afterward, a March grave opened to receive the 
 weary body of the South Carolina statesman. 
 
 Re-crossing the ocean, we wander into a darkened room 
 over a butcher s shop, in the town of Nottingham, Eng 
 land. There is a baby here (March 21, 1787), who will 
 one day be a butcher-boy, next a stocking-weaver, then a 
 lawyer s clerk, then a dying student of divinity at Cam 
 bridge ; through all displaying qualities of heart and mind 
 that have rendered the name of Henry Kirke White hon 
 ored beyond his generation. Only twenty-one years on 
 earth ; but what a lesson he gave of patient perseverance, 
 of indomitable energy, of lofty will, that even the tyranny 
 of bodily infirmity could not subdue 1 
 
MARCH. 233 
 
 There is yet another March cradle, a cradle so sugges 
 tive, so fraught with deep philosophies and reflections, 
 that one almost rebels at skipping past it in a paragraph. 
 But there is no alternative. Let us be content to see that 
 it is a beautiful cradle, furnished with imperial magnifi 
 cence ; that the very air floating about it is perfumed with 
 the breath of a palace ; that the hopes and prayers of a 
 nation cluster around its downy pillows. And, after all, 
 it holds only an ordinary infant. Ah ! If Josephine had 
 been the mother, all might have ended so differently ! 
 But I must not moralize nor speculate. The wisest plan 
 is to call in Capt. Cuttle. Overhaul your French history, 
 March 20, 1811, and, when found, stick a pin in it. 
 
 It is not pleasant to hunt up old graves as it is to 
 peer into cradles, because, even with faith pointing up 
 wards, our thoughts will crawl under the slabs and monu 
 ments in search of our so-called dead. To the freed souls 
 looking on, how strange this must seem ! 
 
 Still visible among the debris of ages, are the sculp 
 tured names of Phocion, the great Athenian, as good as 
 he was great, who died in March, 317 years B. C. ; and 
 Caesar and Mark Antony, and many other famous men of 
 antiquity, who, according to the best authorities, closed 
 their earthly career in the waking month. 
 
 All along the highways of history we can find March 
 graves, and in the narrower and more winding paths of 
 life we see them proudly rearing their inscriptions to the 
 daylight. Our time is short : we must read them as we 
 run. 
 
 Among those of the seventeenth century, we meet with 
 the name of a player distinguished in his art, immortal 
 
234 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 from the fact that his fellow-actor Shakspeare saw him 
 play Hamlet and Romeo and Macbeth, one Burbage, 
 who made his final "exit" on the i6th of March, 1619. 
 Also we find in 1640 Philip Massinger, whose life, though 
 illumed by bright gifts, was but one long winter s day ; 
 and Charlotte Tremouille (1663), a shining star among 
 heroic women ; and, in 1677, Wenceslaus Hollar, the 
 famous but luckless engraver of Bohemia, whose works, 
 it is said, numbered nearly twenty-four hundred plates. 
 
 In the eighteenth century we find honored names. 
 Here is Sebastian de Vauban, the greatest military engi 
 neer of France (March 30, 1707) ; next, Sir Isaac New 
 ton, who, winding his watch on the 2oth of March, 1727, 
 fell back, and spoke no more ; next, Jean Baptist Rous 
 seau, the celebrated French poet, who died in banishment 
 on the 1 7th, 1741 ; Laurence Sterne, a non-reverend di 
 vine, who, nevertheless, had veins of pure gold in his 
 earthy nature (i8th, 1766); William Smith, the English 
 geologist, (23d, 1769); Swedenborg, father of one faith, 
 and thought-giver to many another (29^1, 1772) ; and, last 
 of all, one of England s polished ornaments, Lord Ches 
 terfield, who on March 24, 1773, after Dayroles was com 
 fortably seated, closed his eyes, and died, as he had lived, 
 a gentleman. 
 
