Mr. Harte in 1896 BRET HARTE'S WRITINGS MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS AND OTHER SKETCHES SPECIAL EDITION MADE FOR "REVIEW OF REVIEWS 1 BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY ftitters'ibc press?, up, old feUow ? " "I'm sick." "How sick?" " I Ve got a fevier. And childblains. And roo- matiz," returned Johnny, and vanished within. After a moment's pause, he added in the dark, apparently from under the bedclothes, -"And biles ! " There wa? an embarrassing silence. The men 64 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAR. looked at each other, and at the fire. Even with the appetizing banquet before them, it seemed as if they might again fall into the despondency of Thompson's grocery, when the voice of the Old Man, incautiously lifted, came deprecatingly from the kitchen. " Certainly ! Thet 's so. In course they is. A gang o' lazy drunken loafers, and that ar Dick Bullen 's the ornariest of all. Did n't hev no more sabe than to come round yar with sickness in the house and no provision. Thet 's what I said : ' Bullen/ sez I, ' it 's crazy drunk you are, or a fool/ sez I, ' to think o' such a thing/ ' Staples/ I sez, 'be you a man, Staples, and 'spect to raise h 11 under my roof and invalids lyin' round ? ' But they would come, they would. Thet 's wot you must 'spect o' such trash as lays round the Bar." A burst of laughter from the men followed this unfortunate exposure. "Whether it was overheard in the kitchen, or whether the Old Man's irate companion had just then exhausted all other modes of expressing her contemptuous indignation, I can- not say, but a back door was suddenly slammed with great violence. A moment later and the Old Man reappeared, haply unconscious of the cause of the late hilarious outburst, and smiled blandly. " The old woman thought she 'd jest run over to Mrs McFadden's for a sociable call/' he explained, HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. 65 with jaunty indifference, as he took a seat at the board. Oddly enough it needed this untoward incident to relieve the embarrassment that was beginning to be felt by the party, and their natural audacity returned with their host. I do not propose to record the convivialities of that evening. The in- quisitive reader will accept the statement that the conversation was characterized by the same intel- lectual exaltation, the same cautious reverence, the same fastidious delicacy, the same rhetorical pre- cision, and the same logical and coherent discourse somewhat later in the evening, which distinguish similar gatherings of the masculine sex in mor^ civilized localities and under more favorable aus- pices. No glasses were broken in the absence of any ; no liquor was uselessly spilt on floor or tabl* in the scarcity of that article. It was nearly midnight when the festivities were interrupted. "Hush," said Dick BulleD, holding up his hand. It was the querulous voice of Johnny from his adjacent closet : " dad ! " The Old Man arose hurriedly and disappeared in the closet. Presently he reappeared. "His rheumatiz is coming on agin bad," he explained, " and he wants rubbin'." He lifted the demijohn of whiskey from the table and shook it. It was empty. Dick Bullen put down his tin cup with an embarrassed laugh. So did the others. The 66 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. Old Man examined their contents and said hope fully, "I reckon that 's enough; he don't need much. You hold on all o' you for a spell, and I '11 be back " ; and vanished in the closet with an old flannel shirt and the whiskey. The door closed but imperfectly, and the following dialogue was distinctly audible : "Now, sonny, whar does she ache worst ?" " Sometimes over yar and sometimes under yer ; but it 's most powerful from yer to yer. Kub yer, dad." A silence seemed to indicate a brisk rubbing. Then Johnny : " Hevin' a good time out yer, dad ? " "Yes, sonny." " To-morrer 's Chrismiss, ain't it ? " " Yes, sonny. How does she feel now ? " " Better. Eub a little furder down. Wot's Chrismiss, anyway ? Wot 's it all about ? " "0, it's a day." This exhaustive definition was apparently satis- factory, for there was a silent interval of rubbing. Presently Johnny again : " Mar sez that everywhere else but yer every- body gives things to everybody Chrismiss, and then she jist waded inter you. She sez thar 's a man they call Sandy Claws, not a white man, you know, but a kind o' Chinemin, comes down the chimbley night afore Chrismiss and gives things HOW SANTA GLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. 67 to chillern, boys like me. Puts 'em in their bates ! Thet 's what she tried to play upon me. Easy now, pop, whar are you rubbin' to, thet 's a mile from the place. She jest made that up, did n't she, jest to aggrewate me and you ? Don't rub thar. , . . .Why, dad!" In the great quiet that seemed to have fallen upon the house the sigh of the near pines and the drip of leaves without was very distinct. John- ny's voice, too, was lowered as he went on, " Don't you take on now, fur I'm gettin' all right fast. Wot's the boys doin' out thar?" The Old Man partly opened the door and peered through. His guests were sitting there sociably enough, and there were a few silver coins and a lean buckskin purse on the table. " Bettin' on suthin, some little game or 'nother. They're all right/' he replied to Johnny, and recommenced his rubbing. " I 'd like to take a hand and win some money," said Johnny, reflectively, after a pause. The Old Man glibly repeated what was evidently a familiar formula, that if Johnny would wait until he struck it rich in the tunnel he 'd have lots of money, etc., etc. "Yes," said Johnny, "but you don't. And whether you strike it or I win it, it 's about the same. It's all luck. But it's mighty cur'o's about Chrismiss, ain't it ? Why do they call it Chrismiss ? " 68 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAR. Perhaps from some instinctive deference to the overhearing of his guests, or from some vague sense of incongruity, the Old Man's reply was so low as to be inaudible beyond the room. " Yes," said Johnny, with some slight abatement of interest, " I Ve heerd o' him before. Thar, that '11 do, dad. I don't ache near so bad as I did. Now wrap me tight in this yer blanket. So. Now," he added in a muffled whisper, " sit down yer by me till I go asleep." To assure himself of obedience, he disengaged one hand from the blan- ket and, grasping his father's sleeve, again com- posed himself to rest. For some moments the Old Man waited patient- ly. Then the unwonted stillness of the house excited his curiosity, and without moving from the bed, he cautiously opened the door with his disengaged hand, and looked into the main room. To his infinite surprise it was dark and deserted. But even then a smouldering log on the hearth broke, and by the upspringing blaze he saw the figure of Dick Bullen sitting by the dying embers. "Hello!" Dick started, rose, and came somewhat unstead- ily toward him. " Whar 's the boys ? " said the Old Man. " Gone up the canon on a little pasear. They 're coming back for me in a minit. I'm waitin' round for 'em. What are you starin' at, Old Man ? " HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. 69 he added with a forced laugh ; " do you think I 'm drunk ? " The Old Man might have been pardoned the supposition, for Dick's eyes were humid and his face flushed. He loitered and lounged back to the chimney, yawned, shook himself, buttoned up his coat and laughed. " Liquor ain't so plenty as that, Old Man. Now don't you git up," he contin- ued, as the Old Man made a movement to release his sleeve from Johnny's hand. " Don't you mind manners. Sit jest whar you be ; I 'm goin' in a jiffy. Thar, that 's them now." There was a low tap at the door. Dick Bullen opened it quickly, nodded "Good night" to his host, and disappeared. The Old Man would have followed him but for the hand that still uncon- sciously grasped his sleeve. He could have easily disengaged it : it was small, weak, and emaciated. But perhaps because it was small, weak, and ema- ciated, he changed his mind, and, drawing his chair closer to the bed, rested his head upon it. In this defenceless attitude the potency of his ear- Mer potations surprised him. The room flickered and faded before his eyes, reappeared, faded again, went out, and left him asleep. Meantime Dick Bullen, closing the door, con- fronted his companions. " Are you ready ? " said Staples. " Keady," said Dick ; " what 's the time ? " * Past twelve," was the reply ; " can you make it ? 70 HOW SANTA GLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAR. it 's nigh on fifty miles, the round trip hither and yon." "I reckon," returned Dick, shortly. " Whar 's the mare ? " " BiU and Jack 's holdin' her at the crossinV "Let 'em hold on a minit longer," said Dick. He turned and re-entered the house softly. By the light of the guttering candle and dying fire he saw that the door of the little room was open. He stepped toward it on tiptoe and looked in. The Old Man had fallen back in his chair, snoring, his helpless feet thrust out in a line with his collapsed shoulders, and his hat pulled over his eyes. Be- side him, on a narrow wooden bedstead, lay John- ny, muffled tightly in a blanket that hid all save a strip of forehead and a few curls damp with perspiration. Dick Bullen made a step forward, hesitated, and glanced over his shoulder into the deserted room. Everything was quiet. With a sudden resolution he parted his huge mustaches with both hands and stooped over the sleeping boy. But even as he did so a mischievous blast, lying in wait, swooped down the chimney, rekin^ died the hearth, and lit up the room with a shame> less glow from which Dick fled in bashful terror. His companions were already waiting for him at the crossing. Two of them were struggling in the darkness with some strange misshapen bulk, which as Dick came nearer took the semblance of a great yellow horse. HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAR. 71 It was the mare. She was not a pretty picture. From her Roman nose to her rising haunches, from her arched spine hidden by the stiff machillas of a Mexican saddle, to her thick, straight, bony legs, there was not a line of equine grace. In her half-blind but wholly vicious white eyes, in her protruding under lip, in her monstrous color, there was nothing but ugliness and vice. " Now then," said Staples, " stand cl'ar of her heels, boys, and up with you. Don't miss your first holt of her mane, and mind ye get your off stirrup quick. Ready ! " There was a leap, a scrambling struggle, a bound, a wild retreat of the crowd, a circle of flying hoofs, two springless leaps that jarred the earth, a rapid play and jingle of spurs, a plunge, and then the voice of Dick somewhere in the darkness, " All right ! " " Don't take the lower road back onless you 're hard pushed for time ! Don't hold her in down hill ! We '11 be at the ford at five. G' lang ! Hoopa ! Mula ! GO ! " A splash, a spark struck from the ledge in the road, a clatter in the rocky cut beyond, and Dick was gone. Sing, Muse, the ride of Richard Bullen ! Sing, Muse of chivalrous men ! the sacred quest, the doughty deeds, the battery of low churls, the fear- 72 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAR. some ride and grewsome perils of the Flower of Simpson's Bar ! Alack ! she is dainty, this Muse ! She will have none of this bucking brute and swaggering, ragged rider, and I must fain follow him in prose, afoot ! It was one o'clock, and yet he had only gained Eattlesnake Hill. For in that time Jovita had re- hearsed to him all her imperfections and practised all her vices. Thrice had she stumbled. Twice had she thrown up her Roman nose in a straight line with the reins, and, resisting bit and spur, struck out madly across country. Twice had she reared, and, rearing, fallen backward; and twice had the agile Dick, unharmed, regained his seat before she found her vicious legs again. And a mile beyond them, at the foot of a long hill, was Rattlesnake Creek. Dick knew that here was the crucial test of his ability to perform his enterprise, set his teeth grimly, put his knees well into her flanks, and changed his defensive tactics to brisk aggression. Bullied and maddened, Jovita began the descent of the hill. Here the artful Richard pretended to hold her in with ostentatious objur- gation and well-feigned cries of alarm. It is un- necessary to add that Jovita instantly ran away. Nor need I state the time made in the descent ; it is written in the chronicles of Simpson's Bar. Enough that in another moment, as it seemed to Dick, she was splashing on the overflowed banks HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. 73 of Rattlesnake Creek. As Dick expected, the momentum she had acquired carried her beyond the point of balking, and, holding her well together for a mighty leap, they dashed into the middle of the swiftly flowing current. A few moments of kicking, wading, and swimming, and Dick drew a long breath on the opposite bank. The road from Eattlesnake Creek to Red Moun- tain was tolerably level. Either the plunge in Rattlesnake Creek had dampened her baleful fire, or the art which led to it had shown her the supe- rior wickedness of her rider, for Jovita no longer wasted her surplus energy in wanton conceits. Once she bucked, but it was from force of habit ; once she shied, but it was from a new freshly painted meeting-house at the crossing of the county road. Hollows, ditches, gravelly deposits, patches of freshly springing grasses, flew from beneath her rattling hoofs. She began to smell unpleasantly, once or twice she coughed slightly, but there was no abatement of her strength or speed. By two o'clock he had passed Red Mountain and begun the descent to the plain. Ten minutes later the driver of the fast Pioneer coach was overtaken and passed by a " man on a Pinto hoss," an event sufficiently notable for remark. At half past two Dick rose in his stirrups with a great shout. Stars were glittering through the rifted clouds, and beyond him, out of the plain, rose two spires, a 74 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. flagstaff, and a straggling line of black objects. Dick jingled his spurs and swung his riata, Jovita bounded forward, and in another moment they swept into Tuttleville and drew up before the wooden piazza of " The Hotel of All Nations." What transpired that night at Tuttleville is not strictly a part of this record. Briefly I may state, however, that after Jovita had been handed over to a sleepy ostler, whom she at once kicked into unpleasant consciousness, Dick sallied out with the bar-keeper for a tour of the sleeping town. Lights still gleamed from a few saloons and gam- bling-houses ; but, avoiding these, they stopped before several closed shops, and by persistent tap- ping and judicious outcry roused the proprietors from their beds, and made them unbar the doors of their magazines and expose their wares. Some- times they were met by curses, but oftener by in- terest and some concern in their needs, and the interview was invariably concluded by a drink. It was three o'clock before this pleasantry was given over, and with a small waterproof bag of india-rubber strapped on his shoulders Dick re- turned to the hotel But here he was waylaid by Beauty, Beauty opulent in charms, affluent ii dress, persuasive in speech, and Spanish in accent In vain she repeated the invitation in " Excelsior, happily scorned by all Alpine-climbing youth, and rejected by this child of the Sierras, a rejection HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAR. 75 softened in this instance by a laugh and his last gold coin. And then he sprang to the saddle and dashed down the lonely street and out into the lonelier plain, where presently the lights, the black line of houses, the spires, and the flagstaff sank into the earth behind him again and were lost in the distance. The storm had cleared away, the air was brisk and cold, the outlines of adjacent landmarks were distinct, but it was half past four before Dick reached the meeting-house and the crossing of the county road. To avoid the rising grade he had taken a longer and more circuitous road, in whose viscid mud Jovita sank fetlock deep at every bound. It was a poor preparation for a steady ascent of five miles more ; but Jovita, gathering her legs under her, took it with her usual blind, unreasoning fury, and a half-hour later reached the long level that led to Eattlesnake Creek. An- other half-hour would bring him to the creek. He threw the reins lightly upon the neck of the mare, chirruped to her, and began to sing. Suddenly Jovita shied with a bound that would have unseated a less practised rider. Hanging to her rein was a figure that had leaped from the bank, and at the same time from the road before her arose a shadowy horse and rider. " Throw up your hands," commanded this second apparition, with an oath. 76 HOW SANTA GLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. Dick felt the mare tremble, quiver, and appar- ently sink under him. He knew what it meant and was prepared. " Stand aside, Jack Simpson, I know you, you d d thief. Let me pass or " He did not finish the sentence. Jovita rose straight in the air with a terrific bound, throwing the figure from her bit with a single shake of her vicious head, and charged with deadly malevolence down on the impediment before her. An oath, a pistol-shot, horse and highwayman rolled over in the road, and the next moment Jovita was a hun- dred yards away. But the good right arm of her rider, shattered by a bullet, dropped helplessly at his side. Without slacking his speed he shifted the reins to his left hand. But a few moments later he was obliged to halt and tighten the saddle-girths that had slipped in the onset. This in his crippled condition took some time. He had no fear of pursuit, but looking up he saw that the eastern stars were already paling, and that the distant peaks had lost their ghostly whiteness, and now stood out blackly against a lighter sky. Day was upon him. Then completely absorbed in a single idea, he forgot the pain of his wound, and mount- ing again dashed on toward Eattlesnake Creek. But now Jovita's breath came broken by gasps, Dick reeled in his saddle, and brighter and brighter grew the sky. HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. 77 Eide, Kichard ; run, Jo vita ; linger, O day ! For the last few rods there was a roaring in his ears. Was it exhaustion from loss of blood, or what? He was dazed and giddy as he swept down the hill, and did not recognize his surround- ings. Had he taken the wrong road, or was this Eattlesnake Creek ? It was. But the brawling creek he had swam a few hours before had risen, more than doubled its volume, and now rolled a swift and resistless river between him and Rattlesnake Hill. For the first time that night Richard's heart sank within him. The river, the mountain, the quickening east, swam before his eyes. He shut them to recover his self-control. In that brief interval, by some fantastic mental process, the little room at Simpson's Bar and the figures of the sleeping father and son rose upon him. He opened his eyes wildly, cast off his coat, pistol, boots, and saddle, bound his precious pack tightly to his shoulders, grasped the bare flanks of Jovita with his bared knees, and with a shout dashed into the yellow water. A cry rose from the opposite bank as the head of a man and horse struggled for a few moments against the battling current, and then were swept away amidst uprooted trees and whirling drift-wood. The Old Man started and woke. The fire on 78 HOW SANTA GLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. the hearth was dead, the candle in the outer room flickering in its socket, and somebody was rapping at the door. He opened it, but fell back with a cry before the dripping, half-naked figure that reeled against the doorpost. "Dick?" " Hush ! Is he awake yet ? " " No, but, Dick ? " " Dry up, you old fool ! Get me some whiskey quick ! " The Old Man flew and returned with an empty bottle ! Dick would have sworn, but his strength was not equal to the occasion. He staggered, caught at the handle of the door, and motioned to the Old Man. " Thar 's suthin' in my pack yer for Johnny. Take it off. I can't." The Old Man unstrapped the pack and laid it before the exhausted man. " Open it, quick ! " He did so with trembling fingers. It contained only a few poor toys, cheap and barbaric enough, goodness knows, but bright with paint and tinsel One of them was broken; another, I fear, was irretrievably ruined by water ; and on the third ah me ! there was a cruel spot. " It don't look like much, that 's a fact," said ^ick, ruefully " But it 's the best we could do Take 'em, Old Man, and put 'em in his stocking, and tell him tell him, you know HOW SANTA GLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAB. 79 hold me, Old Man " The Old Man caught at his sinking figure. " Tell him," said Dick, with a weak little laugh, "tell him Sandy Ckus has come." And even so, bedraggled, ragged, unshaven, and unshorn, with one arm hanging helplessly at his side, Santa Glaus came to Simpson's Bar and fell fainting on the first threshold. The Christmas dawn came slowly after, touching the remoter peaks with the rosy warmth of ineffable love. And it looked so tenderly on Simpson's Bar that the whole mountain, as if caught in a generous action, blushed to the skies. THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FBIENDS. SHE was a Klamath Indian. Her title was, I think, a compromise between her claim as daughter of a chief, and gratitude to her earliest white protector, whose name, after the Indian fash- ion, she had adopted. " Bob " Walker had taken her from the breast of her dead mother at a time when the sincere volunteer soldiery of the Califor- nia frontier were impressed with the belief that extermination was the manifest destiny of the In- dian race. He had with difficulty restrained the noble zeal of his compatriots long enough to con- vince them that the exemption of one Indian baby would not invalidate this theory. And he took her to his home, a pastoral clearing on the banks of the Salmon River, where she was cared for after a frontier fashion. Before she was nine years old, she had exhausted the scant kindliness of the thin, overworked Mrs. Walker. As a playfellow of the young Walkers she was unreliable ; as a nurse for the baby she was inefficient. She lost the former in the track- less depths of a redwood forest ; she basely aban- doned the latter in an extemporized cradle, hang- THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 81 ing like a chrysalis to a convenient bough. She lied and she stole, two unpardonable sins in a frontier community, where truth was a necessity and provisions were the only property. Worse than this, the outskirts of the clearing were some- times haunted by blanketed tatterdemalions with whom she had mysterious confidences. Mr. Walker more than once regretted his indiscreet humanity ; but she presently relieved him of re- sponsibility, and possibly of bloodguiltiness, by disappearing entirely. When she reappeared, it was at the adjacent village of Logport, in the capacity of housemaid to a trader's wife, who, joining some little culture to considerable conscientiousness, attempted to in- struct her charge. But the Princess proved an un- satisfactory pupil to even so liberal a teacher. She accepted the alphabet with great good-humor, but always as a pleasing and recurring novelty, in which all interest expired at the completion of each lesson. She found a thousand uses for her books and writing materials other than those known to civilized children. She made a curious necklace of bits of slate-pencil, she constructed a miniature canoe from the pasteboard covers of her primer, she bent her pens into fish-hooks, and tat- tooed the faces of her younger companions with blue ink. Eeligious instruction she received as good-humoredly, and learned to pronounce the 4* 82 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. name of the Deity with a cheerful familiarity that shocked her preceptress. Nor could her reverence be reached through analogy ; she knew nothing of the Great Spirit, and professed entire ignorance of the Happy Hunting-Grounds. Yet she attended divine service regularly, and as regularly asked for a hymn-book ; and it was only through the discovery that she had collected twenty-five of these volumes and had hidden them behind the woodpile, that her connection with the First Bap- tist Church of Logport ceased. She would occa- sionally abandon these civilized and Christian privileges, and disappear from her home, returning after several days of absence with an odor of bark and fish, and a peace-offering to her mistress in the shape of venison or game. To add to her troubles, she was now fourteen, and, according to the laws of her race, a woman. I do not think the most romantic fancy would have called her pretty. Her complexion defied most of those ambiguous similes through which poets unconsciously apologize for any deviation from the Caucasian standard. It was not wine nor amber colored; if anything, it was smoky. Her face was tattooed with red and white lines on one cheek, as if a fine-toothed comb had been drawn from cheek-bone to jaw, and, but for the good-humor that beamed from her small berry-like eyes and shone in her white teeth, would have THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 83 been repulsive. She was short and stout. In her scant drapery and unrestrained freedom she was hardly statuesque, and her more unstudied attitudes were marred by a simian habit of softly scratching her left ankle with the toes of her right foot, in moments of contemplation. I think I have already shown enough to indi- cate the incongruity of her existence with even the low standard of civilization that obtained at Logport in the year 1860. It needed but one more fact to prove the far-sighted political sagacity and prophetic ethics of those sincere advocates of extermination, to whose virtues I have done but scant justice in the beginning of this article. This fact was presently furnished by the Princess. After one of her periodical disappearances, this time unusually prolonged, she astonished Log- port by returning with a half-breed baby of a week old in her arms. That night a meeting of the hard-featured serious matrons of Logport was held at Mrs. Brown's. The immediate banishment of the Princess was demanded. Soft-hearted Mrs. Brown endeavored vainly to get a mitigation or suspension of the sentence. But, as on a former occasion, the Princess took matters into her own hands. A few mornings afterwards, a wicker cradle containing an Indian baby was found hang- ing on the handle of the door of the First Baptist Church. It was the Parthian arrow of the flying 84 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. Princess. From that day Logport knew her no more. It had been a bright clear day on the upland, so clear that the ramparts of Fort Jackson and the flagstaff were plainly visible twelve miles away from the long curving peninsula that stretched a bared white arm around the peaceful waters of Logport Bay. It had been a clear day upon the sea-shore, albeit the air was filled with the flying spume and shifting sand of a straggling beach whose low dunes were dragged down by the long surges of the Pacific and thrown up again by the tumultuous trade-winds. But the sun had gone down in a bank of fleecy fog that was beginning to roll in upon the beach. Gradually the head- land at the entrance of the harbor and the light- house disappeared, then the willow fringe that marked the line of Salmon Eiver vanished, and the ocean was gone. A few sails still gleamed on the waters of the bay ; but the advancing fog wiped them out one by one, crept across the steel- blue expanse, swallowed up the white mills and single spire of Logport, and, joining with reinforce-, ments from the marshes, moved solemnly upon the hills. Ten minutes more and the landscape was utterly blotted out ; simultaneously the wind died away, and a death-like silence stole over sea and shore. The faint clang, high overhead, of un* THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 85 seen brent, the nearer call of invisible plover, the lap and wash of ^indistinguishable waters, and the monotonous roll of the vanished ocean, were the only sounds. As night deepened, the far-off booming of the fog-bell on the headland at inter- vals stirred the thick air. Hard by the shore of the bay, and half hidden by a drifting sand-hill, stood a low nondescript structure, to whose composition sea and shore had equally contributed. It was built partly of logs and partly of driftwood and tarred canvas. Joined to one end of the main building the ordinary log-cabin of the settler was the half-round pilot- house of some wrecked steamer, while the other gable terminated in half of a broken whale-boat. Nailed against the boat were the dried skins of wild animals, and scattered about lay the flotsam and jetsam of many years' gathering, bamboo crates, casks, hatches, blocks, oars, boxes, part of a whale's vertebrae, and the blades of sword-fish. Drawn up on the beach of a little cove before the house lay a canoe. As the night thickened and the fog grew more dense, these details grew imper- ceptible, and only the windows of the pilot-house, lit up by a roaring fire within the hut, gleamed redly through the mist. By this fire, beneath a ship's lamp that swung from the roof, two figures were seated, a man and a woman. The man, broad-shouldered and heav- 86 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HEB FRIENDS. ily bearded, stretched his listless powerful length beyond a broken bamboo chair, with his eyes fixed on the fire. The woman crouched cross-legged upon the broad earthen hearth, with her eyes blinkingly fixed on her companion. They were small, black, round, berry-like eyes, and as the firelight shone upon her smoky face, with its one striped cheek of gorgeous brilliancy, it was plainly the Princess Bob and no other. Not a word was spoken. They had been sitting thus for more than an hour, and there was about their attitude a suggestion that silence was habit- ual. Once or twice the man rose and walked up and down the narrow room, or gazed absently from the windows of the pilot-house, but never by look or sign betrayed the slightest conscious- ness of his companion. At such times the Prin- cess from her nest by the fire followed him with eyes of canine expectancy and wistfulness. But he would as inevitably return to his contemplation of the fire, and the Princess to her blinking watch- fulness of his face. They had sat there silent and undisturbed for many an evening in fair weather and foul. They had spent many a day in sunshine and storm, gathering the unclaimed spoil of sea and shore. They had kept these mute relations, varied only by the incidents of the hunt or meagre household duties, for three years, ever since the man, wan- THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 87 dering moodily over the lonely sands, had fallen upon the half-starved woman lying in the little hollow where she had crawled to die. It had seemed as if they would never be disturbed, until now, when the Princess started, and, with the instinct of her race, bent her ear to the ground. The wind had risen and was rattling the tarred canvas. But in another moment there plainly came from without the hut the sound of voices. Then followed a rap at the door ; then another rap ; and then, before they could rise to their feet, the door was flung briskly open. " I beg your pardon," said a pleasant but some- what decided contralto voice, " but I don't think you heard me knock. Ah, I see you did not. May I come in ? " There was no reply. Had the battered figure- head of the Goddess of Liberty, which lay deeply embedded in the sand on the beach, suddenly appeared at the door demanding admittance, the occupants of the cabin could not have been more speechlessly and hopelessly astonished than at the form which stood in the open doorway. It was that of a slim, shapely, elegantly dressed young woman. A scarlet-lined silken hood was half thrown back from the shining mass of the black hair that covered her small head ; from her pretty shoulders dropped a fur cloak, only re- 88 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. strained by a cord and tassel in her small gloved hand. Around her full throat was a double neck- lace of large white beads, that by some cunning feminine trick relieved with its infantile sugges- tion the strong decision of her lower face. " Did you say yes ? Ah, thank you. We may come in, Barker." (Here a shadow in a blue army overcoat followed her into the cabin, touched its cap respectfully, and then stood silent and erect against the wall.) " Don't disturb yourself in the least, I beg. What a distressingly unpleas- ant night ! Is this your usual climate ? " Half graciously, half absently overlooking the still embarrassed silence of the group, she went on : " We started from the fort over three hours ago, three hours ago, was n't it, Barker ? " (the erect Barker touched his cap,) " to go to Cap- tain Emmons's quarters on Indian Island, I think you call it Indian Island, don't you ? " (she was appealing to the awe -stricken Princess,) " and we got into the fog and lost our way ; that is, Barker lost his way," (Barker touched his cap deprecatingly,) "and goodness knows where we did n't wander to until we mistook your light for the lighthouse and pulled up here. No, no, pray keep your seat, do ! Eeally I must insist." Nothing could exceed the languid grace of the latter part of this speech, nothing except the easy unconsciousness with which she glided by THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 89 the offered chair of her stammering, embarrassed host and stood beside the open hearth. " Barker will tell you," she continued, warming her feet by the fire, "that I am Miss Portfire, daughter of Major Portfire, commanding the post. Ah, excuse me, child ! " (She had accidentally trod- den upon the bare yellow toes of the Princess.) " Really, I did not know you were there. I am very near-sighted." (In confirmation of her state- ment, she put to her eyes a dainty double eye- glass that dangled from her neck.) " It 's a shock- ing thing to be near-sighted, is n't it ? " If the shamefaced uneasy man to whom this re- mark was addressed could have found words to utter the thought that even in his confusion strug- gled uppermost in his mind, he would, looking at the bold, dark eyes that questioned him, have denied the fact. But he only stammered, " Yes." The next moment, however, Miss Portfire had ap- parently forgotten him and was examining the Princess through her glass. " And what is your name, child ? " The Princess, beatified by the eyes and eye- glass, showed all her white teeth at once, and softly scratched her leg. "Bob." " Bob ? What a singular name ! " Miss Portfire's host here hastened to explain the origin of the Princess's title. 90 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. " Then you are Bob." (Eye-glass.) "No, my name is Grey, John Grey." And he actually achieved a bow where awkwardness was rather the air of imperfectly recalling a for- gotten habit. " Grey ? ah, let me see. Yes, certainly. You are Mr. Grey the recluse, the hermit, the philoso- pher, and all that sort of thing. Why, certainly ; Dr. Jones, our surgeon, has told me all about you. Dear me, how interesting a rencontre ! Lived all alone here for seven was it seven years ? yes, I remember now. Existed quite au naturel, one might say. How odd ! Not that I know any- thing about that sort of thing, you know. I Ve lived always among people, and am really quite a stranger, I assure you. But honestly, Mr. I beg your pardon Mr. Grey, how do you like it ? " She had quietly taken his chair and thrown her cloak and hood over its back, and was now thought- fully removing her gloves. Whatever were the arguments, and they were doubtless many and profound, whatever the experience, and it was doubtless hard and satisfying enough, by which this unfortunate man had justified his life for the last seven years, somehow they suddenly became trivial and terribly ridiculous before this simple but practical question. " Well, you shall tell me all about it after you THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 91 have given me something to eat. We will have time enough ; Barker cannot find his way back in this fog to-night. Now don't put yourselves to any trouble on my account. Barker will as- sist." Barker came forward. Glad to escape the scru- tiny of his guest, the hermit gave a few rapid directions to the Princess in her native tongue, and disappeared in the shed. Left a moment alone, Miss Portfire took a quick, half-audible, feminine inventory of the cabin. "Books, guns, skins, one chair, one bed, no pictures, and no look- ing-glass ! " She took a book from the swinging shelf and resumed her seat by the fire as the Prin- cess re-entered with fresh fuel. But while kneel- ing on the hearth the Princess chanced to look up and met Miss Portfire's dark eyes over the edge of her book. "Bob!" The Princess showed her teeth. " Listen. Would you like to have fine clothes, rings, and beads like these, to have your hair nicely combed and put up so ? Would you ? " The Princess nodded violently. "Would you like to live with me and have them? Answer quickly. Don't look round for him. Speak for yourself. Would you ? Hush ; never mind now." The hermit re-entered, and the Princess, blink- 92 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS ing, retreated into the shadow of the whale-boat shed, from which she did not emerge even when the homely repast of cold venison, ship biscuit, and tea was served. Miss Portfire noticed her ab- sence : " You really must not let me interfere with your usual simple ways. Do you know this is exceedingly interesting to me, so pastoral and patriarchal and all that sort of thing. I must insist upon the Princess coming back; really, I must." But the Princess was not to be found in the shed, and Miss Portfire, who the next minute seemed to have forgotten all about her, took her place in the single chair before an extemporized table. Barker stood behind her, and the hermit leaned against the fireplace. Miss Portfire's appe- tite did not come up to her protestations. For the first time in seven years it occurred to the hermit that his ordinary victual might be im- proved. He stammered out something to that effect. " I have eaten better, and worse," said Miss Portx fire, quietly. " But I thought you that is, you said " " I spent a year in the hospitals, when father was on the Potomac," returned Miss Portfire, com- posedly. After a pa.use she continued : "You re- member after the second Bull Eun But, dear me ! I beg your pardon ; of course, you know THE PKINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 93 nothing about the war and all that sort of thing, and don't care." (She put up her eye-glass and quietly surveyed his broad muscular figure against the chimney.) "Or, perhaps, your prejudices But then, as a hermit you know you have no politics, of course. Please don't let me bore you." To have been strictly consistent, the hermit should have exhibited no interest in this topic. Perhaps it was owing to some quality in the nar- rator, but he was constrained to beg her to con- tinue in such phrases as his unfamiliar lips could command. So that, little by little, Miss Portfire yielded up incident and personal observation of the contest then raging ; with the same half-abstracted, half-unconcerned air that seemed habitual to her, she told the stories of privation, of suffering, of en- durance, and of sacrifice. With the same assump- tion of timid deference that concealed her great self-control, she talked of principles and rights. Apparently without enthusiasm and without effort, of which his morbid nature would have been sus- picious, she sang the great American Iliad in a way that stirred the depths of her solitary auditor to its massive foundations. Then she stopped and asked quietly, " Where is Bob ? " The hermit started. He would look for her. But Bob, for some reason, was not forthcoming. Search was made within and without the hut, but in vain. For the first time that evening Miss 94 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. Portfire showed some anxiety. " Go," she said to Barker, " and find her. She must be found ; stay, give me your overcoat, I '11 go myself." She threw the overcoat over her shoulders and stepped out into the night. In the thick veil of fog that seemed suddenly to inwrap her, she stood for a moment irresolute, and then walked toward the beach, guided by the low wash of waters on the sand. She had not taken many steps before she stumbled over some dark crouching object. Beach- ing down her hand she felt the coarse wiry mane of the Princess. "Bob!" There was no reply. " Bob. I 've been looking for you, come." Go 'way." " Nonsense, Bob. I want you to stay with me to-night, come." " Injin squaw no good for waugee woman. Go 'way." "Listen, Bob. You are daughter of a chief: so am I. Your father had many warriors : so has mine. It is good that you stay with me. Come." The Princess chuckled and suffered herself to be lifted up. A few moments later and they re- entered the hut, hand in hand. With the first red streaks of dawn the next day the erect Barker touched his cap at the door of the hut. Beside him stood the hermit, also just THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 95 risen from his blanketed nest in the sand. Forth from the hut, fresh as the morning air, stepped Miss Portfire, leading the Princess by the hand. Hand in hand also they walked to the shore, and when the Princess had been safely bestowed in the stern sheets, Miss Portfire turned and held out her own to her late host. " I shall take the best of care of her, of course. You will come and see her often. I should ask you to come and see me, but you are a hermit, you know, and all that sort of thing. But if it 'a the correct anchorite thing, and can be done, my father will be glad to requite you for this night's hospitality. But don't do anything on my account that interferes with your simple habits. Good by" She handed him a card, which he took mechan- ically. " Good by." The sail was hoisted, and the boat shoved off As the fresh morning breeze caught the white can- vas it seemed to bow a parting salutation. There was a rosy flush of promise on the water, and as the light craft darted forward toward the ascend- ing sun, it seemed for a moment uplifted in its glory. Miss Portfire kept her word. If thoughtful care and intelligent kindness could regenerate the 96 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. Princess, her future was secure. And it really seemed as if she were for the first time inclined to heed the lessons of civilization and profit by her new condition. An agreeable change was first noticed in her appearance. Her lawless hair was caught in a net, and no longer strayed over her low forehead. Her unstable bust was stayed and upheld by French corsets ; her plantigrade shuffle was limited by heeled boots. Her dresses were neat and clean, and she wore a double necklace of glass beads. With this physical improvement there also seemed some moral awakening. She no longer stole nor lied. With the possession of per- sonal property came a respect for that of others. With increased dependence on the word of those about her came a thoughtful consideration of her own. Intellectually she was still feeble, although she grappled sturdily with the simple lessons which Miss Portfire set before her. But her zeal and simple vanity outran her discretion, and she would often sit for hours with an open book be- fore her, which she could not read. She was a favorite with the officers at the fort, from the Ma- jor, who shared his daughter's prejudices and often yielded to her powerful self-will, to the subalterns, who liked her none the less that their natural enemies, the frontier volunteers, had declared war against her helpless sisterhood. The only re- straint put upon her was the limitation of her lib- THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 97 erty to the enclosure of the fort and parade ; and only once did she break this parole, and was stopped by the sentry as she stepped into a boat at the landing. The recluse did not avail himself of Miss Port- fire's invitation. But after the departure of the Princess he spent less of his time in the hut, and was more frequently seen in the distant marshes of Eel Eiver and on the upland hills. A feverish restlessness, quite opposed to his usual phlegm, led him into singular freaks strangely inconsist- ent with his usual habits and reputation. The purser of the occasional steamer which stopped at Logport with the mails reported to have been boarded, just inside the bar, by a strange bearded man, who asked for a newspaper containing the last war telegrams. He tore his red shirt into narrow strips, and spent two days with his needle over the pieces and the tattered remnant of his only white garment; and a few days afterward the fishermen on the bay were surprised to sea what, on nearer approach, proved to be a rude imi- tation of the national flag floating from a spar above the hut. One evening, as the fog began to drift over the sand-hills, the recluse sat alone in his hut. The fire was dying unheeded on the hearth, for he had been sitting there for a long time, completely ab- sorbed in the blurred pages of an old newspaper. o 98 THE PBINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. Presently he arose, and, refolding it, an opera- tion of great care and delicacy in its tattered con- dition, placed it under the blankets of his bed. He resumed his seat by the fire, but soon began drumming with his fingers on the arm of his chair. Eventually this assumed the time and accent of some air. Then he began to whistle softly and hesitatingly, as if trying to recall a forgotten tune. Finally this took shape in a rude resemblance, not unlike that which his flag bore to the na- tional standard, to Yankee Doodle. Suddenly he stopped. There was an unmistakable rapping at the door. The blood which had at first rushed to his face now forsook it and settled slowly around his heart. He tried to rise, but could not. Then the door was flung open, and a figure with a scarlet-lined hood and fur mantle stood on the threshold. With a mighty effort he took one stride to the door. The next moment he saw the wide mouth and white teeth of the Princess, and was greeted by a kiss that felt like a baptism. To tear the hood and mantle from her figure in the sudden fury that seized him, and to fiercely demand the reason of this masquerade, was his only return to her greeting. " Why are you here ? did you steal these garments ? " he again demanded in her guttural language, as he shook her roughly by the arm. The Princess hung her head. " Did THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 99 you ? " he screamed, as lie reached wildly for his rifle. "I did." His hold relaxed, and he staggered back against the wall. The Princess began to whimper. Be- tween her sobs, she was trying to explain that the Major and his daughter were going away, and that they wanted to send her to the Eeservation ; but he cut her short. " Take off those things ! " The Princess tremblingly obeyed. He rolled them up, placed them in the canoe she had just left, and then leaped into the frail craft. She would have followed, but with a great oath he threw her from him, and with one stroke of his paddle swept out into the fog, and was gone. " Jessamy," said the Major, a few days after, as he sat at dinner with his daughter, " I think I can tell you something to match the mysterious dis- appearance and return of your wardrobe. Your crazy friend, the recluse, has enlisted this morning in the Fourth Artillery. He 's a splendid-looking animal, and there 's the right stuff for a soldier in him, if I 'm not mistaken. He 's in earnest too, for he enlists in the regiment ordered back to Washington. Bless me, child, another goblet bro- ken; you'll ruin the mess in glassware, at this rate!" " Have you heard anything more of the Princess, papa ? " 100 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. " Nothing, but perhaps it 's as well that she has gone. These cursed settlers are at their old complaints again about what they call 'Indian depredations/ and I have just received orders from head-quarters to keep the settlement clear of all vagabond aborigines. I am afraid, my dear, that a strict construction of the term would include your protegee" The time for the departure of the Fourth Artil- lery had come. The night before was thick and foggy. At one o'clock, a shot on the ramparts called out the guard and roused the sleeping gar- rison. The new sentry, Private Grey, had chal- lenged a dusky figure creeping on the glacis, and, receiving no answer, had fired. The guard sent out presently returned, bearing a lifeless figure in their arms. The new sentry's zeal, joined with an ex-frontiersman's aim, was fatal. They laid the helpless, ragged form before the guard-house door, and then saw for the first time that it was the Princess. Presently she opened her eyes. They fell upon the agonized face of her innocent slayer, but haply without intelligence or reproach. " Georgy ! " she whispered. "Bob!" "All's same now. Me get plenty well sooa Me make no more fuss. Me go to Reserva- tion." THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 101 Then she stopped, a tremor ran through her limbs, and she lay still. She had gone to the Reservation. Not that devised by the wisdom of man, but that one set apart from the foundation of the world for the wisest as well as the meanest of His creatures. THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR BEFOKE nine o'clock it was pretty well known all along the river that the two partners of the " Amity Claim " had quarrelled and separated at daybreak. At that time the attention of their nearest neighbor had been attracted by the sounds of altercations and two consecutive pistol-shots. Eunning out, he had seen, dimly, in the gray mist that rose from the river, the tall form of Scott, one of the partners, descending the hill toward the canon; a moment later, York, the other partner, had appeared from the cabin, and walked in an opposite direction toward the river, passing within a few feet of the curious watcher. Later it was discovered that a serious Chinaman, cutting wood before the cabin, had witnessed part of the quarrel. But John was stolid, indifferent, and reticent. " Me choppee wood, me no fightee," was his serene re- sponse to all anxious queries. " But what did they say, John ? " John did not sale. Colonel Star- bottle deftly ran over the various popular epithets which a generous public sentiment might accept as reasonable provocation for an assault. But John did not recognize them. " And this yer 's the cat- THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. 103 tie," said the Colonel, with some severity, "that some thinks oughter be allowed to testify ag'in' a White Man ! Git you heathen ! " Still the quarrel remained inexplicable. That two men, whose amiability and grave tact had earned for them the title of " The Peacemakers," in a community not greatly given to the passive vir- tues, that these men, singularly devoted to each other, should suddenly and violently quarrel, might well excite the curiosity of the camp. A few of the more inquisitive visited the late scene of conflict, now deserted by its former occupants. There was no trace of disorder or confusion in the neat cabin. The rude table was arranged as if for breakfast ; the pan of yellow biscuit still sat upon that hearth whose dead embers might have typified the evil passions that had raged there but an hour before. But Colonel Starbottle's eye albeit somewhat bloodshot and rheumy was more intent on practical details. On examination, a bullet-hole was found in the doorpost, and another, nearly opposite, in the casing of the win- dow. The Colonel called attention to the fact that the one " agreed with " the bore of Scott's revolver, and the other with that of York's derringer. " They must hev stood about yer," said the Colo- nel, taking position ; " not mor'n three feet apart, and missed ! " There was a fine touch of pathos in the falling inflection of the Colonel's voice, 104 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. which was not without effect. A delicate per- ception of wasted opportunity thrilled his audi- tors. But the Bar was destined to experience a greater disappointment. The two antagonists had not met since the quarrel, and it was vaguely rumored that, on the occasion of a second meeting, each had determined to kill the other "on sight." There was, consequently, some excitement and, it is to be feared, no little gratification when, at ten o'clock, York stepped from the Magnolia Saloon into the one long straggling street of the camp, at the same moment that Scott left the blacksmith's shop at the forks of the road. It was evident, at a glance, that a meeting could only be avoided by the actual retreat of one or the other. In an instant the doors and windows of the adjacent saloons were filled with faces. Heads unaccountably appeared above the river-banks and from behind bowlders. An empty wagon at the cross-road was suddenly crowded with people, who seemed to have sprung from the earth. There was much running and confusion on the hillside. On the mountain-road, Mr. Jack Hamlin had reined up his horse, and was standing upright on the seat of his buggy. And the two objects of this absorbing attention approached each other. * York 's got the sun," " Scott '11 line him on that THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. 105 tree," " He 's waitin' to draw his fire," came from the cart; and then it was silent. But above this human breathlessness the river rushed and sang, and the wind rustled the tree-tops with an indifference that seemed obtrusive. Colonel Star- bottle felt it, and in a moment of sublime preoccu- pation, without looking around, waved his cane behind him, warningly to all nature, and said, "Shu!" The men were now within a few feet of each other. A hen ran across the road before one of them. A feathery seed-vessel, wafted from a way- side tree, fell at the feet of the other. And, un- heeding this irony of nature, the two opponents came nearer, erect and rigid, looked in each other's eyes, and passed! Colonel Starbottle had to be lifted from the cart. " This yer camp is played out," he said, gloomily, as he affected to be supported into the Magnolia. With what further expression he might have in- dicated his feelings it was impossible to say, fop at that moment Scott joined the group. "Did you speak to me ? " he asked of the Colonel, drop^ ping his hand, as if with accidental familiarity, on that gentleman's shoulder. The Colonel, recog- nizing some occult quality in the touch, and some unknown quantity in the glance of his questioner, contented himself by replying, " No, sir," with dig- nity. A few rods away, York's conduct was as 106 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. characteristic and peculiar. " You had a mighty fine chance ; why did n't you plump him ? " said Jack Hamlin, as York drew near the buggy. "Because I hate him," was the reply, heard only by Jack. Contrary to popular belief, this reply was not hissed between the lips of the speaker, but was said in an ordinary tone. But Jack Hamlin, who was an observer of mankind, noticed that the speaker's hands were cold, and his lips dry, as he helped him into the buggy, and accepted the seeming paradox with a smile. When Sandy Bar became convinced that the quarrel between York and Scott could not be settled after the usual local methods, it gave no further concern thereto. But presently it was rumored that the " Amity Claim " was in litigation, and that its possession would be expensively dis- puted by each of the partners. As it was well known that the claim in question was "worked out " and worthless, and that the partners, whom it had already enriched, had talked of abandoning it but a day or two before the quarrel, this pro- ceeding could only be accounted for as gratuitous spite. Later, two San Francisco lawyers made their appearance in this guileless Arcadia, and were eventually taken into the saloons, and what was pretty much the same thing the con- fidences of the inhabitants. The results of this THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 107 unhallowed intimacy were many subpoenas ; and, indeed, when the " Amity Claim " came to trial, all of Sandy Bar that was not in compulsory attendance at the county seat came there from curi- osity. The gulches and ditches for miles around were deserted. I do not propose to describe that already famous trial. Enough that, in the language of the plaintiff's counsel, " it was one of no ordi- nary significance, involving the inherent rights of that untiring industry which had developed the Pactolian resources of this golden land " ; and, in the homelier phrase of Colonel Starbottle, "A fuss that gentlemen might hev settled in ten minutes over a social glass, ef they meant business ; or in ten seconds with a revolver, ef they meant fun." Scott got a verdict, from which York instantly ap- pealed. It was said that he had sworn to spend his last dollar in the struggle. In this way Sandy Bar began to accept the enmity of the former partners as a lifelong feud, and the fact that they had ever been friends was forgotten. The few who expected to learn from the trial the origin of the quarrel were disappoint- ed. Among the various conjectures, that which ascribed some occult feminine influence as the cause was naturally popular, in a camp given to dubious compliment of the sex. "My word for it, gentlemen," said Colonel Starbottle, who had been known in Sacramento as a Gentleman of the 108 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. Old School, " there 's some lovely creature at the bottom of this." The gallant Colonel then pro- ceeded to illustrate his theory, by divers sprightly stories, such as Gentlemen of the Old School are in the habit of repeating, but which, from defer- ence to the prejudices of gentlemen of a more re- cent school, I refrain from transcribing here. But it would appear that even the Colonel's theory was fallacious. The only woman who personally might have exercised any influence over the partners was the pretty daughter of " old man Folinsbee," of Poverty Flat, at whose hospitable house which exhibited some comforts and refinements rare in that crude civilization both York and Scott were frequent visitors. Yet into this charm- ing retreat York strode one evening, a month after the quarrel, and, beholding Scott sitting there, turned to the fair hostess with the abrupt query, " Do you love this man ? " The young woman thus addressed returned that answer at once spirited and evasive which would occur to most of my fair readers in such an exigency. Without another word, York left the house. "Miss Jo" heaved the least possible sigh as the door closed on York's curls and square shoulders, and then, like a good girl, turned to her insulted guest "But would you believe it, dear?" she afterward related to an intimate friend, " the other creature, after glowering at me for a moment, got upon its THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. 109 hind legs, took its hat, and left, too ; and that 's the last I Ve seen of either." The same hard disregard of all other interests or feelings in the gratification of their blind rancor characterized all their actions. When York pur- chased the land below Scott's new claim, and obliged the latter, at a great expense, to make a long detour to carry a " tail-race " around it, Scott retaliated by building a dam that overflowed York's claim on the river. It was Scott, who, in conjunction with Colonel Starbottle, first organized that active opposition to the Chinamen, which re- sulted in the driving off of York's Mongolian la- borers ; it was York who built the wagon-road and established the express which rendered Scott's mules and pack-trains obsolete ; it was Scott who called into life the Vigilance Committee which ex- patriated York's friend, Jack Hamlin; it was York who created the " Sandy Bar Herald," which characterized the act as " a lawless outrage," and Scott as a " Border Euffian " ; it was Scott, at the head of twenty masked men, who, one moonlight night, threw the offending " forms " into the yel- low river, and scattered the types in the dusty road. These proceedings were received in the dis- tant and more civilized outlying towns as vague indications of progress and vitality. I have be- fore me a copy of the " Poverty Flat Pioneer," for the week ending August 12, 1856, in which the editor, 110 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. under the head of " County Improvements/' says : " The new Presbyterian Church on C Street, at Sandy Bar, is completed. It stands upon the lot formerly occupied by the Magnolia Saloon, which was so mysteriously burnt last month. The temple, which now rises like a Phoenix from the ashes of the Magnolia, is virtually the free gift of H. J. York, Esq., of Sandy Bar, who purchased the lot and donated the lumber. Other buildings are going up in the vicinity, but the most notice- able is the Sunny South Saloon,' erected by Cap- tain Mat. Scott, nearly opposite the church. Cap- tain Scott has spared no expense in the furnishing of this saloon, which promises to be one of the most agreeable places of resort in old Tuolumne. He has recently imported two new, first-class bil- liard-tables, with cork cushions. Our old friend, 'Mountain Jimmy,' will dispense liquors at the bar. We refer our readers to the advertisement in another column. Visitors to Sandy Bar can- not do better than give ' Jimmy ' a call." Among the local items occurred the following: "H. J. York, Esq., of Sandy Bar, has offered a reward of $100 for the detection of the parties who hauled away the steps of the new Presbyterian Church, C Street, Sandy Bar, during divine service on Sab- bath evening last. Captain Scott adds another hundred for the capture of the miscreants who broke the magnificent plate-glass windows of the THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. Ill new saloon on the following evening. There is some talk of reorganizing the old Vigilance Com- mittee at Sandy Bar." When, for many months of cloudless weather, the hard, unwinking sun of Sandy Bar had regu- larly gone down on the unpacified wrath of these men, there was some talk of mediation. In par- ticular, the pastor of the church to which I have just referred a sincere, fearless, but perhaps not fully enlightened man seized gladly upon the occasion of York's liberality to attempt to reunite the former partners. He preached an earnest ser- mon on the abstract sinfulness of discord and ran- cor. But the excellent sermons of the Rev. Mr. Daws were directed to an ideal congregation that did not exist at Sandy Bar, a congregation of beings of unmixed vices and virtues, of single im- pulses, and perfectly logical motives, of preternat- ural simplicity, of childlike faith, and grown-up responsibilities. As, unfortunately, the people who actually attended Mr. Daws's church were mainly very human, somewhat artful, more self-excusing than self-accusing, rather good-natured, and de- cidedly weak, they quietly shed that portion of the sermon which referred to themselves, and, accept- ing York and Scott who were both in defiant attendance as curious examples of those ideal beings above referred to, felt a certain satisfaction which, I fear, was not altogether Christian-like 112 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. in their " raking-down." If Mr. Daws expected York and Scott to shake hands after the sermon, he was disappointed. But he did not relax his purpose. With that quiet fearlessness and deter- mination which had won for him the respect of men who were too apt to regard piety as synony- mous with effeminacy, he attacked Scott in his own house. "What he said has not been recorded, but it is to be feared that it was part of his ser- mon. When he had concluded, Scott looked at him, not unkindly, over the glasses of his bar, and said, less irreverently than the words might con- vey, " Young man, I rather like your style ; but when you know York and me as well as you do God Almighty, it '11 be time to talk." And so the feud progressed ; and so, as in more illustrious examples, the private and personal en- mity of two representative men led gradually to the evolution of some crude, half-expressed prin- ciple or belief. It was not long before it was made evident that those beliefs were identical with certain broad principles laid down by the founders of the American Constitution, as expounded by the statesmanlike A. ; or were the fatal quicksands, on which the ship of state might be wrecked, warningly pointed out by the eloquent B. The practical result of all which was the nomination of York and Scott to represent the opposite factions of Sandy Bar in legislative councils. THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. 113 For some weeks past, the voters of Sandy Bar and the adjacent camps had been called upon, in large type, to " EALLY ! " In vain the great pines at the cross-roads whose trunks were compelled to bear this and other legends moaned and pro- tested from their windy watch-towers. But one day, with fife and drum, and flaming transparency, a procession filed into the triangular grove at the head of the gulch. The meeting was called to order by Colonel Starbottle, who, having once enjoyed legislative functions, and being vaguely known as a " war-horse," was considered to be a valuable partisan of York. He concluded an appeal for his friend, with an enunciation of prin- ciples, interspersed with one or two anecdotes so gratuitously coarse that the very pines might have been moved to pelt him with their cast-off cones, as he stood there. But he created a laugh, on which his candidate rode into popular notice ; and when York rose to speak, he was greeted with cheers. But, to the general astonishment, the new speaker at once launched into bitter denunciation of his rival. He not only dwelt upon Scott's deeds and example, as known to Sandy Bar, but spoke of facts connected with his previous career, hitherto unknown to his auditors. To great precision of epithet and directness of statement, the speaker added the fascination of revelation and exposure. The crowd cheered, yelled, and were delighted, 114 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. but when this astounding philippic was concluded, there was a unanimous call for " Scott ! " Colonel Starbottle would have resisted this manifest im- propriety, but in vain. Partly from a crude sense of justice, partly from a meaner craving for excite- ment, the assemblage was inflexible ; and Scott was dragged, pushed, and pulled upon the plat- form. As his frowsy head and unkempt beard appeared above the railing, it was evident that he was drunk. But it was also evident, before he opened his lips, that the orator of Sandy Bar the one man who could touch their vagabond sympathies (perhaps because he was not above appealing to them) stood before them. A consciousness of this power lent a certain dignity to his figure, and I am not sure but that his very physical condition impressed them as a kind of regal unbending and large condescension. Howbeit, when this unex- pected Hector arose from the ditch, York's myr- midons trembled. " There 's naught, gentlemen," said Scott, lean- ing forward on the railing, " there 's naught as that man hez said as is n't true. I was run outer Cairo ; I did belong to the Eegulators ; I did de- sert from the army ; I did leave a wife in Kansas. But thar 's one thing he did n't charge me with, and, maybe, he 's forgotten. For three years, gen- tlemen, I was that man's pardner ! " Whether THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. 115 he intended to say more, I cannot tell ; a burst of applause artistically rounded and enforced the climax, and virtually elected the speaker. That fall he went to Sacramento, York went abroad; and for the first time in many years, distance and a new atmosphere isolated the old antagonists. With little of change in the green wood, gray rock, and yellow river, but with much shifting of human landmarks, and new laces in its habitations, three years passed over Sandy Bar. The two men, once so identified with its character, seemed to have been quite forgotten. " You will never re- turn to Sandy Bar," said Miss Folinsbee, the " Lily of Poverty Flat," on meeting York in Paris, " for Sandy Bar is no more. They call it Eiverside now ; and the new town is built higher up on the river-bank. By the by, ' Jo ' says that Scott has won his suit about the ' Amity Claim,' and that he lives in the old cabin, and is drunk half his time. 0, 1 beg your pardon," added the lively lady, as a flush crossed York's sallow cheek ; " but, bless me, I really thought that old grudge was made up. I 'm sure it ought to be." It was three months after this conversation, and a pleasant summer evening, that the Poverty Flat coach drew up before the veranda of the Union Hotel at Sandy Bar. Among its passengers was one, apparently a stranger, in the local distinction 116 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. of well-fitting clothes and closely shaven face, who demanded a private room and retired early to rest. But before sunrise next morning he arose, and, drawing some clothes from his carpet-bag, pro- ceeded to array himself in a pair of white duck trousers, a white duck overshirt, and straw hat. When his toilet was completed, he tied a red ban- danna handkerchief in a loop and threw it loosely over his shoulders. The transformation was com- plete. As he crept softly down the stairs and stepped into the road, no one would have detected in him the elegant stranger of the previous night, and but few have recognized the face and figure of Henry York of Sandy Bar. In the uncertain light of that early hour, and in the change that had come over the settlement, he had to pause for a moment to recall where he stood. The Sandy Bar of his recollection lay be- low him, nearer the river; the buildings around him were of later date and newer fashion. As he strode toward the river, he noticed here a school- house and there a church. A little farther on, "The Sunny South" came in view, transformed into a restaurant, its gilding faded and its paint rubbed off. He now knew where he was; and, running briskly down a declivity, crossed a ditch, and stood upon the lower boundary of the Amity Claim. The gray mist was rising slowly from the river, THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. 117 clinging to the tree-tops and drifting up the moun- tain-side, until it was caught among those rocky altars, and held a sacrifice to the ascending sun. At his feet the earth, cruelly gashed and scarred by his forgotten engines, had, since the old days, put on a show of greenness here and there, and now smiled forgivingly up at him, as if things were not so bad after all. A few birds were bath- ing in the ditch with a pleasant suggestion of its being a new and special provision of nature, and a hare ran into an inverted sluice-box, as he ap- proached, as if it were put there for that pur- pose. He had not yet dared to look in a certain direc- tion. But the sun was now high enough to paint the little eminence on which the cabin stood. In spite of his self-control, his heart beat faster as he raised his eyes toward it. Its window and door were closed, no smoke came from its adobe chim- ney, but it was else unchanged. When within a few yards of it, he picked up a broken shovel, and, shouldering it with a smile, strode toward the door and knocked. There was no sound from within. The smile died upon his lips as he nervously pushed the door open. A figure started up angrily and came toward him, a figure whose bloodshot eyes suddenly fixed into a vacant stare, whose arms were at first outstretched and then thrown up in warning ges- 118 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. ticulation, a figure that suddenly gasped, choked, and then fell forward in a fit. But before he touched the ground, York had him out into the open air and sunshine. In the struggle, both fell and rolled over on the ground. But the next moment York was sitting up, hold- ing the convulsed frame of his former partner on his knee, and wiping the foam from his inarticu- late lips. Gradually the tremor became less fre- quent, and then ceased ; and the strong man lay unconscious in his arms. For some moments York held him quietly thus, looking in his face. Afar, the stroke of a wood- man's axe a mere phantom of sound was all that broke the stillness. High up the mountain, a wheeling hawk hung breathlessly above them. And then came voices, and two men joined them. "A fight?" No, a fit; and would they help him bring the sick man to the hotel ? And there, for a week, the stricken partner lay, unconscious of aught but the visions wrought by disease and fear. On the eighth day, at sunrise, he rallied, and, opening his eyes, looked upon York, and pressed his hand ; then he spoke : " And it 's you. I thought it was only whiskey." York replied by taking both of his hands, boy- ishly working them backward and forward, as his elbow rested on the bed, with a pleasant smile. THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. 119 "And you've been abroad. How did you like Paris?" " So, so. How did you like Sacramento ? " "Bully." And that was all they could think to say. Presently Scott opened his eyes again. " I 'm mighty weak." "You'll get better soon." "Not much." A long silence followed, in which they could hear the sounds of wood-chopping, and that Sandy Bar was already astir for the coming day. Then Scott slowly and with difficulty turned his face to York, and said, " I might hev killed you once." " I wish you had." They pressed each other's hands again, but Scott's grasp was evidently failing. He seemed to summon his energies for a special effort "Old man!" " Old chap." "Closer!" York bent his head toward the slowly fading face. " Do ye mind that morning ? " "Yes." A gleam of fun slid into the corner of Scott's blue eye, as he whispered, " Old man, thar was too much saleratus in that bread." 120 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAB. It is said that these were his last words. For when the sun, which had so often gone down upon the idle wrath of these foolish men, looked again upon them reunited, it saw the hand of Scott fall cold and irresponsive from the yearning clasp of his former partner, and it knew that the feud of Sandy Bar was at an end. ME. THOMPSON'S PKODIGAL WE all knew that Mr. Thompson was looking for his son, and a pretty bad one at that. That he was coming to California for this sole object was no secret to his fellow-passengers ; and the physical peculiarities, as well as the moral weaknesses, of the missing prodigal were made equally plain to us through the frank volubility of the parent. " You was speaking of a young man which was hung at Red Dog for sluice-robbing," said Mr. Thompson to a steerage passenger, one day; "be you aware of the color of his eyes?" " Black," responded the passenger. " Ah," said Mr. Thompson, referring to some mental memo- randa, " Char-les's eyes was blue." He then walked away. Perhaps it was from this unsympathetic mode of inquiry, perhaps it was from that West- ern predilection to take a humorous view of any principle or sentiment persistently brought before them, that Mr. Thompson's quest was the subject of some satire among the passengers. A gratuitous advertisement of the missing Charles, addressed to " Jailers and Guardians," circulated privately among them ; everybody remembered to have met 122 MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. Charles under distressing circumstances. Yet it is but due to my countrymen to state that when it was known that Thompson had embarked some wealth in this visionary project, but little of this satire found its way to his ears, and nothing was uttered in his hearing that might bring a pang to a father's heart, or imperil a possible pecuniary advantage of the satirist. Indeed, Mr. Bracy Tibbets's jocular proposition to form a joint-stock company to " prospect " for the missing youth re- ceived at one time quite serious entertainment. Perhaps to superficial criticism Mr. Thompson's nature was not picturesque nor lovable. His his- tory, as imparted at dinner, one day, by himself, was practical even in its singularity. After a hard and wilful youth and maturity, in which he had buried a broken-spirited wife, and driven his son to sea, he suddenly experienced religion. " I got it in New Orleans in '59," said Mr. Thompson, with the general suggestion of referring to an epi- demic. " Enter ye the narrer gate. Parse me the beans." Perhaps this practical quality upheld him in his apparently hopeless search. He had no clew to the whereabouts of his runaway son ; in- deed, scarcely a proof of his present existence. From his indifferent recollection of the boy of twelve, he now expected to identify the man of twenty-five. It would seem that he was successful. How he MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 123 succeeded was one of the few things he did not tell There are, I believe, two versions of the story. One, that Mr. Thompson, visiting a hos- pital, discovered his son by reason of a peculiar hyinn, chanted by the sufferer, in a delirious dream of his boyhood. This version, giving as it did wide range to the finer feelings of the heart, was quite popular ; and as told by the Kev. Mr. Gush- ington, on his return from his California tour, never failed to satisfy an audience. The other was less simple, and, as I shall adopt it here, deserves more elaboration. It was after Mr. Thompson had given up search- ing for his son among the living, and had taken to the examination of cemeteries, and a careful in- spection of the " cold hie jacets of the dead." At this time he was a frequent visitor of "Lone Mountain," a dreary hill-top, bleak enough in its original isolation, and bleaker for the white- faced marbles by which San Francisco anchored her departed citizens, and kept them down in a shifting sand that refused to cover them, and against a fierce and persistent wind that strove to blow them utterly away. Against this wind the old man opposed a will quite as persistent, a grizzled, hard face, and a tall, crape-bound hat drawn tightly over his eyes, and so spent days in reading the mortaary inscriptions audibly to himself. The frequency of Scriptural quotation 124 MB. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. pleased him, and he was fond of corroborating them by a pocket Bible. " That 's from Psalms," he said, one day, to an adjacent grave-digger. The man made no reply. Not at all rebuffed, Mr. Thompson at once slid down into the open grave, with a more practical inquiry, " Did you ever, in your profession, come across Char-les Thompson ? " " Thompson be d d ! " said the grave-digger, with great directness. " Which, if he had n't religion, I think he is," responded the old man, as he clam- bered out of the grave. It was, perhaps, on this occasion that Mr. Thompson stayed later than usual. As he turned his face toward the city, lights were beginning to twinkle ahead, and a fierce wind, made visible by fog, drove him forward, or, lying in wait, charged him angrily from the corners of deserted suburban streets. It was on one of these corners that some- thing else, quite as indistinct and malevolent, leaped upon him with an oath, a presented pistol, and a demand for money. But it was met by a will of iron and a grip of steel. The assailant and assailed rolled together on the ground. But the next moment the old man was erect ; one hand grasping the captured pistol, the other clutching at arm's length the throat of a figure, surly, youth- ful, and savage. " Young man," said Mr. Thompson, setting his thin lips together, " what might be your name ? " MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 125 "Thompson!" The old man's hand slid from the throat to the arm of his prisoner, without relaxing its firmness. " Char-les Thompson, come with me," he said, presently, and marched his captive to the hotel. What took place there has not transpired, but it was known the next morning that Mr. Thompson had found his son, It is proper to add to the above improbable story, that there was nothing in the young man's appearance or manners to justify it. Grave, reti- cent, and handsome, devoted to his newly found parent, he assumed the emoluments and responsi- bilities of his new condition with a certain serious ease that more nearly approached that which San Francisco society lacked, and rejected. Some chose to despise this quality as a tendency to "psalm-singing"; others saw in it the inherited qualities of the parent, and were ready to prophesy for the son the same hard old age. But all agreed that it was not inconsistent with the habits of money-getting, for which father and son were re- spected. And yet, the old man did not seem to be happy. Perhaps it was that the consummation of his wishes left him without a practical mission ; per- haps and it is the more probable he had little love for the son he had regained. The obedience 126 MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. he exacted was freely given, the reform he had set his heart upon was complete ; and yet, somehow, it did not seem to please him. In reclaiming his son, he had fulfilled all the requirements that his religious duty required of him, and yet the act seemed to lack sanctification. In this perplexity, he read again the parable of the Prodigal Son, which he had long ago adopted for his guidance, and found that he had omitted the final feast of reconciliation. This seemed to offer the proper quality of ceremoniousness in the sacrament be- tween himself and his son ; and so, a year after the appearance of Charles, he set about giving him a party. " Invite everybody, Char-les," he said, dryly ; " everybody who knows that I brought you out of the wine-husks of iniquity, and the company of harlots ; and bid them eat, drink, and be merry." Perhaps the old man had another reason, not yet clearly analyzed. The fine house he had built on the sand-hills sometimes seemed lonely and bare. He often found himself trying to recon- struct, from the grave features of Charles, the little boy whom he but dimly remembered in the past, and of whom lately he had been thinking a great deal He believed this to be a sign of impending old age and childishness ; but coming, one day, in his formal drawing-room, upon a child of one of the servants, who had strayed therein, he would MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 127 have taken him in his arms, but the child fled from before his grizzled face. So that it seemed emi- nently proper to invite a number of people to hi house, and, from the array of San Francisco maid- enhood, to select a daughter-in-law. And then there would be a child a boy, whom he could "rare up" from the beginning, and love as he did not love Charles. We were all at the party. The Smiths, Joneses, Browns, and Eobinsons also came, in that fine flow of animal spirits, unchecked by any respect for the entertainer, which most of us are apt to find so fascinating. The proceedings would have been somewhat riotous, but for the social position of the actors. In fact, Mr. Bracy Tibbets, having naturally a fine appreciation of a humorous situa- tion, but further impelled by the bright eyes of the Jones girls, conducted himself so remarkably as to attract the serious regard of Mr. Charles Thomp- son, who approached him, saying quietly : " You look ill, Mr. Tibbets ; let me conduct you to your carriage. Kesist, you hound, and I '11 throw you through that window. This way, please ; the room is close and distressing." It is hardly necessary to say that but a part of this speech was audible to the company, and that the rest was not divulged by Mr. Tibbets, who afterward regretted the sud- den illness which kept him from witnessing a cer- tain amusing incident, which the fastest Miss Jones 128 MB. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. characterized as the " richest part of the blow-out," and which I hasten to record. It was at supper. It was evident that Mr. Thompson had overlooked much lawlessness in the conduct of the younger people, in his abstract con- templation of some impending event. When the cloth was removed, he rose to his feet, and grimly tapped upon the table. A titter, that broke out among the Jones girls, became epidemic on one side of the board. Charles Thompson, from the foot of the table, looked up in tender perplexity. " He 's going to sing a Doxology," " He 's going to pray," " Silence for a speech," ran round the room. " It 's one year to-day, Christian brothers and sisters," said Mr. Thompson, with grim delibera- tion, " one year to-day since my son came home from eating of wine-husks and spending of his substance on harlots." (The tittering suddenly ceased.) "Look at him now. Char-les Thomp- son, stand up." (Charles Thompson stood up.) " One year ago to-day, and look at him now." He was certainly a handsome prodigal, standing there in his cheerful evening-dress, a repentant prodigal, with sad, obedient eyes turned upon the harsh and unsympathetic glance of his father. The youngest Miss Smith, from the pure depths of her foolish little heart, moved unconsciously to- ward him. MB. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 129 " It 's fifteen years ago since he left my house/' said Mr. Thompson, " a rovier and a prodigal. I was myself a man of sin, Christian friends, a man of wrath and bitterness" ("Amen," from the eldest Miss Smith), " but praise be God, I 've fled the wrath to come. It 's five years ago since I got the peace that passeth understanding. Have you got it, friends ? " (A general sub-chorus of " No, no," from the girls, and, " Pass the word for it," from Midshipman Coxe, of the U. S. sloop "Wethersfield.) " Knock, and it shall be opened to you. " And when I found the error of my ways, and the preciousness of grace," continued Mr. Thomp- son, " I came to give it to my son. By sea and land I sought him far, and fainted not. I did not wait for him to come to me, which the same I might have done, and justified myself by the Book of books, but I sought him out among his husks, and " (the rest of the sentence was lost in the rustling withdrawal of the ladies). "Works, Christian friends, is my motto. By their works shall ye know them, and there is mine." The particular and accepted work to which Mr. Thompson was alluding had turned quite pale, and was looking fixedly toward an open door leading to the veranda, lately filled by gaping servants, and now the scene of some vague tumult. As the noise continued, a man, shabbily dressed, and evi- 6* I 130 MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. dently in liquor, broke through the opposing guar- dians, and staggered into the room. The transi- tion from the fog and darkness without to the glare and heat within evidently dazzled and stu- pefied him. He removed his battered hat, and passed it once or twice before his eyes, as he steadied himself, but unsuccessfully, by the back of a chair. Suddenly, his wandering glance fell upon the pale face of Charles Thompson ; and with a gleam of childlike recognition, and a weak, fal- setto laugh, he darted forward, caught at the table, upset the glasses, and literally fell upon the prodi- gal's breast. " Sha'ly I yo' d d ol' scoun'rel, hoo rar ye ! " " Hush ! sit down ! hush ! " said Charles Thompson, hurriedly endeavoring to extricate him- self from the embrace of his unexpected guest. " Look at 'm ! " continued the stranger, unheed- ing the admonition, but suddenly holding the un- fortunate Charles at arm's length, in loving and undisguised admiration of his festive appearance, " Look at 'm ! Ain't he nasty ? Sha'ls, I 'm prow of yer ! " " Leave the house ! " said Mr. Thompson, rising, with a dangerous look in his cold, gray eye. " Char-les, how dare you ? " " Simmer down, ole man ! Sha'ls, who 's th' ol' bloat? Eh?" "Hush, man ; here, take this ! " With nervous MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 131 hands, Charles Thompson filled a glass with liquor. " Drink it and go until to-morrow any time, but leave us ! go now ! " But even then, ere the miserable wretch could drink, the old man, pale with passion, was upon him. Half carrying him in his powerful arms, half dragging him through the circling crowd of frightened guests, he had reached the door, swung open by the waiting servants, when Charles Thompson started from a seeming stupor, crying, "Stop!" The old man stopped. Through the open door the fog and wind drove chilly. " What does this mean?" he asked, turning a baleful face on Charles. "Nothing but stop for God's sake. Wait till to-morrow, but not to-night. Do not I im- plore you do this thing." There was something in the tone of the young man's voice, something, perhaps, in the contact of the struggling wretch he held in his powerful arms; but a dim, indefinite fear took possession of the old man's heart. " Who," he whispered, hoarsely, " is this man ? " Charles did not answer. " Stand back, there, all of you," thundered Mr. Thompson, to the crowding guests around him. " Char-les come here ! I command you I I I beg you tell me who is this man ?" 132 MB. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. Only two persons heard the answer that came faintly from the lips of Charles Thompson, "YOUR SON." When day broke over the bleak sand-hills, the guests had departed from Mr. Thompson's ban- quet-halls. The lights still burned dimly and coldly in the deserted rooms, deserted by all but three figures, that huddled together in the chill drawing-room, as if for warmth. One lay in drunken slumber on a couch ; at his feet sat he who had been known as Charles Thompson ; and beside them, haggard and shrunken to half his size, bowed the figure of Mr. Thompson, his gray eye fixed, his elbows upon his knees, and his hands clasped over his ears, as if to shut out the sad, en- treating voice that seemed to fill the room. "God knows I did not set about to wilfully deceive. The name I gave that night was the first that came into my thought, the name of one whom I thought dead, the dissolute companion of my shame. And when you questioned further, I used the knowledge that I gained from him to touch your heart to set me free; only, I swear, for that ! But when you told me who you were, and I first saw the opening of another life before me then then 0, sir, if I was hungry, homeless, and reckless, when I would have robbed you of your gold, I was heart-sick, helpless, and MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 133 desperate, when I would have robbed you of your love ! " The old man stirred not. From his luxurious couch the newly found prodigal snored peacefully. " I had no father I could claim. I never knew a home but this. I was tempted. I have been happy, very happy." He rose and stood before the old man. " Do not fear that I shall come between your son and his inheritance. To-day I leave this place, never to return. The world is large, sir, and, thanks to your kindness, I now see the way by which an honest livelihood is gained. Good by. You will not take my hand ? Well, well Good by." He turned to go. But when he had reached the door he suddenly came back, and, raising with both hands the grizzled head, he kissed it once and twice. " Char-les." There was no reply. "Char-les!" The old man rose with a frightened air, and tottered feebly to the door. It was open. There came to him the awakened tumult of a great city, in which the prodigal's footsteps were lost forever. THE EOMANCE OF MADKOSTO HOLLOW. THE latch on the garden gate of the Folinsbee Eanch clicked twice. The gate itself was so much in shadow that lovely night, that " old man Folinsbee," sitting on his porch, could distinguish nothing but a tall white hat and beside it a few fluttering ribbons, under the pines that marked the entrance. Whether because of this fact, or that he considered a sufficient time had elapsed since the clicking of the latch for more positive disclosure, I do not know; but after a few mo- ments' hesitation he quietly laid aside his pipe and walked slowly down the winding path toward the gate. At the Ceanothus hedge he stopped and listened. There was not much to hear. The hat was say- ing to the ribbons that it was a fine night, and re- marking generally upon the clear outline of the Sierras against the blue-black sky. The ribbons, it so appeared, had admired this all the way home, and asked the hat if it had ever seen anything half so lovely as the moonlight on the summit. The hat never had ; it recalled some lovely nights in the South in Alabama (" in the South in Ahla- THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 135 bahm " was the way the old man heard it), but then there were other things that made this night seem so pleasant. The ribbons could not possibly conceive what the hat could be thinking about. At this point there was a pause, of which Mr. Folins- bee availed himself to walk very grimly and craunchingly down the gravel-walk toward the gate. Then the hat was lifted, and disappeared in the shadow, and Mr. Folinsbee confronted only the half-foolish, half-mischievous, but wholly pretty face of his daughter. It was afterward known to Madrono Hollow that sharp words passed between " Miss Jo " and the old man, and that the latter coupled the names of one Culpepper Starbottle and his uncle, Colonel Star- bottle, with certain uncomplimentary epithets, and that Miss Jo retaliated sharply. " Her father's blood before her father's face boiled up and proved her truly of his race," quoted the blacksmith, who leaned toward the noble verse of Byron. " She saw the old man's bluff and raised him," was the directer comment of the college-bred Masters. Meanwhile the subject of these animadversions proceeded slowly along the road to a point where the Folinsbee mansion came in view, a long, narrow, white building, unpretentious, yet superior to its neighbors, and bearing some evidences of taste and refinement in the vines that clambered over its porch, in its French windows, and the 136 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. white muslin curtains that kept out the fierce Cali- fornia sun by day, and were now touched with sil- ver in the gracious moonlight. Culpepper leaned against the low fence, and gazed long and earnestly at the building. Then the moonlight vanished ghost- like from one of the windows, a material glow took its place, and a girlish figure, holding a candle, drew the white curtains together. To Culpepper it was a vestal virgin standing before a hallowed shrine ; to the prosaic observer I fear it was only a fair- haired young woman, whose wicked black eyes still shone with unfilial warmth. Howbeit, when the figure had disappeared he stepped out briskly into the moonlight of the high-road. Here he took off his distinguishing hat to wipe his forehead, and the moon shone full upon his face. It was not an unprepossessing one, albeit a trifle too thin and lank and bilious to be altogether pleasant. The cheek-bones were prominent, and the black eyes sunken in their orbits. Straight black hair fell slantwise off a high but narrow forehead, and swept part of a hollow cheek. A long black mustache followed the perpendicular curves of his mouth. It was on the whole a seri- ous, even Quixotic face, but at times it was relieved by a rare smile of such tender and even pathetic sweetness, that Miss Jo is reported to have said that, if it would only last through the ceremony, she would have married its possessor on the spot THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 137 " I once told him so," added that shameless young woman ; " but the man instantly fell into a settled melancholy, and has n't smiled since." A half-mile below the Folinsbee Eanch the white road dipped and was crossed by a trail that ran through Madrono Hollow. Perhaps because it was a near cut-off to the settlement, perhaps from some less practical reason, Culpepper took this trail, and in a few moments stood among the rarely beautiful trees that gave their name to the valley. Even in that uncertain light the weird beauty of these har- lequin masqueraders was apparent ; their red trunks . a blush in the moonlight, a deep blood-stain in the shadow stood out against the silvery green foliage. It was as if Nature in some gracious mo- ment had here caught and crystallized the gypsy memories of the transplanted Spaniard, to cheer him in his lonely exile. As Culpepper entered the grove he heard loud voices. As he turned toward a clump of trees, a figure so bizarre and characteristic that it might have been a resident Daphne a figure over- dressed in crimson silk and lace, with bare brown arms and shoulders, and a wreath of honeysuckle stepped out of the shadow. It was followed by a man. Culpepper started. To come to the point briefly, he recognized in the man the features of his respected uncle, Colonel Starbottle ; in the fe- male, a lady who may be briefly described as one 138 THE ROMANCE OF MADRO&0 HOLLOW. possessing absolutely no claim to an introduction to the polite reader. To hurry over equally un- pleasant details, both were evidently under the influence of liquor. From the excited conversation that ensued, Cul- pepper gathered that some insult had been put upon the lady at a public ball which she had at- tended that evening ; that the Colonel, her escort, had failed to resent it with the sanguinary com- pleteness that she desired. I regret that, even in a liberal age, I may not record the exact and even picturesque language in which this was conveyed to her hearers. Enough that at the close of a fiery peroration, with feminine inconsistency she flew at the gallant Colonel, and would have visited her delayed vengeance upon his luckless head, but for the prompt interference of Culpepper. Thwarted in this, she threw herself upon the ground, and then into unpicturesque hysterics. There was a fine moral lesson, not only in this grotesque per- formance of a sex which cannot afford to be gro- tesque, but in the ludicrous concern with which it inspired the two men. Culpepper, to whom woman was more or less angelic, was pained and sympathetic ; the Colonel, to whom she was more or less improper, was exceedingly terrified and em- barrassed. Howbeit the storm was soon over, and after Mistress Dolores had returned a little daggei to its sheath (her garter), she quietly took herself THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 139 out of Madrono Hollow, and happily out of these pages forever. The two men, left to themselves, conversed in low tones. Dawn stole upon them before they separated : the Colonel quite sobered and in full possession of his usual jaunty self- assertion; Culpepper with a baleful glow in his hollow cheek, and in his dark eyes a rising fire. The next morning the general ear of Madrono Hollow was filled with rumors of the Colonel's mishap. It was asserted that he had been invited to withdraw his female companion from the floor of the Assembly Ball at the Independence Hotel, and that, failing to do this, both were expelled. It is to be regretted that in 1854 public opinion was divided in regard to the propriety of this step, and that there was some discussion as to the compara- tive virtue of the ladies who were not expelled; but it was generally conceded that the real casus belli was political. " Is this a dashed Puritan meeting ? " had asked the Colonel, savagely. " It 's no Pike County shindig," had responded the floor- manager, cheerfully. " You 're a Yank ! " had screamed the Colonel, profanely qualifying the noun. " Get ! you border ruffian," was the reply. Such at least was the substance of the reports. As, at that sincere epoch, expressions like the above were usually followed by prompt action, a fracas was confidently looked for. 140 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. Nothing, however, occurred. Colonel Starbottle made his appearance next day upon the streets with somewhat of his usual pomposity, a little restrained by the presence of his nephew, who accompanied him, and who, as a universal favorite, also exercised some restraint upon the curious and impertinent. But Culpepper's face wore a look of anxiety quite at variance with his usual grave re- pose. " The Don don't seem to take the old man's set-back kindly," observed the sympathizing black- smith. "P'r'aps he was sweet on Dolores him- self," suggested the sceptical expressman. It was a bright morning, a week after this oc- currence, that Miss Jo Folinsbee stepped from her garden into the road. This time the latch did not click as she cautiously closed the gate behind her. After a moment's irresolution, which would hava been awkward but that it was charmingly em- ployed, after the manner of her sex, in adjusting a bow under a dimpled but rather prominent chin, and in pulling down the fingers of a neatly fitting glove, she tripped toward the settlement. Small wonder that a passing teamster drove his oix mules into the wayside ditch and imperilled hi load, to keep the dust from her spotless garments ; small wonder that the " Lightning Express " with- held its speed and flash to let her pass, and that the expressman, who had never been known to exchange more than rapid monosyllables with his THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 141 fellow-man, gazed after her with breathless admi- ration. For she was certainly attractive. In a country where the ornamental sex followed the example of youthful Nature, and were prone to overdress and glaring efflorescence, Miss Jo's sim- ple and tasteful raiment added much to the physi- cal charm of, if it did not actually suggest a senti- ment to, her presence. It is said that Euchre-deck Billy, working in the gulch at the crossing, never saw Miss Folinsbee pass but that he always remarked apologetically to his partner, that "he believed he must write a letter home." Even Bill Masters, who saw her in Paris presented to the favorable criticism of that most fastidious man, the late Emperor, said that she was stunning, but a big discount on what she was at Madrono Hollow. It was still early morning, but the sun, with California extravagance, had already begun to beat hotly on the little chip hat and blue ribbons, and Miss Jo was obliged to seek the shade of a by- path. Here she received the timid advances of a vagabond yellow dog graciously, until, emboldened by his success, he insisted upon accompanying her, and, becoming slobberingly demonstrative, threat- ened her spotless skirt with his dusty paws, when she drove him from her with some slight acer- bity, and a stone which haply fell within fifty feet of its destined mark Having thus proved her 142 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. ability to defend herself, with characteristic incon- sistency she took a small panic, and, gathering her white skirts in one hand, and holding the brim of her hat over her eyes with the other, she ran swiftly at least a hundred yards before she stopped. Then she began picking some ferns and a few wild-flowers still spared to the withered fields, and then a sudden distrust of her small ankles seized her, and she inspected them narrowly for those burrs and bugs and snakes which are supposed to lie in wait for helpless womanhood. Then she plucked some golden heads of wild oats, and with a sudden inspiration placed them in her black hair, and then came quite unconsciously upon the trail leading to Madrono Hollow. Here she hesitated. Before her ran the little trail, vanishing at last into the bosky depths be- low. The sun was very hot. She must be very far from home. Why should she not rest awhile under the shade of a madrono ? She answered these questions by going there at once. After thoroughly exploring the grove, and satisfying herself that it contained no other living human creature, she sat down under one of the largest trees, with a satisfactory little sigh. Miss Jo loved the madrono. It was a cleanly tree ; no dust ever lay upon its varnished leaves ; its im- maculate shade never was known to harbor grub or insect. THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 143 She looked up at the rosy arms interlocked and arched above her head. She looked down at the delicate ferns and cryptogams at her feet. Some- thing glittered at the root of the tree. She picked it up ; it was a bracelet. She examined it care- fully for cipher or inscription; there was none. She could not resist a natural desire to clasp it on her arm, and to survey it from that advantageous view-point. This absorbed her attention for some moments ; and when she looked up again she be- held at a little distance Culpepper Starbottle. He was standing where he had halted, with in- stinctive delicacy, on first discovering her. In- deed, he had even deliberated whether he ought not to go away without disturbing her. But some fascination held him to the spot. Wonderful power of humanity ! Far beyond jutted an out- lying spur of the Sierra, vast, compact, and silent. Scarcely a hundred yards away, a league-long chasm dropped its sheer walls of granite a thou- sand feet. On every side rose up the serried ranks of pine-trees, in whose close-set files cen- turies of storm and change had wrought no breach. Yet all this seemed to Culpepper to have been planned by an all-wise Providence as the natural background to the figure of a pretty girl in a yel- low dress. Although Miss Jo had confidently expected to meet Culpepper somewhere in her ramble, now 144 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. that he came upon her suddenly, she felt disap- pointed and embarrassed. His manner, too, was more than usually grave and serious, and more than ever seemed to jar upon that audacious levity which was this giddy girl's power and security in a society where all feeling was dangerous. As he approached her she rose to her feet, but almost be- fore she knew it he had taken her hand and drawn her to a seat beside him. This was not what Miss Jo had expected, but nothing is so difficult to pred- icate as the exact preliminaries of a declaration of love. What did Culpepper say ? Nothing, I fear, that will add anything to the wisdom of the reader; nothing, I fear, that Miss Jo had not heard sub- stantially from other lips before. But there was a certain conviction, fire-speed, and fury in the man- ner that was deliciously novel to the young lady. It was certainly something to be courted in the nineteenth century with all the passion and ex- travagance of the sixteenth ; it was something to hear, amid the slang of a frontier society, the lan- guage of knight-errantry poured into her ear by this lantern-jawed, dark-browed descendant of the Cavaliers. I do not know that there was anything more in it. The facts, however, go to show that at a cer- tain point Miss Jo dropped her glove, and that in recovering it Culpepper possessed himself first of THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 145 her hand and then her lips. When they stood up to go Culpepper had his arm around her waist, and her black hair, with its sheaf of golden oats, rested against the breast pocket of his coat. But even then I do not think her fancy was entirely captive. She took a certain satisfaction in this demonstra- tion of Culpepper's splendid height, and mentally compared it with a former flame, one Lieutenant McMirk, an active, but under-sized Hector, who subsequently fell a victim to the incautiously com- posed and monotonous beverages of a frontier gar- rison. Nor was she so much preoccupied but that her quick eyes, even while absorbing Culpepper's glances, were yet able to detect, at a distance, the figure of a man approaching. In an instant she slipped out of Culpepper's arm, and, whipping her hands behind her, said, " There 's that horrid man!" Culpepper looked up and beheld his respected uncle panting and blowing over the hill. His brow contracted as he turned to Miss Jo : " You don't like my uncle ! " " I hate him I " Miss Jo was recovering her ready tongue. Culpepper blushed. He would have liked to enter upon some details of the Colonel's pedigree and exploits, but there was not time. He only smiled sadly. The smile melted Miss Jo. She held out her hand quickly, and said with even 146 THE ROMANCE OF MADRO&0 HOLLOW. more than her usual effrontery, " Don't let that man get you into any trouble. Take care of your- self, dear, and don't let anything happen to you." Miss Jo intended this speech to be pathetic; the tenure of life among her lovers had hitherto been very uncertain. Culpepper turned toward her, but she had already vanished in the thicket. The Colonel came up panting. " I Ve looked all over town for you, and be dashed to you, sir. Who was that with you ? " "A lady." (Culpepper never lied, but he was discreet.) " D m 'em all ! Look yar, Gulp, I Ve spotted the man who gave the order to put me off the floor " (" flo" was what the Colonel said) " the other night!" "Who was it ? " asked Culpepper, listlessly. "JackFolinsbee." "Who?" " Why, the son of that dashed nigger- worship- ping psalm-singing Puritan Yankee. What 's the matter, now ? Look yar, Gulp, you ain't goin' back on your blood, ar' ye ? You ain't goin' back on your word ? Ye ain't going down at the feet of this trash, like a whipped hound ? " Culpepper was silent. He was very white. Presently he looked up and said quietly, " No." Culpepper Starbottle had challenged Jack Fol- THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 147 insbee, and the challenge was accepted. The cause alleged was the expelling of Culpepper's uncle from the floor of the Assembly Ball by the order of Folinsbee. This much Madrono Hollow knew and could swear to ; but there were other strange ru- mors afloat, of which the blacksmith was an able expounder. " You see, gentlemen," he said to the crowd gathered around his anvil, " I ain't got no theory of this affair, I only give a few facts as have come to my knowledge. Culpepper and Jack meets quite accidental like in Bob's saloon. Jack goes up to Culpepper and says, ' A word with you.' Culpepper bows and steps aside in this way, Jack standing about here" (The blacksmith demon- strates the position of the parties with two old horseshoes on the anvil.) " Jack pulls a bracelet from his pocket and says, 'Do you know that bracelet ? ' Culpepper says, ' I do not,' quite cool- like and easy. Jack says, ' You gave it to my sis- ter.' Culpepper says, still cool as you please, ' I did not.' Jack says, ' You lie, G d d mn you,' and draws his derringer. Culpepper jumps forward about here " (reference is made to the diagram) " and Jack fires. Nobody hit. It 's a mighty cu- r'o's thing, gentlemen," continued the blacksmith, dropping suddenly into the abstract, and leaning meditatively on his anvil, " it 's a mighty cur'o's thing that nobody gets hit so often. You and me empties our revolvers sociably at each other over a 148 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. little game, and the room full and nobody gets hit I That 's what gets me." " Never mind, Thompson," chimed in Bill Mas- ters, " there 's another and a better world where we shall know all that and become better shots. Go on with your story." "Well, some grabs Culpepper and some grabs Jack, and so separates them. Then Jack tells 'em as how he had seen his sister wear a bracelet which he knew was one that had been given to Dolores by Colonel Starbottle. That Miss Jo wouldn't say where she got it, but owned up to having seen Culpepper that day. Then the most cur'o's thing of it yet, what does Culpepper do but rise up and takes all back that he said, and allows that he did give her the bracelet. Now my opinion, gentle- men, is that he lied ; it ain't like that man to give a gal that he respects anything off of that piece, Dolores. But it 's all the same now, and there 's but one thing to be done." The way this one thing was done belongs to the record of Madrono Hollow. The morning was bright and clear; the air was slightly chill, but that was from the mist which arose along the banks of the river. As early as six o'clock the desig- nated ground a little opening in the madrono grove was occupied by Culpepper Starbottle, Colonel Starbottle, his second, and the surgeon. The Colonel was exalted and excited, albeit in a THE ROMANCE OF MADROftO HOLLOW. 149 rather imposing, dignified way, and pointed out to the surgeon the excellence of the ground, which at that hour was wholly shaded from the sun, whose steady stare is more or less discomposing to your duellist. The surgeon threw himself on the grass and smoked his cigar. Culpepper, quiet and thoughtful, leaned against a tree and gazed up the river. There was a strange suggestion of a picnic about the group, which was heightened when the Colonel drew a bottle from his coat-tails, and, tak- ing a preliminary draught, offered it to the others. " Cocktails, sir," he explained with dignified pre- cision. "A gentleman, sir, should never go out without 'em. Keeps off the morning chill. I re- member going out in '53 with Hank Boompirater. Good ged, sir, the man had to put on his overcoat, and was shot in it. Fact. " But the noise of wheels drowned the Colonel's reminiscences, and a rapidly driven buggy, contain- ing Jack Folinsbee, Calhoun Bungstarter, his sec- ond, and Bill Masters, drew up on the ground. Jack Folinsbee leaped out gayly. " I had the jol- liest work to get away without the governor's hearing," he began, addressing the group before him with the greatest volubility. Calhoun Bungstarter touched his arm, and the young man blushed. It was his first duel. " If you are ready, gentlemen," said Mr. Bung- starter, "we had better proceed to business. I 150 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. believe it is understood that no apology will t>e offered or accepted. We may as well settle pre- liminaries at once, or I fear we shall be interrupted. There is a rumor in town that the Vigilance Com- mittee are seeking our friends the Starbottles, and I believe, as their fellow-countryman, I have the honor to be included in their warrant." At this probability of interruption, that gravity which had hitherto been wanting fell upon the group. The preliminaries were soon arranged and the principals placed in position. Then there was a silence. To a spectator from the hill, impressed with the picnic suggestion, what might have been the pop- ping of two champagne corks broke the stillness. Culpepper had fired in the air. Colonel Star- bottle uttered a low curse. Jack Folinsbee sulkily demanded another shot. Again the parties stood opposed to each other. Again the word was given, and what seemed to be the simultaneous report of both pistols rose upon the air. But after an interval of a few seconds all were surprised to see Culpepper slowly raise his unexploded weapon and fire it harmlessly above his head. Then, throwing the pistol upon the ground, he walked to a tree and leaned silently against it. Jack Folinsbee flew into a paroxysm of fury. Colonel Starbottle raved and swore. Mr. Bung- THE ROMANCE OF MADRO&0 HOLLOW. 151 starter was properly shocked at their conduct "Keally, gentlemen, if Mr. Culpepper Starbottle declines another shot, I do not see how we can proceed." But the Colonel's blood was up, and Jack Fol- insbee was equally implacable. A hurried consul- tation ensued, which ended by Colonel Starbottle taking his nephew's place as principal, Bill Masters acting as second, vice Mr. Bungstarter, who de- clined all further connection with the affair. Two distinct reports rang through the Hollow. Jack Folinsbee dropped his smoking pistol, took a step forward, and then dropped heavily upon his face. In a moment the surgeon was at his side. The confusion was heightened by the trampling of hoofs, and the voice of the blacksmith bidding them flee for their lives before the coming storm. A moment more and the ground was cleared, and the surgeon, looking up, beheld only the white face of Culpepper bending over him. " Can you save him ? " " I cannot say. Hold up his head a moment, while I run to the buggy." Culpepper passed his arm tenderly around the neck of the insensible man. Presently the sur- geon returned with some stimulants. " There, that will do, Mr. Starbottle, thank you. Now my advice is to get away from here while 152 THE ROMANCE OF MADBOftO HOLLOW. you can. I '11 look after Folinsbee. Do you hear ? " Culpepper's arm was still round the neck of his late foe, but his head had drooped and fallen on the wounded man's shoulder. The surgeon looked down, and, catching sight of his face, stooped and lifted him gently in his arms. He opened his coat and waistcoat. There was blood upon his shirt, and a bullet-hole in his breast. He had besn shot unto death at the first fire. THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. AS the enterprising editor of the " Sierra Flat Record " stood at his case setting type for his next week's paper, he could not help hearing the woodpeckers who were busy on the roof above his head. It occurred to him that possibly the birds had not yet learned to recognize in the rude structure any improvement on nature, and this idea pleased him so much that he incorporated it in the editorial article which he was then doubly compos- ing. For the editor was also printer of the " Rec- ord " ; and although that remarkable journal was reputed to exert a power felt through all Cala- veras and a greater part of Tuolumne County, strict economy was one of the conditions of its beneficent existence. Thus preoccupied, he was startled by the sudden irruption of a small roll of manuscript, which was thrown through the open door and fell at his feet. He walked quickly to the threshold and looked down the tangled trail which led to the high-road. But there was nothing to suggest the presence of his mysterious contributor. A hare limped slowly away, a green-and-gold lizard paused upon a pine 154 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. stump, the woodpeckers ceased their work. So complete had been his sylvan seclusion, that he found it difficult to connect any human agency with the act ; rather the hare seemed to have an inexpressibly guilty look, the woodpeckers to main- tain a significant silence, and the lizard to be con- science-stricken into stone. An examination of the manuscript, however, corrected this injustice to defenceless nature. It was evidently of human origin, being verse, and of exceeding bad quality. The editor laid it aside. As he did so he thought he saw a face at the window. Sallying out in some indignation, he penetrated the surrounding thicket in every direc- tion, but his search was as fruitless as before. The poet, if it were he, was gone. A few days after this the editorial seclusion was invaded by voices of alternate expostulation and entreaty. Stepping to the door, the editor was amazed at beholding Mr. Morgan McCorkle, a well- Jmown citizen of Angelo, and a subscriber to the " Kecord," in the act of urging, partly by force and partly by argument, an awkward young man toward the building. When he had finally effected his object, and, as it were, safely landed his prize in a chair, Mr. McCorkle took off his hat, carefully wiped the narrow isthmus of forehead which di- vided his black brows from his stubby hair, with an explanatory wave of his THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 155 reluctant companion, said, " A borned poet, and the cussedest fool you ever seed ! " Accepting the editor's smile as a recognition of the introduction, Mr. McCorkle panted and went on : " Did n't want to come ! ' Mister Editor don't want to see me, Morg,' sez he. ' Milt,' sez I, ' he do ; a borned poet like you and a gifted genius like he oughter come together sociable ! ' And I fetched him. Ah, will yer ? " The born poet had, after exhibiting signs of great distress, started to run. But Mr. McCorkle was down upon him instantly, seizing him by his long linen coat, and settled him back in his chair. "'T ain't no use stampeding. Yer ye are and yer ye stays. For yer a borned poet, ef ye are as shy as a jackass rabbit. Look at 'im now ! " He certainly was not an attractive picture. There was hardly a notable feature in his weak face, except his eyes, which were moist and shy and not unlike the animal to which Mr. McCorkle had compared him. It was the face that the editor had seen at the window. " Knowed him for fower year, since he war a boy," continued Mr. McCorkle in a loud whisper. " Allers the same, bless you ! Can jerk a rhyme as easy as turnin' jack. Never had any eddication ; lived out in Missooray all his life. But he 's chock full o' poetry. On'y this mornin' sez I to him, he camps along o' me, ' Milt ! ' sez I, ' are break- 156 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. fast ready?' and he up and answers back quite peart arid chipper, ' The breakfast it is ready, and the birds is singing free, and it 's risin' in the dawn- in' light is happiness to me ! ' When a man," said Mr. McCorkle, dropping his voice with deep so- lemnity, " gets off things like them, without any call to do it, and handlin' flapjacks over a cook- stove at the same time, that man's a borned poet." There was an awkward pause. Mr. McCorkle beamed patronizingly on his protSgS. The born poet looked as if he were meditating another flight, not a metaphorical one. The editor asked if he could do anything for them. "In course you can," responded Mr. McCorkle, " that 's jest it. Milt, where 's that poetry ? " The editor's countenance fell as the poet pro- duced from his pocket a roll of manuscript. He ; however, took it mechanically and glanced over it. It was evidently a duplicate of the former myste- rious contribution. The editor then spoke briefly but earnestly. I regret that I cannot recall his exact words, but it appeared that never before, in the history of the " Eecord," had the pressure been so great upon its columns. Matters of paramount importance, deep- ly affecting the material progress of Sierra, ques- tions touching the absolute integrity of Calaveras and Tuolumne as social communities, were even THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 157 now waiting expression. Weeks, nay, months, must elapse before that pressure would be removed, and the " Eecord " could grapple with any but the stern- est of topics. Again, the editor had noticed with pain the absolute decline of poetry in the foot-hills of the Sierras. Even the works of Byron and Moore attracted no attention in Dutch Flat, and a prejudice seemed to exist against Tennyson in Grass Valley. But the editor was not without hope for the future. In the course of four or five years, when the country was settled, " What would be the cost to print this yer ? " interrupted Mr. McCorkle, quietly. " About fifty dollars, as an advertisement," re- sponded the editor with cheerful alacrity. Mr. McCorkle placed the sum in the editor's hand. " Yer see thet 's what I sez to Milt, ' Milt/ sez I, ' pay as you go, for you are a borned poet. Hevin no call to write, but doin' it free and spon- taneous like, in course you pays. Thet 's why Mr. Editor never printed your poetry.' " "What name shall I put to it?" asked the editor. " Milton." It was the first word that the born poet had spoken during the interview, and his voice was so very sweet and musical that the editor looked at him curiously, and wondered if he had a sister. "Milton; is that all?" 158 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. " Thet 's his furst name," exclaimed Mr. Mc- Corkle. The editor here suggested that as there had been another poet of that name " Milt might be took for him ! Thet 's bad," reflected Mr. McCorkle with simple gravity. " Well, put down his hull name, Milton Chub- buck." The editor made a note of the fact. " I '11 set it up now," he said. This was also a hint that the interview was ended. The poet and patron, arm in arm, drew towards the door. " In next week's paper," said the editor, smilingly, in answer to the childlike look of inquiry in the eyes of the poet, and in another moment they were gone. The editor was as good as his word. He straight- way betook himself to his case, and, unrolling the manuscript, began his task The woodpeckers on the roof recommenced theirs, and in a few moments the former sylvan seclusion was restored. There was no sound in the barren, barn-like room but the birds above, and below the click of the composing- rule as the editor marshalled the types into lines in his stick, and arrayed them in solid column on the galley. Whatever might have been his opinion of the copy before him, there was no indication of it in his face, which wore the stolid indifference of his craft. Perhaps this was unfortunate, for as the day wore on and the level rays of the sun began THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 159 to pierce the adjacent thicket, they sought out and discovered an anxious ambushed figure drawn up beside the editor's window, a figure that had sat there motionless for hours. Within, the editor worked on as steadily and impassively as Fate. And without, the born poet of Sierra Flat sat and watched him as waiting its decree. The effect of the poem on Sierra Flat was re- markable and unprecedented. The absolute vile- ness of its doggerel, the gratuitous imbecility of its thought, and above all the crowning audacity of the fact that it was the work of a citizen and published in the county paper, brought it instantly into popularity. For many months Calaveras had languished for a sensation ; since the last vigilance committee nothing had transpired to dispel the listless ennui begotten of stagnant business and growing civilization. In more prosperous mo- ments the office of the " Eecord " would have been simply gutted and the editor deported ; at present the paper was in such demand that the edition was speedily exhausted. In brief, the poem of Mr. Milton Chubbuck came like a special provi- dence to Sierra Flat. It was read by camp-fires, in lonely cabins, in flaring bar-rooms and noisy saloons, and declaimed from the boxes of stage- coaches. It was sung in Poker Flat with the ad- dition of a local chorus, and danced as an unhal- 160 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. lowed rhythmic dance by the Pyrrhic phalanx of One Horse Gulch, known as " The Festive Stags of Calaveras." Some unhappy ambiguities of ex- pression gave rise to many new readings, notes, and commentaries, which, I regret to state, were more often marked by ingenuity than delicacy of thought or expression. Never before did poet acquire such sudden local reputation. From the seclusion of McCorkle's cabin and the obscurity of culinary labors, he was haled forth into the glowing sunshine of Fame. The name of Chubbuck was written in letters of chalk on unpainted walls, and carved with a pick on the sides of tunnels. A drink known variously as " The Chubbuck Tranquillizer," or " The Chub- buck Exalter," was dispensed at the bars. For some weeks a rude design for a Chubbuck statue, made up of illustrations from circus and melodeon posters, representing the genius of Calaveras in brief skirts on a flying steed in the act of crown- ing the poet Chubbuck, was visible at Keeler's Ferry. The poet himself was overborne with in- vitations to drink and extravagant congratulations. The meeting between Colonel Starbottle of Sisky- ion and Chubbuck, as previously arranged by our "Boston," late of Eoaring Camp, is said to have been indescribably affecting. The Colonel em- braced him unsteadily. "I could not return to my constituents at Siskyion, sir, if this hand, THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 161 which has grasped that of the gifted Prentice and the lamented Poe, should not have been honored by the touch of the godlike Chubbuck. Gentle- men, American literature is looking up. Thank you, I will take sugar in mine." It was " Boston " who indited letters of congratulations from H. W. Longfellow, Tennyson, and Browning, to Mr. Chub- buck, deposited them in the Sierra Flat post-office, and obligingly consented to dictate the replies. The simple faith and unaffected delight with which these manifestations were received by the poet and his patron might have touched the hearts of these grim masters of irony, but for the sudden and equal development in both of the variety of weak natures. Mr. McCorkle basked in the popu- larity of his protege, and became alternately super- cilious or patronizing toward the dwellers of Sierra Flat ; while the poet, with hair carefully oiled and curled, and bedecked with cheap jewelry and flaunting neck-handkerchief, paraded himself be- fore the single hotel. As may be imagined, this new disclosure of weakness afforded intense satis- faction to Sierra Flat, gave another lease of popu- larity to the poet, and suggested another idea to the facetious " Boston." At that time a young lady popularly and pro- fessionally known as the " California Pet " was per- forming to enthusiastic audiences in the interior. Her specialty lay in the personation of youthful 162 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. masculine character ; as a gamin of the street she was irresistible, as a negro-dancer she carried the honest miner's heart by storm. A saucy, pretty brunette, she had preserved a wonderful moral reputation even under the Jove-like advances of showers of gold that greeted her appearance on the stage at Sierra Flat. A prominent and de- lighted member of that audience was Milton Chub- buck. He attended every night. Every day he lingered at the door of the Union Hotel for a glimpse of the " California Pet." It was not long before he received a note from her, in "Bos- ton's " most popular and approved female hand, acknowledging his admiration. It was not long before " Boston " was called upon to indite a suit- able reply. At last, in furtherance of his facetious design, it became necessary for " Boston " to call upon the young actress herself and secure her per- sonal participation. To her he unfolded a plan, the successful carrying out of which he felt would secure his fame to posterity as a practical humor- ist. The "California Pet's" black eyes sparkled approvingly and mischievously. She only stipu- lated that she should see the man first, a con- cession to her feminine weakness which years of dancing Juba and wearing trousers and boots had not wholly eradicated from her wilful breast. By all means, it should be done. And the interview was arranged for the next week. ;. THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 163 It must not be supposed that during this inter- val of popularity Mr. Chubbuck had been unmind- ful of his poetic qualities. A certain portion of each day he was absent from town, "a com- munin' with natur'," as Mr. McCorkle expressed it, and actually wandering in the mountain trails, or lying on his back under the trees, or gathering fragrant herbs and the bright-colored berries of the Marzanita. These and his company he generally brought to the editor's office, late in the afternoon, often to that enterprising journal- ist's infinite weariness. Quiet and uncommunica- tive, he would sit there patiently watching him at his work until the hour for closing the office ar- rived, when he would as quietly depart. There was something so humble and unobtrusive in these visits, that the editor could not find it in his heart to deny them, and accepting them, like the wood- peckers, as a part of his sylvan surroundings, often forgot even his presence. Once or twice, moved by some beauty of expression in the moist, shy eyes, he felt like seriously admonishing his visitor of his idle folly ; but his glance falling upon the oiled hair and the gorgeous necktie, he invariably thought better of it. The case was evidently hopeless. The interview between Mr. Chubbuck and the " California Pet " took place in a private room of the Union Hotel; propriety being respected bjr 164 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. the presence of that arch-humorist, " Boston." To this gentleman we are indebted for the only true account of the meeting. However reticent Mr. Chubbuck might have been in the presence of his own sex, toward the fairer portion of humanity he was, like most poets, exceedingly voluble. Accus- tomed as the " California Pet " had been to exces- sive compliment, she was fairly embarrassed by the extravagant praises of her visitor. Her per- sonation of boy characters, her dancing of the "champion jig," were particularly dwelt upon with fervid but unmistakable admiration. At last, recovering her audacity and emboldened by the presence of "Boston," the "California Pet'* electrified her hearers by demanding, half jestingly, half viciously, if it were as a boy or a girl that she was the subject of his flattering admiration. " That knocked him out o' time," said the de- lighted " Boston," in his subsequent account of the interview. " But do you believe the d d fool actually asked her to take him with her ; wanted to engage in the company." The plan, as briefly unfolded by " Boston," was to prevail upon Mr. Chubbuck to make his appear- ance in costume (already designed and prepared by the inventor) before a Sierra Flat audience, and recite an original poem at the Hall immediately on the conclusion of the " California Pet's " per- formance. At a given signal the audience were to THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 165 rise and deliver a volley of unsavory articles (pre- viously provided by the originator of the scheme) ; then a select few were to rush on the stage, seize the poet, and, after marching him in triumphal procession through town, were to deposit him be- yond its uttermost limits, with strict injunctions never to enter it again. To the first part of the plan the poet was committed, for the latter portion it was easy enough to find participants. The eventful night came, and with it an audi- ence that packed the long narrow room with one dense mass of human beings. The "California Pet " never had been so joyous, so reckless, so fas- cinating and audacious before. But the applause was tame and weak compared to the ironical out- burst that greeted the second rising of the curtain and the entrance of the born poet of Sierra Flat. Then there was a hush of expectancy, and the poet stepped to the foot-lights and stood with his man- uscript in his hand. His face was deadly pale. Either there was some suggestion of his fate in the faces of his audience, or some mysterious instinct told him of his danger. He attempted to speak, but faltered, tottered, and staggered to the wings. Fearful of losing his prey, " Boston " gave the signal and leaped upon the stage. But at the same moment a light figure darted from behind the scenes, and delivering a kick that sent the dis- 166 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. comfited humorist back among the musicians, cut a pigeon-wing, executed a double-shuffle, and then advancing to the foot-lights with that inimitable look, that audacious swagger and utter abandon which had so thrilled and fascinated them a mo- ment before, uttered the characteristic speech: " Wot are you goin' to hit a man fur, when he 's down, s-a-a-y ? " The look, the drawl, the action, the readiness, and above all the downright courage of the little woman, had its effect. A roar of sympathetic ap- plause followed the act. " Cut and run while you can," she whispered hurriedly over her one shoul- der, without altering the other's attitude of pert and saucy defiance toward the audience. But even as she spoke the poet tottered and sank fainting upon the stage. Then she threw a despairing whisper behind the scenes, " King down the cur- tain." There was a slight movement of opposition in the audience, but among them rose the burly shoul- ders of Yuba Bill, the tall, erect figure of Henry York of Sandy Bar, and the colorless, deter- mined face of John Oakhurst. The curtain came down. Behind it knelt the " California Pet " beside the prostrate poet. " Bring me some water. Eun for a doctor. Stop ! ! CLEAR OUT, ALL OF YOU ! " She had unloosed the gaudy cravat and opened THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 167 the shirt-collar of the insensible figure before her. Then she burst into an hysterical laugh. " Manuela ! " Her tiring- woman, a Mexican half-breed, came toward her. " Help me with him to my dressing-room, quick ; then stand outside and wait. If any one ques- tions you, tell them he 's gone. Do you hear ? HE 's gone." The old woman did as she was bade. In a few moments the audience had departed. Before morn- ing so also had the " California Pet," Manuela, and the poet of Sierra Flat. But, alas ! with them also had departed the fair fame of the " California Pet." Only a few, and these it is to be feared of not the best moral char- acter themselves, still had faith in the stainless honor of their favorite actress. " It was a mighty foolish thing to do, but it 11 all come out right yet." On the other hand, a majority gave her full credit and approbation for her undoubted pluck and gallantry, but deplored that she should have thrown it away upon a worthless object. To elect for a lover the despised and ridiculed vagrant of Sierra Flat, who had not even the manliness to stand up in his own defence, was not only evidence of inherent moral depravity, but was an insult to the community. Colonel Starbottle saw in it only another instance of the extreme frailty of the sex ; 168 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. he had known similar cases ; and remembered dis- tinctly, sir, how a well-known Philadelphia heiress, one of the finest women that ever rode in her ker- ridge, that, gad, sir ! had thrown over a Southern member of Congress to consort with a d d nigger. The Colonel had also noticed a singular look in the dog's eye which he did not entirely fancy. He would not say anything against the lady, sir, but he had noticed And here haply the Colonel became so mysterious and darkly confidential as to be unintelligible and inaudible to the by- standers. A few days after the disappearance of Mr. Chub- buck a singular report reached Sierra Flat, and it was noticed that " Boston," who since the failure of his elaborate joke had been even more depressed in spirits than is habitual with great humorists, suddenly found that his presence was required in San Francisco. But as yet nothing but the vaguest surmises were afloat, and nothing definite was known. It was a pleasant afternoon when the editor of the " Sierra Flat Record " looked up from his case and beheld the figure of Mr. Morgan McCorkle standing in the doorway. There was a distressed look on the face of that worthy gentleman that at once enlisted the editor's sympathizing attention. He held an open letter in his hand, as he advanced toward the middle of the room. THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 169 " As a man as has allers borne a fair reputation," began Mr. McCorkle slowly, " I should like, if so be as I could, Mister Editor, to make a correction in the columns of your valooable paper." Mr. Editor begged him to proceed. " Ye may not disremember that about a month ago I fetched here what so be as we '11 call a young man whose name might be as it were Milton Milton Chubbuck." Mr. Editor remembered perfectly. " Thet same party I 'd knowed better nor fower year, two on 'em campin' out together. Not that I 'd known him all the time, fur he war shy and strange at spells and had odd ways that I took war nat'ral to a borned poet. Ye may remember that I said he was a borned poet ? " The editor distinctly did. " I picked this same party up in St. Jo., takin' a fancy to his face, and kinder calklating he 'd runn'd away from home, for I 'm a married man, Mr. Editor, and hev children of my own, and thinkin' belike he was a borned poet." " Well ? " said the editor. " And as I said before, I should like now to make a correction in the columns of your valooa- ble paper." " What correction ? " asked the editor. " I said, ef you remember my words, as how he was a borned poet." 170 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. "Yes." " From statements in this yer letter it seems as how I war wrong." "Well?" " She war a woman." THE CHEISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO KUPERT. A STORY FOR LITTLE SOLDIERS. IT was the Christmas season in California, a season of falling rain and springing grasses. There were intervals when, through driving clouds and flying scud, the sun visited the haggard hills with a miracle, and death and resurrection were as one, and out of the very throes of decay a joy- ous life struggled outward and upward. Even the storms that swept down the dead leaves nurtured the tender buds that took their places. There were no episodes of snowy silence ; over the quick- ening fields the farmer's ploughshare hard followed the furrows left by the latest rains. Perhaps it was for this reason that the Christmas evergreens which decorated the drawing-room took upon themselves a foreign aspect, and offered a weird contrast to the roses, seen dimly through the win- dows, as the southwest wind beat their soft faces against the panes. "Now," said the Doctor, drawing his chair closer to the fire, and looking mildly but firmly at 172 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. the semicircle of flaxen heads around him, "I want it distinctly understood before I begin my story, that I am not to be interrupted by any ridic- ulous questions. At the first one I shall stop. At the second, I shall feel it my duty to adminis- ter a dose of castor-oil, all around. The boy that moves his legs or arms will be understood to invite amputation. I have brought my instruments with me, and never allow pleasure to interfere with my business. Do you promise ? " " Yes, sir," said six small voices, simultaneously. The volley was, however, followed by half a dozen dropping questions. " Silence ! Bob, put your feet down, and stop rattling that sword. Flora shall sit by my side, like a little lady, and be an example to the rest. Fung Tang shall stay, too, if he likes. Now, turn down the gas a little; there, that will do, just enough to make the fire look brighter, and to show off the Christmas candles. Silence, everybody! The boy who cracks an almond, or breathes too loud over his raisins, will be put out of the room." There was a profound silence. Bob laid his sword tenderly aside, and nursed his leg thought- fully. Flora, after coquettishly adjusting the pocket of her little apron, put her arm upon the Doctor's shoulder, and permitted herself to be drawn beside him. Fung Tang, the little heathen page, who was permitted, on this rare occasion, to THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. 