 Now we come to fresher graves, though scarcely greener 
 memories. Only a few of the names can be read in such 
 a hasty glance as this, among them John Home Tooke 
 (March 18, 1812), renowned in English politics, and none 
 the worse for a word-combat with that writer in an iron 
 mask, the immortal Junius; and, greater than all, the name 
 of Goethe, whose dying request for "more light" was glo 
 riously answered on March 22, 1832. 
 
MARCH. 235 
 
 There are others, whose monuments are plainly visible ; 
 but, as their names have already been mentioned, we view 
 them silently, and pass on. 
 
 Here are two, on opposite sides of the British Channel, 
 but bearing the same date, March 21, 1843. One tells of 
 Baron La Motte Fouque, dear to the hearts of France ; 
 the other, of Robert Southey, poet-laureate of England. 
 
 Twice since then, in 1855 and 1860, has March, 
 with bated breath, whispered the summons to those whom 
 the world would fain have kept a little longer, Anna 
 Jameson and Charlotte Bronte. They have grown so dear 
 to us, these two, that we will not call them dead. The 
 homes of the immortals may be nearer than we think. 
 
 And now, is not March a memorable month ? Ask 
 Nature ; ask the busy, ever-changing world ; ask the 
 Christian Church, constant in her memories j ask March 
 herself. If any one can blow her own trumpet, surely it 
 is she. 
 
THE RIGHTS OF THE BODY, 
 
 JRUCIFY the flesh, if you will : that s all well 
 enough in its way ; but honor the flesh too, say 
 I. Second in importance only to the human 
 soul, the body cannot in itself be low and base. In many 
 ways the body shapes and colors the soul, even as the 
 soul colors and shapes the body. Therefore I repeat, 
 honor it, study it. It has to hold you while you are here : 
 therefore hold you it reverently and with care so long as 
 you are in it. 
 
 The jests and gibes that are flung at the human body ! 
 The absurd conjectures and insinuations ! The contempt- 
 ble comparisons ! 
 
 "What of its vaunted powers ?" sneers one. "Can it 
 build like a bee, scent like a hound, sleep like a toad, 
 hold on like a leech, jump like a grasshopper, or climb 
 like a monkey ? " " And its voice ! " says another. 
 " Why, if the volume of a human voice bore the relative 
 proportion to a man s size that the note of a canary bears 
 to the bird s exquisite form, his lightest word could be 
 heard at a distance of eight hundred miles." And still 
 another malcontent has suggested, that " if man only had, 
 236 
 
RIGHTS OF THE BODY. 237 
 
 relatively to his bulk, the jumping power of the tiniest 
 flea, he could spring from New York to China at a single 
 bound I " 
 
 " If he had proportionately the jumping powers of a 
 flea," forsooth ! Stuff and nonsense ! The idea of a 
 rational being jumping from New York to China! A 
 man never was intended to be like a flea. If you put 
 your finger on him, is he not there ? unless he owes you 
 money, which, of course, alters the case. 
 
 It is one of the growing evils of the age, this speak 
 ing so lightly of the noble human creature. I cannot 
 express the indignation with which I read yesterday the 
 following precious item, by a scientific writer : 
 
 " If a man, weighing one hundred and forty pounds, 
 were squeezed in a hydraulic press, seventy pounds of 
 water would run out, the balance being solid matter. A 
 man is, chemically speaking, forty-five pounds of carbon 
 and other elements, with nitrogen, diffused through five 
 and a half pailfuls of water." 
 
 Think of that ! There s a pretty bit of information to 
 introduce into the sanctity of home ; to pour into the ears 
 of growing boys and girls ! Where would Mr. Snapp s 
 dignity be, I d like to know, if the children understood 
 that he was only " half and half," like his sometime bever 
 age? What if, after he had delivered a few impressive 
 words of paternal rebuke and counsel to the children, I 
 should say to them, " Don t mind your father, my dears : 
 he s only a little carbon, nitrogen, and other elements, 
 diffused through five and a half pailfuls of water " ? A 
 pretty state of things we should have after that ! 
 