173 share the Christian revels in the drawing-room, surveyed the group with a smile that was at once sweet and philosophical. The light ticking of a French clock on the mantel, supported by a young shepherdess of bronze complexion and great sym- metry of limb, was the only sound that disturbed the Christmas-like peace of the apartment, a peace which held the odors of evergreens, new toys, cedar-boxes, glue, and varnish in an harmonious combination that passed all understanding. " About four years ago at this time," began the Doctor, "I attended a course of lectures in a certain city. One of the professors, who was a sociable, kindly man, though somewhat practical and hard-headed, invited me to his house on Christmas night. I was very glad to go, as I was anxious to see one of his sons, who, though only twelve years old, was said to be very clever. I dare not tell you how many Latin verses this little fellow could recite, or how many English ones he had composed. In the first place, you 'd want me to repeat them; secondly, I'm not a judge of poetry, Latin or English. But there were judges who said they were wonderful for a boy, and everybody predicted a splendid future for him. Everybody but his father. He shook his head doubtingly, whenever it was mentioned, for> as I frave told you, he was a practical, matter-of-fact man. 174 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. " There was a pleasant party at the Professor's that night. All the children of the neighborhood were there, and among them the Professor's clever son, Eupert, as they called him, a thin little chap, about as tall as Bobby there, and as fair and delicate as Flora by my side. His health was feeble, his father said ; he seldom ran about and played with other boys, preferring to stay at home and brood over his books, and compose what he called his verses. " Well, we had a Christmas-tree just like this, and we had been laughing and talking, calling off the names of the children who had presents on the tree, and everybody was very happy and joy- ous, when one of the children suddenly uttered a cry of mingled surprise and hilarity, and said, ' Here 's something for Kupert ; and what do you think it is ? ' " We all guessed. ' A desk ' ; 'A copy of Mil- ton'; 'A gold pen'; 'A rhyming dictionary/ ' No ? what then ? ' "'A drum!' " ' A what ? ' asked everybody. " ' A drum ! with Eupert's name on it.' "Sure enough there it was. A good-sized, bright, new, brass-bound drum, with a slip of pa- per on it, with the inscription, ' FOR EUPERT.' "Of course we all laughed, and thought it a good joke. ' You see you 're to p-flke a noise in THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. 175 the world, Rupert!' said one. 'Here's parch- ment for the poet/ said another. 'Rupert's last work in sheepskin covers/ said a third. ' Give us a classical tune, Rupert/ said a fourth ; and so on. But Rupert seemed too mortified to speak; he changed color, bit his lips, and finally burst into a passionate fit of crying, and left the room. Then those who had joked him felt ashamed, and every- body began to ask who had put the drum there. But no one knew, or if they did, the unexpected sympathy awakened for the sensitive boy kept them silent. Even the servants were called up and questioned, but no one could give any idea where it came from. And, what was still more singular, everybody declared that up to the mo- ment it was produced, no one had seen it hanging on the tree. What do I think? Well, I have my own opinion. But no questions ! Enough for you to know that Rupert did not come down etairs again that night, and the party soon after broke up. " I had almost forgotten those things, for the war of the Rebellion broke out the next spring, and I was appointed surgeon in one of the new regiments, and was on my way to the seat of war. But I had to pass through the city where the Pro- fessor lived, and there I met him. My first ques- tion was about Rupert. The Professor shook his bead sadly. ' He 's not so well,' he said ; ' he has 176 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. been declining since last Christmas, when you saw him. A very strange case/ he added, giving it a long Latin name, ' a very singular case. But go and see him yourself/ he urged ; ' it may distract his mind and do him good.' "I went accordingly to the Professor's house, and found Eupert lying on a sofa, propped up with pillows. Around him were scattered his books, and, what seemed in singular contrast, that drum I told you about was hanging on a nail, just above his head. His face was thin and wasted; there was a red spot on either cheek, and his eyes were very bright and widely opened. He was glad to see me, and when I told him where I was going, he asked a thousand questions about the war. I thought I had thoroughly diverted his mind from its sick and languid fancies, when he suddenly grasped my hand and drew me toward him. " ' Doctor/ said he, in a low whisper, ' you won't laugh at me if I tell you something ? ' " ' No, certainly not/ I said. " ' You remember that drum ? ' he said, pointing to the glittering toy that hung against the wall. ' You know, too, how it came to me. A few weeks after Christmas, I was lying half asleep here, and the drum was hanging on the wall, when suddenly I heard it beaten ; at first, low and slowly, then faster and louder, until its rolling filled the house. In the middle of the night, I heard it again. I THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. 177 did not dare to tell anybody about it, but I have heard it every night ever since.' " He paused and looked anxiously in my face, Sometimes/ he continued, 'it is played softly, sometimes loudly, but always quickening to a long-roll, so loud and alarming that I have looked to see people coming into my room to ask what was the matter. But I think, Doctor, I think/ he repeated slowly, looking up with painful inter- est into my face, ' that no one hears it but myself/ " I thought so, too, but I asked him if he had heard it at any other time. " ' Once or twice in the daytime/ he replied, * when I have been reading or writing ; then very loudly, as though it were angry, and tried in that way to attract my attention away from my books.' "I looked into his face, and placed my hand upon his pulse. His eyes were very bright, and his pulse a little flurried and quick, I then tried to explain to him that he was very weak, and that his senses were very acute, as most weak people's are ; and how that when he read, or grew interested and excited, or when he was tired at night, the throbbing of a big artery made the beating sound he heard. He listened to me with a sad smile of unbelief, but thanked me, and in a little while I went away. But as I was going down stairs, I met the Professor. I gave him my opinion of the case, well, no matter what it was. 178 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. " ' He wants fresh air and exercise/ said the Pro- fessor, ' and some practical experience of life, sir.' The Professor was not a bad man, but he was a little worried and impatient, and thought as clever people are apt to think that things which he did n't understand were either silly or improper. " I left the city that very day, and in the excite- ment of battle-fields and hospitals, I forgot all about little Eupert, nor did I hear of him again, until one day, meeting an old classmate in the army, who had known the Professor, he told me that Rupert had become quite insane, and that in one of his paroxysms he had escaped from the house, and as he had never been found, it was feared that he had fallen in the river and was drowned. I was terribly shocked for the moment, as you may imagine ; but, dear me, I was living just then among scenes as terrible and shocking, and I had little time to spare to mourn over poor Rupert. " It was not long after receiving this intelligence that we had a terrible battle, in which a portion of our army was surprised and driven back with great slaughter. I was detached from my brigade to ride over to the battle-field and assist the sur- geons of the beaten division, who had more on their hands than they could attend to. When I reached the barn that served for a temporary hospital, I went at once to work Ah, Bob," said THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. 179 the Doctor, thoughtfully taking the bright sword from the hands of the half-frightened Bob, and holding it gravely before him, "these pretty play- things are symbols of cruel, ugly realities. . " I turned to a tall, stout Vermonter," he con- tinued very slowly, tracing a pattern on the rug with the point of the scabbard, "who was badly wounded in both thighs, but he held up his hands and begged me to help others first who needed it more than he. I did not at first heed his request, for this kind of unselfishness was very common in the army ; but he went on, ' For God's sake, Doc- tor, leave me here ; there is a drummer-boy of our regiment a mere child dying, if he is n't dead now. Go, and see him first. He lies over there. He saved more than one life. He was at his post in the panic this morning, and saved the honor of the regiment.' I was so much more impressed by the man's manner than by the substance of his speech, which was, however, corroborated by the other poor fellows stretched around me, that I passed over to where the drummer lay, with his drum beside him. I gave one glance at his face and yes, Bob yes, my children it was Eupert. "Well! well! it needed not the chalked cross which my brother-surgeons had left upon the rough board whereon he lay to show how urgent was the relief he sought ; it needed not the prophetic words 180 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. of the Vennonter, nor the damp that mingled with the brown curls that clung to his pale forehead, to show how hopeless it was now. I called him by name. He opened his eyes larger, I thought, in the new vision that was beginning to dawn upon him and recognized me. He whispered, 'I'm glad you are come, but I don't think you can do me any good.' " I could not tell him a lie. I could not say anything. I only pressed his hand in mine, as he went on. " ' But you will see father, and ask him to for- give me. Nobody is to blame but myself. It was a long time before I understood why the drum came to me that Christmas night, and why it kept calling to me every night, and what it said. I know it now. The work is done, and I am content. Tell father it is better as it is. I should have lived only to worry and perplex him, and some- thing in me tells me this is right.' " He lay still for a moment, and then, grasping my hand, said, "'Hark!' "I listened, but heard nothing but the sup- pressed moans of the wounded men around me. ' The drum,' he said faintly ; ' don't you hear it ? The drum is calling me.' "He reached out his arm to where it lay, as though he would embrace it. THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO RUPERT. 181 " ' Listen/ he went on, ' it 's the reveille. There are the ranks drawn up in review. Don't you see the sunlight flash down the long line of bayonets ? Their faces are shining, they present arms, there comes the General; but his face I cannot look at, for the glory round his head. He sees me ; he smiles, it is ' And with a name upon his lips that he had learned long ago, he stretched himself wearily upon the planks, and lay quite still "That's all No questions now; never mind what became of the drum. Who 's that snivelling ? Bless my soul, where 's my pill-box ? " URBAN SKETCHES. A VENERABLE IMPOSTOR. AS I glance across my table, I am somewhat distracted by the spectacle of a venerable head whose crown occasionally appears beyond, at about its level. The apparition of a very small hand whose fingers are bunchy and have the appearance of being slightly webbed which is frequently lifted above the table in a vain and impotent attempt to reach the inkstand, always affects me as a novelty at each recurrence of the phenomenon. Yet both the venerable head and bunchy fingers belong to an individual with whom I am familiar, and to whom, for certain reasons hereafter described, I choose to apply the epithet written above this article. His advent in the family was attended with peculiar circumstances. He was received with some concern the number of retainers having been increased by one in honor of his arrival He appeared to be weary, his pretence was that he had come from a long journey, so that for days, weeks, and even months, he did not leave his bed except when he was carried. But it was remarkable that his appetite was invariably regu- 186 A VENERABLE IMPOSTOR. lar and healthy, and that his meals, which he required should be brought to him, were seldom rejected. During this time he had little conver- sation with the family, his knowledge of Our ver- nacular being limited, but occasionally spoke to himself in his own language, a foreign tongue. The difficulties attending this eccentricity were obviated by the young woman who had from the first taken him under her protection, being, like the rest of her sex, peculiarly open to impositions, and who at once disorganized her own tongue to suit his. This was affected by the contraction of the syllables of some words, the addition of syllables to others, and an ingenious disregard for tenses and the governing powers of the verb. The same singular law which impels people in conversation with foreigners to imitate their broken English governed the family in their communications with him. He received these evidences of his power with an indifference not wholly free from scorn. The expression of his eye would occasionally denote that his higher nature revolted from them. I have no doubt myself that his wants were frequently misinterpreted ; that the stretching forth of his hands toward the moon and stars might have been the performance of some re- ligious rite peculiar to his own country, which was in ours misconstrued into a desire for physical nourishment. His repetition of the word "goo- A VENERABLE IMPOSTOR. 187 goo," which was subject to a variety of opposite interpretations, when taken in conjunction with his size, in my mind seemed to indicate his abo- riginal or Aztec origin. I incline to this belief, as it sustains the impres- sion I have already hinted at, that his extreme youth is a simulation and deceit ; that he is really older and has lived before at some remote period, and that his conduct fully justifies his title as A Venerable Impostor. A variety of circumstances corroborate this impression: His tottering walk, which is a senile as well as a juvenile condition ; his venerable head, thatched with such impercep- tible hair that, at a distance, it looks like a mild aureola, and his imperfect dental exhibition. But beside these physical peculiarities may be observed certain moral symptoms, which go to disprove his assumed youth. He is in the habit of falling into reveries, caused, I have no doubt, by some circum- stance which suggests a comparison with his ex- perience in his remoter boyhood, or by some serious retrospection of the past years. He has been de- tected lying awake, at times when he should have been asleep, engaged in curiously comparing the bed-clothes, walls, and furniture with some recol- lection of his youth. At such moments he has been heard to sing softly to himself fragments of some unintelligible composition, which probably still linger in his memory as the echoes of a music 188 A VENERABLE IMPOSTOR. he has long outgrown. He has the habit of receiv- ing strangers with the familiarity of one who had met them before, and to whom their antecedents and peculiarities were matters of old acquaintance, and so unerring is his judgment of their previous character that when he withholds his confidence I am apt to withhold mine. It is somewhat remark- able that while the maturity of his years and the respect due to them is denied by man, his superi- ority and venerable age is never questioned by the brute creation. The dog treats him with a respect and consideration accorded to none others, and the cat permits a familiarity which I should shudder to attempt. It may be considered an evidence of some Pantheistic quality in his previous education, that he seems to recognize a fellowship even in in- articulate objects ; he has been known to verbally address plants, flowers, and fruit, and to extend his confidence to such inanimate objects as chairs and tables. There can be little doubt that, in the re- mote period of his youth, these objects were en- dowed with not only sentient natures, but moral capabilities, and he is still in the habit of beat- ing them when they collide with him, and of pardoning them with a kiss. As he has grown older rather let me say, as we have approximated to his years he has, in spite of the apparent paradox, lost much of his senile gravity. It must be confessed that some of A VENERABLE IMPOSTOR. 189 fds actions of late appear to our imperfect com- prehension inconsistent with his extreme age. A habit of marching up and down with a string tied to a soda-water bottle, a disposition to ride any- thing that could by any exercise of the liveliest fancy be made to assume equine proportions, a propensity to blacken his venerable white hair with ink and coal dust, and an omnivorous appetite which did not stop at chalk, clay, or cinders, were peculiarities not calculated to excite respect. In fact, he would seem to have become demoralized, and when, after a prolonged absence the other day, he was finally discovered standing upon the front steps addressing a group of delighted children out of his limited vocabulary, the circumstance could only be accounted for as the garrulity of age. But I lay aside my pen amidst an ominous si- lence and the disappearance of the venerable head from my plane of vision. As I step to the other side of the table, I find that sleep has overtaken him in an overt act of hoary wickedness. The very pages I have devoted to an exposition of his deceit he has quietly abstracted, and I find them covered with cabalistic figures and wild-looking hieroglyphs traced with his forefinger dipped in ink, which doubtless in his own language conveys a scathing commentary on my composition. But he sleeps peacefully, and there is something in his face which tells me that he has already wandered 190 A VENERABLE IMPOSTOB. away to that dim region of his youth where I can- not follow him. And as there comes a strange stirring at my heart when I contemplate the im- measurable gulf which lies between us, and how slight and feeble as yet is his grasp on this world and its strange realities, I find, too late, that I also am a willing victim of the Venerable Impostor. FKOM A BALCONY. THE little stone balcony, which, by a popular fallacy, is supposed to be a necessary appur- tenance of my window, has long been to me a source of curious interest. The fact that the as- perities of our summer weather will not permit me to use it but once or twice in six months does not alter my concern for this incongruous orna- ment. It affects me as I suppose the conscious possession of a linen coat or a nankeen trousers might affect a sojourner here who has not entirely outgrown his memory of Eastern summer heat and its glorious compensations, a luxurious providence against a possible but by no means probable con- tingency. I do no longer wonder at the persistency with which San Franciscans adhere to this archi- tectural superfluity in the face of climatical im- possibilities. The balconies in which no one sits, the piazzas on which no one lounges, are timid ad- vances made to a climate whose churlishness we are trying to temper by an ostentation of confi- dence. Eidiculous as this spectacle is at all sea- sons, it is never more so than in that bleak inter- val between sunset and dark, when the shrill scream 192 FROM A BALCONY. of the factory whistle seems to have concentrated all the hard, unsympathetic quality of the climate into one vocal expression. Add to this the appear- ance of one or two pedestrians, manifestly too late for their dinners, and tasting in the shrewish air a bitter premonition of the welcome that awaits them at home, and you have one of those ordinary views from my balcony which makes the balcony itself ridiculous. But as I lean over its balustrade to-night a night rare in its kindness and beauty and watch the fiery ashes of my cigar drop into the abysmal darkness below, I am inclined to take back the whole of that preceding paragraph, although it cost me some labor to elaborate its polite malevo- lence. I can even recognize some melody in the music which comes irregularly and fitfully from the balcony of the Museum on Market Street, al- though it may be broadly stated that, as a general thing, the music of all museums, menageries, and circuses becomes greatly demoralized, possibly through associations with the beasts. So soft and courteous is this atmosphere that I have detected the flutter of one or two light dresses on the adja- cent balconies and piazzas, and the front parlor windows of a certain aristocratic mansion in the vicinity, which have always maintained a studious reserve in regard to the interior, to-night are sud- denlv thrown into the attitude of familiar dis- FROM A BALCONY. 193 closure. A few young people are strolling up the street with a lounging step which is quite a relief to that usual brisk, business-like pace which the chilly nights impose upon even the most senti- mental lovers. The genial influences of the air are not restricted to the opening of shutters and front doors; other and more gentle disclosures are made, no doubt, beneath this moonlight. The bonnet and hat which passed beneath my balcony ft few moments ago were suspiciously close to- gether. I argued from this that my friend the editor will probably receive any quantity of verses for his next issue, containing allusions to " Luna," in which the original epithet of " silver " will be applied to this planet, and that a " boon " will be asked for the evident purpose of rhyming with " moon," and for no other. Should neither of the parties be equal to this expression, the pent-up feelings of the heart will probably find vent later in the evening over the piano, in " I wandered by the Brookside," or " When the Moon on the Lake is Beaming." But it has been permitted me to hear the fulfilment of my prophecy even as it was ut- tered. From the window of number Twelve Hun- dred and Seven gushes upon the slumberous misty air the maddening ballad, "Ever of Thee," while at Twelve Hundred and Eleven the " Star of the Evening " rises with a chorus. I am inclined to think that there is something in the utter vacuity 194 FROM A BALCONY. of the refrain in this song which especially com- mends itself to the young. The simple statement, " Star of the evening," is again and again repeated with an imbecile relish ; while the adjective " beau- tiful " recurs with a steady persistency, too exasper- ating to dwell upon here. At occasional intervals, a base voice enunciates " Star-r ! Star-r ! " as a solitary and independent effort. Sitting here in my balcony, I picture the possessor of that voice as a small, stout young man, standing a little apart from the other singers, with his hands behind him, under his coat-tail, and a severe expression of countenance. He sometimes leans forward, with a futile attempt to read the music over somebody else's shoulder, but always resumes his old severity of attitude before singing his part. Meanwhile the celestial subjects of this choral adoration look down upon the scene with a tranquillity and pa- tience which can only result from the security with which their immeasurable remoteness invests them. I would remark that the stars are not the only topics subject to this "damnable iteration." A certain popular song, which contains the statement, " I will not forget you, mother," apparently reposes all its popularity on the constant and dreary repetition of this unimportant information, which at least produces the desired result among the audience. If the best operatic choruses are not above this weakness, the unfamiliar language in which they are sung offers less violation to common sense. FROM A BALCONY. 195 It may be parenthetically stated here that the songs alluded to above may be found in sheet music on the top of the piano of any young lady who has just come from boarding-school. "The Old Arm-Chair," or " Woodman, spare that Tree," will be also found in easy juxtaposition. The latter songs are usually brought into service at the in- stance of an uncle or bachelor brother, whose request is generally prefaced by a remark depreca- tory of the opera, and the gratuitous observation that "we are retrograding, sir, retrograding," and that " there is no music like the old songs." He sometimes condescends to accompany " Marie " in a tremulous barytone, and is particularly forci- ble in those passages where the word " repeat " is written, for reasons stated above. When the song is over, to the success of which he feels he has materially contributed, he will inform you that you may talk of your " arias," and your " roman- zas," " but for music, sir, music " at which point he becomes incoherent and unintelligible. It is this gentleman who suggests " China," or "Brattle Street," as a suitable and cheerful exer- cise for the social circle. There are certain ama- tory songs, of an arch and coquettish character, familiar to these localities, which the young lady, "being called upon to sing, declines with a bashful and tantalizing hesitation. Prominent among these may be mentioned an erotic effusion entitled " I 'm 196 FROM A BALCONY. talking in my Sleep," which, when sung by a young person vivaciously and with appropriate glances, can be made to drive languishing swains to the verge of madness. Ballads of this quality afford splendid opportunities for bold young men, who, by ejaculating "Oh!" and "Ah!" at the affecting passages, frequently gain a fascinating reputation for wildness and scepticism. But the music which called up these paren- thetical reflections has died away, and with it the slight animosities it inspired. The last song has been sung, the piano closed, the lights are with- drawn from the windows, and the white skirts flutter away from stoops and balconies. The si- lence is broken only by the rattle and rumble of carriages coming from theatre and opera. I fancy that this sound which, seeming to be more dis- tinct at this hour than at any other time, might be called one of the civic voices of the night has certain urbane suggestions, not unpleasant to those born and bred in large cities. The moon, round and full, gradually usurps the twinkling lights of the city, that one by one seem to fade away and be absorbed in her superior lustre. The distant Mission hills are outlined against the sky, but through one gap the outlying fog which has stealth- ily invested us seems to have effected a breach, and only waits the co-operation of the laggard sea- breezes to sweep down and take the beleaguered FROM A BALCONY. 197 city by assault. An ineffable calm sinks over the landscape. In the magical moonlight the shot- tower loses its angular outline and practical rela- tions, and becomes a minaret from whose balcony an invisible muezzin calls the Faithful to prayer. " Prayer is better than sleep." But what is this ? A shuffle of feet on the pavement, a low hum of voices, a twang of some diabolical instrument, a preliminary hem and cough. Heavens ! it cannot be ! Ah, yes it is it is SERENADERS ! Anathema Maranatha ! May purgatorial pains seize you, William, Count of Poitou, Girard de Boreuil, Arnaud de Marveil, Bertrand de Born, mis- chievous progenitors of jongleurs, troubadours, pro- venqals, minnesingers, minstrels, and singers of cansos and love chants ! Confusion overtake and confound your modern descendants, the " metre ballad-mongers," who carry the shamelessness of the Middle Ages into the nineteenth century, and awake a sleeping neighborhood to the brazen knowledge of their loves and wanton fancies ! Destruction and demoralization pursue these piti- able imitators of a barbarous age, when ladies' names and charms were shouted through the land, and modest maiden never lent presence to tilt or tourney without hearing a chronicle of her virtues go round the lists, shouted by wheezy heralds and taken up by roaring swashbucklers! Perdition overpower such ostentatious wooers ! Marry ! shall 198 FROM A BALCONY. I shoot the amorous feline who nightly iterates his love songs on my roof, and yet withhold my trigger finger from yonder pranksome gallant ? Go to ! Here is an orange left of last week's re- past. Decay hath overtaken it, it possesseth nei- ther savor nor cleanliness. Ha ! cleverly thrown ! A hit a palpable hit! Peradventure I have still a boot that hath done me service, and, barring a looseness of the heel, an ominous yawning at the side, 't is in good case ! Na'theless, 't will serve. So ! so 1 What ! dispersed ! Nay, then, I too will retire. MELONS. AS I do not suppose the most gentle of readers will believe that anybody's sponsors in bap- tism ever wilfully assumed the responsibility of such a name, I may as well state that I have rea- son to infer that Melons was simply the nickname of a small boy I once knew. If he had any other, I never knew it. Various theories were often projected by me to account for this strange cognomen. His head, which was covered with a transparent down, like that which clothes very small chickens, plainly permitting the scalp to show through, to an im- aginative mind might have suggested that succu- lent vegetable. That his parents, recognizing some poetical significance in the fruits of the season, might have given this name to an August child, was an Oriental explanation. That from his infancy, he was fond of indulging in melons, seemed on the whole the most likely, particularly as Fancy was not bred in MeGinnis's Court. He dawned upon me as Melons. His proximity was indicated by shrill, youthful voices, as " Ah, Melons I " or playfully, " Hi, Melons ! " or authoritatively, " You, Melons 1 " 200 MELONS. McGinnis's Court was a democratic expression of some obstinate and radical property-holder. Occupying a limited space between two fashion- able thoroughfares, it refused to conform to cir- cumstances, but sturdily paraded its unkempt glories, and frequently asserted itself in ungram- matical language. My window a rear room on the ground floor in this way derived blended light and shadow from the court. So low was the window-sill, that had I been the least pre- disposed to somnambulism, it would have broken out under such favorable auspices, and I should have haunted McGinnis's Court. My speculations as to the origin of the court were not altogether gratuitous, for by means of this window I once saw the Past, as through a glass darkly. It was a Celtic shadow that early one morning obstructed my ancient lights. It seemed to belong to an indi- vidual with a pea-coat, a stubby pipe, and bristling beard. He was gazing intently at the court, rest- ing on a heavy cane, somewhat in the way that heroes dramatically visit the scenes of their boy- hood. As there was little of architectural beauty in the court, I came to the conclusion that it was McGinnis looking after his property. The fact that he carefully kicked a broken bottle out of the road somewhat strengthened me in the opinion. But he presently walked away, and the court knew him no more. He probably collected his rents by proxy if he collected them at all MELONS. 201 Beyond Melons, of whom all this is purely in- troductory, there was little to interest the most sanguine and hopeful nature. In common with all such localities, a great deal of washing was done, in comparison with the visible results. There was always something whisking on the line, and always something whisking through the court, that looked as if it ought to be there. A fish-geranium of all plants kept for the recreation of mankind, certainly the greatest illusion straggled under the window. Through its dusty leaves I caught the first glance of Melons. His age was about seven. He looked older, from the venerable whiteness of his head, and it was impossible to conjecture his size, as he always wore clothes apparently belonging to some shapely youth of nineteen. A pair of pantaloons, that, when sustained by a single suspender, completely equipped him, formed his every-day suit. How, with this lavish superfluity of clothing, he man- aged to perform the surprising gymnastic feats it has been my privilege to witness, I have never been able to tell. His "turning the crab," and other minor dislocations, were always attended with success. It was not an unusual sight at any hour of the day to find Melons suspended on a line, or to see his venerable head appearing above the roofs of the outhouses. Melons knew the exact height of every fence in the vicinity, its 9* 202 MELONS. facilities for scaling, and the possibility of seizure on the other side. His more peaceful and quieter amusements consisted in dragging a disused boiler by a large string, with hideous outcries, to imagi- nary fires. Melons was not gregarious in his habits. A few youth of his own age sometimes called upon him, but they eventually became abusive, and their visits were more strictly predatory incursions for old bottles and junk which formed the staple of McGinnis's Court. Overcome by loneliness one day, Melons inveigled a blind harper into the court. For two hours did that wretched man prosecute his unhallowed calling, unrecompensed, and going round and round the court, apparently under the impression that it was some other place, while Melons surveyed him from an adjoining fence with calm satisfaction. It was this absence of conscientious motives that brought Melons into disrepute with his aristocratic neighbors. Orders were issued that no child of wealthy and pious parentage should play with him. This mandate, as a matter of course, invested Melons with a fas- cinating interest to them. Admiring glances were cast at Melons from nursery windows. Baby fin- gers beckoned to him. Invitations to tea (on wood and pewter) were lisped to him from aristocratic back-yards. It was evident he was looked upon as a pure and noble being, untrammelled by the MELONS. 203 conventionalities of parentage, and physically as well as mentally exalted above them. One after- noon an unusual commotion prevailed in the vicin- ity of McGinnis's Court. Looking from my win- dow I saw Melons perched on the roof of a stable, pulling up a rope by which one "Tommy," an infant scion of an adjacent and wealthy house, was suspended in mid-air. In vain the female relatives of Tommy congregated in the back-yard, expostulated with Melons ; in vain the unhappy father shook his fist at him. Secure in his posi- tion, Melons redoubled his exertions and at last landed Tommy on the roof. Then it was that the humiliating fact was disclosed that Tommy had been acting in collusion with Melons. He grinned delightedly back at his parents, as if " by merit raised to that bad eminence." Long before the ladder arrived that was to succor him, he became the sworn ally of Melons, and, I regret to say, in- cited by the same audacious boy, " chaffed " his own flesh and blood below him. He was event- ually taken, though, of course, Melons escaped. But Tommy was restricted to the window after that, and the companionship was limited to " Hi, Melons ! " and " You, Tommy ! " and Melons, to all practical purposes, lost him forever. I looked afterward to see some signs of sorrow on Melons's part, but in vain ; he buried his grief, if he had any, somewhere in his one voluminous garment. 204 MELONS. At about this time my opportunities of knowing Melons became more extended. I was engaged in filling a void in the Literature of the Pacific Coast. As this void was a pretty large one, and as I was informed that the Pacific Coast languished under it, I set apart two hours each day to this work of filling in. It was necessary that I should adopt a methodical system, so I retired from the world and locked myself in my room at a certain hour each day, after coming from my office. I then carefully drew out my portfolio and read what I had written the day before. This would suggest some altera- tion, and I would carefully rewrite it. During this operation I would turn to consult a book of reference, which invariably proved extremely in- teresting and attractive. It would generally sug- gest another and better method of "filling in." Turning this method over reflectively in my mind, I would finally commence the new method which I eventually abandoned for the original plan. At this time I would become convinced that my ex- hausted faculties demanded a cigar. The operation of lighting a cigar usually suggested that a little quiet reflection and meditation would be of service to me, and I always allowed myself to be guided by prudential instincts. Eventually, seated by my window, as before stated, Melons asserted himself, Though our conversation rarely went further than " HeUo, Mister ! " and " Ah, Melons ! " a vagabond MELONS. 205 instinct we felt in common implied a communion deeper than words. In this spiritual commingling the time passed, often beguiled by gymnastics on the fence or line (always with an eye to my win- dow) until dinner was announced and I found a more practical void required my attention. An un- looked for incident drew us in closer relation. A sea-faring friend just from a tropical voyage had presented me with a bunch of bananas. They were not quite ripe, and I hung them before my window to mature in the sun of McGinnis's Court, whose forcing qualities were remarkable. In the mysteriously mingled odors of ship and shore which they diffused throughout my room, there was a lin- gering reminiscence of low latitudes. But even that joy was fleeting and evanescent : they never reached maturity. Coming home one day, as I turned the corner of that fashionable thoroughfare before alluded to, I met a small boy eating a banana. There was noth- ing remarkable in that, but as I neared McGinnis's Court I presently met another small boy, also eat- ing a banana. A third small boy engaged in a like occupation obtruded a painful coincidence upon my mind. I leave the psychological reader to deter- mine the exact co-relation between this circum- stance and the sickening sense of loss that over- came me on witnessing it. I reached my room and found the bunch of bananas was gone. 206 MELONS. There was but one who knew of their existence, but one who frequented my window, but one capa- ble of the gymnastic effort to procure them, and that was I blush to say it Melons. Melons the depredator Melons, despoiled by larger boys of his ill-gotten booty, or reckless and indiscreet- ly liberal ; Melons now a fugitive on some neigh- boring house-top. I lit a cigar, and, drawing my chair to the window, sought surcease of sorrow in the contemplation of the fish-geranium. In a few moments something white passed my window at about the level of the edge. There was no mis- taking that hoary head, which now represented to me only aged iniquity. It was Melons, that ven- erable, juvenile hypocrite. He affected not to observe me, and would have withdrawn quietly, but that horrible fascination which causes the murderer to revisit the scene of his crime, impelled him toward my window. I smoked calmly and gazed at him without speaking. He walked several times up and down the court with a half-rigid, half-belligerent expression of eye and shoulder, intended to represent the carelessness of innocence. Once or twice he stopped, and putting his arms their whole length into his capacious trousers, gazed with some interest at the additional width they thus acquired. Then he whistled. The sin^ gular conflicting conditions of John Brown's body MELONS. 207 and soul were at that time beginning to attract the attention of youth, and Melons's performance of that melody was always remarkable. But to-day he whistled falsely and shrilly between his teeth. At last he met my eye. He winced slightly, but recovered himself, and going to the fence, stood for a few moments on his hands, with his bare feet quivering in the air. Then he turned toward me and threw out a conversational preliminary. " They is a cirkis " said Melons gravely, hang- ing with his back to the fence and his arms twisted around the palings "a cirkis over yonder ! " indicating the locality with his foot " with bosses, and hossback riders. They is a man wot rides six bosses to onct six bosses to onct and nary saddle" and he paused in expectation. Even this equestrian novelty did not affect me. I still kept a fixed gaze on Melons's eye, and he began to tremble and visibly shrink in his capa- cious garment. Some other desperate means conversation with Melons was always a desper- ate means must be resorted to. He recom- menced more artfully. " Do you know Carrots ? " I had a faint remembrance of a boy of that euphonious name, with scarlet hair, who was a playmate and persecutor of Melons. But I said nothing. " Carrots is a bad boy. Killed a policeman onct. 208 MELONS. Wears a dirk knife in his boots, saw him to-day looking in your windy." I felt that this must end here. I rose sternly and addressed Melons. " Melons, this is all irrelevant and impertinent to the case. You took those bananas. Your prop- osition regarding Carrots, even if I were inclined to accept it as credible information, does not alter the material issue. You took those bananas. The offence under the statutes of California is felony. How far Carrots may have been accessory to the fact either before or after, is not my intention at present to discuss. The act is complete. Your present conduct shows the animo furandi to have been equally clear." By the time I had finished this exordium, Melons had disappeared, as I fully expected. He never reappeared. The remorse that I have experienced for the part I had taken in what I fear may have resulted in his utter and complete exter- mination, alas, he may not know, except through these pages. For I have never seen him since. Whether he ran away and went to sea to reappear at some future day as the most ancient of mariners, or whether he buried himself completely in his trousers, I never shall know. I have read the papers anxiously for accounts of him. I have gone to the Police Office in the vain attempt of identifying him as a lost child. But I never saw MELONS. 209 him or heard of him since. Strange fears have sometimes crossed my mind that his venerable appearance may have been actually the result of senility, and that he may have been gathered peace- fully to his fathers in a green old age. I have even had doubts of his existence, and have some- times thought that he was providentially and mys- teriously offered to fill the void I have before alluded to. In that hope I have written these pages. SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF MASTER CHARLES SUMMERTON. AT exactly half past nine o'clock on the morn- ing of Saturday, August 26, 1865, Master Charles Summerton, aged five years, disappeared mysteriously from his paternal residence on Folsom Street, San Francisco. At twenty-five minutes past nine he had been observed, by the butcher, amus- ing himself by going through that popular youth- ful exercise known as " turning the crab," a feat in which he was singularly proficient. At a court of inquiry summarily held in the back parlor at 10.15, Bridget, cook, deposed to have detected him at twenty minutes past nine, in the felonious abstrac- tion of sugar from the pantry, which, by the same token, had she known what was a-comin', she 'd have never previnted. Patsey, a shrill- voiced youth from a neighboring alley, testified to have seen "Chowley" at half past nine, in front of the butcher's shop round the corner, but as this young gentleman chose to throw out the gratuitous belief that the missing child had been converted into sausages by the butcher, his testimony was re- ceived with some caution by the female portion of SURPRISING ADVENTURES. 211 the court, and with downright scorn and contume- ly by its masculine members. But whatever might have been the hour of his departure, it was certain that from half past ten A. M. until nine P. M., when he was brought home by a policeman, Charles Sum- merton was missing. Being naturally of a reticent disposition, he has since resisted, with but one ex- ception, any attempt to wrest from him a statement of his whereabouts during that period. That ex- ception has been myself. He has related to me the following in the strictest confidence. His intention on leaving the door-steps of his dwelling was to proceed without delay to Van Die- man's Land, by way of Second and Market streets. This project was subsequently modified so far as to permit a visit to Otaheite, where Captain Cook was killed. The outfit for his voyage consisted of two car-tickets, five cents in silver, a fishing-line, the brass capping of a spool of cotton, which, in his eyes, bore some resemblance to metallic currency, and a Sunday-school library ticket. His garments, admirably adapted to the exigencies of any climate, were severally a straw hat with a pink ribbon, a striped shirt, over which a pair of trousers, uncom- monly wide in comparison to their length, were buttoned, striped balmoral stockings, which gave his youthful legs something of the appearance of wintergreen candy, and copper-toed shoes with iron heels, capable of striking fire from any flag- 212 SURPRISING ADVENTURES. stone. This latter quality, Master Charley could not help feeling, would be of infinite service to him in the wilds of Van Dieman's Land, which, as pic- torially represented in his geography, seemed to be deficient in corner groceries and matches. Exactly as the clock struck the half-hour, the short legs and straw hat of Master Charles Sum- merton disappeared around the corner. He ran rapidly, partly by way of inuring himself to the fatigues of the journey before him, and partly by way of testing his speed with that of a North Beach car which was proceeding in his direction. The conductor, not being aware of this generous and lofty emulation, and being somewhat concerned at the spectacle of a pair of very short, twinkling legs so far in the rear, stopped his car and generously assisted the youthful Summerton upon the plat- form. From this point a hiatus of several hours' duration occurs in Charles's narrative. He is under the impression that he " rode out " not only his two tickets, but that he became subsequently indebted to the company for several trips to and from the opposite termini, and that at last, resolutely refus- ing to give any explanation of his conduct, he was finally ejected, much to his relief, on a street cor- ner. Although, as he informs us, he felt perfectly satisfied with this arrangement, he was impelled under the circumstances to hurl after the conductor an opprobrious appellation which he had ascertained SURPRISING ADVENTURES. 213 from Patsey was the correct thing in such emer- gencies, and possessed peculiarly exasperating properties. We now approach a thrilling part of the narra- tive, before which most of the adventures of the " Boys' Own Book " pale into insignificance. There are times when the recollection of this adventure causes Master Charles to break out in a cold sweat, and he has several times since its occurrence been awakened by lamentations and outcries in the night season by merely dreaming of it. On the corner of the street lay several large empty sugar hogsheads. A few young gentlemen disported themselves therein, armed with sticks, with which they re- moved the sugar which still adhered to the joints of the staves, and conveyed it to their mouths. Finding a cask not yet preempted, Master Charles set to work, and for a few moments revelled in a wild saccharine dream, whence he was finally roused by an angry voice and the rapidly retreat- ing footsteps of his comrades. An ominous sound smote his ear, and the next moment he felt the cask wherein he lay uplifted and set upright against the wall. He was a prisoner, but as yet undiscov- ered. Being satisfied in his mind that hanging was the systematic and legalized penalty for the out- rage he had committed, he kept down manfully the cry that rose to his lips. In a few moments he felt the cask again lifted 214 SUBPBISING ADVENTURES. by a powerful hand, which appeared above him at the edge of his prison, and which he concluded be- longed to the ferocious giant Blunderbore, whose features and limbs he had frequently met in colored pictures. Before he could recover from his aston- ishment, his cask was placed with several others on a cart, and rapidly driven away. The ride which ensued he describes as being fearful in the extreme. Eolled around like a pill in a box, the agonies which he suffered may be hinted at, not spoken. Evidences of that protracted struggle were visible in his garments, which were of the consistency of syrup, and his hair, which for several hours, under the treatment of hot water, yielded a thin treacle. At length the cart stopped on one of the wharves, and the cartman began to unload. As he tilted over the cask in which Charles lay, an exclamation broke from his lips, and the edge of the cask fell from his hands, sliding its late occupant upon the wharf. To regain his short legs, and to put the greatest possible distance between himself and the cartman, were his first movements on regaining his liberty. He did not stop until he reached the corner of Front Street. Another blank succeeds in this veracious history. He cannot remember how or when he found him- self in front of the circus tent. He has an indis- tinct recollection of having passed through a long street of stores which were all closed, and which SURPRISING ADVENTURES. 215 made him fear that it was Sunday, and that he had spent a miserable night in the sugar cask. But he remembers hearing the sound of music within the tent, and of creeping on his hands and knees, when no one was looking, until he passed under the can- vas. His description of the wonders contained within that circle ; of the terrific feats which were performed by a man on a pole, since practised by him in the back yard ; of the horses, one of which was spotted and resembled an animal in his Noah's Ark, hitherto unrecognized and undefined ; of the female equestrians, whose dresses could only be equalled in magnificence by the frocks of his sis- ter's doll ; of the painted clown, whose jokes excited a merriment, somewhat tinged by an undefined fear, was an effort of language which this pen could but weakly transcribe, and which no quantity of exclamation points could sufficiently illustrate. He is not quite certain what followed. He remem- bers that almost immediately on leaving the circus it became dark, and that he fell asleep, waking up at intervals on the corners of the streets, on front steps, in somebody's arms, and finally in his own bed. He was not aware of experiencing any regret for his conduct ; he does not recall feeling at any time a disposition to go home ; he remembers dis- tinctly that he felt hungry. He has made this disclosure in confidence. He wishes it to be respected. He wants to know if you have five cents about you. SIDEWALKINGS. r I ^HE time occupied in walking to and from my JL business I have always found to yield me a certain mental enjoyment which no other part of the twenty-four hours could give. Perhaps the physical exercise may have acted as a gentle stim- ulant of the brain, but more probably the comfort- able consciousness that I could not reasonably be expected to be doing anything else to be study- ing or improving my mind, for instance always gave a joyous liberty to my fancy. I once thought it necessary to employ this interval in doing sums in arithmetic, in which useful study I was and still am lamentably deficient, but after one or two attempts at peripatetic computation, I gave it up. I am satisfied that much enjoyment is lost to the world by this nervous anxiety to improve our lei' sure moments, which, like tne " shining hours " of Dr. "Watts, unfortunately oifer the greatest facilities for idle pleasure. I feel a profound pity for those misguided beings who are still impelled to carry text-books with them in cars, omnibuses, and ferry- boats, and who generally manage to defraud them- selves of those intervals of rest they most require. SIDEWALKINGS. 217 Nature must have her fallow moments, when she covers her exhausted fields with flowers instead of grain. Deny her this, and the next crop suffers for it. I offer this axiom as some apology for obtrud- ing upon the reader a few of the speculations which have engaged my mind during these daily peram- bulations. Few Calif ornians know how to lounge gracefully. Business habits, and a deference to the custom, even with those who have no business, give an air of restless anxiety to every pedestrian. The excep- tions to this rule are apt to go to the other extreme, and wear a defiant, obtrusive kind of indolence which suggests quite as much inward disquiet and unrest. The shiftless lassitude of a gambler can never be mistaken for the lounge of a gentleman. Even the brokers who loiter upon Montgomery Street at high noon are not loungers. Look at them closely and you will see a feverishness and anxiety under the mask of listlessness. They do not lounge they lie in wait. No surer sign, I imagine, of our peculiar civilization can be found than this lack of repose in its constituent elements. You cannot keep Californians quiet even in their amusements. They dodge in and out of the theatre, opera, and lecture-room ; they prefer the street cars to walk- ing because they think they get along faster. The difference of locomotion between Broadway, New York, and Montgomery Street, San Francisco, is a 218 SIDEWALKINQS. comparative view of Eastern and Western civili- zation. There is a habit peculiar to many walkers, which Punch, some years ago, touched upon satirically, but which seems to have survived the jester's ridi- cule. It is that custom of stopping friends in the street, to whom we have nothing whatever to com- municate, but whom we embarrass for no other purpose than simply to show our friendship. Jones meets his friend Smith, whom he has met in nearly the same locality but a few hours before. During that interval, it is highly probable that no event of any importance to Smith, nor indeed to Jones, which by a friendly construction Jones could im- agine Smith to be interested in, has occurred, or is likely to occur. Yet both gentlemen stop and shake hands earnestly. " Well, how goes it ? " remarks Smith with a vague hope that something may have happened. " So so," replies the eloquent Jones, feeling intuitively the deep vacuity of his friend answering to his own. A pause ensues, in which both gentlemen regard each other with an imbecile smile and a fervent pressure of the hand. Smith draws a long breath and looks up the street ; Jones sighs heavily and gazes down the street. Another pause, in which both gentlemen disengage their respective hands and glance anxiously around for some conventional avenue of escape. Finally, Smith (with a sudden assumption of having for- SIDE WALKINGS. 219 gotten an important engagement) ejaculates, "Well, I must be off," a remark instantly echoed by the voluble Jones, and these gentle- men separate, only to repeat their miserable for- mula the next day. In the above example I have compassionately shortened the usual leave-taking, which, in skilful hands, may be protracted to a length which I shudder to recall. I have some- times, when an active participant in these atrocious transactions, lingered in the hope of saying some- thing natural to my friend (feeling that he, too, was groping in the mazy labyrinths of his mind for a like expression), until I have felt that we ought to have been separated by a policeman. It is astonishing how far the most wretched joke will go in these emergencies, and how it will, as it were, convulsively detach the two cohering particles. I have laughed (albeit hysterically) at some witticism under cover of which I escaped, that five minutes afterward I could not perceive possessed a grain of humor. I would advise any person who may fall into this pitiable strait, that, next to getting in the way of a passing dray and being forcibly discon- nected, a joke is the most efficacious. A foreign phrase often may be tried with success ; I have sometimes known Au revoir pronounced " 0-reveer," to have the effect (as it ought) of severing friends. But this is a harmless habit compared to a cer- tain reprehensible practice in which sundry feeble- 220 SIDEWALKINGS. minded young men indulge. I have been stopped in the street and enthusiastically accosted by some fashionable young man, who has engaged me in animated conversation, until (quite accidentally) a certain young belle would pass, whom my friend, of course, saluted. As, by a strange coincidence, this occurred several times in the course of the week, and as my young friend's conversational powers invariably flagged after the lady had passed, I am forced to believe that the deceitful young wretch actually used me as a conventional background to display the graces of his figure to the passing fair. When I detected the trick, of course I made a point of keeping my friend, by strategic movements, with his back toward the young lady, while I bowed to her myself. Since then, I understand that it is a regular custom of these callow youths to encounter each other, with simulated cordiality, some paces in front of the young lady they wish to recognize, so that she cannot possibly cut them. The cor- ner of California and Montgomery streets is their favorite haunt. They may be easily detected by their furtive expression of eye, which betrays them even in the height of their apparent en- thusiasm. Speaking of eyes, you can generally settle the average gentility and good breeding of the people you meet in the street by the manner in which they return or evade your glance. " A gentleman," SIDEWALKINGS. 221 as the Autocrat has wisely said, is always " calm- eyed." There is just enough abstraction in his look to denote his individual power and the ca- pacity for self-contemplation, while he is, neverthe- less, quietly and unobtrusively observant. He does not seek, neither does he evade your observation. Snobs and prigs do the first ; bashful and mean people do the second. There are some men who, on meeting your eye, immediately assume an ex- pression quite different from the one which they previously wore, which, whether an improvement or not, suggests a disagreeable self-consciousness. Perhaps they fancy they are betraying something. There are others who return your look with unnecessary defiance, which suggests a like con- cealment. The symptoms of the eye are generally borne out in the figure. A man is very apt to betray his character by the manner in which he appropriates his part of the sidewalk. The man who resolutely keeps the middle of the pavement, and deliberately brushes against you, you may be certain would take the last piece of pie at the hotel table, and empty the cream-jug on its way to your cup. The man who sidles by you, keeping close to the houses, and selecting the easiest planks, manages to slip through life in some such way, and to evade its sternest duties. The awkward man, who gets in your way, and throws you back upon the man behind you, and so manages to derange the 222 SIDEWALKINGS. harmonious procession of an entire block, is very apt to do the same thing in political and social economy. The inquisitive man, who deliberately shortens his pace, so that he may participate in the confidence you impart to your companion, has an eye not unfamiliar to keyholes, and probably opens his wife's letters. The loud man, who talks with the intention of being overheard, is the same egotist elsewhere. If there was any justice in lago's sneer, that there were some " so weak of soul that in their sleep they mutter their affairs," what shall be said of the walking revery-babblers ? I have met men who were evidently rolling over, " like a sweet morsel under the tongue," some speech they were about to make, and others who were framing curses. I remember once that, while walking be- hind an apparently respectable old gentleman, he suddenly uttered the exclamation, "Well, I'm d d ! " and then quietly resumed his usual man- ner. Whether he had at that moment become impressed with a truly orthodox disbelief in his ultimate salvation, or whether he was simply indignant, I never could tell. I have been hesitating for some time to speak or if indeed to speak at all of that lovely and critic- defying sex, whose bright eyes and voluble prattle have not been without effect in tempering the aus- terities of my peripatetic musing. I have been humbly thankful that I have been permitted to SIDEWALKINGS. 223 view their bright dresses and those charming bon- nets which seem to have brought the birds and flow- ers of spring within the dreary limits of the town, and - 1 trust I shall not be deemed unkind in saying it my pleasure was not lessened by the reflection that the display, to me at least, was inexpensive. I have walked in and I fear occasionally on the train of the loveliest of her sex who has preceded me. If I have sometimes wondered why two young ladies always began to talk vivaciously on the approach of any good-looking fellow ; if I have wondered whether the mirror-like qualities of all large show-windows at all influenced their curiosity regarding silks and calicoes ; if I have ever enter- tained the same ungentlemanly thought concerning daguerreotype show-cases ; if I have ever misin- terpreted the eye-shot which has passed between two pretty women more searching, exhaustive and sincere than any of our feeble ogles ; if I have ever committed these or any other impertinences, it was only to retire beaten and discomfited, and to confess that masculine philosophy, while it soars beyond Sirius and the ring of Saturn, stops short at the steel periphery which encompasses the simplest school-girl A BOYS' DOG. AS I lift my eyes from the paper, I observe a dog lying on the steps of the opposite house. His attitude might induce passers-by and casual observers to believe him to belong to the peo- ple who live there, and to accord to him a certain standing position. I have seen visitors pat him, under the impression that they were doing an act of courtesy to his master, he lending himself to the fraud by hypocritical contortions of the body. But his attitude is one of deceit and simulation. He has neither master nor habitation. He is a very Pariah and outcast ; in brief, " A Boys' Dog." There is a degree of hopeless and irreclaimable vagabondage expressed in this epithet, which may not be generally understood. Only those who are familiar with the roving nature and predatory instincts of boys in large cities will appreciate it? strength. It is the lowest step in the social scale to which a respectable canine can descend. A blind man's dog, or the companion of a knife- grinder, is comparatively elevated. He at least owes allegiance to but one master. But the Boys* Dog is the thrall of an entire juvenile community, A BOYS' DOG. 225 obedient to the beck and call of the smallest imp in the neighborhood, attached to and serving not the individual boy so much as the boy element and principle. In their active sports, in small thefts, raids into back-yards, window-breaking, and other minor juvenile recreations, he is a full parti- cipant. In this way he is the reflection of the wickedness of many masters, without possessing the virtues or peculiarities of any particular one. If leading a " dog's life " be considered a pe- culiar phase of human misery, the life of a Boys' Dog is still more infelicitous. He is associated in all schemes of wrong-doing, and unless he be a dog of experience is always the scapegoat. He never shares the booty of his associates. In absence of legitimate amusement, he is considered fair game for his companions; and I have seen him reduced to the ignominy of having a tin kettle tied to his tail. His ears and tail have generally been docked to suit the caprice of the unholy band of which he is a member ; and if he has any spunk, he is invariably pitted against larger dogs in mortal combat. He is poorly fed and hourly abused ; the reputation of his associates debars him from out- side sympathies ; and once a Boys' Dog, he cannot change his condition. He is not unfrequently sold into slavery by his inhuman companions. I re- member once to have been accosted on my own doorsteps by a couple of precocious youths, who 226 A BOYS' DOG. offered to sell me a dog which they were then leading by a rope. The price was extremely mod- erate, being, if I remember rightly, but fifty cents. Imagining the unfortunate animal to have lately fallen into their wicked hands, and anxious to reclaim him from the degradation of becoming a Boys' Dog, I was about to conclude the bargain, when I saw a look of intelligence pass between the dog and his two masters. I promptly stopped all negotiation, and drove the youthful swindlers and their four-footed accomplice from my presence. The whole thing was perfectly plain. The dog was an old, experienced, and hardened Boys' Dog, and I was perfectly satisfied that he would run away and rejoin his old companions at the first opportunity. This I afterwards learned he did, on the occasion of a kind-hearted but unsophisticated neighbor buying him ; and a few days ago I saw him exposed for sale by those two Arcadians, in another neighborhood, having been bought and paid for half a dozen times in this. But, it will be asked, if the life of a Boys' Dog is so unhappy, why do they enter upon such an un- enviable situation, and why do they not dissolve the partnership when it becomes unpleasant ? I will confess that I have been often puzzled by this question. For some time I could not make up my mind whether their unholy alliance was the result of the influence of the dog on the boy, or vice A BOYS' DOG. 227 and which was the weakest and most impressible nature. I am satisfied now that, at first, the dog is undoubtedly influenced by the boy, and, as it were, is led, while yet a puppy, from the paths of canine rectitude by artful and designing boys. As he grows older and more experienced in the ways of his Bohemian friends, he becomes a willing decoy, and takes delight in leading boyish inno- cence astray, in beguiling children to play truant, and thus revenges his own degradation on the boy nature generally. It is in this relation, and in regard to certain unhallowed practices I have de- tected him in, that I deem it proper to expose to parents and guardians the danger to which their offspring is exposed by the Boys' Dog. The Boys' Dog lays his plans artfully. He be- gins to influence the youthful mind by suggestions of unrestrained freedom and frolic which he offers in his own person. He will lie in wait at the garden gate for a very small boy, and endeavor to lure him outside its sacred precincts, by gambolling and jumping a little beyond the inclosure. He will set off on an imaginary chase and run around the block in a perfectly frantic manner, and then return, breathless, to his former position, with a look as of one who would say, "There, you see how perfectly easy it 's done ! " Should the un- happy infant find it difficult to resist the effect which this glimpse of the area of freedom pro- 228 A BOYS' DOG. duces, and step beyond the gate, from that moment he is utterly demoralized. The Boys' Dog owns him body and souL Straightway he is led by the deceitful brute into the unhallowed circle of his Bohemian masters. Sometimes the unfortunate boy, if he be very small, turns up eventually at the station-house as a lost child. Whenever I meet a stray boy in the street looking utterly be- wildered and astonished, I generally find a Boys' Dog lurking on the corner. When I read the ad- vertisements of lost children, I always add men- tally to the description, " was last seen in company with a Boys' Dog." Nor is his influence wholly confined to small boys. I have seen him waiting patiently for larger boys on the way to school, and by artful and sophistical practices inducing them to play truant. I have seen him lying at the school-house door, with the intention of enticing the children on their way home to distant and re- mote localities. He has led many an unsuspecting boy to the wharves and quays by assuming the character of a water-dog, which he was not, and again has induced others to go with him on a gun- ning excursion by pretending to be a sporting dog, in which quality he was knowingly deficient. Un- scrupulous, hypocritical, and deceitful, he has won many children's hearts by answering to any name they might call him, attaching himself to their persons until they got into trouble, and deserting A BOYS' DOG. 229 them at the very moment they most needed his assistance. I have seen him rob small school-boys of their dinners by pretending to knock them down by accident ; and have seen larger boys in turn dispossess him of his ill-gotten booty for their own private gratification. From being a tool, he has grown to be an accomplice ; through much imposition, he has learned to impose on others ; in his best character, he is simply a vagabond's vaga- bond. I could find it in my heart to pity him, as he lies there through the long summer afternoon, en- joying brief intervals of tranquillity and rest which he surreptitiously snatches from a stranger's door- step. For a shrill whistle is heard in the streets, the boys are coming home from school, and he is startled from his dreams by a deftly thrown potato, which hits him on the head, and awakens him to the stern reality that he is now and forever a Boys' Dog. CHAEITABLE EEMINISCENCES. A S the new Benevolent Association has had the -*V effect of withdrawing beggars from the streets, and as Professional Mendicancy bids fair to be pres- ently ranked with the Lost Arts, to preserve some records of this noble branch of industry, I have endeavored to recall certain traits and peculiarities of individual members of the order whom I have known, and whose forms I now miss from their ac- customed haunts. In so doing, I confess to feeling a certain regret at this decay of Professional Beg- ging, for I hold the theory that mankind are bettered by the occasional spectacle of misery, whether simulated or not, on the same principle that our sympathies are enlarged by the fictitious woes of the Drama, though we know that the actors are insin- cere. Perhaps I am indiscreet in saying that I have rewarded the artfully dressed and well-acted per- formance of the begging impostor through the same impulse that impelled me to expend a dollar in witnessing the counterfeited sorrows of poor " Trip- let," as represented by Charles Wheatleigh. I did not quarrel with deceit in either case. My coin was given in recognition of the sentiment; CHARITABLE REMINISCENCES. 231 the moral responsibility rested with the per- former. The principal figure that I now mourn over as lost forever is one that may have been familiar to many of my readers. It was that of a dark-com- plexioned, black-eyed, foreign-looking woman, who supported in her arms a sickly baby. As a patho- logical phenomenon the baby was especially inter- esting, having presented the Hippocratic face and other symptoms of immediate dissolution, without change, for the past three years. The woman never verbally solicited alms. Her appearance was always mute, mysterious, and sudden. She made no other appeal than that which the dramatic tableau of herself and baby suggested, with an out- stretched hand and deprecating eye sometimes superadded. She usually stood in my doorway, silent and patient, intimating her presence, if my attention were preoccupied, by a slight cough from her baby, whom I shall always believe had its part to play in this little pantomime, and generally obeyed a secret signal from the maternal hand. It was useless for me to refuse alms, to plead business, or affect inattention. She never moved ; her position was always taken with an appearance of latent capabilities of endurance and experience in waiting which never failed to impress me with awe and the futility of any hope of escape. There was also some- thing in the reproachful expression of her eye which 232 CHARITABLE REMINISCENCES. plainly said to me, as I bent over my paper, '' Go on with your mock sentimentalities and simulated pathos ; portray the imaginary sufferings of your bodiless creations, spread your thin web of philos- ophy, but look you, sir, here is real misery ! Here is genuine suffering ! " I confess that this artful suggestion usually brought me down. In three minutes after she had thus invested the citadel I usually surrendered at discretion, without a gun having been fired on either side. She received my offering and retired as mutely and mysteriously as she had appeared. Perhaps it was well for me that she did not know her strength. I might have been forced, had this terrible woman been con- scious of her real power, to have borrowed money which I could not pay, or have forged a check to purchase immunity from her awful presence. I hardly know if I make myself understood, and yet I am unable to define my meaning more clearly when I say that there was something in her glance which suggested to the person appealed to, when in the presence of others, a certain idea of some individual responsibility for her sufferings, which, while it never failed to affect him with a mingled sense of ludicrousness and terror, always made an impression of unqualified gravity on the minds of the bystanders. As she has disappeared within the last month, I imagine that she has found a home at the San Francisco Benevolent Association, CHARITABLE REMINISCENCES. 233 at least, I cannot conceive of any charity, however guarded by wholesome checks or sharp- eyed almoners, that could resist that mute appa- rition. I should like to go there and inquire about her, and also learn if the baby was convalescent or dead, but I am satisfied that she would rise up, a mute and reproachful appeal, so personal in its artful suggestions, that it would end in the Asso- ciation instantly transferring her to my hands. My next familiar mendicant was a vender of printed ballads. These effusions were so stale, atrocious, and unsalable in their character, that it was easy to detect that hypocrisy, which in imitation of more ambitious beggary veiled the real eleemosynary appeal under the thin pretext of offering an equivalent. This beggar an aged female in a rusty bonnet I unconsciously precip- itated upon myself in an evil moment. On our first meeting, while distractedly turning over the ballads, I came upon a certain production entitled, I think, " The Fire Zouave," and was struck with the truly patriotic and American manner in which " Zouave " was made to rhyme in different stanzas with " grave, brave, save, and glaive." As I pur- chased it at once, with a gratified expression of countenance, it soon became evident that the act was misconstrued by my poor friend, who from that moment never ceased to haunt me. Perhaps in the whole course of her precarious existence 234 CHARITABLE REMINISCENCES. she had never before sold a ballad. My solitary purchase evidently made me, in her eyes, a cus- tomer, and in a measure exalted her vocation ; so thereafter she regularly used to look in at my door, with a chirping, confident air, and the ques- tion, " Any more songs to-day ? " as though it were some necessary article of daily consumption. I never took any more of her songs, although that circumstance did not shake her faith in my literary taste; my abstinence from this exciting mental pabulum being probably ascribed to charitable motives. She was finally absorbed by the S. F. B. A., who have probably made a proper disposi- tion of her effects. She was a little old woman, of Celtic origin, predisposed to melancholy, and looking as if she had read most of her ballads. My next reminiscence takes the shape of a very seedy individual, who had, for three or four years, been vainly attempting to get back to his relatives in Illinois, where sympathizing friends and a com- fortable almshouse awaited him. Only a few dol- lars, he informed me, the uncontributed remain- der of the amount necessary to purchase a steerage ticket, stood in his way. These last few dollars seem to have been most difficult to get, and he had wandered about, a sort of antithetical Flying Dutchman, forever putting to sea, yet never getting away from shore. He was a " 49-er," and had re- cently been blown up in a tunnel, or had fallen CHARITABLE REMINISCENCES. 235 down a shaft, I forget which. This sad accident obliged him to use large quantities of whiskey as a liniment, which, he informed me, occasioned the mild fragrance which his garments exhaled. Though belonging to the same class, he was not to be confounded with the unfortunate miner who could not get back to his claim without pecuniary assistance, or the desolate Italian, who hopelessly handed you a document in a foreign language, very much bethumbed and illegible, which, in your ignorance of the tongue, you could n't help suspi- ciously feeling might have been a price current, but which you could see was proffered as an excuse for alms. Indeed, whenever any stranger handed me, without speaking, an open document, which bore the marks of having been carried in the greasy lining of a hat, I always felt safe in giving him a quarter and dismissing him without further ques- tioning. I always noticed that these circular letters, when written in the vernacular, were remarkable for their beautiful caligraphy and grammatical in- accuracy, and that they all seem to have been writ- ten by the same hand. Perhaps indigence exer- cises a peculiar and equal effect upon the hand- writing. I recall a few occasional mendicants whose faces were less familiar. One afternoon a most extraor- dinary Irishman, with a black eye, a bruised hat, and other traces of past enjoyment, waited upon 236 CHARITABLE REMINISCENCES. me with a pitiful story of destitution and want, and concluded by requesting the usual trifle. I replied, with some severity, that if I gave him a dime he would probably spend it for drink " Be Gorra ! but you 're roight I wad that ! " he an- swered promptly. I was so much taken aback by this unexpected exhibition of frankness that I in- stantly handed over the dime. It seems that Truth had survived the wreck of his other virtues ; he did get drunk, and, impelled by a like conscientious sense of duty, exhibited himself to me in that state a few hours after, to show that my bounty had not been misapplied. In spite of the peculiar characters of these rem- iniscences, I cannot help feeling a certain regret at the decay of Professional Mendicancy. Perhaps it may be owing to a lingering trace of that youth- ful superstition which saw in all beggars a possible prince or fairy, and invested their calling with a mysterious awe. Perhaps it may be from a belief that there is something in the old-fashioned alms- givings and actual contact with misery that is wholesome for both donor and recipient, and that any system which interposes a third party between them is only putting on a thick glove, which, while it preserves us from contagion, absorbs and dead- ens the kindly pressure of our hand. It is a very pleasant thing to purchase relief from the annoy- ance and trouble of having to weigh the claims of CHARITABLE REMINISCENCES. 237 an afflicted neighbor. As I turn over these printed tickets, which the courtesy of the San Francisco Benevolent Association has by a slight stretch of the imagination in supposing that any sane unfortunate might rashly seek relief from a news- paper office conveyed to these editorial hands, I cannot help wondering whether, when in our last extremity we come to draw upon the Immeasurable Bounty, it will be necessary to present a ticket. * SEEING THE STEAMEK OFF.** I HAVE sometimes thought, while watching the departure of an Eastern steamer, that the act of parting from friends so generally one of bit- terness and despondency is made by an ingenious Californian custom to yield a pleasurable excite- ment. This luxury of leave-taking, in which most Californians indulge, is often protracted to the hauling in of the gang-plank. Those last words, injunctions, promises, and embraces, which are mournful and depressing perhaps in that privacy demanded on other occasions, are here, by reason of their very publicity, of an edifying and exhilarat- ing character. A parting kiss, blown from the deck of a steamer into a miscellaneous crowd, of course loses much of that sacred solemnity with which foolish superstition is apt to invest it. A broad- side of endearing epithets, even when properly aimed and apparently raking the whole wharf, is apt to be impotent and harmless. A husband who prefers to embrace his wife for the last time at the door of her stateroom, and finds himself the centre of an admiring group of unconcerned spectators, of course feels himself lifted above any feeling "SEEING THE STEAMER OFF." 239 save that of ludicrousness which the, situation sug- gests. The mother, parting from her offspring, should become a Roman matron under the like in- fluences ; the lover who takes leave of his sweet- heart is not apt to mar the general hilarity by any emotional folly. In fact, this system of delaying our parting sentiments until the last moment this removal of domestic scenery and incident to a public theatre may be said to be worthy of a stoical and democratic people, and is an event in our lives which may be shared with the humblest coal-passer or itinerant vender of oranges. It is a return to that classic out-of-door experience and mingling of public and domestic economy which so ennobled the straight-nosed Athenian. So universal is this desire to be present at the departure of any steamer that, aside from the regular crowd of loungers who make their appearance con- fessedly only to look on, there are others who take advantage of the slightest intimacy to go through the leave-taking formula. People whom you have quite forgotten, people to whom you have been lately introduced, suddenly and unexpectedly make their appearance and wring your hands with fervor. The friend, long estranged, forgives you nobly at the last moment, to take advantage of this glorious opportunity of " seeing you off." Your bootmaker, tailor, and hatter haply with no ulterior motives and unaccompanied by official friends visit you 240 "SEEING THE STEAMER OFF." with enthusiasm. You find great difficulty in de- taching your relatives and acquaintances from the trunks on which they resolutely seat themselves, up to the moment when the paddles are moving, and you are haunted continually by an ill-defined idea that they may be carried off, and foisted on you with the payment of their passage, which, under the circumstances, you could not refuse for the rest of the voyage. Your friends will make their appearance at the most inopportune moments, and from the most unexpected places, dangling from hawsers, climbing up paddle-boxes, and crawling through cabin windows at the immi- nent peri] of their lives. You are nervous and crushed by this added weight of responsibility. Should you be a stranger, you will find any number of people on board, who will cheerfully and at a venture take leave of you on the slightest advances made on your part. A friend of mine assures me that he once parted, with great enthu- siasm and cordiality, from a party of gentlemen, to him personally unknown, who had apparently mistaken his state-room. This party, evidently connected with some fire company, on comparing notes on the wharf, being somewhat dissatisfied with the result of their performances, afterward rendered my friend's position on the hurricane deck one of extreme peril and inconvenience, by reason of skilfully projected oranges and apples, "SEEING THE STEAMER OFF." 241 accompanied with some invective. Yet there is certainly something to interest us in the examina- tion of that cheerless damp closet, whose painted wooden walls no furniture or company can make habitable, wherein our friend is to spend so many vapid days and restless nights. The sight of these apartments, yclept state-rooms, Heaven knows why, except it be from their want of cosiness, is full of keen reminiscences to most Californians who have not outgrown the memories of that dreary interval when, in obedience to nature's wise compensations, homesickness was blotted out by sea-sickness, and both at last resolved into a cha- otic and distempered dream, whose details we now recognize. The steamer chair that we used to drag out upon the narrow strip of deck and doze in, over the pages of a well-thumbed novel ; the deck itself, of afternoons, redolent with the skins of oranges and bananas, of mornings, damp with salt-water and mopping; the netted bulwark, smelling of tar in the tropics, and fretted on the weather side with little saline crystals ; the vil- lanously compounded odors of victuals from the pantry, and oil from the machinery ; the young lady that we used to flirt with, and with whom we shared our last novel, adorned with marginal annotations ; our own chum ; our own bore ; the man who was never sea-sick ; the two events of the day, breakfast and dinner, and the dreary in- 11 p 242 "SEEING THE STEAMER OFF." terval between ; the tremendous importance giver to trifling events and trifling people ; the young lady who kept a journal ; the newspaper, published on board, filled with mild pleasantries and imper- tinences, elsewhere unendurable ; the young lady who sang; the wealthy passenger; the popular passenger; the [Let us sit down for a moment until this qualm- ishness, which these associations and some infec- tious quality of the atmosphere seem to produce, has passed away. What becomes of our steamer friends ? Why are we now so apathetic about them ? Why is it that we drift away from them eo unconcernedly, forgetting even their names and faces ? Why, when we do remember them, do we look at them so suspiciously, with an undefined idea that, in the unrestrained freedom of the voy- age, they became possessed of some confidence and knowledge of our weaknesses that we never should have imparted ? Did we make any such confes- sions ? Perish the thought. The popular man, however, is not now so popular. We have heard finer voices than that of the young lady who sang so sweetly. Our chum's fascinating qualities, some- how, have deteriorated on land ; so have those of the fair young novel-reader, now the wife of an honest miner in Virginia City.] The passenger who made so many trips, and exhibited a reckless familiarity with the officers ; "SEEING THE STEAMER OFF." 243 the officers themselves, now so modest and unde- monstrative, a few hours later so all-powerful and important, these are among the reminiscences of most Californians, and these are to be remem- bered among the experiences of our friend. Yet he feels, as we all do, that his past experience will be of profit to him, and has already the confident air of an old voyager. As you stand on the wharf again, and listen to the cries of itinerant fruit venders, you wonder why it is that grief at parting and the unpleasant novelties of travel are supposed to be assuaged by oranges and apples, even at ruinously low prices. Perhaps it may be, figuratively, the last offering of the fruitful earth, as the passenger commits him- self to the bosom of the sterile and unproductive ocean. Even while the wheels are moving and the lines are cast off, some hardy apple merchant, mounted on the top of a pile, concludes a trade with a steerage passenger, twenty feet inter- posing between buyer and seller, and achieves, under these difficulties, the delivery of his wares. Handkerchiefs wave, hurried orders mingle with parting blessings, and the steamer is "off." As you turn your face cityward, and glance hurriedly around at the retreating crowd, you will see a reflection of your own wistful face in theirs, and read the solution of one of the problems which perplex the California enthusiast. Before you lies 244 "SEEING THE STEAMER OFF." San Francisco, with her hard angular outlines, her brisk, invigorating breezes, her bright, but unsym- pathetic sunshine, her restless and energetic pop- ulation; behind you fades the recollection of changeful, but honest skies ; of extremes of heat and cold, modified and made enjoyable through social and physical laws, of pastoral landscapes, of accessible Nature in her kindliest forms, of in- herited virtues, of long-tested customs and hab- its, of old friends and old faces, in a word - of HOME I iraiGHBOKHOODS I HAVE MOVED FKOM. A BAY-WINDOW once settled the choice of my house and compensated for many of its in- conveniences. When the chimney smoked, or the doors alternately shrunk and swelled, resisting any forcible attempt to open them, dr opening of them- selves with ghostly deliberation, or when suspicious blotches appeared on the ceiling in rainy weather, there was always the bay-window to turn to for comfort. And the view was a fine one. Alcatraz, Lime Point, Fort Point, and Saucelito were plain- ly visible over a restless expanse of water that changed continually, glittering in the sunlight, darkening in rocky shadow, or sweeping in mimic waves on a miniature beach below. Although at first the bay-window was supposed to be sacred to myself and my writing materials, in obedience to some organic law, it by and by became a general lounging-place. A rocking-chair and crochet basket one day found their way there. Then the baby invaded its recesses, fortifying him- self behind intrenchments of colored worsteds and spools of cotton, from which he was only dislodged 246 NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. by concerted assault, and carried lamenting into captivity. A subtle glamour crept over all who came within its influence. To apply one's self to serious work there was an absurdity. An incom- ing ship, a gleam on the water, a cloud linger- ing about Tamalpais, were enough to distract the attention. Eeading or writing, the bay-window was always showing something to be looked at. Unfortunately, these views were not always pleas- ant, but the window gave equal prominence and importance to all, without respect to quality. The landscape in the vicinity was unimproved, but not rural. The adjacent lots had apparently just given up bearing scrub-oaks, but had not seriously taken to bricks and mortar. In one direction the vista was closed by the Home of the Inebriates, not in itself a cheerful-looking building, and, as the apparent terminus of a ramble in a certain direction, having all the effect of a moral lesson. To a certain extent, however, this building was an imposition. The enthusiastic members of my family, who confidently expected to see its inmates hilariously disporting themselves at its windows in the different stages of inebriation por- trayed by the late W. E. Burton, were much disap- pointed. The Home was reticent of its secrets. The County Hospital, also in range of the bay- window, showed much more animation. At certain hours of the day convalescents passed in NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. 