 No, my friends : joking aside, this sort of thing will not 
 
238 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 do. You must respect the body, and teach your children 
 to do likewise. It s the best material thing that Heaven 
 has made yet ; and I don t believe it s going to be excelled 
 in this world. 
 
 Far be it from me to suppress the truth. If it can be 
 scientifically demonstrated that our most solid men are 
 really five and a half pailfuls of water, let the fact stand : 
 that is a mere question of condition. What I beg leave 
 to uphold is the dignity of the human body as we know 
 it, and not under the hydraulic press. Therefore again I 
 say, respect the body, dear men and women. Speak of it 
 reverently, as it deserves. Behold, how fine a thing it is ! 
 " in form and moving how express and admirable ! " 
 
 Respect the body: study its needs, and meet them. 
 Don t take it into unworthy places ; give it sunshine, pure 
 air, and exercise. Be conscientious as to what you put 
 down its throat. Remember, what is fun to the cook and 
 confectioner may be death to //. Treat it at least as well 
 as you would your pet horse or hound. Give it good, 
 wholesome food ; let it be on intimate terms with friction 
 and soap and water ; and especially don t render it ridic 
 ulous by your way of dressing it. 
 
 Recognize the dignity of the body : hold it erect when 
 you re awake, and let it lie out straight when you re 
 asleep. Don t let it go through the world with little 
 mincing steps, nor great gawky strides. Don t swing its 
 arms overmuch, and don t let them grow limp from inac 
 tivity. Resolve to respect its shoulders, its back, its fair 
 proportions generally \ and straightway shall struts and 
 stoops and wriggles be unknown forever. 
 
 Respect the body: give it what it requires, and no 
 
RIGHTS OF THE BODY. 239 
 
 more. Don t pierce its ears, strain its eyes, or pinch its 
 feet ; don t roast it by a hot fire all day, and smother it 
 under heavy bed-covering all night ; don t put it in a cold 
 draught on slight occasions, and don t nurse or pet it to 
 death : don t dose it with doctor s stuffs ; and, above all, 
 don t turn it into a wine-cask or a chimney. Let it be 
 " warranted not to smoke " from the time your manhood 
 takes possession. 
 
 Respect the body : don t over-work, over-rest, nor over- 
 love it, and never debase it ; but be able to lay it down 
 when you are done with it, a well-worn but not a misused 
 thing. Through all your days, let it walk hand in hand 
 with your noblest self ; and, my word for it, though it will 
 not jump to China at a bound, you ll find it a most excel 
 lent thing to have especially in the country. 
 
WOMAN S DRIVING. 
 
 out of breath ; for I ve just been off driving 
 
 with our neighbor, Mrs. G , who held the 
 
 t reins, and frightened me nearly to death. But, 
 
 out of breath or not, I must speak my mind before I take 
 
 off my bonnet. As for Mrs. G , I have nothing to 
 
 say of her. She s a good neighbor on foot ; and, if she 
 had chanced to be the only survivor of any one of the ten 
 accidents that miraculously didn t happen this morning, 
 my heart tells me she would have mourned me truly, and 
 comforted poor John as well as she could. But this I will 
 say : no woman ought to attempt to drive a horse, until 
 she knows precisely how to harness and unharness that 
 noble animal ; no woman should drive, who cannot dis 
 tinguish " a shy " from symptoms of blind staggers ; no 
 woman should drive, who hasn t presence of mind, who 
 hasn t a firm hand, who can t fasten a tie-strap, or who 
 gasps out, " Whoa-a-a, sir ! " to a frightened horse, as if 
 she were about to faint. Neither should a woman drive, 
 who at one moment lets the reins go flippetty-flap on the 
 horse s back, jerks them violently the next ; or who, un 
 skilled in peremptory coaxing or the use of the lash, is 
 240 
 
WOMAN S DRIVING. 241 
 
 constantly inflicting feeble horizontal whippings with the 
 entire length of the lines. And, more than all, a woman 
 who believes that only slow horses are safe should never 
 be trusted with any human life but her own. These 
 wretched pokes of horses, that stumble and back and stop 
 just when they ought not, that are too sleepy to heed 
 the lines, and too stupid to be turned around in a space 
 not big enough for a camel-dance, are the special pets of 
 poor drivers among our gentle sex ; yet how very dan 
 gerous such horses are ! 
 