247 review before the window on their way to an air- ing. This spectacle was the still more depressing from a singular lack of sociability that appeared to prevail among them. Each man was encompassed by the impenetrable atmosphere of his own pecu- liar suffering. They did not talk or walk together. From the window I have seen half a dozen sunning themselves against a wall within a few feet of each other, to all appearance utterly oblivious of the fact. Had they but quarrelled or fought, any- thing would have been better than this horrible apathy. The lower end of the street on which the bay- window was situate, opened invitingly from a pop- ular thoroughfare ; and after beckoning the un- wary stranger into its recesses, ended unexpectedly at a frightful precipice. On Sundays, when the travel North-Beach wards was considerable, the bay- window delighted in the spectacle afforded by un- happy pedestrians who were seduced into taking this street as a short-cut somewhere else. It was amusing to notice how these people invariably, on coming to the precipice, glanced upward to the bay-window and endeavored to assume a careless air before they retraced their steps, whistling os- tentatiously, as if they had previously known all about it. One high-spirited young man in par- ticular, being incited thereto by a pair of mis- chievous bright eyes in an opposite window, 248 NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. actually descended this fearful precipice rather than return, to the great peril of life and limb, and manifest injury to his Sunday clothes. Dogs, goats, and horses constituted the fauna of our neighborhood. Possessing the lawless freedom of their normal condition, they still evinced a ten- der attachment to man and his habitations. Spir- ited steeds got up extempore races on the sidewalks, turning the street into a miniature Corso ; dogs wrangled in the areas ; while from the hill beside the house a goat browsed peacefully upon my wife's geraniums in the flower-pots of the second- story window. "We had a fine hail-storm last night," remarked a newly arrived neighbor, who had just moved into the adjoining house. It would have been a pity to set him right, as he was quite enthusiastic about the view and the general sanitary qualifications of the locality. So I did n't tell him anything about the goats who were in the habit of using his house as a stepping-stone to the adjoining hill But the locality was remarkably healthy. People who fell down the embankments found their wounds heal rapidly in the steady sea-breeze. Ventilation was complete and thorough. The opening of the bay-window produced a current of wholesome air which effectually removed all noxious exhalations, together with the curtains, the hinges of the back door, and the window-shutters. Owing to this NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. 249 peculiarity, some of my writings acquired an ex- tensive circulation and publicity in the neighbor- hood, which years in another locality might not have produced. Several articles of wearing apparel, which were mysteriously transposed from our clothes-line to that of an humble though honest neighbor, was undoubtedly the result of these sanitary winds. Yet in spite of these advantages I found it convenient in a few months to move. And the result whereof I shall communicate in other papers. II. "A HOUSE with a fine garden and extensive shrubbery, in a genteel neighborhood," were, if I remember rightly, the general terms of an adver- tisement which once decided my choice of a dwell- ing. I should add that this occurred at an early stage of my household experience, when I placed a trustful reliance in advertisements. I have since learned that the most truthful people are apt to indulge a slight vein of exaggeration in describing their own possessions, as though the mere circumstance of going into print were an excuse for a certain kind of mendacity. But I did not fully awaken to this fact until a much later period, when, in answering an advertisement which described a highly advantageous tenement, I was 250 NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. referred to the house I then occupied, and from which a thousand inconveniences were impelling me to move. The " fine garden " alluded to was not large, but contained several peculiarly shaped flower-beds. I was at first struck with the singular resemblance which they bore to the mutton-chops that are usually brought on the table at hotels and res- taurants, a resemblance the more striking from the sprigs of parsley which they produced freely. One plat in particular reminded me, not unpleas- antly, of a peculiar cake, known to my boyhood as " a bolivar." The owner of the property, however, who seemed to be a man of original aesthetic ideas, had banked up one of these beds with bright- colored sea-shells, so that in rainy weather it sug- gested an aquarium, and offered the elements of botanical and conchological study in pleasing jux- taposition. I have since thought that the fish- geraniums, which it also bore to a surprising ex- tent, were introduced originally from some such idea of consistency. But it was very pleasant, after dinner, to ramble up and down the gravelly paths (whose occasional boulders reminded me of the dry bed of a somewhat circuitous mining stream), smoking a cigar, or inhaling the rich aroma of fennel, or occasionally stopping to pluck one of the hollyhocks with which the garden abounded. The prolific qualities of this plant NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. 251 alarmed us greatly, for although, in the first trans- port of enthusiasm, my wife planted several differ- ent kinds of flower-seeds, nothing ever came up but hollyhocks ; and although, impelled by the same Jaudable impulse, I procured a copy of "Downing's Landscape Gardening," and a few gardening tools, and worked for several hours in the garden, my efforts were equally futile. The " extensive shrubbery " consisted of several dwarfed trees. One was a very weak young weep- ing willow, so very limp and maudlin, and so evi- dently bent on establishing its reputation, that it had to be tied up against the house for support. The dampness of that portion of the house was usually attributed to the presence of this lachry- mose shrub. And to these a couple of highly ob- jectionable trees, known, I think, by the name of Malva, which made an inordinate show of cheap blossoms that they were continually shedding, and one or two dwarf oaks, with scaly leaves and a generally spiteful exterior, and you have what was not inaptly termed by our Milesian handmaid "the scrubbery." The gentility of our neighbor suffered a blight from the unwholesome vicinity of McGinnis Court. This court was a kind of cul de sac that, on being penetrated, discovered a primitive people living in a state of barbarous freedom, and apparently spend- ing the greater portion of their lives on their own 252 NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. door-steps. Many of those details of the toilet which a popular prejudice restricts to the dressing- room in other localities, were here performed in the open court without fear and without reproach. Early in the week the court was hid in a choking, soapy mist, which arose from innumerable wash- tubs. This was followed in a day or two later by an extraordinary exhibition of wearing apparel of divers colors, fluttering on lines like a display of bunting on ship-board, and whose flapping in the breeze was like irregular discharges of musketry. It was evident also that the court exercised a de- moralizing influence over the whole neighborhood. A sanguine property-owner once put up a hand- some dwelling on the corner of our street, and lived therein ; but although he appeared frequently on his balcony, clad in a bright crimson dressing-gown, which made him look like a tropical bird of some rare and gorgeous species, he failed to woo any kindred dressing-gown to the vicinity, and only provoked opprobrious epithets from the gamins of the court. He moved away shortly after, and on going by the house one day, I noticed a bill of " Rooms to let, with board," posted conspicuously on the Corinthian columns of the porch. McGin- nis Court had triumphed. An interchange of civil- ities at once took place between the court and the servants' area of the palatial mansion, and some of the young men boarders exchange playful slang NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. 253 with the adolescent members of the court. From that moment we felt that our claims to gentility were forever abandoned. Yet, we enjoyed intervals of unalloyed content- ment. When the twilight toned down the hard outlines of the oaks, and made shadowy clumps and formless masses of other bushes, it was quite romantic to sit by the window and inhale the faint, sad odor of the fennel in the walks below. Per- haps this economical pleasure was much enhanced by a picture in my memory, whose faded colors the odor of this humble plant never failed to restore. So I often sat there of evenings and closed my eyes until the forms and benches of a country school- room came back to me, redolent with the incense of fennel covertly stowed away in my desk, and gazed again in silent rapture on the round, red cheeks and long black braids of that peerless crea- ture whose glance had often caused my cheeks to glow over the preternatural collar, which at that period of my boyhood it was my pride and privilege to wear. As I fear I may be often thought hyper- critical and censorious in these articles, I am will- ing to record this as one of the 'advantages of ou* new house, not mentioned in the advertisement, nor chargeable in the rent. May the present ten- ant, who is a stock-broker, and who impresses me with the idea of having always been called " Mr." from his cradle up, enjoy this advantage, and try sometimes to remember he was a boy ! 254 NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. m. SOON after I moved into Happy Valley I was struck with the remarkable infelicity of its title. Generous as Calif ornians are in the use of adjec- tives, this passed into the domain of irony. But I was inclined to think it sincere, the production of a weak but gushing mind, just as the feminine nomenclature of streets in the vicinity was evident- ly bestowed by one in habitual communion with "Friendship's Gifts" and " Affection's Offerings." Our house on Laura Matilda Street looked some- what like a toy Swiss Cottage, a style of archi- tecture so prevalent, that in walking down the block it was quite difficult to resist an impression of fresh glue and pine shavings. The few shade- trees might have belonged originally to those oval Christmas boxes which contain toy villages ; and even the people who sat by the windows had a stiffness that made them appear surprisingly unreal and artificial. A little dog belonging to a neighbor was known to the members of my household by the name of " Glass," from the general suggestion he gave of having been spun of that article. Per- haps I have somewhat exaggerated these illustra- tions of the dapper nicety of our neighborhood, a neatness and conciseness which I think have a general tendency to belittle, dwarf, and contract NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. 255 their objects. For we gradually fell into small ways and narrow ideas, and to some extent squared the round world outside to the correct angles of Laura Matilda Street. One reason for this insincere quality may have been the fact that the very foundations of our neighborhood were artificial. Laura Matilda Street was " made ground." The land, not yet quite reclaimed, was continually struggling with its old enemy. We had not been long in our new home before we found an older tenant, not yet wholly divested of his rights, who sometimes showed him- self in clammy perspiration on the basement walls, whose damp breath chilled our dining-room, and in the night struck a mortal chilliness through the house. There were no patent fastenings that could keep him out, no writ of unlawful detain- er that could eject him. In the winter his pres- ence was quite palpable ; he sapped the roots of the trees, he gurgled under the kitchen floor, he wrought an unwholesome greenness on the side of the veranda. In summer he became invisible, but still exercised a familiar influence over the locality. He planted little stitches in the small of the back, sought out old aches and weak joints, and spor- tively punched the tenants of the Swiss Cottage under the ribs. He inveigled little children to play with him, but his plays generally ended in scarlet fever, diphtheria, whooping-cough, and mea- 256 NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. sles. He sometimes followed strong men abotit until they sickened suddenly and took to their beds. But he kept the green-plants in good order, and was very fond of verdure, bestowing it even upon lath and plaster and soulless stone. He was generally invisible, as I have said ; but some time after I had moved, I saw him one morning from the hill stretching his gray wings over the valley, like some fabulous vampire, who had spent the night sucking the wholesome juices of the sleepers below, and was sluggish from the effects of his repast. It was then that I recognized him as Malaria, and knew his abode to be the dread Valley of the shadow of Miasma, miscalled the Happy Valley ! On week days there was a pleasant melody of boiler-making from the foundries, and the gas works in the vicinity sometimes lent a mild per- fume to the breeze. Our street was usually quiet, however, a footfall being sufficient to draw the inhabitants to their front windows, and to oblige an incautious trespasser to run the gauntlet of bat- teries of blue and black eyes on either side of the way. A carriage passing through it communicated a singular thrill to the floors, and caused the china on the dining-table to rattle. Although we were comparatively free from the prevailing winds, wandering gusts sometimes got bewildered and strayed unconsciously into our street, and finding an unencumbered field, incontinently set up a NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. 257 shriek of joy, and went gleefully to work on the clothes-lines and chimney-pots, and had a good time generally until they were quite exhausted. I have a very vivid picture in my memory of an organ-grinder who was at one time blown into the end of our street, and actually blown through it in spite of several ineffectual efforts to come to a stand before the different dwellings, but who was finally whirled out of the other extremity, still playing and vainly endeavoring to pursue his unhallowed calling. But these were noteworthy exceptions to the calm and even tenor of our life. There was contiguity but not much sociability in our neighborhood. From my bedroom window I could plainly distinguish the peculiar kind of victuals spread on my neighbor's dining-table ; while, on the other hand, he obtained an equally uninterrupted view of the mysteries of my toilet. Still, that " low vice, curiosity," was regulated by certain laws, and a kind of rude chivalry invested our observation. A pretty girl, whose bedroom window was the cynosure of neighboring eyes, was once brought under the focus of an opera-glass in the hands of one of our ingenuous youth ; but this act met such prompt and universal condemnation, as an unmanly advantage, from the lips of married men and bachelors who did n't own opera-glasses, that it was never repeated. With this brief sketch I conclude my record of 258 NEIGHBORHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM. the neighborhoods I have moved from. I have moved from many others since then, but they have generally presented features not dissimilar to the three I have endeavored to describe in these pages. I offer them as types containing the sa- lient peculiarities of all Let no inconsiderate reader rashly move on account of them. My experience has not been cheaply bought. From the nettle Change I have tried to pluck the flower Security. Draymen have grown rich at my ex- pense. House-agents have known me and were glad, and landlords have risen up to meet me from afar. The force of habit impels me still to consult all the bills I see in the streets, nor can the war tele- grams divert my first attention from the advertising columns of the daily papers. I repeat, let no man think I have disclosed the weaknesses of the neighborhood, nor rashly open that closet which contains the secret skeleton of his dwelling. My carpets have been altered to fit all sized odd- shaped apartments from parallelepiped to hexa- gons. Much of my furniture has been distributed among my former dwellings. These limbs have Btretched upon uncarpeted floors, or have been let down suddenly from imperfectly established bed- steads. I have dined in the parlor and slept in the back kitchen. Yet the result of these sacri- fices and trials may be briefly summed up in the statement that I am now on the eve of removal from my PRESENT NEIGHBORHOOD. MY SUBUKBAN EESIDENCE. I LIVE in the suburbs. My residence, to quote the pleasing fiction of the advertisement, " is within fifteen minutes' walk of the City Hall." Why the City Hall should be considered as an eligible terminus of anybody's walk, under any circumstances, I have not been able to determine. Never having walked from my residence to that place, I am unable to verify the assertion, though I may state as a purely abstract and separate prop- osition, that it takes me the better part of an hour to reach Montgomery Street. My selection of locality was a compromise be- tween my wife's desire to go into the country, and my own predilections for civic habitation. Like most compromises, it ended in retaining the objec- tionable features of both propositions ; I procured the inconveniences of the country without losing the discomforts of the city. I increased my dis- tance from the butcher and green-grocer, without approxinLdting to herds and kitchen-gardens. But I anticipate. Fresh air was to be the principal thing sought for. That there might be too much of this did 260 MY SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. not enter into my calculations. The first day I entered my residence, it blew ; the second day was windy ; the third, fresh, with a strong breeze stir- ring ; on the fourth, it blew ; on the fifth, there was a gale, which has continued to the present writing. That the air is fresh, the above statement suffi> ciently establishes. That it is bracing, I argue from the fact that I find it impossible to open the shutters on the windward side of the house. That it is healthy, I am also convinced, believing that there is no other force in Nature that could so buffet and ill-use a person without serious injury to him. Let me offer an instance. The path to my door crosses a slight eminence. The uncon- scious visitor, a little exhausted by the ascent and the general effects of the gentle gales which he has faced in approaching my hospitable mansion, relaxes his efforts, smooths his brow, and ap- proaches with a fascinating smile. Eash and too confident man ! The wind delivers a succession of rapid blows, and he is thrown back. He staggers up again, in the language of the P. R, "smiling and confident/' The wind now makes for a vul- nerable point, and gets his hat in chancery. All ceremony is now thrown away ; the luckless wretch seizes his hat with both hands, and charges madly at the front door. Inch by inch, the wind con- tests the ground; another struggle, and he stands MY SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. 261 upon the veranda. On such occasions I make it a point to open the door myself, with a calmness and serenity that shall offer a marked contrast to his feverish and excited air, and shall throw sus- picion of inebriety upon him. If he be inclined to timidity and bashfulness, during the best of the evening he is all too conscious of the disarrange- ment of his hair and cravat. If he is less sensi- tive, the result is often more distressing. A valued elderly friend once called upon me after undergo- ing a twofold struggle with the wind and a large Newfoundland dog (which I keep for reasons here- inafter stated), and not only his hat, but his wig, had suffered. He spent the evening with me, totally unconscious of the fact that his hair pre- sented the singular spectacle of having been parted diagonally from the right temple to the left ear. When ladies called, my wife preferred to receive them. They were generally hysterical, and often in tears. I remember, one Sunday, to have been startled by what appeared to be the balloon from Hayes Valley drifting rapidly past my conserva- tory, closely followed by the Newfoundland dog. I rushed to the front door, but was anticipated by my wife. A strange lady appeared at lunch, but the phenomenon remained otherwise unaccounted for. Egress from my residence is much more easy. My guests seldom " stand upon the order of their going, but go at once"; the Newfoundland dog 262 MY SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. playfully harassing their rear. I was standing one day, with my hand on the open hall door, in seri- ous conversation with the minister of the parish, when the back door was cautiously opened. The watchful breeze seized the opportunity, and charged through the defenceless passage. The front door closed violently in the middle of a sentence, pre- cipitating the reverend gentleman into the garden. The Newfoundland dog, with that sagacity for which his race is so distinguished, at once con- cluded that a personal collision had taken place between myself and visitor, and flew to my de- fence. The reverend gentleman never called again. The Newfoundland dog above alluded to was part of a system of protection which my suburban home once required. Eobberies were frequent in the neighborhood, and my only fowl fell a victim to the spoiler's art. One night I awoke, and found a man in my room. With singular delicacy and respect for the feelings of others, he had been care- ful not to awaken any of the sleepers, and retired upon my rising, without waiting for any suggestion. Touched by his delicacy, I forbore giving the alarm until after he had made good his retreat. I then wanted to go after a policeman, but my wife re- monstrated, as this would leave the house exposed. Eemembering the gentlemanly conduct of the bur- glar, I suggested the plan of following him and requesting him to give the alarm as he went in MY SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. 263 town. But this proposition was received with equal disfavor. The next day I procured a dog and a revolver. The former went off, but the lat- ter would n't. I then got a new dog and chained him, and a duelling pistol, with a hair-trigger. The result was so far satisfactory that neither could be approached with safety, and for some time I left them out, indifferently, during the night. But the chain one day gave way, and the dog, evidently having no other attachment to the house, took the opportunity to leave. His place was soon filled by the Newfoundland, whose fidel- ity and sagacity I have just recorded. Space is one of the desirable features of my suburban residence. I do not know the number of acres the grounds contain except from the inor- dinate quantity of hose required for irrigating. I perform daily, like some gentle shepherd, upon a quarter-inch pipe without any visible result, and have had serious thoughts of contracting with some disbanded fire company for their hose and equip- ments. It is quite a walk to the wood-house. Every day some new feature of the grounds is dis- covered. My youngest boy was one day missing for several hours. His head a peculiarly venerable and striking object was at last discovered just above the grass at some distance from the house. On examination he was found comfortably seated in a disused drain, in company with a silver spoon and 264 MY SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. a dead rat. On being removed from this locality he howled dismally and refused to be comforted. The view from my suburban residence is fine. Lone Mountain, with its white obelisks, is a sug- gestive if not cheering termination of the vista in one direction, while the old receiving vault of Yerba Buena Cemetery limits the view in another. Most of the funerals which take place pass my house. My children, with the charming imitative- ness that belongs to youth, have caught the spirit of these passing corteges, and reproduce in the back yard, with creditable skill, the salient features of the lugubrious procession. A doll, from whose features all traces of vitality and expression have been removed, represents the deceased. Yet un- fortunately I have been obliged to promise them more active participation in this ceremony at some future time, and I fear that they look anxiously forward with the glowing impatience of youth to the speedy removal of some one of my circle of friends. I am told that the eldest, with the unsophisticated frankness that belongs to his age, made a personal request to that effect to one of my acquaintances One singular result of the frequency of these funerals is the development of a critical and fas- tidious taste in such matters on the part of myself and family. If I may so express myself, without irreverence, we seldom turn out for anything less than six carriages. Any number over this is MY SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. 265 usually breathlessly announced by Bridget as, " Here 's another, mum, and a good long one." With these slight drawbacks my suburban res- idence is charming. To the serious poet, and writer of elegiac verses, the aspect of Nature, viewed from my veranda, is suggestive. I my- self have experienced moments when the "sad mechanic exercise " of verse would have been of infinite relief. The following stanzas, by a young friend who has been stopping with me for the benefit of his health, addressed to a duck that fre- quented a small pond in the vicinity of my man- sion, may be worthy of perusal. I think I have met the idea conveyed in the first verse in some of Hood's prose, but as my friend assures me that Hood was too conscientious to appropriate anything not his own, I conclude I am mis- taken. LINES TO A WATER-FOWL. (Intra Muros.) FOWL, that sing'st in yonder pool, Where the summer winds blow cool, Are there hydropathic cures For the ills that man endures ? Know'st thou Priessnitz ? What ? alack Hast no other word but " Quack ?" 266 MY SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. II. Cleopatra's barge might pale To the splendors of thy tail, Or the stately caravel Of some " high-pooped admiral." Never yet left such a wake E'en the navigator Drake 1 in. Dux thou art, and leader, too, Heeding not what 's " falling due," Knowing not of debt or dun, Thou dost heed no bill but one ; And, though scarce conceivable, That 's a bill Receivable, Made that thou thy stars mightst thank < Payable at the next bank. ON A YULGAE LITTLE BOY. THE subject of this article is at present lean- ing against a tree directly opposite to my window. He wears his cap with the wrong side be- fore, apparently for no other object than that which seems the most obvious, of showing more than the average quantity of very dirty face. His clothes, which are worn with a certain buttonless ease and freedom, display, in the different quality of their fruit-stains, a pleasing indication of the progress of the seasons. The nose of this vulgar little boy turns up at the end. I have noticed this in several other vulgar little boys, although it is by no means improbable that youthful vulgarity may be present without this facial peculiarity. Indeed, I am inclined to the belief that it is rather the result of early inquisitiveness of furtive pressures against window-panes, and of looking over fences, or of the habit of biting large apples hastily than an indication of scorn or juvenile superciliousness. The vulgar little boy is more remarkable for his obtrusive familiarity. It is my experience of his predisposition to this quality which has induced me to write this article. 268 ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY. My acquaintance with him began in a moment of weakness. I have an unfortunate predilection to cultivate originality in people, even when ac- companied by objectionable character. But, as I lack the firmness and skilfulness which usually accompany this taste in others, and enable them to drop acquaintances when troublesome, I have surrounded myself with divers unprofitable friends, among whom I count the vulgar little boy. The manner in which he first attracted my attention was purely accidental. He was playing in the street, and the driver of a passing vehicle cut at him, sportively, with his whip. The vulgar little boy rose to his feet and hurled after his tormentor a single sentence of invective. I refrain from re- peating it, for I feel that I could not do justice to it here. If I remember rightly, it conveyed, in a very few words, a reflection on the legitimacy of the driver's birth ; it hinted a suspicion of his father's integrity, and impugned the fair fame of his mother ; it suggested incompetency in his pres- ent position, personal uncleanliness, and evinced a sceptical doubt of his future salvation. As his youthful lips closed over the last syllable, the eyes of the vulgar little boy met mine. Some- thing in my look emboldened him to wink. I did not repel the action nor the complicity it implied. From that moment I fell into the power of the vulgar little boy, and he has never left me since. ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY. 269 He haunts me in the streets and by-ways. He accosts me, when in the company of friends, with repulsive freedom. He lingers about the gate of my dwelling to waylay me as I issue forth to business. Distance he overcomes by main strength of lungs, and he hails me from the next street. He met me at the theatre the other evening, and demanded my check with the air of a young foot- pad. I foolishly gave it to him, but re-entering some time after, and comfortably seating myself in the parquet, I was electrified by hearing my name called from the gallery with the addition of a playful adjective. It was the vulgar little boy. During the performance he projected spirally- twisted playbills in my direction, and indulged in a running commentary on the supernumeraries as they entered. To-day has evidently been a dull one with him. I observe he whistles the popular airs of the period with less shrillness and intensity. Providence, however, looks not unkindly on him, and delivers into his hands as it were two nice little boys who have at this moment innocently strayed into our street. They are pink and white children, and are dressed alike, and exhibit a certain air of neatness and refinement which is alone sufficient to awaken the antagonism of the vulgar little boy. A sigh of satisfaction breaks from his breast. What does he do? Any other boy would content himself 270 ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY. with simply knocking the hats off their respective heads, and so vent his superfluous vitality in a single act, besides precipitating the flight of the enemy. But there are aesthetic considerations not to be overlooked ; insult is to be added to the in- jury inflicted, and in the struggles of the victim some justification is to be sought for extreme measures. The two nice little boys perceive their danger and draw closer to each other. The vulgar little boy begins by irony. He affects to be over- powered by the magnificence of their costume. He addresses me (across the street and through the closed window), and requests information if there haply be a circus in the vicinity. He makes affec- tionate inquiries after the health of their parents. He expresses a fear of maternal anxiety in regard to their welfare. He offers to conduct them home. One nice little boy feebly retorts ; but alas ! his correct pronunciation, his grammatical exactitude, and his moderate epithets only provoke a scream of derision from the vulgar little boy, who now rapidly changes his tactics. Staggering under the weight of his vituperation, they fall easy victims to what he would call his " dexter mawley." A wail of lamentation goes up from our street. But as the subject of this article seems to require a more vigorous handling than I had purposed to give it, I find it necessary to abandon my present dignified position, seize my hat, open the front door, and try a stronger method. WAITING FOR THE SHIP. A FORT POINT IDYL. ABOUT an hour's ride from the Plaza there is a high bluff with the ocean breaking unin- terruptedly along its rocky beach. There are sev- eral cottages on the sands, which look as if they had recently been cast up by a heavy sea. The cultivated patch behind each tenement is fenced in by bamboos, broken spars, and driftwood. With its few green cabbages and turnip-tops, each gar- den looks something like an aquarium with the water turned off. In fact you would not be sur- prised to meet a merman digging among the pota- toes, or a mermaid milking a sea cow hard by. Near this place formerly arose a great semaphoric telegraph with its gaunt arms tossed up against the horizon. It has been replaced by an observatory, connected with an electric nerve to the heart of the great commercial city. From this point the incoming ships are signalled, and again checked off at the City Exchange. And while we are here looking for the expected steamer, let me tell you a story. Not long ago, a simple, hard-working mechanic 272 WAITING FOB THE SHIP. had amassed sufficient by diligent labor in the mines to send home for his wife and two children. He arrived in San Francisco a month before the time the ship was due, for he was a western man, and had made the overland journey and knew little of ships or seas or gales. He procured work in the city, but as the time approached he would go to the shipping office regularly every day. The month passed, but the ship came not ; then a month and a week, two weeks, three weeks, two months, and then a year. The rough, patient face, with soft lines over- lying its hard features, which had become a daily apparition at the shipping agent's, then disappeared. It turned up one afternoon at the observatory as the setting sun relieved the operator from his duties. There was something so childlike and simple in the few questions asked by this stranger, touching his business, that the operator spent some time to explain. When the mystery of signals and telegraphs was unfolded, the stranger had one more question to ask. "How long might a vessel be absent before they would give up expecting her ? " The operator could n't tell; it would depend on circumstances. Would it be a year? Yes, it might be a year, and vessels had been given up for lost after two years and had come home. The stranger put his rough hand on the operator's, and thanked him for his " troubil," and went away. WAITING FOR THE SHIP, 273 Still the ship came not. Stately clippers swept into the Gate, and merchantmen went by with colors flying, and the welcoming gun of the steamer often reverberated among the hills. Then the patient face, with the old resigned expression, but a brighter, wistful look in the eye, was regularly met on the crowded decks of the steamer as she disembarked her living freight. He may have had a dimly denned hope that the missing ones might yet come this way, as only another road over that strange unknown expanse. But he talked with ship captains and sailors, and even this last hope seemed to fail. When the careworn face and bright eyes were presented again at the observatory, the operator, busily engaged, could not spare time to answer foolish interrogatories, so he went away. But as night fell, he was seen sitting on the rocks with his face turned seaward, and was seated there all that night. When he became hopelessly insane, for that was what the physicians said made his eyes so bright and wistful, he was cared for by a fellow-craftsman who had known his troubles. He was allowed to indulge his fancy of going out to watch for the ship, in which she "and the children" were, at night when no one else was watching. He had made up his mind that the ship would come in at night. This, and the idea that he would relieve the operator, who would be tired with watching all 12* B 274 WAITING FOB THE SHIP. day, seemed to please him. So he went out and relieved the operator every night ! For two years the ships came and went. He was there to see the outward-bound clipper, and greet her on her return. He was known only by a few who frequented the place. When he was missed at last from his accustomed spot, a day or two elapsed before any alarm was felt. One Sun- day, a party of pleasure-seekers clambering over the rocks were attracted by the barking of a dog that had run on before them. When they came up they found a plainly dressed man lying there dead. There were a few papers in his pocket, chiefly slips cut from different journals of old marine memoranda, and his face was turned to- wards the distant sea. LEGENDS AND TALES. THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. THE cautious reader will detect a lack of au- thenticity in the following pages. I am not a cautious reader myself, yet I confess with some concern to the absence of much documentary evi- dence in support of the singular incident I am about to relate. Disjointed memoranda, the pro- ceedings of ayuntamientos and early departmental juntas, with other records of a primitive and superstitious people, have been my inadequate authorities. It is but just to state, however, that though this particular story lacks corroboration, in ransacking the Spanish archives of Upper Cali- fornia I have met with many more surprising and incredible stories, attested and supported to a de- gree that would have placed this legend beyond a cavil or doubt. I have, also, never lost faith in the legend myself, and in so doing have profited much from the examples of divers grant-claimants, who have often jostled me in their more practical researches, and who have my sincere sympathy at the scepticism of a modern hard-headed and prac- tical world. For many years after Father Junipero Serro first 278 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. rang his bell in the wilderness of Upper California, the spirit which animated that adventurous priest did not wane. The conversion of the heathen went on rapidly in the establishment of Missions throughout the land. So sedulously did the good Fathers set about their work, that around their isolated chapels there presently arose adobe huts, whose mud-plastered and savage tenants partook regularly of the provisions, and occasionally of the Sacrament, of their pious hosts. Nay, so great was their progress, that one zealous Padre is re- ported to have administered the Lord's Supper one Sabbath morning to " over three hundred heathen Salvages." It was not to be wondered that the Enemy of Souls, being greatly incensed thereat, and alarmed at his decreasing popularity, should have grievously tempted and embarrassed these Holy Fathers, as we shall presently see. Yet they were happy, peaceful days for Cali- fornia. The vagrant keels of prying Commerce had not as yet ruffled the lordly gravity of her bays. No torn and ragged gulch betrayed the sus- picion of golden treasure. The wild oats drooped idly in the morning heat, or wrestled with the afternoon breezes. Deer and antelope dotted the plain. The watercourses brawled in their familiar channels, nor dreamed of ever shifting their regular tide. The wonders of the Yosemite and Calaveras were as yet unrecorded. The Holy Fathers noted THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 279 little of the landscape beyond the barbaric prodi- gality with which the quick soil repaid the sowing. A new conversion, the advent of a Saint's day, or the baptism of an Indian baby, was at once the chronicle and marvel of their day. At this blissful epoch there lived at the Mission of San Pablo Father Jose* Antonio Haro, a worthy brother of the Society of Jesus. He was of tall and cadaverous aspect. A somewhat romantic his- tory had given a poetic interest to his lugubrious visage. While a youth, pursuing his studies at famous Salamanca, he had become enamored of the charms of Dona Carmen de Torrencevara, as that lady passed to her matutinal devotions. Untoward circumstances, hastened, perhaps, by a wealthier suitor, brought this amour to a disastrous issue; and Father Jose* entered a monastery, taking upon himself the vows of celibacy. It was here that his natural fervor and poetic enthusiasm conceived expression as a missionary. A longing to convert the uncivilized heathen succeeded his frivolous earthly passion, and a desire to explore and develop unknown fastnesses continually possessed him. In his flashing eye and sombre exterior was detected a singular commingling of the discreet Las Casas and the impetuous Balboa. Fired by this pious zeal, Father Jose went for- ward in the van of Christian pioneers. On reach- ing Mexico, he obtained authority to establish the 280 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. Mission of San Pablo. Like the good Junipero, accompanied only by an acolyte and muleteer, he unsaddled his mules in a dusky canon, and rang his bell in the wilderness. The savages a peaceful, inoffensive, and inferior race presently nocked around him. The nearest military post was far away, which contributed much to the security of these pious pilgrims, who found their open trust- fulness and amiability better fitted to repress hos- tility than the presence of an armed, suspicious, and brawling soldiery. So the good Father Jos6 said matins and prime, mass and vespers, in the heart of Sin and Heathenism, taking no heed to himself, but looking only to the welfare of the Holy Church. Conversions soon followed, and, on the 7th of July, 1760, the first Indian baby was baptized, an event which, as Father Jos piously records, "exceeds the richnesse of gold or pre- cious jewels or the chancing upon the Ophir of Solomon." I quote this incident as best suited to show the ingenious blending of poetry and piety which distinguished Father Jose*'s record. The Mission of San Pablo progressed and pros- pered until the pious founder thereof, like the in- fidel Alexander, might have wept that there were no more heathen worlds to conquer. But his ardent and enthusiastic spirit could not long brook an idleness that seemed begotten of sin; and one pleasant August morning, in the year of grace THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 281 1770, Father Jose* issued from the outer court of the Mission building, equipped to explore the field for new missionary labors. Nothing could exceed the quiet gravity and un- pretentiousness of the little cavalcade. First rode a stout muleteer, leading a pack- mule laden with the provisions of the party, together with a few cheap crucifixes and hawks' bells. After him came the devout Padre Jose*, bearing his breviary and cross, with a black serapa thrown around his shoulders; while on either side trotted a dusky convert, anxious to show a proper sense of their regeneration by acting as guides into the wilds of their heathen brethren. Their new condition was agreeably shown by the absence of the usual mud- plaster, which in their unconverted state they assumed to keep away vermin and cold. The morning was bright and propitious. Before their departure, mass had been said in the chapel, and the protection of St. Ignatius invoked against all contingent evils, but especially against bears, which, like the fiery dragons of old, seemed to cherish un- conquerable hostility to the Holy Church. As they wound through the canon, charming birds disported upon boughs and sprays, and sober quails piped from the alders ; the willowy water- courses gave a musical utterance, and the long grass whispered on the hillside. On entering the deeper defiles, above them towered dark green 282 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. masses of pine, and occasionally the madrono shook its bright scarlet berries. As they toiled up many a steep ascent, Father Jose* sometimes picked up fragments of scoria, which spake to his imagination of direful volcanoes and impending earthquakes. To the less scientific mind of the muleteer Ignacio they had even a more terrifying significance ; and he once or twice snuffed the air suspiciously, and declared that it smelt of sulphur. So the first day of their journey wore away, and at night they encamped without having met a sin- gle heathen face. It was on this night that the Enemy of Souls appeared to Ignacio in an appalling form. He had retired to a secluded part of the camp and had sunk upon his knees in prayerful meditation, when he looked up and perceived the Arch-Fiend in the likeness of a monstrous bear. The Evil One was seated on his hind legs immediately be- fore him, with his fore paws joined together just below his black muzzle. Wisely conceiving this remarkable attitude to be in mockery and derision of his devotions, the worthy muleteer was trans- ported with fury. Seizing an arquebuse, he in- stantly closed his eyes and fired. When he had recovered from the effects of the terrific discharge, the apparition had disappeared. Father Jose*, awak- ened by the report, reached the spot only in time to chide the muleteer for wasting powder and ball THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 283 in a contest with one whom a single ave would have been sufficient to utterly discomfit. What further reliance he placed on Ignacio's story is not known ; but, in commemoration of a worthy Californian custom, the place was called La Canada de la Tentacion del Pio Muletero, or " The Glen of the Temptation of the Pious Muleteer," a name which it retains to this day. The next morning the party, issuing from a nar- row gorge, came upon a long valley, sear and burnt with the shadeless heat. Its lower extremity was lost in a fading line of low hills, which, gathering might and volume toward the upper end of the valley, upheaved a stupendous bulwark against the breezy North. The peak of this awful spur was just touched by a fleecy cloud that shifted to and fro like a banneret. Father Jose* gazed at it with mingled awe and admiration. By a singu- lar coincidence, the muleteer Ignacio uttered the simple ejaculation " Diablo ! " As they penetrated the valley, they soon began to miss the agreeable life and companionable echoes of the canon they had quitted. Huge fissures in the parched soil seemed to gape as with thirsty mouths. A few squirrels darted from the earth, and disappeared as mysteriously before the jin- gling mules. A gray wolf trotted leisurely along just ahead. But whichever way Father Jose* turned, the mountain always asserted itself and 284 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. arrested his wandering eye. Out of the dry and arid valley, it seemed to spring into cooler and bracing life. Deep cavernous shadows dwelt along its base ; rocky fastnesses appeared midway of its elevation ; and on either side huge black hills diverged like massy roots from a central trunk. His lively fancy pictured these hills peopled with a majestic and intelligent race of savages ; and looking into futurity, he already saw a monstrous cross crowning the dome-like summit. Far differ- ent were the sensations of the muleteer, who saw in those awful solitudes only fiery dragons, colossal bears and break-neck trails. The converts, Con- cepcion and Incarnacion, trotting modestly beside the Padre, recognized, perhaps, some manifestation of their former weird mythology. At nightfall they reached the base of the moun- tain. Here Father Jos6 unpacked his mules, said vespers, and, formally ringing his bell, called upon the Gentiles within hearing to come and accept the Holy Faith. The echoes of the black frowning hills around him caught up the pious invitation, and repeated it at intervals ; but no Gentiles ap- peared that night. Nor were the devotions of the muleteer again disturbed, although he afterward asserted, that, when the Father's exhortation was ended, a mocking peal of laughter came from the mountain. Nothing daunted by these intimations of the near hostility of the Evil One, Father Jos<$ THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 285 declared his intention to ascend the mountain at early dawn ; and before the sun rose the next morning he was leading the way. The ascent was in many places difficult and dangerous. Huge fragments of rock often lay across the trail, and after a few hours' climbing they were forced to leave their mules in a little gully, and continue the ascent afoot. Unaccus- tomed to such exertion, Father Jose* often stopped to wipe the perspiration from his thin cheeks. As the day wore on, a strange silence oppressed them. Except the occasional pattering of a squirrel, or a rustling in the chimisal bushes, there were no signs of life. The half-human print of a bear's foot sometimes appeared before them, at which Igna- cio always crossed himself piously. The eye was sometimes cheated by a dripping from the rocks, which on closer inspection proved to be a resinous oily liquid with an abominable sulphurous smell. When they were within a short distance of the summit, the discreet Ignacio, selecting a sheltered nook for the camp, slipped aside and busied him- self in preparations for the evening, leaving the Holy Father to continue the ascent alone. Never was there a more thoughtless act of prudence, never a more imprudent piece of caution. With- out noticing the desertion, buried in pious reflec- tion, Father Jose* pushed mechanically on, and, reaching the summit, cast himself down and gazed upon the prospect. 