 I know what I am saying. Some women can drive, and 
 some can not ; and those who can will not consider the 
 above remarks at all personal. They feel their power, 
 and take a pride in the art. They know how every failure 
 a woman makes in any department hurts the credit of 
 every other woman who ever afterward may express a 
 desire to attempt to do any thing. A man may meet 
 twenty poor male drivers in an hour, and his comment, if he 
 has noticed their deficiencies at all, will be that they were 
 " not half men," they didn t know how to drive ; but, if 
 they see one female driver who fails to handle the reins 
 skilfully, they straightway decide, and declare for years 
 to come, that a woman can t drive, and that s the long and 
 short of it. 
 
 So, dear sisters, be considerate. For the credit of all 
 womankind, know what you are about when you attempt 
 the slightest feat of horsemanship. Put your judgment 
 into the work ; learn the practical bearings of the undertak 
 ing. They re simple enough. Take up common-sense 
 with your reins, and resolution with your whip ; and never 
 for a moment allow a mere animal to make you forget 
 
 21 
 
242 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 your human superiority. Telegraph your soul through 
 the lines, if you can ; be brave, brisk, calm, and mag 
 netic, or don t ask me to go out with you in your lovely 
 new buggy. 
 
 There, I feel better! I ll ask Mrs. G over to 
 
 tea. 
 
UNITED AGES. 
 
 MAY not be a Bedlam maniac, as Susan Nipper 
 would say, but there are some things in this world 
 that do make me right up and down mad ! One 
 of these is the ridiculous way certain newspaper folk and 
 domestic wonder-mongers have of announcing the united 
 ages of a number of persons by way of producing 
 uncommon sense only knows what. 
 
 Certainly not astonishment, for early in life we cease to 
 start at the proposition that eighty and seventy make a 
 hundred and fifty ; surely not a sense of the sublime, 
 since the idea of a dozen ordinary persons being able to 
 constitute one Methuselah almost robs the great patriarchal 
 fact of its grandeur ; and most decidedly not amusement, 
 for the thought of thus Siamesing so many infirm human 
 existences is dismal to the extreme. 
 
 What, then, can induce any one to unite ages ? or is it 
 I who am at fault, being too dull to perceive the majesty 
 of a conglomerate individual ? 
 
 No : if three or more aged men happen to be together, 
 they are three aged men, and that s all there is about it. 
 You can t make a triple-headed veteran out of the lot, any 
 
 243 
 
244 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 more than you can make a forty-pound fish out of a shoal 
 of minnows. As for trying to make a human addition 
 sum out of the three, it is enough to make Old Time throw 
 his hour-glass at the head of the calculator. 
 
 Only yesterday I read in a morning paper, an account 
 of an interesting family reunion on the event of a fine old 
 gentleman reaching the ripe age of ninety-three. So far, 
 so good. It was a beautiful occasion to celebrate. There 
 were the descendants, plenty of them, and all in regular 
 order. Still no offence. Nobody could expect an old 
 gentleman of ninety-three to have a grand family reunion 
 without any descendants. The account put me in quite a 
 glow of kindly feeling, when suddenly, without the least 
 warning, I came upon this exhausting paragraph : 
 
 "The combined ages of the children, grandchildren, 
 and great-grandchildren are seven hundred and sixteen 
 years." 
 