286 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. Below him lay a succession of valleys opening into each other like gentle lakes, until they were lost to the southward. Westerly the distant range hid the bosky Canada which sheltered the mission of San Pablo. In the farther distance the Pacific Ocean stretched away, bearing a cloud of fog upon its bosom, which crept through the entrance of the bay, and rolled thickly between him and the north- eastward ; the same fog hid the base of mountain and the view beyond. Still, from time to time the fleecy veil parted, and timidly disclosed charming glimpses of mighty rivers, mountain defiles, and rolling plains, sear with ripened oats, and bathed in the glow of the setting sun. As Father Jos gazed, he was penetrated with a pious longing. Already his imagination, filled with enthusiastic conceptions, beheld all that vast expanse gathered under the mild sway of the Holy Faith, and peo- pled with zealous converts. Each little knoll in fancy became crowned with a chapel ; from each dark canon gleamed the white walls of a mission building. Growing bolder in his enthusiasm, and looking farther into futurity, he beheld a new Spain rising on these savage shores. He already saw the spires of stately cathedrals, the domes of palaces, vineyards, gardens, and groves. Convents, half hid among the hills, peeping from plantations of branching limes ; and long processions of chant- ing nuns wound through the defiles. So com- THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 287 pletely was the good Father's conception of the future confounded with the past, that even in their choral strain the well-remembered accents of Car- men struck his ear. He was busied in these fan- ciful imaginings, when suddenly over that extended prospect the faint, distant tolling of a bell rang sadly out and died. It was the Angelus. Father Jose* listened with superstitious exaltation. The mission of San Pablo was far away, and the sound must have been some miraculous omen. But never before, to his enthusiastic sense, did the sweet se- riousness of this angelic symbol come with such strange significance. With the last faint peal, his glowing fancy seemed to cool ; the fog closed in below him, and the good Father remembered he had not had his supper. He had risen and was wrapping his serapa around him, when he per- ceived for the first time that he was not alone. Nearly opposite, and where should have been the faithless Ignacio, a grave and decorous figure was seated. His appearance was that of an elderly hidalgo, dressed in mourning, with mustaches of iron-gray carefully waxed and twisted around a pair of lantern-jaws. The monstrous hat and pro- digious feather, the enormous ruff and exaggerated trunk-hose, contrasted with a frame shrivelled and wizened, all belonged to a century previous. Yet Father Jose* was not astonished. His adventurous life and poetic imagination, continually on the 288 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. lookout for the marvellous, gave him a certain advantage over the practical and material minded. He instantly detected the diabolical quality of his visitant, and was prepared. With equal coolness and courtesy he met the cavalier's obeisance. " I ask your pardon, Sir Priest," said the stran- ger, "for disturbing your meditations. Pleasant they must have been, and right fanciful, I ima- gine, when occasioned by so fair a prospect." " Worldly, perhaps, Sir Devil, for such I take you to be," said the Holy Father, as the stranger bowed his black plumes to the ground ; " worldly, perhaps ; for it hath pleased Heaven to retain even in our regenerated state much that pertaineth to the flesh, yet still, I trust, not without some spec- ulation for the welfare of the Holy Church. In dwelling upon yon fair expanse, mine eyes have been graciously opened with prophetic inspiration, and the promise of the heathen as an inheritance hath marvellously recurred to me. For there can be none lack such diligence in the True Faith, but may see that even the conversion of these pitiful salvages hath a meaning. As the blessed St. Ignatius discreetly observes," continued Father Jose*, clearing his throat and slightly elevating his voice, " ' the heathen is given to the warriors of Christ, even as the pearls of rare discovery which gladden the hearts of shipmen.' Nay, I might say " THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 289 But here the stranger, who had been wrinkling his brows and twisting his mustaches with well- bred patience, took advantage of an oratorical pause : " It grieves me, Sir Priest, to interrupt the cur- rent of your eloquence as discourteously as I have already broken your meditations ; but the day al- ready waneth to night. I have a matter of serious import to make with you, could I entreat your cautious consideration a few moments." Father Jose* hesitated. The temptation was great, and the prospect of acquiring some knowl- edge of the Great Enemy's plans not the least trifling object. And if the truth must be told, there was a certain decorum about the stranger that interested the Padre. Though well aware of the Protean shapes the Arch-Fiend could assume, and though free from the weaknesses of the flesh, Father Jose* was not above the temptations of the spirit. Had the Devil appeared, as in the case of the pious St. Anthony, in the likeness of a comely damsel, the good Father, with his certain experi- ence of the deceitful sex, would have whisked her away in the saying of a paternoster. But there was, added to the security of age, a grave sadness about the stranger, a thoughtful consciousness as of being at a great moral disadvantage, which at once decided him on a magnanimous course of conduct. 290 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. The stranger then proceeded to inform him, that he had been diligently observing the Holy Father's triumphs in the valley. That, far from being great- ly exercised thereat, he had been only grieved to see so enthusiastic and chivalrous an antagonist wasting his zeal in a hopeless work. For, he ob- served, the issue of the great battle of Good and Evil had been otherwise settled, as he would pres- ently show him. " It wants but a few moments of night," he continued, " and over this interval of twilight, as you know, I have been given complete control. Look to the West." As the Padre turned, the stranger took his enor- mous hat from his head, and waved it three times before him. At each sweep of the prodigious feather, the fog grew thinner, until it melted im- palpably away, and the former landscape returned, yet warm with the glowing sun. As Father Jose* gazed, a strain of martial music arose from the valley, and issuing from a deep cation, the good Father beheld a long cavalcade of gallant cavaliers, habited like his companion. As they swept down the plain, they were joined by like processions, that slowly defiled from every ravine and canon of the mysterious mountain. From time to time the peal of a trumpet swelled fitfully upon the breeze ; the cross of Santiago glittered, and the royal ban- ners of Castile and Aragon waved over the moving column. So they moved on solemnly toward the THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 291 sea, where, in the distance, Father Jose* saw stately caravels, bearing the same familiar banner, await- ing them. The good Padre gazed with conflicting emotions, and the serious voice of the stranger broke the silence. " Thou hast beheld, Sir Priest, the fading foot- prints of adventurous Castile. Thou hast seen the declining glory of old Spain, declining as yon- der brilliant sun. The sceptre she hath wrested from the heathen is fast dropping from her decrep- it and fleshless grasp. The children she hath fostered shall know her no longer. The soil she hath acquired shall be lost to her as irrevocably as she herself hath thrust the Moor from her own Granada." The stranger paused, and his voice seemed broken by emotion ; at the same time, Father Jose*, whose sympathizing heart yearned toward the de- parting banners, cried in poignant accents, " Farewell, ye gallant cavaliers and Christian sol- diers ! Farewell, thou, Nunes de Balboa ! thou, Alonzo de Ojeda ! and thou, most venerable Las Casas ! Farewell, and may Heaven prosper still the seed ye left behind!" Then turning to the stranger, Father Jose* be- held him gravely draw his pocket-handkerchief from the basket-hilt of his rapier, and apply it decorously to his eyes. "Pardon this weakness, Sir Priest," said the 292 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. cavalier, apologetically ; " but these worthy gentle- men were ancient friends of mine, and have done me many a delicate service, much more, per- chance, than these poor sables may signify," he added, with a grim gesture toward the mourning suit he wore. Father Jose* was too much preoccupied in reflec- tion to notice the equivocal nature of this tribute, and, after a few moments' silence, said, as if con- tinuing his thought, " But the seed they have planted shall thrive and prosper on this fruitful soil." As if answering the interrogatory, the stranger turned to the opposite direction, and, again waving his hat, said, in the same serious tone, "Look to the East!" The Father turned, and, as the fog broke away before the waving plume, he saw that the sun was rising. Issuing with its bright beams through the passes of the snowy mountains beyond, appeared a strange and motley crew. Instead of the dark and romantic visages of his last phantom train, the Father beheld with strange concern the blue eyes and flaxen hair of a Saxon race. In place of martial airs and musical utterance, there rose upon the ear a strange din of harsh gutturals and sin- gular sibilation. Instead of the decorous tread and stately mien of the cavaliers of the former vision, they came pushing, bustling, panting, and THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 293 swaggering. And as they passed, the good Father noticed that giant trees were prostrated as with the breath of a tornado, and the bowels of the earth were torn and rent as with a convulsion. And Father Jose* looked in vain for holy cross or Christian symbol ; there was but one that seemed an ensign, and he crossed himself with holy horror as he perceived it bore the effigy of a bear. " Who are these swaggering Ishmaelites ? " he asked, with something of asperity in his tone. The stranger was gravely silent. " What do they here, with neither cross nor holy symbol ? " he again demanded. " Have you the courage to see, Sir Priest ? " re- sponded the stranger, quietly. Father Jose* felt his crucifix, as a lonely traveller might his rapier, and assented. " Step under the shadow of my plume," said the stranger. Father Jose* stepped beside him, and they in- stantly sank through the earth. When he opened his eyes, which had remained closed in prayerful meditation during his rapid de- scent, he found himself in a vast vault, bespangled overhead with luminous points like the starred fir- mament. It was also lighted by a yellow glow that seemed to proceed from a mighty sea or lake that occupied the centre of the chamber. Around this subterranean sea dusky figures flitted, bearing 294 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. ladles filled with the yellow fluid, which they had replenished from its depths. From this lake diverging streams of the same mysterious flood penetrated like mighty rivers the cavernous dis- tance. As they walked by the banks of this glit- tering Styx, Father Jos6 perceived how the liquid stream at certain places became solid. The ground was strewn with glittering flakes. One of these the Padre picked up and curiously examined. It was virgin gold. An expression of discomfiture overcast the good Father's face at this discovery; but there was trace neither of malice nor satisfaction in the stran- ger's air, which was still of serious and fateful con- templation. When Father Jose* recovered his equanimity, he said, bitterly, " This, then, Sir Devil, is your work ! This is your deceitful lure for the weak souls of sinful na- tions ! So would you replace the Christian grace of holy Spain ! " " This is what must be," returned the stranger, gloomily. "But listen, Sir Priest. It lies with you to avert the issue for a time. Leave me here in peace. Go back to Castile, and take with you your bells, your images, and your missions. Con- tinue here, and you only precipitate results. Stay ! promise me you will do this, and you shall not lack that which will render your old age an orna- ment and a blessing " ; and the stranger motioned significantly to the lake. THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 295 It was here, the legend discreetly relates, that the Devil showed as he always shows sooner or later his cloven hoof. The worthy Padre, sorely per- plexed by his threefold vision, and, if the truth must be told, a little nettled at this wresting away of the glory of holy Spanish discovery, had shown some hesitation. But the unlucky bribe of the Enemy of Souls touched his Castilian spirit. Starting back in deep disgust, he brandished his crucifix in the face of the unmasked Fiend, and in a voice that made the dusky vault resound, cried, " Avaunt thee, Sathanas ! Diabolus, I defy thee ! What ! wouldst thou bribe me, me, a brother of the Sacred Society of the Holy Jesus, Licentiate of Cordova and Inquisitor of Guadalaxara ? Thinkest thou to buy me with thy sordid treasure ? Avaunt!" What might have been the issue of this rupture, and how complete might have been the triumph of the Holy Father over the Arch-Fiend, who was recoiling aghast at these sacred titles and the flourishing symbol, we can never know, for at that moment the crucifix slipped through his fingers. Scarcely had it touched the ground before Devil and Holy Father simultaneously cast themselves toward it. In the struggle they clinched, and the pious Jose*, who was as much the superior of his antagonist in bodily as in spiritual strength, was 296 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. about to treat the Great Adversary to a back somersault, when he suddenly felt the long nails of the stranger piercing his flesh. A new fear seized his heart, a numbing chillness crept through his body, and he struggled to free himself, but in vain. A strange roaring was in his ears ; the lake and cavern danced before his eyes and vanished ; and with a loud cry he sank senseless to the ground. When he recovered his consciousness he was aware of a gentle swaying motion of his body. He opened his eyes, and saw it was high noon, and that he was being carried in a litter through the valley. He felt stiff, and, looking down, perceived that his arm was tightly bandaged to his side. He closed his eyes and after a few words of thankful prayer, thought how miraculously he had been preserved, and made a vow of candlesticks to the blessed Saint Jose*. He then called in a faint voice, and presently the penitent Ignacio stood beside him. The joy the poor fellow felt at his patron's re- turning consciousness for some time choked his utterance. He could only ejaculate, "A miracle! Blessed Saint Jose*, he lives ! " and kiss the Padre's bandaged hand. Father Jose*, more intent on his last night's experience, waited for his emotion to subside, and asked where he had been found. " On the mountain, your Eeverence, but a few varas from where he attacked you." THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 297 " How ? you saw him then ? " asked the Padre, in unfeigned astonishment. " Saw him, your Keverence ! Mother of God, I should think I did ! And your Keverence shall see him too, if he ever comes again within range of Ignacio's arquebuse." "What mean you, Ignacio?" said the Padre, sitting bolt-upright in his litter. "Why, the bear, your Keverence, the bear, Holy Father, who attacked your worshipful person while you were meditating on the top of yonder mountain." " Ah ! " said the Holy Father, lying down again. " Chut, child ! I would be at peace." When he reached the Mission, he was tenderly cared for, and in a few weeks was enabled to re- sume those duties from which, as will be seen, not even the machinations of the Evil One could divert him. The news of his physical disaster spread over the country ; and a letter to the Bishop of Guadalaxara contained a confidential and detailed account of the good Father's spiritual temptation. But in some way the story leaked out ; and long after Jos6 was gathered to his fathers, his myste- rious encounter formed the theme of thrilling and whispered narrative. The mountain was generally shunned. It is true that Senor Joaquin Pedrillo afterward located a grant near the base of the mountain ; but as Senora Pedrillo was known to be 13* 298 THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. a termagant half-breed, the Senor was not sup posed to be over-fastidious. Such Is the Legend of Monte del Diablo. As I said before, it may seem to lack essential corrobora- tion. The discrepancy between the Father's narra- tive and the actual climax has given rise to some scepticism on the part of ingenious quibblers. All such I would simply refer to that part of the re- port of Senor Julio Serro, Sub-Prefect of San Pa- blo, before whom attest of the above was made. Touching this matter, the worthy Prefect observes, "That although the body of Father Jose* doth show evidence of grievous conflict in the flesh, yet that is no proof that the Enemy of Souls, who could assume the figure of a decorous elderly caballero, could not at the same time transform himself into a bear for his own vile purposes." THE ADVEOTUKE OF PADKE YICENTIO. A LEGEND OF SAN FRANCISCO. ONE pleasant New Year's Eve, about forty years ago, Padre Vicentio was slowly picking his way across the sand-hills from the Mission Dolores. As he climbed the crest of the ridge be- side Mission Creek, his broad, shining face might have been easily mistaken for the beneficent image of the rising moon, so bland was its smile and so indefinite its features. For the Padre was a man of notable reputation and character ; his ministra- tion at the mission of San Jose* had been marked with cordiality and unction ; he was adored by the simple-minded savages, and had succeeded in im- pressing his individuality so strongly upon them that the very children were said to have miracu- lously resembled him in feature. As the holy man reached the loneliest portion of the road, he naturally put spurs to his mule as if to quicken that decorous pace which the obe- dient animal had acquired through long experi- ence of its master's habits. The locality had an unfavorable reputation. Sailors deserters from whaleships had been seen lurking about the 300 THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO. outskirts of the town, and low scrub oaks which everywhere beset the trail might have easily con- cealed some desperate runaway. Besides these material obstructions, the devil, whose hostility to the church was well known, was said to sometimes haunt the vicinity in the likeness of a spectral whaler, who had met his death in a drunken bout, from a harpoon in the hands of a companion. The ghost of this unfortunate mariner was frequently observed sitting on the hill toward the dusk of evening, armed with his favorite weapon and a tub containing a coil of line, looking out for some be- lated traveller on whom to exercise his professional skill. It is related that the good Father Jose* Maria of the Mission Dolores had been twice at- tacked by this phantom sportsman ; that once, on returning from San Francisco, and panting with exertion from climbing the hill, he was startled by a stentorian cry of " There she blows ! " quickly followed by a hurtling harpoon, which buried it- self in the sand beside him ; that on another occa- sion he narrowly escaped destruction, his serapa having been transfixed by the diabolical harpoon and dragged away in triumph. Popular opinion seems to have been divided as to the reason for the devil's particular attention to Father Jose", some asserting that the extreme piety of the Padre excited the Evil One's animosity, and others that his adipose tendency simply rendered THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO. 301 him, from a professional view-point, a profitable capture. Had Father Vicentio been inclined to scoff at this apparition as a heretical innovation, there was still the story of Concepcion, the Demon Va- quero, whose terrible riata was fully as potent as the whaler's harpoon. Concepcion, when in the flesh, had been a celebrated herder of cattle and wild horses, and was reported to have chased the devil in the shape of a fleet pinto colt all the way from San Luis Obispo to San Francisco, vowing not to give up the chase until he had overtaken the disguised Arch-Enemy. This the devil prevented by resuming his own shape, but kept the unfortu- nate vaquero to the fulfilment of his rash vow ; and Concepcion still scoured the coast on a phantom steed, beguiling the monotony of his eternal pur- suit by lassoing travellers, dragging them at the heels of his unbroken mustang until they were eventually picked up, half-strangled, by the road- side. The Padre listened attentively for the tramp of this terrible rider. But no footfall broke the &tillness of the night ; even the hoofs of his own mule sank noiselessly in the shifting sand. Now and then a rabbit bounded lightly by him, or a quail ran into the bushes. The melancholy call of plover from the adjoining marshes of Mission Creek came to him so faintly and fitfully that it seemed almost a recollection of the past rather than a reality of the present. 302 THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO. To add to his discomposure one of those heavy sea-fogs peculiar to the locality began to drift across the hills and presently encompassed him. While endeavoring to evade its cold embraces, Padre Vicentio incautiously drove his heavy spurs into the flanks of his mule as that puzzled animal was hesitating on the brink of a steep declivity. Whether the poor beast was indignant at this novel outrage, or had been for some time reflecting on the evils of being priest-ridden, has not transpired ; enough that he suddenly threw up his heels, pitch- ing the reverend man over his head, and, having accomplished this feat, coolly dropped on his knees and tumbled after his rider. Over and over went the Padre, closely followed by his faithless mule. Luckily the little hollow which received the pair was of sand that yielded to the superincumbent weight, half burying them without further injury. For some moments the poor man lay motionless, vainly endeavoring to collect his scattered senses. A hand irreverently laid upon his collar, and a rough shake, assisted to recall his consciousness. As the Padre stag- gered to his feet he found himself confronted by a stranger. Seen dimly through the fog, and under circum- stances that to say the least were not prepossessing, the new-comer had an inexpressibly mysterious and brigand-like aspect. A long boat-cloak con- THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO. 303 cealed his figure, and a slouched hat hid his fea- tures, permitting only his eyes to glisten in the depths. With a deep groan the Padre slipped from the stranger's grasp and subsided into the soft sand again. " Gad's life ! " said the stranger, pettishly, " hast no more bones in thy fat carcass than a jelly- fish ? Lend a hand, here ! Yo, heave ho ! " and he dragged the Padre into an upright position. " Now, then, who and what art thou ? " The Padre could not help thinking that the question might have more properly been asked by himself ; but with an odd mixture of dignity and trepidation he began enumerating his different titles, which were by no means brief, and would have been alone sufficient to strike awe in the bosom of an ordinary adversary. The stranger irreverently broke in upon his formal phrases, and assuring him that a priest was the very person he was looking for, coolly replaced the old man's hat, which had tumbled off, and bade him accompany him at once on an errand of spiritual counsel to one who was even then lying in extremity. " To think," said the stranger, " that I should stumble upon the very man I was seeking ! Body of Bacchus ! but this is lucky ! Follow me quickly, for there is no time to lose." Like most easy natures the positive assertion of the stranger, and withal a certain authoritative air 304 THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO. of command, overcame what slight objections the Padre might have feebly nurtured during this re- markable interview. The spiritual invitation was one, also, that he dared not refuse ; not only that ; but it tended somewhat to remove the superstitious dread with which he had begun to regard the mys- terious stranger. But, following at a respectful dis- tance, the Padre could not help observing with a thrill of horror that the stranger's footsteps made no impression on the sand, and his figure seemed at times to blend and incorporate itself with the fog, until the holy man was obliged to wait for its reappearance. In one of these intervals of embarrassment he heard the ringing of the far-off Mission bell, proclaiming the hour of midnight. Scarcely had the last stroke died away before the announcement was taken up and repeated by a multitude of bells of all sizes, and the air was filled with the sound of striking clocks and the pealing of steeple chimes. The old man uttered a cry of alarm. The stranger sharply demanded the cause. " The bells ! did you not hear them ? " gasped Padre Vicentio. " Tush ! tush ! " answered the stranger, " thy fall hath set triple bob-majors ringing in thine ears. Come on ! " The Padre was only too glad to accept the ex- planation conveyed in this discourteous answer. But he was destined for another singular experi- ence. When they had reached the summit of the THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO. 305 eminence now known as Russian Hill, an excla- mation again burst from the Padre. The stranger turned to his companion with an impatient gesture ; but the Padre heeded him not. The view that burst upon his sight was such as might well have engrossed the attention of a more enthusiastic temperament. The fog had not yet reached the hill, and the long valleys and hillsides of the em- barcadero below were glittering with the light of a populous city. " Look ! " said the Padre, stretch- ing his hand over the spreading landscape. "Look, dost thou not see the stately squares and brilliant- ly lighted avenues of a mighty metropolis. Dost thou not see, as . it were, another firmament be- low ? " "Avast heaving, reverend man, and quit this folly," said the stranger, dragging the bewildered Padre after him. " Behold rather the stars knocked out of thy hollow noddle by the fall thou hast had. Prithee, get over thy visions and rhapsodies, for the time is wearing apace." The Padre humbly followed without another word. Descending the hill toward the north, the stranger leading the way, in a few moments the Padre detected the wash of waves, and presently his feet struck the firmer sand of the beach. Here the stranger paused, and the Padre perceived a boat lying in readiness hard by. As he stepped into the stern sheets, in obedience to the command 306 THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO. of his companion, he noticed that the rowers seemed to partake of the misty incorporeal texture of his companion, a similarity that became the more distressing when he perceived also that their oars in pulling together made no noise. The stranger, assuming the helm, guided the boat on quietly, while the fog, settling over the face of the water and closing around them, seemed to inter- pose a muffled wall between themselves and the rude jarring of the outer world. As they pushed further into this penetralia, the Padre listened anx- iously for the sound of creaking blocks and the rattling of cordage, but no vibration broke the veiled stillness or disturbed the warm breath of the fleecy fog. Only one incident occurred to break the monotony of their mysterious journey. A one-eyed rower, who sat in front of the Padre, catching the devout father's eye, immediately grinned such a ghastly smile, and winked his re- maining eye with such diabolical intensity of meaning that the Padre was constrained to utter a pious ejaculation, which had the disastrous effect of causing the marine Codes to " catch a crab," throwing his heels in the air and his head into the bottom of the boat. But even this accident did not disturb the gravity of the rest of the ghastly boat's crew. When, as it seemed to the Padre, ten minutes had elapsed, the outline of a large ship loomed up THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VICENTIO. 307 directly across their bow. Before he could utter the cry of warning that rose to his lips, or brace himself against the expected shock, the boat passed gently and noiselessly through the sides of the vessel, and the holy man found himself standing on the berth deck of what seemed to be an ancient caravel. The boat and boat's crew had vanished. Only his mysterious friend, the stranger, remained. By the light of a swinging lamp the Padre beheld him standing beside a hammock, whereon, apparently, lay the dying man to whom he had been so mys- teriously summoned. As the Padre, in obedience to a sign from his companion, stepped to the side of the sufferer, he feebly opened his eyes and thus addressed him : " Thou seest before thee, reverend father, a help- less mortal, struggling not only with the last ago- nies of the flesh, but beaten down and tossed with sore anguish of the spirit. It matters little when or how I became what thou now seest me. Enough that my life has been ungodly and sinful, and that my only hope of absolution lies in my imparting to thee a secret which is of vast importance to the holy Church, and affects greatly her power, wealth, and dominion on these shores. But the terms of this secret and the conditions of my abso- lution are peculiar. I have but five minutes to live. In that time I must receive the extreme unction of the Church." 308 THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VINCENTIO. " And thy secret ? " said the holy father. " Shall be told afterwards," answered the dying man. "Come, my time is short. Shrive me quickly." The Padre hesitated. "Couldst thou not telj this secret first?" " Impossible ! " said the dying man, with what seemed to the Padre a momentary gleam of tri- umph. Then, as his breath grew feebler, he called impatiently, " Shrive me ! shrive me ! " "Let me know at least what this secret con- cerns ? " suggested the Padre, insinuatingly. " Shrive me first," said the dying man. But the priest still hesitated, parleying with the sufferer until the ship's bell struck, when, with a triumphant, mocking laugh from the stranger, the vessel suddenly fell to pieces, amid the rushing of waters which at once involved the dying man, the priest, and the mysterious stranger. The Padre did not recover his consciousness until high noon the next day, when he found him- self lying in a little hollow between the Mission Hills, and his faithful mule a few paces from him, cropping the sparse herbage. The Padre made the best of his way home, but wisely abstained from narrating the facts mentioned above, until after the discovery of gold, when the whole of this veracious incident was related, with the assertion of the padre that the secret which was thus mys- THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VINCENTIO. 309 teriously snatched from his possession was nothing more than the discovery of gold, years since, by the runaway sailors from the expedition of Sir Francis Drake. THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. ON the northerly shore of San Francisco Bay, at a point where the Golden Gate broadens into the Pacific stands a bluff promontory. It affords shelter from the prevailing winds to a semi- circular bay on the east. Around this bay the hillside is bleak and barren, but there are traces of former habitation in a weather-beaten cabin and deserted corral. It is said that these were origi- nally built by an enterprising squatter, who for some unaccountable reason abandoned them shortly after. The "Jumper" who succeeded him disap- peared one day, quite as mysteriously. The third tenant, who seemed to be a man of sanguine, hope- ful temperament, divided the property into build- ing lots, staked off the hillside, and projected the map of a new metropolis. Failing, however, to convince the citizens of San Francisco that they had mistaken the site of their city, he presently fell into dissipation and despondency. He was frequently observed haunting the narrow strip of beach at low tide, or perched upon the cliff at high water. In the latter position a sheep-tender one day found him, cold and pulseless, with a map THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. 311 of his property in his hand, and his face turned toward the distant sea. Perhaps these circumstances gave the locality its infelicitous reputation. Vague rumors were bruited of a supernatural influence that had been exercised on the tenants. Strange stories were circulated of the origin of the diabolical title by which the promontory was known. By some it was believed to be haunted by the spirit of one of Sir Francis Drake's sailors who had deserted his ship in consequence of stories told by the Indians of gold discoveries, but who had perished by star- vation on the rocks. A vaquero who had once passed a night in the ruined cabin, related how a strangely dressed and emaciated figure had knocked at the door at midnight and demanded food. Other story-tellers, of more historical accuracy, roundly asserted that Sir Francis himself had been little better than a pirate, and had chosen this spot to conceal quantities of ill-gotten booty, taken from neutral bottoms, and had protected his hiding- place by the orthodox means of hellish incantation and diabolic agencies. On moonlight nights a shadowy ship was sometimes seen standing off-and- on, or when fogs encompassed sea and shore the noise of oars rising and falling in their row-locks could be heard muffled and indistinctly during the night. Whatever foundation there might have been for these stories, it was certain that a more 312 THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. weird and desolate-looking spot could not have been selected for their theatre. High hills, ver- dureless and enfiladed with dark canadas, cast their gaunt shadows on the tide. During a greater por- tion of the day the wind, which blew furiously and incessantly, seemed possessed with a spirit of fierce disquiet and unrest. Toward nightfall the sea- fog crept with soft step through the portals of the Golden Gate, or stole in noiseless marches down the hillside, tenderly soothing the wind-buffeted face of the cliff, until sea and sky were hid to- gether. At such times the populous city beyond and the nearer settlement seemed removed to an in- finite distance. An immeasurable loneliness settled upon the cliff. The creaking of a windlass, or the monotonous chant of sailors on some unseen, out- lying ship, came faint and far, and full of mystic suggestion. About a year ago a well-to-do middle-aged broker of San Francisco found himself at night- fall the sole occupant of a "plunger," encom- passed in a dense fog, and drifting toward the Golden Gate. This unexpected termination of an afternoon's sail was partly attributable to his want of nautical skill, and partly to the effect of his usually sanguine nature. Having given up the guidance of his boat to the wind and tide, he had trusted too implicitly for that reaction which his business experience assured him was certain to occur THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. 313 in all affairs, aquatic as well as terrestrial. " The tide will turn soon," said the broker, confidently, " or something will happen." He had scarcely settled himself back again in the stern-sheets, before the bow of the plunger, obeying some mysterious im- pulse, veered slowly around and a dark object loomed up before him. A gentle eddy carried the boat further in shore, until at last it was complete- ly embayed under the lee of a rocky point now faintly discernible through the fog. He looked around him in the vain hope of recognizing some familiar headland. The tops of the high hills which rose on either side were hidden in the fog. As the boat swung around, he succeeded in fasten- ing a line to the rocks, and sat down again with a feeling of renewed confidence and security. It was very cold. The insidious fog penetrated his tightly buttoned coat, and set his teeth to chat- tering in spite of the aid he sometimes drew from a pocket-flask. His clothes were wet and the stern-sheets were covered with spray. The com- forts of fire and shelter continually rose before his fancy as he gazed wistfully on the rocks. In sheer despair he finally drew the boat toward the most accessible part of the cliff and essayed to ascend. This was less difficult than it appeared, and in a few moments he had gained the hill above. A dark object at a little distance attracted his attention, and on approaching it proved to be a deserted 314 THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT cabin. The story goes on to say, that having built a roaring fire of stakes pulled from the adjoining corral, with the aid of a flask of excellent brandy, he managed to pass the early part of the evening with comparative comfort. There was no door in the cabin, and the windows were simply square openings, which freely admit- ted the searching fog. But in spite of these dis- comforts, being a man of cheerful, sanguine temperament, he amused himself by poking the fire, and watching the ruddy glow which the flames threw on the fog from the open door. In this in- nocent occupation a great weariness overcame him^ and he fell asleep. He was awakened at midnight by a loud " haL loo," which seemed to proceed directly from the sea. Thinking it might be the cry of some boat' man lost in the fog, he walked to the edge of the cliff, but the thick veil that covered sea and land rendered all objects at the distance of a few feet indistinguishable. He heard, however, the regu- lar strokes of oars rising and falling on the water. The halloo was repeated. He was clearing his throat to reply, when to his surprise an answer came apparently from the very cabin he had quit- ted. Hastily retracing his steps, he was the more amazed, on reaching the open door, to find a stran- ger warming himself by the fire. Stepping back far enough to conceal his own person, he took a cood look at th THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. 315 He was a man of about forty, with a cadaverous face. But the oddity of his dress attracted the broker's attention more than his lugubrious physi- ognomy. His legs were hid in enormously wide trousers descending to his knee, where they met long boots of sealskin. A pea-jacket with exag- gerated cuffs, almost as large as the breeches, cov- ered his chest, and around his waist a monstrous belt, with a buckle like a dentist's sign, supported two trumpet-mouthed pistols and a curved hanger. He wore a long queue, which depended half-way down his back As the firelight fell on his in- genuous countenance the broker observed with some concern that this queue was formed entirely of a kind of tobacco, known as pigtail or twist. Its effect, the broker remarked, was much height- ened when in a moment of thoughtful abstraction the apparition bit off a portion of it, and rolled it as a quid into the cavernous recesses of his jaws. Meanwhile, the nearer splash of oars indicated the approach of the unseen boat. The broker had barely time to conceal himself behind the cabin before a number of uncouth-looking figures clam- bered up the hill toward the ruined rendezvous. They were dressed like the previous comer, who, as they passed through the open door, exchanged greetings with each in antique phraseology, be- stowing at the same time some familiar nickname. Flash-in-the-Pan, Spitter-of-Frogs, Malmsey Butt, 316 THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. Latheyard-Will, and Mark-the-Pinker, were the few sobriquets the broker remembered. Whether these titles were given to express some peculiarity of their owner he could not tell, for a silence fol- lowed as they slowly ranged themselves upon the floor of the cabin in a semicircle around their cadaverous host. At length Malmsey Butt, a spherical-bodied man-of-war's-man, with a rubicund nose, got on his legs somewhat unsteadily, and addressed himself to the company. They had met that evening, said the speaker, in accordance with a time-honored custom. This was simply to relieve that one of their number who for fifty years had kept watch and ward over the locality where certain treasures had been buried. At this point the broker pricked up his ears. " If so be, camarados and brothers all," he continued, " ye are ready to receive the report of our excellent and well-beloved brother, Master Slit-the-Weazand, touching his search for this treasure, why, marry, to 't and begin." A murmur of assent went around the circle as the speaker resumed his seat. Master Slit-the- Weazand slowly opened his lantern jaws, and began. He had spent much of his time in deter- mining the exact location of the teasure. He be- lieved nay, he could state positively that its position was now settled. It was true he had done some trifling little business outside. Modes- THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. 