 Think of that, now! that is, if you can think of it. 
 I can t. I tried at first to divide the whole into children, 
 grandchildren, and great-grandchildren ; and they spread 
 out indefinitely from a dozen to a hundred. Then, scan 
 ning the account further, I managed to discover that there 
 were four children, eighteen grandchildren, and seven 
 great-grandchildren. Ah ! thought I, now we have it ! 
 The combined number of these is 29 ; and 29 goes into 
 ^6 goes into 716 about twenty-four or twenty-five 
 times. What then? Should I, by making each of the 
 combined nearly twenty-five years old, rob the grand 
 fathers and grandmothers of two-thirds of their natural 
 lives, and make the baby great-grandchildren exceedingly 
 backward for their age ? or should I calculate the thing 
 
UNITED AGES. 24$ 
 
 on a common-sense basis, and allow a difference of about 
 twenty years to each generation ? Absurd ! I scorned 
 to do either. It s a case for the lightning-calculator in 
 his dotage ! 
 
 Again, we sometimes hear of a pew-full of elderly cit 
 izens whose united ages, we are told, amount to, say four 
 hundred years. What of it? What good does it do? 
 Are we to understand that there were six hoary individuals 
 in the pew, each of them crowned with sixty-six years and 
 eight months ? Probably not. Were there three, each of 
 them about a hundred and thirty-three last Christmas ? 
 Preposterous ! Then perhaps there were four, and each of 
 them 
 
 " But," interposes your startling announcer, " the num 
 ber is known. There were five." Ah ! that simplifies 
 matters at once. Undoubtedly they were just eighty years 
 old apiece ; or, if not, they ought to have been, or else 
 seated themselves in separate pews, and not disturbed the 
 meeting by suggesting arithmetical conundrums. 
 
 This sort of thing, I repeat, makes me furious. If it is 
 done at all, it should be done thoroughly, and on a grand 
 scale. Let the morning papers, for instance, come out 
 with something like this : 
 
 " Broadway presented a remarkable spectacle yesterday 
 afternoon, remarkable even for this most wonder-pre 
 senting thoroughfare of our metropolis. The streets were 
 thronged with our oldest and most respectable citizens, 
 many of whom carried gold-headed canes. United ages 
 of all pedestrians between Fourteenth and Vesey Streets, 
 at the time our reporter left, 8,673,043,271,975 years." 
 
 Or, perhaps, this : 
 
 21* 
 
246 THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS. 
 
 " BY TELEGRAPH ANOTHER TERRIBLE 
 DISASTER. We shudder to record that the Pacific 
 Railroad express-train to San Francisco, in consequence 
 of a misprint in the time-table, last evening collided with 
 a freight train in a gorge of the Rocky Mountains. The 
 train was loaded to excess. Nobody killed ; but every pas 
 senger was paralyzed for over ten minutes by the shock. 
 Tender infants, blooming maidens, middle-aged parents, 
 and venerable grandsires one and all shared the same 
 fate. Some idea of the extent of this dreadful calamity 
 may be gathered from the fact that the aggregated 
 ages of the passengers amount to 52,089,742,301^ years ! " 
 
 Horrible ! Figuring this out carefully, by deferential 
 calculus, it would make our very venerable monster of an 
 Aggregate motionless and helpless for six years, five 
 months, four days, and twenty minutes. Once let an idea 
 like that be impressed upon the public mind, and railroad 
 companies will have to look out ! 
 
 Or, for a change, let somebody publish the fact, that in 
 a certain ward of the Scroogstown Foundling Asylum, 
 there are fifty individuals whose united ages make just 
 two years ! This would be vastly more interesting, and 
 wouldn t tax one s arithmetic so cruelly. 
 
 And now, my friends, as our dear old parson used to- 
 say (and he was a responsible man, I m sure, because his 
 " united ages," taking in wife and eight children, amounted 
 to at least three hundred and ninety-two years), we ll 
 conclude. 
 
 Hold ! A thought staggers me ! Purchasers of this 
 volume, probably sixty thousand ; readers, at least three 
 hundred thousand ; combined ages of these, not in years, 
 but in minutes, would be 
 
UNITED AGES. 247 
 
 The thought is too immense ! Let them wait until S. S. 
 is no more. Then let the sum total of the years of all 
 her readers be calculated for the benefit of inquiring 
 friends; but let it never be inscribed upon the monu 
 mental stone erected by sorrowing kindred over 
 
 ONE 
 
 WHO DID NOT BELIEVE 
 IN 
 
 STUFF AND NONSENSE. 
 
" Of more value 
 Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bays." 
 
 SHAKESPBARK. 
 
 THE 
 
 . SANS-SOUCI SERIES. 
 
 Personal Bernini sconces of Famous Poets and Novelists, Wits and Humorists, 
 Artists, Actors, Musicians, and the like, 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 
 
 The SANS-Souci SERIES is based upon the same general idea that secured such sudden 
 and deserved popularity for the BRIC-A-BRAC Series. In the ten volumes of that collection were 
 carefully gathered up the choicest gleanings from numerous biographies and memoirs, published 
 during the last quarter of a century, and nearly all of which would have disappeared into oblivion 
 altogether had it not been for this happy conception, by which the wheat that they contained 
 was thus separated from the chaff. But distinguished men and women, or those who have been 
 on intimate relations with them, are constantly passing away, and biographies, autobiographies, 
 and memoirs are appearing with a rapidity never before equaled. Those wishing to learn the 
 lessons that are taught by the lives of the great and good, as they are rehearsed in these volumes, 
 are anxious to get at them as directly as possible ; those who read them for amusement are impa 
 tient of ihe time lost in finding for themselves the entertaining and the amusing. The skill with 
 which Mr. Stoddard performed this service of gathering for the BRIC-A-BRAC Series all that de 
 served to be saved for its worth, or for its wit, is the only introduction he needs as Editor of the 
 SANS-SOUCI SERIES. While it shall be the chief aim of this series to keep abreast of current biog 
 raphies and memoirs, it will also venture into fields which have heretofore been left untouched. 
 Our own Revolutionary period, and certain important epochs in French and English history, 
 which are best illustrated by the personal characteristics of the men who were prominent in them, 
 will receive attention. While permanent value will thus be given to this collection, the purpose 
 of the series, as expressed in the title, shall never be lost sight of, and every care shall be taken 
 to make each volume an agreeable companion for the hours of " idleness and care." 
 
 Now ready. The initial volume of the series. 
 HAYDON S LIFE, LETTERS AND TABLE TALK. 
 
 One volume, I2mo, with four illustrations, Portraits of Wordsworth, 
 Haydon, Keats and Wilkie, and fac-simile of a letter by Haydon. Tastefully 
 bound in extra cloth, black and crimson $1.50. 
 
 " Since the appearance of the GREVILLE MEMOIRS, there has been no collection of reminis 
 cences which compares with this in point and interest." N. Y. Daily Times. 
 
 The second volume, to be issued shortly, will be entitled 
 " MEN AND MANNERS ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO." 
 
 Edited by Mr. H. E. SCUDDER, 
 
 And comprising extremely interesting reminiscences of persons distinguished 
 in this country during the Revolutionary period. One vol. I2mo., with 
 illustrations, $1.50. 
 
 *^* A Prospectus of the Sans-Souci Series "will be sent on application. 
 
 The above volumes sent to any address, prepaid, upon the receipt of the 
 price, by 
 
 SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., NEW YORK. 
 
"Infinite riches in a little room." MARLOWE. 
 
 COMPLETION OF THE FIRST 
 
 BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES. 
 
 Personal Eeminiscences of famous Poets and Novelists, Wits 
 Humorists, Artists, Actors, Musicians, and the like, 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 
 
 Complete in ten volumes, square 12mo. Per vol. $1.5O. 
 
 The BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES has achieved for itself a success altogether 
 exceptional in the history of publishing in this country. 
 