317 ty forbade his mentioning the particulars, but he would simply state that of the three tenants who had occupied the cabin during the past ten years, none were now alive. [Applause, and cries of " Go to ! thou wast always a tall fellow ! " and the like.] Mark-the-Pinker next arose. Before proceeding to business he had a duty to perform in the sacred name of Friendship. It ill became him to pass an eulogy upon the qualities of the speaker who had preceded him, for he had known him from " boy- hood's hour." Side by side they had wrought to- gether in the Spanish war. For a neat hand with a toledo he challenged his equal, while how nobly and beautifully he had won his present title of Slit-the-Weazand, all could testify. The speaker, with some show of emotion, asked to be pardoned if he dwelt too freely on passages of their early companionship ; he then detailed, with a fine touch of humor, his comrade's peculiar manner of slit- ting the ears and lips of a refractory Jew, who had been captured in one of their previous voyages. He would not weary the patience of his hearers, but would briefly propose that the report of Slit- the-Weazand be accepted, and that the thanks of the company be tendered him. A beaker of strong spirits was then rolled into the hut, and cans of grog were circulated freely from hand to hand. The health of Slit-the-Weaz- 318 THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. and was proposed in a neat speech by Mark-the- Pinker, and responded to by the former gentleman in a manner that drew tears to the eyes of all present. To the broker, in his concealment, this momentary diversion from the real business of the meeting occasioned much anxiety. As yet nothing had been said to indicate the exact locality of the treasure to which they had mysteriously alluded. Fear restrained him from open inquiry, and curi- osity kept him from making good his escape during the orgies which followed. But his situation was beginning to become criti- cal. Flash-in-the-Pan, who seemed to have been a man of choleric humor, taking fire during some hotly contested argument, discharged both his pis- tols at the breast of his opponent. The balls passed through on each side immediately below his arm-pits, making a clean hole, through which the horrified broker could see the firelight behind him. The wounded man, without betraying any concern, excited the laughter of the company, by jocosely putting his arms akimbo, and inserting his thumbs into the orifices of the wounds, as if they had been arm-holes. This having in a measure restored good-humor, the party joined hands and formed a circle preparatory to dancing. The dance was commenced by some monotonous stanzas hummed in a very high key by one of the party, the rest joining in the following chorus, which seemed to present a familiar sound to the broker's ear. THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. 319 " Her Majestie is very sicke, Lord Essex hath ye measles, Our Admiral hath licked ye French Poppe ! saith ye weasel ! " At the regular recurrence of the last line, the party discharged their loaded pistols in all direc- tions, rendering the position of the unhappy broker one of extreme peril and perplexity. When the tumult had partially subsided, Flash- in-the-Pan called the meeting to order, and most of the revellers returned to their places, Malmsey Butt, however, insisting upon another chorus, and singing at the top of his voice : " I am ycleped J. Keyser I was born at Spring, hys Garden, My father toe make me ane clerke erst did essaye, But a fieo for ye offis I spurn ye losels offeire ; For I fain would be ane butcher by'r lady kin alwaye." Flash-in-the-Pan drew a pistol from his belt, and bidding some one gag Malmsey Butt with the stock of it, proceeded to read from a portentous roll of parchment that he held in his hand. It was a semi-legal document, clothed in the quaint phraseology of a bygone period. After a long preamble, asserting their loyalty as lieges of Her most bountiful Majesty and Sovereign Lady the Queen, the document declared that they then and there took possession of the promontory, and all the treasure trove therein contained, formerly buried by Her Majesty's most faithful and devoted 320 THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. Admiral Sir Francis Drake, with the right to search, discover, and appropriate the same; and for the purpose thereof they did then and there form a guild or corporation to so discover, search for, and disclose said treasures, and by virtue thereof they solemnly subscribed their names. But at this moment the reading of the parchment was arrested by an exclamation from the assembly, and the broker was seen frantically struggling at the door in the strong arms of Mark-the-Pinker. " Let me go ! " he cried, as he made a desperate attempt to reach the side of Master Flash-in-the Pan. " Let me go ! I tell you, gentlemen, that document is not worth the parchment it is written on. The laws of the State, the customs of the country, the mining ordinances, are all against it. Don't, by all that 's sacred, throw away such a capital investment through ignorance and infor- mality. Let me go ! I assure you, gentlemen, pro- fessionally, that you have a big thing, a remark- ably big thing, and even if I ain't in it, I 'm not going to see it fall through. Don't, for God's sake, gentlemen, I implore you, put your names to such a ridiculous paper. There is n't a notary " He ceased. The figures around him, which were beginning to grow fainter and more indistinct, as he went on, swam before his eyes, flickered, reap- peared again, and finally went out. He rubbed his eyes and gazed around him. The cabin was THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. 321 deserted. On the hearth the red embers of his fire were fading away in the bright beams of the morning sun, that looked aslant through the open window. He ran out to the cliff. The sturdy sea-breeze fanned his feverish cheeks, and tossed the white caps of waves that beat in pleasant mu- sic on the beach below. A stately merchantman with snowy canvas was entering the Gate. The voices of sailors came cheerfully from a bark at anchor below the point. The muskets of the sen- tries gleamed brightly on Alcatraz, and the rolling of drums swelled on the breeze. Farther on, the hills of San Francisco, cottage-crowned and bor- dered with wharves and warehouses, met his long- ing eye. Such is the Legend of Devil's Point. Any objec- tions to its reliability may be met with the state- ment, that the broker who tells the story has since incorporated a company under the title of " Flash- in-the-Pan Gold and Silver Treasure Mining Com- pany," and that its shares are already held at a stiff figure. A copy of the original document is said to be on record in the office of the company, and on any clear day the locality of the claim may be distinctly seen from the hills of San Fran- cisco. u n THE DEVIL AND THE BEOKER A MEDLEVAL LEGEND. THE church clocks in San Francisco were striking ten. The Devil, who had been fly- ing over the city that evening, just then alighted on the roof of a church near the corner of Bush and Montgomery Streets. It will be perceived that the popular belief that the Devil avoids holy edifices, and vanishes at the sound of a Credo or Pater-noster, is long since exploded. Indeed, mod- ern scepticism asserts that he is not averse to these orthodox discourses, which particularly bear reference to himself, and in a measure recognize his power and importance. I am inclined to think, however, that his choice of a resting-place was a good deal influenced by its contiguity to a populous thoroughfare. When he was comfortably seated, he began pulling out the joints of a small rod which he held in his hand, and which presently proved to be an extraordinary fishing-pole, with a telescopic adjustment that per- mitted its protraction to a marvellous extent Affixing a line thereto, he selected a fly of a par- ticular pattern from a small box which he carried THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER. 323 with him, and, making a skilful cast, threw his line into the very centre of that living stream which ebbed and flowed through Montgomery Street. Either the people were very virtuous that even- ing or the bait was not a taking one. In vain the Devil whipped the stream at an eddy in front of the Occidental, or trolled his line into the shadows of the Cosmopolitan ; five minutes passed without even a nibble. " Dear me ! " quoth the Devil, " that 's very singular ; one of my most popular flies, too ! Why, they 'd have risen by shoals in Broadway or Beacon Street for that. Well, here goes another." And, fitting a new fly from his well- filled box, he gracefully recast his line. For a few moments there was every prospect of sport. The line was continually bobbing and the nibbles were distinct and gratifying. Once or twice the bait was apparently gorged and carried off in the upper stories of the hotels to be digested at leisure. At such times the professional man- ner in which the Devil played out his line would have thrilled the heart of Izaak Walton. But his efforts were unsuccessful ; the bait was invariably carried off without hooking the victim, and the Devil finally lost his temper. "I've heard of these San-Franciscans before," he muttered ; " wait till I get hold of one, that's all!" he added malevolently, as he rebaited his hook. A sharp tug and a wriggle foiled his next trial, and 324 THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER. finally, with considerable effort, he landed a portly two-hundred-pound broker upon the church roof. As the victim lay there gasping, it was evident that the Devil was in no hurry to remove the hook from his gills ; nor did he exhibit in this delicate operation that courtesy of manner and graceful manipulation which usually distinguished him. "Come," he said, gruffly, as he grasped the broker by the waistband, " quit that whining and grunting. Don't flatter yourself that you 're a prize either. I was certain to have had you. It was only a question of time." " It is not that, my lord, which troubles me," whined the unfortunate wretch, as he painfully wriggled his head, " but that I should have been fooled by such a paltry bait. What will they say of me down there ? To have let ' bigger things ' go by, and to be taken in by this cheap trick," he added, as he groaned and glanced at the fly which the Devil was carefully rearranging, "is what, pardon me, my lord, is what gets me ! " " Yes," said the Devil, philosophically, " I never caught anybody yet who did n't say that ; but tell me, ain't you getting somewhat fastidious down there ? Here is one of my most popular flies, the greenback," he continued, exhibiting an emerald- looking insect, which he drew from his box. " This, so generally considered excellent in election sea- Bon, has not even been nibbled at. Perhaps youi THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER. 325 sagacity, which, in spite of this unfortunate contre- temps, no one can doubt," added the Devil, with a graceful return to his usual courtesy, " may explain the reason or suggest a substitute." The broker glanced at the contents of the box with a supercilious smile. " Too old-fashioned, my lord, long ago played out. Yet," he added, with a gleam of interest, " for a consideration I might offer something ahem ! that would make a taking substitute for these trifles. Give me," he continued, in a brisk, business-like way, " a slight percentage and a bonus down, and I 'm your man." " Name your terms," said the Devil, earnestly. " My liberty and a percentage on all you take, and the thing 's done." The Devil caressed his tail thoughtfully, for a few moments. He was certain of the broker any way, and the risk was slight. " Done ! " he said. " Stay a moment," said the artful broker. " There are certain contingencies. Give me your fishing- rod and let me apply the bait myself. It requires a skilful hand, my lord ; even your well-known experience might fail. Leave me alone for half an hour, and if you have reason to complain of my success I will forfeit my deposit, I mean my liberty." The Devil acceded to his request, bowed, and withdrew. Alighting gracefully in Montgomery Street, he dropped into Meade & Co.'s clothing $26 THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER. store, where, having completely equipped himself d la mode, he sallied forth intent on his personal enjoyment. Determining to sink his professional character, he mingled with the current of human life, and enjoyed, with that immense capacity for excitement peculiar to his nature, the whirl, bustle, and feverishness of the people, as a purely aesthetic gratification unalloyed by the cares of business. What he did that evening does not belong to our story. "We return to the broker, whom we left on the roof. When he made sure that the Devil had retired, he carefully drew from his pocket-book a slip of paper and affixed it on the hook. The line had scarcely reached the current before he felt a bite. The hook was swallowed. To bring up his victim rapidly, disengage him from the hook, and reset his line, was the work of a moment. Another bite and the same result. Another, and another. In a very few minutes the roof was covered with his panting spoil The broker could himself distinguish that many of them were personal friends ; nay, some of them were familiar frequenters of the building on which they were now miserably stranded. That the broker felt a certain .satisfaction in being in- strumental in thus misleading his fellow-brokers no one acquainted with human nature will for a moment doubt. But a stronger pull on his line caused him to put forth all his strength and skill THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER 327 The magic pole bent like a coach-whip. The bro- ker held firm, assisted by the battlements of the church. Again and again it was almost wrested from his hand, and again and again he slowly reeled in a portion of the tightening line. At last, with one mighty effort, he lifted to the level of the roof a struggling object. A howl like Pandemonium rang through the air as the broker successfully landed at his feet the Devil himself ! The two glared fiercely at each other. The broker, perhaps mindful of his former treatment, evinced no haste to remove the hook from his an- tagonist's jaw. When it was finally accomplished, he asked quietly if the Devil was satisfied. That gentleman seemed absorbed in the contemplation of the bait which he had just taken from his mouth. " I am," he said, finally, " and forgive you ; but what do you call this ? " " Bend low," replied the broker, as he buttoned up his coat ready to depart The Devil inclined his ear. " I call it WILD CAT ! " THE OGEESS OF SILVEE LAND; OR, THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF PRINCE BADFELLAH AND PRINCE BULLEBOYE. IN the second year of the reign of the renowned Caliph Lo there dwelt in SILVER LAND, adjoin- ing his territory, a certain terrible ogress. She lived in the bowels of a dismal mountain, where she was in the habit of confining such unfortunate travellers as ventured within her domain. The country for miles around was sterile and barren. In some places it was covered with a white powder, which was called in the language of the country AL KA Li, and was supposed to be the pulverized bones of those who had perished miserably in her service. In spite of this, every year, great numbers of young men devoted themselves to the service of the ogress, hoping to become her godsons, and to enjoy the good fortune which belonged to that privileged class. For these godsons had no work to perform, neither at the mountain nor elsewhere, but roamed about the world with credentials of their relation- ship in their pockets, which they called STOKH, THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND. 329 which was stamped with the stamp and sealed with the seal of the ogress, and which enabled them at the end of each moon to draw large quanti- ties of gold and silver from her treasury. And the wisest and most favored of those godsons were the Princes BADFELLAH and BULLEBOYE. They knew all the secrets of the ogress, and how to wheedle and coax her. They were also the favorites of SOOPAH INTENDENT, who was her Lord High Chamberlain and Prime Minister, and who dwelt in SILVER LAND. One day, SOOPAH INTENDENT said to his ser- vants, " What is that which travels the most sure- ly, the most secretly, and the most swiftly ? " And they all answered as one man, " LIGHTNING, my lord, travels the most surely, the most swiftly, and the most secretly ! " Then said SOOPAH INTENDENT, " Let Lightning carry this message secretly, swiftly, and surely to my beloved friends the Princes BADFELLAH and BULLEBOYE, and tell them that their godmother is dying, and bid them seek some other godmother or sell their STOKH ere it becomes ladjee, worth- less." " Bekhesm ! On our heads be it ! " answered the servants ; and they .ran to Lightning with the message, who flew with it to the City by the Sea, and delivered it, even at that moment, into the hands of the Princes BADFELLAH and BULLEBOYE. 330 THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND. Now the Prince BADFELLAH was a wicked young man ; and when he had received this message he tore his beard and rent his garment and reviled his godmother, and his friend SOOPAH INTENDENT. But presently he arose, and dressed himself in his finest stuffs, and went forth into the bazaars and among the merchants, capering and dancing as he walked, and crying in a loud voice, " O, happy day ! 0, day worthy to be marked with a white stone ! " This he said cunningly, thinking the merchants and men of the bazaars would gather about him, which they presently did, and began to question him: "What news, most worthy and serene Highness ? Tell us, that we make merry too ! " Then replied the cunning prince, "Good news, O my brothers, for I have heard this day that my godmother in SILVER LAND is well." The mer- chants, who were not aware of the substance of the real message, envied him greatly, and said one to another : " Surely our brother the Prince BADFEL- LAH is favored by Allah above all men " ; and they were about to retire, when the prince checked them, saying: "Tarry for a moment. Here are my credentials, or STOKH. The same I will sell you for fifty thousand sequins, for I have to give a feast to-day, and need much gold. Who will give fifty thousand ? " And he again fell to capering and dancing. But this time the merchants drew THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND. 331 a little apart, and some of the oldest and wisest said : " What dirt is this which the prince would have us swallow ? If his godmother were well, why should he sell his STOKH ? Bismillah ! The olives are old and the jar is broken!" When Prince BADFELLAH perceived them whispering, his countenance fell, and his knees smote against each other through fear ; but, dissembling again, he said : " Well, so be it ! Lo, I have much more than shall abide with me, for my days are many and my wants are few. Say forty thousand sequins for my STOKH and let me depart in Allah's name. Who will give forty thousand sequins to become the godson of such a healthy mother ? " And he again fell to capering and dancing, but not as gayly as before, for his heart was troubled. The merchants, however, only moved farther away. " Thirty thou- sand sequins,' 5 cried Prince BADFELLAH ; but even as he spoke they fled before his face, crying : " His godmother is dead. Lo, the jackals are defiling her grave. Mashalla ! he has no godmother." And they sought out PANIK, the swift-footed messenger, and bade him shout through the bazaars that the godmother of Prince BADFELLAH was dead. When he heard this, the prince fell upon his face, and rent his garments, and covered himself with the dust of the market-place. As he was sitting thus, a porter passed him with jars of wine on his shoul- ders, and the prince begged him to give him a jar, 332 THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND. for he was exceeding thirsty and faint. But the porter said, " What will my lord give me first ? " And the prince, in very bitterness of spirit, said, "Take this," and handed him his STOKH, and so exchanged it for a jar of wine. Now the Prince BULLEBOYE was of a very differ- ent disposition. When he received the message of SOOPAH INTENDENT he bowed his head, and said, " It is the will of God." Then he rose, and with- out speaking a word entered the gates of his palace. But his wife, the peerless MAREE JAHANN, per- ceiving the gravity of his countenance, said, " Why is my lord cast down and silent ? Why are those rare and priceless pearls, his words, shut up so tightly between those gorgeous oyster-shells, his lips ? " But to this he made no reply. Thinking further to divert him, she brought her lute into the chamber and stood before him, and sang the song and danced the dance of BEN KOTTON, which is called IBRAHIM'S DAUGHTER, but she could not lift the veil of sadness from his brow. When she had ceased, the Prince BULLEBOYE arose and said, " Allah is great, and what am I, his servant, but the dust of the earth ! Lo, this day has my godmother sickened unto death, and my STOKH become as a withered palm -leaf. Call hither my servants and camel-drivers, and the merchants that have furnished me with stuffs, and the beg- gars who have feasted at my table, and bid them THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND. 333 take all that is here, for it is mine no longer!" With these words he buried his face in his mantle and wept aloud. But MAREE JAHANN, his wife, plucked him by the sleeve. " Prithee, my lord," said she, " bethink thee of the BROKAH or scrivener, who besought thee but yesterday to share thy STOKH with him and gave thee his bond for fifty thousand se- quins." But the noble Prince BULLEBOYE, rais- ing his head, said : " Shall I sell to him for fifty thousand sequins that which 1 know is not worth a Soo MARKEE ? For is not all the BROKAH'S wealth, even his wife and children, pledged on that bond? Shall I ruin him to save myself? Allah forbid ! Eather let me eat the salt fish of honest penury, than the kibobs of dishonorable affluence; rather let me wallow in the mire of virtuous oblivion, than repose on the divan of lux- urious wickedness." When the prince had given utterance to this beautiful and edifying sentiment, a strain of gentle music was heard, and the rear wall of the apart- ment, which had been ingeniously constructed like a flat, opened and discovered the Ogress of SILVER LAND in the glare of blue fire, seated on a triumphal car attached to two ropes which were connected with the flies, in the very act of blessing the un- conscious prince. When the walls closed again without attracting his attention, Prince BULLEBOYE 334 THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND. arose, dressed himself in his coarsest and cheap* est stuffs, and sprinkled ashes on his head, and in this guise, having embraced his wife, went forth into the bazaars. In this it will be perceived how differently the good Prince BULLEBOYE acted from the wicked Prince BADFELLAH, who put on his gay- est garments to simulate and deceive. Now when Prince BULLEBOYE entered the chief bazaar, where the merchants of the city were gath- ered in council, he stood up in his accustomed place, and all that were there held their breath, for the noble Prince BULLEBOYE was much respected. " Let the BROKAH, whose bond I hold for fifty thou- sand sequins, stand forth ! " said the prince. And the BROKAH stood forth from among the merchants. Then said the prince : " Here is thy bond for fifty thousand sequins, for which I was to deliver unto thee one half of my STOKH. Know, then, my brother, and thou, too, Aga of the BROKAHS, that this my STOKH which I pledged to thee is worth- less. For my godmother, the Ogress of SILVER LAND, is dying. Thus do I release thee from thy bond, and from the poverty which might overtake thee as it has even me, thy brother, the Prince BULLEBOYE." And with that the noble Prince BULLEBOYE tore the bond of the BROKAH into pieces and scattered it to the four winds. Now when the prince tore up the bond there was a great commotion, and some said, " Surely the THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND. 335 Prince BULLEBOYE is drunken with wine " ; and others, " He is possessed of an evil spirit " ; and his friends expostulated with him, saying, " What thou hast done is not the custom of the bazaars, behold, it is not Biz ! " But to all the prince answered gravely, " It is right ; on my own head be it ! " But the oldest and wisest of the merchants, they who had talked with Prince BADFELLAH the same morning, whispered together, and gathered around the BROKAH whose bond the Prince BULLEBOYE had torn up. " Hark ye," said they, " our brother the Prince BULLEBOYE is cunning as a jackal. What bosh is this about ruining himself to save thee ? Such a thing was never heard before in the bazaars. It is a trick, O thou mooncalf of a BROKAH ! Dost thou not see that he has heard good news from his godmother, the same that was even now told us by the Prince BADFELLAH, his confederate, and that he would destroy thy bond for fifty thousand sequins because his STOKH is worth a hundred thousand ! Be not deceived, too credulous BROKAH ! for this what our brother the prince doeth is not in the name of ALLAH, but of Biz, the only god known in the bazaars of the city." When the foolish BROKAH heard these things he cried, "Justice, Aga of the BROKAHS, justice and the fulfilment of my bond ! Let the prince deliver unto me the STOKH. Here are my fifty 336 THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND. thousand sequins." But the prince said, " Have I not told that my godmother is dying, and that my STOKH is valueless ? " At this the BROKAH only clamored the more for justice and the fulfilment of his bond. Then the Aga of the BROKAHS said, " Since the bond is destroyed, behold thou hast no claim. Go thy ways ! " But the BROKAH again cried, " Justice, my lord Aga ! Behold, I offer the prince seventy thousand sequins for his STOKH ! " But the prince said, " It is not worth one sequin ! " Then the Aga said, " Bismillah ! I cannot under- stand this. Whether thy godmother be dead, or dying, or immortal, does not seem to signify. Therefore, prince, by the laws of Biz and of ALLAH, thou art released. Give the BROKAH thy STOKH for seventy thousand sequins, and bid him depart in peace. On his own head be it ! " When the prince heard this command, he handed his STOKH to the BROKAH, who counted out to him seventy thousand sequins. But the heart of the virtuous prince did not rejoice, nor did the BRO- KAH, when he found his STOKH was valueless ; but the merchants lifted their hands in wonder at the sagacity and wisdom of the famous Prince BULLE- BOYE. For none would believe that it was the law of ALLAH that the prince followed, and not the rules of Biz. THE BUINS OF SAN FRANCISCO. TOWARDS the close of the nineteenth century the city of San Francisco was totally ingulfed by an earthquake. Although the whole coast-line must have been much shaken, the accident seems to have been purely local, and even the city of Oakland escaped. Schwappelfurt, the celebrated German geologist, has endeavored to explain this singular fact by suggesting that there are some things the earth cannot swallow, a statement that should be received with some caution, as ex- ceeding the latitude of ordinary geological specu- lation. Historians disagree in the exact date of the calamity. Tulu Krish, the well-known New-Zea- lander, whose admirable speculations on the ruins of St. Paul as seen from London Bridge have won for him the attentive consideration of the scien- tific world, fixes the occurrence in A. D. 1880. This, supposing the city to have been actually founded in 1850, as asserted, would give but thirty years for it to have assumed the size and propor- tions it had evidently attained at the time of its destruction. It is not our purpose, however, to 15 v 338 THE RUINS OF SAN FRANCISCO. question the conclusions of the justly famed Ma- orian philosopher. Our present business lies with the excavations that are now being prosecuted by order of the Hawaiian government upon the site of the lost city. Every one is familiar with the story of its dis- covery. For many years the bay of San Francisco had been famed for the luscious quality of its oysters. It is stated that a dredger one day raked up a large bell, which proved to belong to the City Hall, and led to the discovery of the cupola of that building. The attention of the government was at once directed to the spot. The bay of San Francisco was speedily drained by a system of patent siphons, and the city, deeply embedded in mud, brought to light after a burial of many cen- turies. The City Hall, Post-Office, Mint, and Cus- tom-House were readily recognized by the large full-fed barnacles which adhered to their walls. Shortly afterwards the first skeleton was discov- ered ; that of a broker, whose position in the up- per strata of mud nearer the surface was supposed to be owing to the exceeding buoyancy or inflation of scrip which he had secured about his person while endeavoring to escape. Many skeletons, supposed to be those of females, encompassed in that peculiar steel coop or cage which seems to have been worn by the women of that period, were also found in the upper stratum. Alexis THE RUINS OF SAN FEANCISCO. 339 von Puffer, in his admirable work on San Fran- cisco, accounts for the position of these unfortu- nate creatures by asserting that the steel cage was originally the frame of a parachute-like garment which distended the skirt, and in the submersion of the city prevented them from sinking. "If anything," says Von Puffer, " could have been wanting to add intensity to the horrible catastro- phe which took place as the waters first er f ,ered the city, it would have been furnished in the forcible separation of the sexes at this trying mo- ment. Buoyed up by their peculiar garments, the female population instantly ascended to the sur- face. As the drowning husband turned his eyes above, what must have been his agony as he saw his wife shooting upward, and knew that he was debarred the privilege of perishing with her ? To the lasting honor of the male inhabitants, be it said that but few seemed to have availed them- selves of their wives' superior levity. Only one skeleton was found still grasping the ankles of another in their upward journey to the surface." For many years California had been subject to slight earthquakes, more or less generally felt, but not of sufficient importance to awaken anxiety or fear. Perhaps the absorbing nature of the San- Franciscans' pursuits of gold-getting, which metal seems to have been valuable in those days, and actually used as a medium of currency, rendered 340 THE RUINS OF SAN FRANCISCO. the inhabitants reckless of all other matters. Everything tends to show that the calamity was totally unlocked for. We quote the graphic lan- guage of Schwappelfurt : " The morning of the tremendous catastrophe probably dawned upon the usual restless crowd of gold-getters intent upon their several avocations. The streets were filled with the expanded figures of gayly dressed women, acknowledging with coy glances the respectful salutations of beaux as they gracefully raised their remarkable cylindrical head- coverings, a model of which is still preserved in the Honolulu Museum. The brokers had gath- ered at their respective temples. The shopmen were exhibiting their goods. The idlers, or ' Bum- mers,' a term applied to designate an aristocratic, privileged class who enjoyed immunities from la- bor, and from whom a majority of the rulers are chosen, were listlessly regarding the prome- naders from the street-corners or the doors of their bibulous temples. A slight premonitory thrill runs through the city. The busy life of this restless microcosm is arrested. The shop- keeper pauses as he elevates the goods to bring them into a favorable light, and the glib profes- sional recommendation sticks on his tongue. In the drinking-saloon the glass is checked half-way to the lips ; on the streets the promenaders pause. Another thrill, and the city begins to go down, a THE RUINS OF SAN FRANCISCO. 341 few of the more persistent topers tossing off their liquor at the same moment. Beyond a terrible sensation of nausea, the crowds who now throng the streets do not realize the extent of the catas- trophe. The waters of the bay recede at first from the centre of depression, assuming a concave shape, the outer edge of the circle towering many thousand feet above the city. Another convul- sion, and the water instantly resumes its level The city is smoothly ingulfed nine thousand feet below, and the regular swell of the Pacific calmly rolls over it. Terrible," says Schwappelfurt, in conclusion, " as the calamity must have been, in direct relation to the individuals immediately con- cerned therein, we cannot but admire its artistic management ; the division of the catastrophe into three periods, the completeness of the cataclysms, and the rare combination of sincerity of intention with felicity of execution." A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. I HAD been stage-ridden and bewildered all day, and when we swept down with the darkness into the Arcadian hamlet of " Wingdam," I resolved to go no farther, and rolled out in a gloomy and dyspeptic state. The effects of a mysterious pie, and some sweetened carbonic acid known to the proprietor of the " Half- Way House " as " lemming sody," still oppressed me. Even the facetiae of the gallant expressman who knew everybody's Christian name along the route, who rained letters, news- papers, and bundles from the top of the stage, whose legs frequently appeared in frightful proximity to the wheels, who got on and off while we were going at full speed, whose gallantry, energy, and superior knowledge of travel crushed all us other passengers to envious silence, and who just then was talking with several persons and manifestly doing something else at the same time, even this had failed to interest me. So I stood gloomily, clutching my shawl and carpet-bag, and watched the stage roll away, taking a parting look at the gallant expressman as he hung on the top rail with one leg, and lit his cigar from the pipe of a running A NTGHT AT WINGDAM. 343 footman. I then turned toward the Wingdam Temperance Hotel. It may have been the weather, or it may have been the pie, but I was not impressed favorably with the house. Perhaps it was the name extend- ing the whole length of the building, with a letter under each window, making the people who looked out dreadfully conspicuous. Perhaps it was that " Temperance " always suggested to my mind rusks and weak tea. It was uninviting. It might have been called the " Total Abstinence " Hotel, from the lack of anything to intoxicate or inthrall the senses. It was designed with an eye to artistic dreariness. It was so much too large for the settle- ment, that it appeared to be a very slight improve- ment on out-doors. It was unpleasantly new. There was the forest flavor of dampness about it, and a slight spicing of pine. Nature outraged, but not entirely subdued, sometimes broke out afresh in little round, sticky, resinous tears on the doors and windows. It seemed to me that boarding there must seem like a perpetual picnic. As I entered the door, a number of the regular boarders rushed out of a long room, and set about trying to get the taste of something out of their mouths, by the ap- plication of tobacco in various forms. A few im- mediately ranged themselves around the fireplace, with their legs over each other's chairs, and in that position silently resigned themselves to indigestion. 344 A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. Remembering the pie, I waived the invitation of the landlord to supper, but suffered myself to be conducted into the sitting-room. " Mine host " was a magnificent-looking, heavily bearded specimen of the animal man. He reminded me of somebody or something connected with the drama. I was sitting beside the fire, mutely wondering what it could be, and trying to follow the particular chord of memory thus touched, into the intricate past, when a little delicate-looking woman appeared at the door, and, leaning heavily against the casing, said in an exhausted tone, " Husband ! " As the landlord turned toward her, that particular remem- brance flashed before me in a single line of blank verse. It was this : " Two souls with but one single thought, two hearts that beat as one." It was Ingomar and Parthenia his wife. I im- agined a different denouement from the play. In- gomar had taken Parthenia back to the mountains, and kept a hotel for the benefit of the Alemanni, who resorted there in large numbers. Poor Parthe- nia was pretty well fagged out, and did all the work without "help." She had two "young barbari- ans," a boy and a girl. She was faded, but still good-looking. I sat and talked with Ingomar, who seemed per- fectly at home and told me several stories of the Alemanni, all bearing a strong flavor of the wilder- ness, and being perfectly in keeping with the house. A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 345 How he, Ingomar, had killed a certain dreadful " bar," whose skin was just up " yar," over his bed. How he, Ingomar, had killed several "bucks,'' whose skins had been prettily fringed and em- broidered by Parthenia, and even now clothed him. How he, Ingomar, had killed several " Injins," and was once nearly scalped himself. All this with that ingenious candor which is perfectly justifiable in a barbarian, but which a Greek might feel in- clined to look upon as " blowing." Thinking of the wearied Parthenia, I began to consider for the? first time that perhaps she had better married the old Greek. Then she would at least have always looked neat. Then she would not have worn a woollen dress flavored with all the dinners of the past year. Then she would not have been obliged to wait on the table with her hair half down. Then the two children would not have hung about her skirts with dirty fingers, palpably dragging hev down day by day. I suppose it was the pie which put such heartless and improper ideas in my head, and so I rose up and told Ingomar .1 believed I'd go to bed. Preceded by that redoubtable barbarian and a flaring tallow candle, I followed him up stairs to my room. It was the only single room he had, he told me ; he had built it for the con- venience of married parties who might stop here, but, that event not happening yet, he had left it half -furnished. It had cloth on one side, and large 15* 346 A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. cracks on the other. The wind, which always swept over Wingdam at night-time, puffed through the apartment from different apertures. The window was too small for the hole in the side of the house where it hung, and rattled noisily. Everything looked cheerless and dispiriting. Before Ingomar left me, he brought that " bar-skin," and throwing it over the solemn bier which stood in one corner, told me he reckoned that would keep me warm, and then bade me good night. I undressed myself, the light blowing out in the middle of that cere- mony, crawled under the " bar-skin," and tried to compose myself to sleep. But I was staringly wide awake. I heard the wind sweep down the mountain-side, and toss the branches of the melancholy pine, and then enter the house, and try all the doors along the passage. Sometimes strong currents of air blew my hair all over the pillow, as with strange whispering breaths. The green timber along the walls seemed to be sprouting, and sent a dampness even through the " bar-skin." I felt like Eobinson Crusoe in his tree, with the ladder pulled up, or like the rocked baby of the nursery song. After lying awake half an hour, I regretted having stopped at Wingdam ; at the end of the third quarter, I wished I had not gone to bed ; and when a restless hour passed, I got up and dressed myself. There had been a fire down in the big room. Perhaps it A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 347 was still burning. I opened the door and groped my way along the passage, vocal with the snores of the Alemanni and the whistling of the night wind ; I partly fell down stairs, and at last enter- ing the big room, saw the fire still burning. I drew a chair toward it, poked it with my foot, and was astonished to see, by the upspringing flash, that Parthenia was sitting there also, holding a faded-looking baby. I asked her why she was sitting up. "She did not go to bed on Wednesday night before the mail arrived, and then she awoke her husband, and there were passengers to 'tend to." " Did she not get tired sometimes ? " " A little, but Abner " (the barbarian's Christian name) " had promised to get her more help next spring, if business was good." " How many boarders had she ? " " She believed about forty came to regular meals, and there was transient custom, which was as much as she and her husband could 'tend to. But he did a great deal of work." " What work ? " " 0, bringing in the wood, and looking after the traders' things." " How long had she been married ? " "About nine years. She had lost a little girl and boy. Three children living. He was from Illinois. She from Boston. Had an education 348 A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. (Boston Female High School, Geometry, Alge- bra, a little Latin and Greek). Mother and father died. Came to Illinois alone, to teach school Saw him yes a love match." (" Two souls," etc., etc.) " Married and emigrated to Kansas. Thence across the Plains to California. Always on the outskirts of civilization. He liked it. " She might sometimes have wished to go home. Would like to on account of her children. Would like to give them an education. Had taught them a little herself, but couldn't do much on account of other work. Hoped that the boy would be like his father, strong and hearty. Was fearful the girl would be more like her. Had often thought she was not fit for a pioneer's wife." "Why?" " O, she was not strong enough, and had seen some of his friends' wives in Kansas who could do more work. But he never complained, he was so kind." (" Two souls," etc.) Sitting there with her head leaning pensively on one hand, holding the poor, wearied, and limp- looking baby wearily on the other arm, dirty, drabbled, and forlorn, with the firelight playing upon her features no longer fresh or young, but still refined and delicate, and even in her grotesque slovenliness still bearing a faint reminiscence of birth and breeding, it was not to be wondered that I did not fall into excessive raptures over the bar- A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 349 barian's kindness. Emboldened by my sympathy, she told me how she had given up, little by little, what she imagined to be the weakness of her early education, until she found that she acquired but little strength in her new experience. How, trans- lated to a backwoods society, she was hated by the women, and called proud and " fine," and how her dear husband lost popularity on that account with his fellows. How, led partly by his roving in- stincts, and partly from other circumstances, he started with her to California. An account of that tedious journey. How it was a dreary, dreary waste in her memory, only a blank plain marked by a little cairn of stones, a child's grave. How she had noticed that little Willie failed. How she had called Abner's attention to it, but, man-like, he knew nothing about children, and pooh-poohed it, and was worried by the stock. How it hap- pened that after they had passed Sweetwater, she was walking beside the wagon one night, and look- ing at the western sky, and she heard a little voice say "Mother." How she looked into the wagon and saw that little Willie was sleeping comfortably and did not wish to wake him. How that in a few moments more she heard the same voice say- ing " Mother." How she came back to the wagon and leaned down over him, and felt his breath upon her face, and again covered him up tenderly, and once more resumed her weary journey beside 350 A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. him, praying to God for his recovery. How with her face turned to the sky she heard the same voice saying " Mother," and directly a great bright star shot away from its brethren and expired. And how she knew what had happened, and ran to the wagon again only to pillow a little pinched and cold white face upon her weary bosom. The thin red hands went up to her eyes here, and for a few moments she sat still. The wind tore round the house and made a frantic rush at the front door, and from his couch of skins in the inner room Ingomar, the barbarian, snored peacefully. " Of course she always found a protector from in- sult and outrage in the great courage and strength of her husband ? " " yes ; when Ingomar was with her she feared nothing. But she was nervous and had been frightened once ! " "How?" " They had just arrived in California. They kept house then, and had to sell liquor to traders. In- gomar was hospitable, and drank with everybody, for the sake of popularity and business, and Ingo- mar got to like liquor, and was easily affected by it. And how one night there was a boisterous crowd in the bar-room ; she went in and tried to get him away, but only succeeded in awakening the coarse gallantry of the half-crazed revellers. And how, when she had at last got him in the A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 351 room with her frightened children, he sank down on the bed in a stupor, which made her think the liquor was drugged. And how she sat beside him all night, and near morning heard a step in the passage, and, looking toward the door, saw the latch slowly moving up and down, as if somebody- were trying it. And how she shook her husband, and tried to waken him, but without effect. And how at last the door yielded slowly at the top (it was bolted below), as if by a gradual pressure without ; and how a hand protruded through the opening. And how as quick as lightning she nailed that hand to the wall with her scissors (her only weapon), but the point broke, and somebody got away with a fearful oath. How she never told her husband of it, for fear he would kill that some- body ; but how on one day a stranger called here, and as she was handing him his coffee, she saw a queer triangular scar 011 the back of his hand." She was still talking, and the wind was still blowing, and Ingomar was still snoring from his couch of skins, when there was a shout high up the straggling street, and a clattering of hoofs, and rattling of wheels. The mail had arrived. Par- thenia ran with the faded baby to awaken Ingo- mar, and almost simultaneously the gallant ex- pressman stood again before me addressing me by my Christian name, and inviting me to drink out of a mysterious black bottle. The horses were 352 A NIGHT AT WTNGDAM. speedily watered, and the business of the gallant expressman concluded, and, bidding Parthenia good by, I got on the stage, and immediately fell asleep, and dreamt of calling on Parthenia and Ingomar, and being treated with pie to an unlim- ited extent, until I woke up the next morning in Sacramento. I have some doubts as to whether all this was not a dyspeptic dream, but I never witness the drama, and hear that noble sentiment poncerning " Two souls," etc., without thinking of Wingdam and poor Parthenia. THE END THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ This book is due on the last DATE stamped below. 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