 OVER SIXTY THOUSAND VOLUMES 
 
 Of the first series have been sold in eighteen months. The BRIC-A-BRAC 
 SERIES constitutes a 
 
 COMPLETE REPOSITORY OF REMINISCENCES 
 
 Of prominent men and women of this and the last century. Characteristic 
 anecdotes of every individual of note in art, literature, the drama, politics, or 
 society are related, and they are told by those who know how to give point to 
 a good story. 
 
 THE SERIES COMPRISES THE FOLLOWING TEN VOLUMES: 
 
 I. CHORLEY, PLANCHE, and YOUNG. 
 II. THACKERAY and DICKENS, with fac-simile 
 
 of a letter by Thackeray. 
 III. MERIMHH, LAMARTINE, and SAND. 
 IV. BARHAM, HARNESS, and HODDER. 
 V. THE GREVILLE MEMOIRS, with Portrait 
 
 of Greville. 
 VI. MOORE and JERDAN, with 4 Illustrations. 
 
 VII. CORNELIA KNIGHT and THOMAS 
 
 RAIKES, with 4 Illustrations. 
 VIII. O KEEFFE, KELLY, and TAYLOR, with 
 
 4 Illustrations. 
 
 IX. LAMB, HAZLITT, and Others, with 4 
 Illustrations and fac-simile of a letter 
 by Lamb. 
 
 X. CONSTABLE and GILLIES, with 4 Illus 
 trations. 
 
 A sixteen-page Descriptive Catalogue of the Series, containing Specimen Illus 
 trations, sent to any address upon application. 
 
 NOW HEADY: 
 
 COMPLETE SETS OF THE BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES IN THE 
 FOLLOWING STYLES: 
 
 1. CLOTH, IN A NEAT BOX $15.00 
 
 2. HALF VELLUM, RED EDGES, in a handsome box, of an entirely new 
 
 style 17-5 
 
 3. HALF CALF, EXTRA, in a handsome box, of an entirely new style. . . . 20.00 
 
 Sent, post-paid, or express charges paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 
 
 SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, & CO. 
 
 743 <0 745 Broadway, New Ybrk. 
 
An Important Historical Series. 
 
 EPOCHS OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 EDWARD E. MORRIS, M.A., and J. SURTEES PHILLPOTTS, B.C.L 
 
 Each 1 vol. 16mo. with Outline Maps. Price per volume, in. cloth, $1.00, 
 
 HISTORIES of countries are rapidly becoming so numerous that it is almost impossible 
 for the most industrious student to keep pace with them. Such works are, of course, 
 still less likely to be mastered by those of limited leisure. It is to meet the wants of this 
 very numerous class of readers that the Epochs of History has been projected. The series 
 will comprise a number of compact, handsomely printed manuals, prepared by thoroughly 
 competent hands, each volume complete in itself, and sketching succinctly the most impor 
 tant epochs in the world s history, always making the history of a nation subordinate to this 
 more general idea. No attempt will be made to recount all the events ot any given period. 
 The aim will be to bring out in the clearest light th. salient incidents and features of each 
 epoch. Special attention will be paid to the literature, manners, state of knowledge, and all 
 those characteristics which exhibit the life of a people as well as the policy of their rulers 
 during any period. To make the text more readily intelligible, outline maps will be given 
 with each volume, and where this arrangement is desirable they will be distributed through 
 out the text so as to be more easy of reference. A series of works based upon this general 
 plan can not fail to be widely useful in popularizing history as science has been popularized. 
 Those who have been discouraged from attempting more ambitious works because of their 
 magnitude, will naturally turn to these Epochs of History to get a general knowledge of 
 any period ; students may use them to great advantage in refreshing their memories and in 
 keeping the true perspective of events, and in schools they will be of immense service as text 
 books, a point which shall be kept constantly in view in their preparation. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING VOL UMES ARE NO W READ Y: 
 
 THE ERA OF THE PROTESTANT REVOLUTION. By F. SEEBOHM, Author 
 of " The Oxford Reformers Col et, Erasmus, More," with an appendix by Prof. 
 GEO. P. FISHER, of Yale College. Author of " HISTORY OF THE REF 
 ORMATION." 
 
 THE CRUSADES. By Rev. G. W. Cox, M.A., Author of the "History of 
 Greece." 
 
 THE THIRTY YEARS WAR, 1618-1648. By SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER. 
 THE HOUSES OF LANCASTER AND YORK; with the CONQUEST and 
 
 LOSS of FRANCE. By JAMES GAIRDNER of the Public Record Office. 
 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND FIRST EMPIRE: an Historical Sketch. 
 
 By WILLIAM O CONNOR MORRIS, with an appendix by Hon. ANDREW D. 
 
 WHITE, President of Cornell University. 
 THE AGE OF ELIZABETH. By Rev. M. CREIGHTON, M.A. 
 
 THE FALL OF THE STUARTS AND WESTERN EUROPE FROM 
 
 1678 io 1697. By Rev. E. HALE, M.A. 
 THE PURITAN REVOLUTION 1603-1660. By S. R. GARDINER. 
 
 JJ3* Copies sent post-paid, on receipt of price, by the Publishers, 
 
 SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., w&w Broadway, New York- 
 
A New and Elegantly Illustrated Edition of 
 
 HANS BRINKER; 
 
 Or, THE SILVER SKATES. 
 
 -A. STORY Oin Limifl IN- HOIuL^TsTD. 
 
 -By MRS. MARY MAPES DODGE, 
 
 Author of "Rhymes and Jingles," and Editor of " St. Nicholas." 
 
 With 60 Illustrations, after designs by the best French Artists. 
 
 One vol., 12mo, cloth, beveled edges, $3.OO. 
 
 Front the Nation. 
 
 "We some time ago expressed our opinion that Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge s delightful 
 children s story, called Hans Brinker ; or, The Silver Skates, deserved an entirely new 
 dress, with illustrations made in Holland instead of in America. The publishers have just 
 issued an edition in accordance with this suggestion, and we hope it is not too late in the 
 season to announce the fact. The pictures are admirable, and the whole volume, in appearance 
 and contents, need not fear comparison with any juvenile publication of the year, or of many 
 years." 
 
 From the Buffalo Courier. 
 
 " Mrs. Dodge s beautiful story of Hans Brinker comes forth again radiant in the splendor 
 of this new edition. The book is exquisitely printed and gorgeously bound, and the illustra 
 tions well, some of them are the finest things on ice we have lately seen, while all give such 
 quaint in-looks to the life and manners and scenery of Holland that the young reader can 
 scarcely help vowing to travel thither as soon as he or she grows up. . . . We can well 
 believe that wherever it goes it will become a children s classic." 
 
 From the Syracuse Journal, 
 
 " Around this story of life in Holland Mrs. Dodge has woven, with charming grace and 
 effect, the tender sentiments of childhood and youth, which she knows so well how to picture 
 to life. Not one of the thousands of boys and girls who on Christmas Day will take up this 
 beautiful volume will lay it down until the last leaf is turned." 
 
 From the Boston Advertiser. 
 
 "This book has been a great favorite not only in America but in other lands. The author 
 has every reason to be gratified at the success and constant popularity of this charming 
 narrative, which teaches so finely the noblest lessons of character and life, while picturing the 
 customs and scenes of Holland. S. A. & Co. have done a good thing in publishing a new 
 edition in a style befitting the holidays, and containing sixty illustrations of superior merit" 
 
 From the Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 "The interest throughout is varied and sustained in a manner that leaves nothing to be 
 desired, and the book is written in the piquant and fascinating style characteristic of the 
 authoress. It is remarkably well illustrated and bound in a resplendent fashion. Nothing ol 
 the kind could be more acceptable to juveniles for a Christmas present." 
 
 For sale by booksellers generally. Will be sent, fast-paid, on receipt of the price by 
 the publishers, 
 
 SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., 
 
 74.3 & 743 Broadway, New York. 
 
YC IC2702 
 
 M184149 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY