University of California Berkeley 
 
 FRED M. DEWITT 
 
 BOOKSELLER 
 

 

f> > 
 - V 
 
THE COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 
 BRET HARTE 
 
 IN PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 NOW FIRST COLLECTED. 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTORY ESSAY 
 
 BY J. M. BELLEW. 
 
 PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR, AND NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 11 ontion: 
 CHATTO AND WINDUS, PUBLISHERS. 
 
 (SUCCESSORS TO JOHN C AMD EN HOTTEX., 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 BY J. M. BELLEW. 
 
 A N American gentleman lately addressed a letter to one 
 ^*" of our London papers, assuring the English people 
 that his countrymen properly appreciated the difference 
 between Longfellow and Bret Harte. In the same way it 
 might be said that Englishmen similarly recognise the dif 
 ference between " Paradise Lost " and " Hndibras ; " or, to 
 come to our own times, between Macaulay and Dickens ; 
 between " Richelieu " and " London Assurance." 
 
 To say this, is simply platitude. But. it is impossible to 
 avoid suspecting that the American writer had been annoyed 
 with some disparaging remarks upon a style of Transatlantic 
 literature now in vogue, of which Mr. Bret Harte is at the 
 present time the Representative Man ; and meant us to 
 understand that such authors were properly depreciated. 
 Let us hope this is not true, but that, on the contrary, the 
 immense popularity which Mr. Bret Harte's prose and poetry 
 have so quickly attained, and the extensive sale they have 
 enjoyed, are a sure testimony that he is as fully valued by 
 his own countrymen as by the British public, among whom 
 his books have been received with such marked favour. 
 
 Were the short introduction with which this volume is 
 prefixed to be changed in its character and purpose, and to 
 be moulded into an Essay, a very pretty and fitting discus- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sion might be raised as to what is the proper appreciation to 
 be meted out to serious and humorous or satirical writers. 
 
 We should then be led or misled, more probably into 
 dogmatics ab ovo usque ad mala upon the relative value 
 of Tragedy and Comedy. 
 
 That is not only outside our purpose, but we believe that, 
 had the peri of Macaulay himself been driven over so 
 tempting a theme, the brilliant essayist would not have 
 influenced or altered public opinion one jot upon a matter 
 regarding which there has been singular unanimity of senti- 
 menj; from the distant times when Aristophanes wrote his 
 comedy of the "Frogs" to ridicule the tragic writers, and 
 the " satirical rogue " Horace addressed his Maecenas 
 
 Quanquam ridentem dicere verum 
 Quid vetat? 
 
 In fact, human nature likes to be amused; likes to be 
 instructed while amused ; and likes being amused when 
 instructed. With an intuitive instinct which antedates all 
 reasoning on the subject, human nature has had a keen 
 perception of the fact, ever since the days when Simonides 
 taught it Satire, that moralities may be as strongly enforced 
 and as deeply engraven on the mind, vices as keenly cau 
 terized, and follies as incisively exposed by the burning 
 words of the Satirist, and the trenchant blade of the 
 Humourist, as by the pentametrical gravity of an Epic, or 
 the ponderous sublimity of Paradise either Lost or 
 Eegained. 
 
 Horace clenches this idea. (And what better testimony 
 can there be to the reception or perception of its truth, than 
 in the fact that every grammar-school boy, and every man 
 who has enjoyed a decent classical education, instinctively 
 goes back to his Horace for a good and telling line when he 
 wants to point* a moral, or to shoot folly as it flies, with a 
 shaft tipped with wit 1 ) 
 
INTRODUCTION. v 
 
 There is a striking passage by Addison to tlie same effect : 
 so striking, indeed, that it may be well, by way of apposi 
 tion, to quote the Roman and the Englishman : 
 
 Ridiculum acri 
 
 Fortius et melius magnas plerumque secat res, 
 Illi scripta quibus comcedia prisca viris est 
 Hoc stabant, hoc sunt irnitandi 
 
 " Among the writers of antiquity there are none who 
 instruct us more openly in the manners of their respective 
 times in which they lived, than those who have employed 
 themselves in Satire, under what dress soever it may appear : 
 as there are no other authors whose province it is to enter so 
 directly into the ways of men. and set their miscarriages in 
 so strong a light." 
 
 It is no great stretch of imagination to suppose that, when 
 Addison was speaking of the " writers of antiquity," he also 
 had lately been to his Horace, and was giving him an airing 
 for the benefit of Queen Anne's lieges, with a free transla 
 tion of " illi scripta quibus comcedia prisca." 
 
 We do not imagine that American nature is so very different 
 from common humanity elsewhere. " If you prick us, do we 
 not bleed 1 If you tickle us, do we not laugh ? " Bret Harte 
 has tickled the Americans, and they have laughed. He has 
 tickled us too, and we have laughed heartily : and heartily 
 welcomed him at our firesides, because we recognise genuine 
 humour in his writing, and the ring of sterling metal in 
 his Satire. Does this mean that either our brothers across 
 the ocean or we ourselves have lost a proper apprecia 
 tion for our or their great Poets, Authors, and Moralists'? 
 Cannot they and we love the sweet and ever gentle Long 
 fellow, the nervous Lowell, and Bryant, and Edgar Poe, and 
 J. W. Watson, and Thomas Buchanan Read (men whose 
 poetry is as familiar in England as in America), without 
 Brefc Harte being taken down a peg 1 
 
 a 2 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 On his own ground, and in his own way, Bret Harte will 
 liold his own, and take his proper rank. To be sure, Comedy 
 always has given, and always will give, the pas to Tragedy. 
 With a gracious courtesy Comedy holds open the door in the 
 flat (0. P practicable), and sweetly whispers, " You first," as 
 they make their exits ; but depend upon it the merry jade 
 knows well that hers is the last face the audience see, the 
 sunshine of her smile the last impression on their minds. 
 So, without in the smallest degree taking away from the 
 merit and the status of American poets, and giving the j )as 
 where it is due, let us hope it will not be considered flat 
 treason to suggest that there may be persons who consider 
 .and whose opinions have a right to consideration that the 
 " Heathen Chinee " and " Language from Truthful James" 
 discover to us a genius that is worthy of high appreciation ; 
 and the said persons possibly might prefer on a solitary night 
 io keep company with Bret Harte, and ask 
 
 Are things what they seem, 
 Or is visions about 1 
 Is our civilization a failure 1 
 Or is the Caucasian played out's 
 
 rather than with the mystic (might we say spiritualist ?) in 
 his "Home by Horror haunted," 
 
 Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
 Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinUed on the tufted floor. 
 
 And the Eaven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door. 
 
 Certes, these things are matters of taste. Nicodemus 
 Dumps was never happy but when he was miserable ; and 
 there are those who prefer and enjoy with relish a feast of 
 Blair's "Grave," and the " Anatomy of Melancholy;" but 
 
INTRODUCTION. vri 
 
 let us hope that such dwellers among the tombs are for the 
 most part only those blighted beings who are the victims of 
 love or indigestion. 
 
 We know also that there are persons to whom a joke is 
 no joke; just as there are others who sanctimoniously profess 
 to consider laughing profane. Men have been seen with 
 solemn visages, not a muscle moved, when Mr. Farren played 
 Lord Ogleby, and Mrs. Glover Mrs. Malaprop ! "What can 
 be said of such people 1 ? Only this: they are not worth 
 saying anything about ; because if they are genuine in their 
 ghastly gravity we pity them, if they are acting we despise 
 them. The poor sufferer of shattered intellect at Bethlehem, 
 or the " Banbury Saint" of 1872, would not be precisely the 
 men with whom we should stop to discuss the merits of a 
 humourist. 
 
 That Bret Harte has made his mark as a humourist is an 
 admitted fact. What rank he will ultimately take among 
 the literary men of America it would be premature at this 
 time to conjecture. The Burleigh shake of the head and 
 prophetic ken are a form of wisdom with which the num 
 skulls of dinner-tables easily invest themselves. And, besides, 
 prophecy is fashionable. Prophets write books revealing 
 Kevelation, and, what is more surprising, find gaping crowds 
 ready to purchase them. Prophets forecast the doom of 
 Church and State and country, and silence all remonstrance 
 or argument with "Mark my words, sir, you will see " 
 Your social and polemical prophet sits, like St. Simon Sty- 
 lites, on a pillar above the heads of all men, and can never 
 be called to account. But the literary prophet may be 
 approached and attacked. Some years ago (in a celebrated 
 article in a well-known magazine), he assured the British 
 public that Charles Dickens " went up like a rocket, and 
 would come down like the stick." The stick has not come 
 down, and happily yet awhile remains suspended in mid air. 
 Needless to ask who is made ridiculous by such pretentious 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 nonsense. Maybe some of the wise men of the East, in 
 criticizing the author of the Far West, would write him 
 down among literary pyrotechnists. Tennyson, in his Sonnet 
 to Ms Friend, writes 
 
 Shoot into the dark 
 Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark. 
 
 To stand and mark the career of a man like Bret Harte, 
 however, is wiser than uttering prophecies. He is still a 
 young man, full of promise, with vigour and acute observa 
 tion : and such a man may do great things in the line ot 
 authorship which he has made so peculiarly his own. Doubt 
 less he has one danger of which to beware. The humourist 
 is apt to be accredited with no higher power or mission than 
 to be funny. True, it is only stupid folk who would think 
 so : but as stupidity happens to exercise an immense social 
 ascendancy, and is eminently respectable, its verdicts are not 
 to be despised. Bret Harte must plead guilty to the crime 
 of fun, and it is a very serious thing for a man to begin life 
 by being funny. No one who has read his already published 
 works would for an instant suppose that humour is all the 
 man has in him. He possesses descriptive powers of a high 
 Border. He can portray men, places, scenes, with a vividness 
 that makes us feel personally acquainted with them. More- 
 over, he can move our feelings, and excite the teiiderest 
 emotions in our breasts. Such talents are precious gifts to 
 be committed to the use of any one man, and we are autho 
 rised in expecting that they shall be used with advantage to 
 their possessor and to the satisfaction of his readers. It is 
 true that, with all the vividness and power displayed in Bret 
 Harte's sketches among the Sierras of California, we are 
 familiarized with a style of life which is rude, uncouth, and 
 often what a parlour-boarder Miss would describe as " ex 
 tremely vulgar." But this is the outcome of the situation. 
 Just as a book of travels is supposed to describe to us men 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 and things as they are, fidelity of description being its chief 
 value, so in Bret Harte's sketches, while individuals are dis 
 guised under the forms of fiction, we feel that his hold upon 
 our attention rests upon the fact that he is unrolling before 
 us a panorama whose truthfulness we should recognise were 
 it our lot to travel among the same scenes and come in con 
 tact with the same characters. 
 
 Little is as yet known in England of the man Bret Harte. 
 Nothing could possibly be more agreeably disappointing 
 more unlike the notion of the man which the mind's eye would 
 conceive, picturing him from his books, and from the associa 
 tions of his life, than is his portrait. A singularly handsome, 
 refined set of features has Bret Harte ; large, beaming, dark 
 eyes ; nose sharply and classically cut ; small mouth ; long 
 flowing moustache and whisker. Erase the name from the 
 picture, and submit it to a physiognomist for an opinion, 
 and he would certainly declare the living man to be an 
 habitue of the salons of Belgravia, or a lounger in the bay- 
 window of the Guards' Club. Judging from our author's 
 appearance, any one would suppose it far more probable that 
 he da ted his letters from St. James's Square than from San 
 Francisco. 
 
 Bret Harte, who is said to be of Dutch, descent, was born 
 in 1837 at Albany, New York. His father was a school 
 master, and died while his son was still a boy. The 
 widowed mother was left in poor circumstances, and as soon 
 as her son was able to work, he sought to earn his daily 
 bread in a store at New York. When seventeen years of 
 age he left the big city for California, taking his mother with 
 him. From San Francisco he trudged on foot to the mines 
 of Sonora, and there, falling back upon his father's calling in 
 life, became a schoolmaster. The mines of Sonora are pro 
 bably to most English ears what would be mathematically 
 described as an "unknown quantity." Speaking geographi- 
 
x INTRODUCTION. 
 
 cally, Sonora is a " good step down South " from San Fran 
 cisco, and a province of Mexico, It is a hilly, arid country, 
 uninviting to a pedagogue, but attractive to drovers and horse 
 dealers, being famed for its cattle. 
 
 Here Bret Harte was thrown in contact with that mining 
 community of the Far "West which has provided so much 
 pabulum for his brain, and thus made the reading world 
 indebted to his pen for introducing it to a rough, primitive 
 class of people, living a life full of passion, earnestness, hot 
 pursuit of gain, shadowed by lawlessness, crime, and wild 
 folly ; but a people, nevertheless, in whom the dark shadows 
 are not uncommonly relieved by bright lines of light, and in 
 whom touches of love, of tenderness, and of truth, give us 
 assurance that all is not worthless and degraded. The pic 
 tures which Bret Harte has drawn of this life are startlingly 
 powerful. He not only makes us familiar with a new phase 
 of existence, but with his pen he sketches pictures which are 
 nothing less than Salvator Rosa upon paper. With a breadth 
 of effect like the great Italian's, his figures seem actually to 
 leap from the canvas. 
 
 Schooling at Sonora does not appear to have answered. 
 Abandoning the attempt to train the young ideas of the 
 sons, Bret Harte consorted next with their fathers, and 
 tried the mines ; but they did not prove mines of wealth 
 to him, and within a short time he devoted himself to the 
 " double, double toil and trouble" of composition that is to 
 say, became both composer and compositor. Eureka ! He 
 had found it at last his calling. In the newspaper office of 
 Eureka he followed the craft of a compositor ; and it is said 
 that his earliest familiarity with type was acquired in setting 
 up articles and essays of his own, contributed to the pages of 
 the Eureka newspaper. Here was the first gleam of his 
 coming success. The sable curtain of uncertainty and want 
 began to lift, and the dawn of a bright future peeped through 
 the blankness of the dark that dreary night of struggle 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 through which so many of our greatest and brightest intel 
 lects have had to wrestle, like the Patriarch at Peniel, 
 perhaps little thinking, while their sinews shrank in the great 
 encounter, that the darkness only cloaked from view one who 
 was trying and proving them but to give his blessing when 
 ''the day breaketh." 
 
 Bret Harte must have risen rapidly in the confidence of the 
 proprietor of the Eureka Journal, for during the absence of its 
 editor he was left in charge. This led to an incident, at the 
 moment sufficiently perplexing and unfortunate, which was 
 the direct means of conducting him to better fortune elsewhere. 
 The northern portion of the province of Sonora is called Pi 
 rn eria, and inhabited by the Pimas nation of Indians. Between 
 the Indians and the "pale-face" of Eureka, the chief citizens, 
 traders, and magnates of the town, that trustfulness and 
 brotherly love did not exist which forges swords into pruniiig- 
 hooks and allures lambs to cubiculary confidences with lions. 
 In point of fact, a foray was concocted and executed with 
 strategical neatness and precision, ending in a massacre of 
 the Indians, which would have done honour to William III. 
 and his chivalric troops at Glencoe. Bret Harte seems to 
 have made a most unpardonable mistake for an editor. He 
 did not appreciate the signs of the times ; but with plainness 
 and bluntness (which may possibly have done honour to his 
 heart, but said very little for his judgment and his head) 
 denounced the rascally proceeding in uncomplimentary epi 
 thets of Saxon vigour. Such mistaken and ill-regulated 
 sympathies as Bret Harte exhibited rendered him offensive 
 to the patriots of Eureka ; so he retraced his steps to San 
 Francisco, and resuming there the occupation of a compositor, 
 he pursued it steadily until he was appointed editor of the 
 Golden Era. 
 
 His next attempt was to establish a paper of his own, in 
 conjunction with Mr. Welby, under the name of The Call- 
 fornian. Commercially, this paper proved a failure, but 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 as a literary venture its numbers are of value, because 
 it was in them that Mr. Harte first exhibited that strength 
 of satire and humour which have since made him 
 famous. 
 
 On the production of the Overland Monthly, Bret Harte 
 was selected for the editorship. A more fitting appointment 
 could not have been made. Of this magazine it may truly 
 be said that Bret Harte made it. Its pages have given him 
 wide enough berth ; and throughout we feel his editorial 
 presence and guidance quite as emphatically as Charles 
 Dickens's control was traceable in the pages of All the 
 Year Round, or Thackeray's in the early numbers of the 
 Cornhill. 
 
 The production of the " Luck of Roaring Camp" in the 
 Overland Monthly set that journal on its legs. The diffi 
 culties which beset every youthful journal struggling for 
 recognition vanished at once, and from that time to the 
 present Bret Harte's career has been one of uninterrupted 
 success. It is only necessary to add that in 1869 Messrs. 
 Fields, Osgood, and Co., the American publishers, brought 
 out a volume of collected pieces, containing the "Luck of 
 Roaring Camp," the "Outcasts of Poker Flat," "Higgles," 
 " Mliss," &c., which have since been made familiar to us in 
 an English edition by Mr. Hotten. The same may be said 
 of the " Heathen Chinee/' the ' Sensation Novels," " East 
 and West/' and " Stories of the Sierras." 
 
 Before closing these introductory remarks, it may be 
 fitting, and certainly to Bret Harte it is due, to remind the 
 reader that the authors of comic or satirical writings are 
 not men to be regarded as tumbling like clowns, or grinning 
 through horse-collars like buffoons. When the little child 
 at the dinner-party pertly said to Theodore Hook, " Please^ 
 Mr. Hook, mamma wants to know when you will begin to 
 be funny," it only said what a great many big children 
 adult boobies think. The professed Fools of Courts wore 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Xlll 
 
 never altogether fools. Kent had penetration enough, in 
 listening to the excellent jests of King Lear's biting critic, 
 to exclaim, "This is not altogether fool, my Lord." So let 
 it be remembered that lie who wields the sword glittering 
 with fun and humour, carries in his grasp a two-edged 
 weapon, one edge of which can and will cut with a sharp 
 ness that makes the flesh quiver. Biographical dictionaries 
 will tell us truly that Thomas Hood was a humourist, but 
 there are few amongst us who would like, or like to deserve, 
 to be ground to dust by such crushing fun as the " Ode to 
 R/ae Wilson." Moreover, the same pen that wrote "Miss 
 Kilmansegg and her Precious Leg," wrote also the " Bridge 
 of Sighs," the "Song of the Shirt," "We watch'd her 
 breathing through the Night," and " Love thy Mother, 
 little one." Where is the poet that would not be proud to 
 have written such poetry as this ? So, in his place and line, 
 let Bret Harte be esteemed. We owe him thanks for hav 
 ing made us acquainted with a class of men, and pourtrayed 
 subtle points of character and life, among the Sierras, of 
 which we previously knew nothing. And in this revelation 
 what a rich variety of individualism has he presented ! 
 Tears of laughter and tears of emotion roll down our cheeks S 
 humour, pathos, passion, and sarcasm succeed one another 
 in his stories ; but throughout them all we feel conscious of 
 a personal reality. 
 
 Though we read in form of fiction the stories of the " Out 
 casts of Poker Flat," and " Miggles," and " High- Water 
 Mark," we never doubt that these men and women are 
 studies drawn from life experiences of Bret Harte's Cali- 
 fornian career and that he could show us the exact spot 
 where " Mary's Ark " was built on Dedlow Marsh, and the 
 cottage in which the devoted Miggles sustained the helpless 
 Jim. 
 
 If it were necessary, several pages might be filled in giving 
 extracts from Bret Harte's works to show his powers of 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 FceiiG-painting, and also the pathos of which he is master. 
 Let the two following passages serve as illustrations : 
 
 "It was noon when the body of Tennessee was delivered into the 
 hands of his partner. As the cart drew up to the fatal tree, we noticed 
 that it contained a rough oblong box, apparently made from a section 
 of sluicing and half filled with bark and the tassels of pine. The cart 
 was further decorated with slips of willow, and made fragrant with 
 buckeye-blossoms. When the body was deposited in the box, Tennes 
 see's Partner drew over it a piece of tarred canvas, and gravely mount 
 ing the narrow seat in front, with his feet upon the shafts, urged the 
 little donkey forward. The equipage moved slowly on, at that decorous 
 pace which was habitual with "Jenny " even under less solemn cir 
 cumstances. The men half-curiously, half-jestingly, but all good- 
 humouredly strolled along beside the cart ; some in advance, some a 
 little in the rear of the homely catafalque. But, whether from the 
 narrowing of the road or some present sense ot decorum, as the cart 
 passed on the company fell to the rear in couples, keeping step, and 
 otherwise assuming the external show of a formal procession. Jack 
 Folinsbee, who had at the outset played a funeral march in dumb show 
 upon an imaginary trombone, desisted, from a lack of sympathy and 
 appreciation not having, perhaps, your true humourist's capacity to be 
 content with the enjoyment of his own fun. 
 
 " The way led through Grizzly Canon by this time clothed in funeral 
 drapery and shadows. The red-woods, burying tneir moccasoncd feet 
 in the red soil, stood in Indian file along the track, trailing an uncouth 
 benediction from their bending boughs upon the passing bier. A hare, 
 surprised into helpless inactivity, sat upright and pulsating in the ferns 
 by the roadside as the cortege went by. Squirrels hastened to gain a secure 
 outlook from higher boughs ; and the blue-jays, spreading their wings, 
 fluttered before them like outriders, until the outskirts of Sandy Bar 
 were reached, and the solitary cabin of Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 "Viewed under more favourable circumstances, it would not have 
 been a cheerful place. The unpicturesquc site, the rude and unlovely 
 outlines, the unsavoury details, which distinguish the nest-building of 
 the California miner, were all here, with the dreariness of decay super- 
 added. A few paces from the cabin there was a rough enclosure, which, 
 in the brief days of Tennessee's Partner's matrimonial felicity, had been 
 used as a garden, but was now overgrown with fern. As we approached 
 it, we were surprised to find that what we had taken for a recent 
 attempt at cultivation was the broken soil about an open grave. 
 
 "The cart was halted before the enclosure; and rejecting the offers 
 
INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 of assistance with the same air oi simple self-reliance he had displayed 
 throughout, Tennessee's Partner lifted the rough coffin on his back, 
 and deposited it unaided, within the shallow grave. He then nailed 
 down the board which served as a lid ; and mounting the little mound 
 of earth beside it, took off his hat, and slowly mopped his face with his 
 handkerchief. This the crowd felt was a preliminary to speech ; and 
 they disposed themselves variously on stumps and boulders, and sat 
 expectant. 
 
 '"When a man,' began Tennessee's Partner, slowly, 'has been running- 
 free all day, what's the natural thing for him to do? Why, to come 
 home. And if he ain't in a condition to go home, what can his best 
 friend do? Why, bring him home! And here's Tennessee has been 
 running free, and we brings him home from his wandering.' He paused, 
 and picked up a fragment of quartz, rubbed it thoughtfully on his 
 sleeve, and went on : 'It ain't the first time that I've packed him on 
 my back as you see'd me now. It ain't the first time that I brought 
 him to this yer cabin when he couldn't help himself ; it ain't the first 
 time that I and "Jenny " have waited for him on yon hill, and picked 
 him up and so fetched him home, when he couldn't speak, and didn't 
 
 know me. And now that it's the last time, why ' he paused, and 
 
 rubbed the quartz gently on his sleeve 'you see it's sort of rough on his 
 pardner. And now, gentlemen,' he added, abruptly, picking up his 
 long-handled shovel, ' the fun'ls over ; and my thanks, and Tennessee's 
 thanks to you, for your trouble.'" 
 
 Not less vivid is the entire story of " Higgles," but there 
 is a beauty and a pathetic tenderness about the love and 
 devotion of the woman who would be ashamed to let the 
 travellers by the Pioneer Stage Company catch a glimpse of 
 her real nature, which could hardly have been written by 
 any other man of our generation save one, and he now lies 
 at rest among his peers at Westminster : 
 
 for the touch of a vanished hand, 
 And the sound of a voice that is still. 
 
 "'The folks about here are very kind,' said Higgles, after a pause, 
 coming a little into the light, again, 'The men from the fork used to 
 hang around here, until they found they wasn't wanted, and the women 
 arc kind and don't call. I was pretty lonely until I picked up Joaquin 
 in the woods yonder one day, when he wasn't so high, and taught him to 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 beg for his dinner ; and then thar's Polly that's the magpie she knows 
 no end of tricks, and makes it quite sociable of evenings with her talk, 
 and so I don't feel like as I was the only living being about the ranch. 
 And Jim here,' said Higgles, with her old laugh again, and coming out 
 quite into the firelight, 'Jim why, boys, you would admire to see how 
 much he knows for a man like him. Sometimes I bring him flowers, 
 and he looks at 'em just as natural as if he knew 'em ; and times, when 
 we're sitting alone, I read him those things on the wall. Why, Lord/ 
 says Miggles, with her frank laugh, ' I've read him that whole side of 
 the house this winter. There never was such a man for reading as 
 Jim.' 
 
 "'Why,' asked the Judge, 'do you not marry this man to whom you 
 have devoted your youthful life ] ' 
 
 '"Well, you see,' said Miggles, ' it would be playing it rather low down 
 on Jim, to take advantage of his being so helpless. And then, too, if 
 we were man and wife, now, we'd both know that I was bound to do what 
 I do now of my own accord.' 
 
 "'But you are young yet and attractive ' 
 
 '"It's getting late,' said Miggles, gravely, 'and you'd better all turn 
 in. Good-night, boys ;' and, throwing the blanket over her head, Miggles 
 laid herself down beside Jim's chair, her head pillowed on the low stool 
 that held his feet, and spoke no more. The fire slowly faded from the 
 hearth ; we each sought our blankets in silence ; and presently there 
 was no sound in the long room but the pattering of the rain upon the 
 roof, and the heavy breathing of the sleepers. 
 
 " It was nearly morning when I awoke from a troubled dream. The 
 storm had passed, the stars were shining, and through the shutteiiess 
 w.indow the full moon, lifting itself over the solemn pines without, 
 looked into the room. It touched the lonely figure in the chair with 
 an infinite compassion, and seemed to baptize with a shining flood the 
 lowly head of the woman whose hair, as in the sweet old story, bathed 
 the feet of him she loved." 
 
 It is a great pleasure, and a small labour of love, for one 
 who knows him not, and whose lines in life lie so far apart 
 from his that probably he may never know him, to offer 
 these few lines of respect and regard to Bret Harte. It is 
 impossible for any one who is familiar with the works of 
 such distinguished and distinctive authors as Prescott and 
 Washington Irving, Hawthorne and Emerson, Charming 
 
INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 and Parker, Longfellow and Lowell, and many others that 
 might be named and contrasted, not to feel that Americans 
 have the power of making for themselves places in letters 
 which are entirely their own. It may be that the youth 
 and vigour of the States causes this the field for mental 
 enterprise is so much broader and fresher than in the Old 
 Country. But whatever the cause, the fact is undeniable. 
 Bret Harte rides his own Pegasus, whatever may be its 
 blood. No job-master's stables supply him with a hack for 
 his excursions. The steed comes forth fresh and as yet 
 unmounted ; and boldly is he ridden. 
 
 J. M. B. 
 
 91, HOLLAND ROAD, KENSINGTON, 
 November, 1872. 
 
CHARLES DICKENS AND BRET HARTE. 
 
 " Not many months before my friend's death, he had sent me two 
 sketches by a young American writer far away in California, [' The 
 Outcasts of Poker Flat,' and another,] in which he had found such 
 subtle strokes of character as he had not anywhere else in late years 
 discovered ; the manner resembling himself, but the matter fresh to a 
 degree that had surprised him ; the painting in all respects masterly, 
 and the wild rude thing painted a quite wonderful reality. I have 
 rarely known him more honestly moved." 
 
 Forsters "life of Dickens," Vol. I. 
 
 " Dr. Macleod liked to see a man, and had a warm place in his heart 
 for soldiers and sailors. He would sing his own war-song, ' Dost tiiou 
 remember,' to a company of old soldiers ; and 'The Old Lieutenant 
 and his Son ' and < Billy Buttons ' show how sympathetically he could 
 limn old salts. An absurd report, by the by, has been spread that the 
 latter story was plagiarised from Bret Harte, the fact being that, 
 although only recently republished in a book, ' Billy Buttons ' appeared 
 in a Christmas number of ' Good Words,' long before the publication 
 of ' The Luck of Roaring Camp." Contemporary Review. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION. By J. M. BELLEW . , . iii 
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE xxv 
 
 I. SKETCHES 
 
 THE LUCK OP ROARING CAMP I 
 
 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT . . . X 5 
 
 HIGGLES ........ 28 
 
 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. . . . . 41 
 
 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH 52 
 
 HIGH-WATER MARK . . ... 63 
 
 A LONELY RIDE . . . . . . . 72 
 
 THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT 79 
 
 II. STORIES 
 
 MLISS. ........ 85 
 
 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER . . . 115 
 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD . . . .124 
 
 III. BOHEMIAN PAPERS 
 
 THE MISSION DOLORES . . , . . . 150 
 
 JOHN CHINAMAN. . . . . . . 153 
 
 FROM A BACK WINDOW . . . . . . 156 
 
 BOONDER . 159 
 
2X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SENSATION NOVELS CONDENSED 
 
 SELINA SEDILIA. BY MISS M. E. B-DD-N AND 
 
 MRS. H-N-Y W-D . 1 6$ 
 
 FANTINE. AFTER T1JE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO . 1 73 
 TERENCE DEUVILLE. BY CII-L-S L-V-R . .178 
 
 THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. BY SIR ED-D 
 
 L-TT-N B-LW-R . . . . . .184 
 
 THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. BY AL-X-D-R D-M-S 189 
 MUCK-A-MUCK. A MODERN INDIAN NOVEL. AFTER 
 
 COOPER . 196 
 
 MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. BY CAPTAIN M-RRY-T,R.N. 204 
 GUY IIEAVYSTONE ; OR, "ENTIRE." A MUSCULAR 
 
 NOVEL. BY THE AUTHOR OF " SWORD AND GUN " 212 
 
 THE HAUNTED MAN. A CHRISTMAS STORY. BY 
 CH-R-S D-CK-NS . . . . . .219 
 
 " LA FEMME." AFTER THE FRENCH CF M. MICHELET 22O 
 MARY M'GILLUP. A SOUTHERN NOVEL. AFTER 
 
 BELLE BOYD 232 
 
 MISS MIX. BY CII-L-TTE BR-NTE . . . 238 
 
 N. N. BEING A NOVEL IN THE FRENCH PARAGRAPHIC 
 
 STYLE ........ 248 
 
 NO TITLE. BY W-LK-E C-LL-NS . . . . 252 
 
 HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. BY CH-S R-DE 260 
 
 SKETCHES 
 
 MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL , . . 273 
 
 MELONS ........ 282 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW . . .289 
 
 A NIGHT AT WlNGDAM . . . . . . 302 
 
 BROWN OF CALAVERAS . . . . .310 
 
 JOHN JENKINS ; OR, THE SMOKER REFORMEP. BY 
 
 T. S. A-TH-R ....... 322 
 
 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT . . , '327 
 
 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENLS . f , 339 
 
CONTENTS. xxi 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SKETCHES continued. 
 
 A BOYS' DOG ..... 356 
 
 HOW SANTA GLAUS CAME TO SIMPSON'S BAR . . 360 
 SURPRISING ADVENTURES OP MASTER CHARLES 
 
 SUMMERTON . . . . . . .380 
 
 THE ILIAD OP SANDY BAR . . . . . 384 
 
 THE STORY OP AN ORNITHOLOGIST . . . 39Q 
 
 ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY . . . . . 411 
 
 WAITING FOR THE SITIP. A FORT POINT IDYL . 415 
 
 LOTIIAW . . . . . . ... 418 
 
 POEMS- 
 
 THAT HEATHEN CHINEE ... -433 
 
 FURTHER LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES . . 43$ 
 THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS . . '437 
 
 "JIM" ... . 439 
 CHIQUITA . . . . . . .441 
 
 DOW'S FLAT 443 
 
 IN THE TUNNEL ....... 446 
 
 "CICELY" 447 
 
 PENELOPE 450 
 
 JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG . . . . . 452 
 
 THE TALE OF A PONY 455 
 
 THE MIRACLE OF PADRE JUNIPERO . . . . 459 
 
 AN ARCTIC VISION 461 
 
 TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL A GEOLOGICAL ADDRESS '464 
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU . . .. . . 466 
 
 THE AGED STRANGER AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR . 467 
 
 " HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY ? " . . . . 469 
 
 THE REVEILLE . . . . . . . 470 
 
 OUR PRIVILEGE ... . . . . . 471 
 
 RELIEVING GUARD . . . . . . . 472 
 
 A GEOLOGICAL MADRIGAL. AFTER IIERRICK . 473 
 
 THE WILLOWS AFTER EDGAR A. POE . . . 474 
 
xxii CONTENTS, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 POEMS continued. 
 
 NORTH BEACH. AFTER SPENSER . . -477 
 
 THE LOST TAILS OF MILETUS . . . . . 478 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO . . . . '479 
 
 THE ANGELUS ... ..... 480 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN HEART'S -EASE . . . .482 
 
 GRIZZLY ........ 483 
 
 MADRONO ........ 484 
 
 COYOTE ......... 4^5 
 
 TO A SEABIRD ....... 485 
 
 HER LETTER . . . . ... 486 
 
 DICKENS IN CAMP . . . . . .4^9 
 
 WHAT THE ENGINES SAID . . . . . 49 1 
 
 " THE RETURN OF BELISARIUS " . . . . 493 
 
 " TWENTY YEARS " . . . . . . 494 
 
 FATE . 495 
 
 A GREYPORT LEGEND . . . . . . 496 
 
 A NEWPORT ROMANCE . . . . -498 
 
 THE HAWK'S NEST . . . . . . . 501 
 
 IN THE MISSION GARDEN 503 
 
 THE OLD MAJOR EXPLAINS . . . 55 
 
 "SEVENTY- NINE" ...... 506 
 
 HIS ANSWER TO " HER LETTER" . . . . 509 
 
 THE WONDERFUL SPRING OF SAN JOAQUIN . . 511 
 
 ON A CONE OF TUB BIG TREES . . . . 515 
 
 A SANITARY MESSAGE . . . . 5 T 7 
 
 THE COPPERHEAD . 518 
 
 ON A PEN OF THOMAS STARR KING . . . 519 
 
 LONE MOUNTAIN . . . . . . . 520 
 
 CALIFORNIA'S GREETING TO SEWARD . . .521 
 
 THE TWO SHIPS . . . . . . . 522 
 
 THE GODDESS ....... 523 
 
 ADDRESS 525 
 
 THE LOST GALLEON . . . .526 
 
CONTENTS. xxiii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 POEMS continued. 
 
 A SECOND REVIEW OF TIJE GRAND ARMY . . 532 
 
 BEFORE THE CURTAIN . . . . 535 
 
 THE STAGE-DRIVER'S STORY . . . 535 
 
 ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE . . . . . 538 
 
 CALIFORNIA MADRIGAL 544 
 
 ST. THOMAS 545 
 
 THE BALLAD OF MR. COOKE . . . . . 547 
 
 THE LEGENDS OF THE RHINE . . . . 551 
 
 MRS. JUDGE JENKINS . . . 553 
 
 AVITOR ........ 556 
 
 A AVIIITE-PINE BALLAD . . . . . . 557 
 
 WHAT THE WOLF REALLY SAID TO LITTLE RED 
 
 RIDING HOOD . . . . . -559 
 
 THE RITUALIST 560 
 
 A MORAL VINDICATOR . . . . .561 
 
 SONGS WITHOUT SENSE FOR THE PARLOUR AND 
 
 PIANO 562 
 
 CONCEPCION DE ARGUELLO . . . . .564 
 
 HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER . . .'570 
 DOLLY VARDEN . . . . . . -572 
 
 CHICAGO, OCTOBER 10, 1871 . . . 574 
 
AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 A SERIES of. designs suggested, I think, by Hogarth's 
 familiar cartoons of the Industrious and Idle Appren 
 tices I remember as among the earliest efforts at moral 
 teaching in California. They represented the respective 
 careers of the Honest and Dissolute Miners : the one, as I 
 recall him, retrograding through successive planes of dirt, 
 drunkenness, disease, and death ; the other advancing by 
 corresponding stages to affluence and a white shirt. What 
 ever may have been the artistic defects of these drawings, 
 the moral at least was obvious and distinct. That it failed, 
 however, as it did, to produce the desired reform in 
 mining morality may have been owing to the fact that the 
 average miner refused to recognize himself in either of these 
 positive characters ; and that even he who might have sat 
 for the model of the Dissolute Miner was perhaps dimly 
 conscious of some limitations and circumstances which partly 
 relieved him from responsibility. " Yer see," remarked such 
 a, critic to the writer, in the untranslatable poetry of his 
 class, "it ain't no square game. They've just put up the 
 keerds on that chap from the start." ' 
 
 With this lamentable example before me, I. trust that in 
 the following sketches I have abstained from any positive 
 moral. I might have painted my villains of the blackest 
 dye, so black, indeed, that the originals thereof would have 
 contemplated them with the glow of comparative virtue. I 
 
xxvi PREFACE. 
 
 might have made it impossible for them to have performed 
 a virtuous or generous action, and have thus avoided that 
 moral confusion which is apt to arise in the contemplation 
 of mixed motives and qualities. But I should have bur 
 dened myself with the responsibility of their creation, 
 which, as a humble writer of romance and entitled to 110 
 particular reverence, I did not care to do. 
 
 I fear I cannot claim, therefore, any higher motive than 
 to illustrate an era of which Califoririan history has 
 preserved the incidents more often than the character 
 of the actors, an era which the panegyrist was too 
 often content to bridge over with a general compliment 
 to its survivors, an era still so recent that in attempt 
 ing to revive its poetry, I am conscious also of awakening 
 the more prosaic recollections of these same survivors, and 
 yet an era replete with a certain heroic Greek poetry, of 
 which perhaps none were more unconscious than the heroes 
 themselves. And I shall be quite content to have collected 
 here merely the materials for the Iliad that is yet to bo 
 sung. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, December 24, 1869. 
 
THE 
 
 LUCK OF ROARING CAMP 
 
 AND OTHER SKETCHES. 
 
I.-SKETCHES, 
 
 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 '"PHERE was commotion in Roaring Camp. It could 
 not have been a fight, for in 1850 that was not noVel 
 enough to have called together the entire settlement. The 
 ditches and claims were not only deserted, but " Tuttle's 
 grocery " had contributed its gamblers, who, it will be re 
 membered, calmly continued their game the day that French 
 Pete and Kanaka Joe shob each other to death over the bar 
 in the front room. The whole camp was collected before a 
 rude cabin on the outer edge of the clearing. Conversation 
 was carried on in a low tone, but the name of a woman was 
 frequently repeated. It was a name familiar enough in the 
 camp, " Cherokee Sal." 
 
 Perhaps the less said of her the better. She was a coarse, 
 and, it is to be feared, a very sinful woman. But at that 
 time she was the only woman in. Roaring Camp, and was 
 just then lying in sore extremity, when she most needed the 
 ministration of her own sex. Dissolute, abandoned, and 
 irreclaimable, she was yet suffering a martyrdom hard 
 enough to bear even when veiled by sympathizing woman 
 hood, but now terrible in her loneliness. The primal curse 
 had come to her in that original isolation which must have 
 made the punishment of the first transgression so dreadful. 
 Tt was, perhaps, part of the expiation of her sin, that, at a 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 moment when she most lacked her sex's intuitive tenderness 
 and care, she met only the half-contemptuous faces of her 
 masculine associates. Yet a few of the spectators were, I 
 think, touched by her sufferings. Sandy Tipton thought it 
 was " rough on Sal," and, in the contemplation of her con 
 dition, for a moment rose superior to the fact that he had an 
 ace and two bowers in his sleeve. 
 
 It will be seen, also, that the situation was novel. Deaths 
 were by no means uncommon in Roaring Camp, but a birth 
 was a new thing. People had been dismissed the camp 
 effectively, finally, and with no possibility of return; but 
 this was the first time that anybody had been introduced 
 ab initio. Hence the excitement. 
 
 " You go in there, Stumpy," said a prominent citizen, 
 known as " Kentuck," addressing one of the loungers. " Go 
 in there, and see what you kin do. You've had experience 
 in them things." 
 
 Perhaps there was a fitness in the selection. Stumpy, in 
 other climes, had been the putative head of two families ; in 
 fact, it was owing to some legal informality in these pro 
 ceedings that Roaring Camp a city of refuge was in 
 debted to his company. The crowd approved the choice, 
 and Stumpy was wise enough to bow to the majority. The 
 door closed on the extempore surgeon and midwife, and 
 Roaring Camp sat down outside, smoked its pipe, and 
 awaited the issue. 
 
 The assemblage numbered about a hundred men. One or 
 two of these were actual fugitives from justice, some were 
 criminal, and all were reckless. Physically, they exhibited 
 no indication of their past lives and character. The greatest 
 scamp had a Raphael face, with a profusion of blond hair ; 
 Oakhurst, a gambler, had the melancholy air and intellectual 
 abstraction of a Hamlet ; the coolest and most courageous 
 man was scarcely over five feet in height, with a .soft voice 
 .and an embarrassed, timid manner. The term "roughs" 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 5 
 
 applied to them was a distinction rather than a definition. 
 Perhaps in the minor details of fingers, toes, ears, &c., the 
 camp may have been deficient j but these slight omissions 
 did not detract from their aggregate force. The strongest 
 man had but three fingers on his right hand ; the best shot 
 had but one eye. 
 
 Such was the physical aspect of the men that were dis 
 persed around the cabin. The camp lay in a triangular 
 valley, between two hills and a river. The only outlet was 
 a steep trail over the summit of a hill that faced the cabin ? 
 now illuminated by the rising moon. The suffering woman 
 might have seen it from the rude bunk whereon she lay, 
 seen it winding like a silver thread until it was lost in the 
 stars above. 
 
 A fire of withered pine-boughs added sociability to thfc. 
 gathering. By degrees the natural levity of Roaring Camp 
 returned. Bets were freely offered and taken regarding the? 
 result. Three to five that " Sal would get through with 
 it ;" even that the child would survive ; side bets as to the 
 sex and complexion of the coming stranger. In the midst 
 of an excited discussion an exclamation came from those 
 nearest the door, and the camp stopped to listen. Above 
 the swaying and moaning of the pines, the swift rush of the 
 river, and the crackling of the fire, rose a sharp, querulous 
 cry a cry unlike anything heard before in the camp. The 
 pines stopped moaning, the river ceased to rush, and the 
 fire to crackle. It seemed as if Nature had stopped to* 
 listen too. 
 
 The camp rose to its feet as one man ! It was proposed 
 to explode a barrel of gunpowder, but, in consideration of 
 the situation of the mother, better counsels prevailed, and 
 only a few revolvers were discharged ; for, whether owing- 
 to the rude surgery of the camp, or some other reason, 
 Cherokee Sal was sinking fast. Within an hour she had 
 climbed, as it were, that rugged road that led to the stars,. 
 
6 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 and so passed out of Roaring Canip, its sin and shame, for 
 ever. I do not think that the announcement disturbed 
 them much, except in speculation as to the fate of the vdiild. 
 "Can he live now?" was asked of Stumpy. The answer 
 was doubtful. The only other being of Cherokee Sal's sex 
 and maternal condition in the settlement was an ass. There 
 was some conjecture as to fitness, but the experiment was 
 tried. It was less problematical than the ancient treatment 
 of Romulus and Remus, and apparently as successful. 
 
 "When these details were completed, which exhausted 
 another hour, the door was opened, and the anxious crowd 
 of men who had already formed themselves into a queue, 
 entered in single file. Beside the low bunk or shelf, on 
 which the figure of the mother was starkly outlined below 
 the blankets, stood a pine table. On this a candle-box was 
 placed, and within it, swathed in star-ing red flannel, lay the 
 last arrival at Roaring Camp. Beside the candle-box was 
 placed a hat. Its use was soon indicated. " Gentlemen," 
 said Stumpy, with a singular mixture of authority and ex 
 offido complacency, " Gentlemen will please pass in at the 
 front door, round the table, and out at the back door. Them 
 .as wishes to contribute anything toward the orphan will find 
 a hat handy." The first man entered with his hat on ; he 
 uncovered, however, as he looked about him, and so, uncon 
 sciously, set an example to the next. In such communities 
 good and bad actions are catching. As the procession filed 
 in, comments were audible, criticisms addressed, perhaps, 
 Tather to Stumpy, in the character of showman, " Is that 
 him ? " " mighty small specimen ; " " hasn't mor'n got the 
 colour" "ain't bigger nor a derringer." The contributions 
 were as characteristic : A silver tobacco-box ; a doubloon ; 
 a navy revolver, silver mounted ; a gold specimen ; a very 
 beautifully embroidered lady's handkerchief from Oakhurst, 
 the gambler) ; a diamond breastpin ; a diamond ring (sug 
 gested by the pin, with the remark from the giver that he 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 7 
 
 " saw that pin and went two diamonds better ") ; a slung 
 shot ; a Bible (contributor not detected) ; a golden spur ; 
 a silver teaspoon (the initials, I regret to say, were not the 
 giver's) ; a pair of surgeon's shears ; a lancet ; a Bank of 
 England note for 5 ; and about $200 in loose gold and 
 silvet (Coin. During these proceedings Stumpy maintained a 
 silence as impassive as the dead on his left, a gravity as in 
 scrutable as that of the newly born on his right. Only one 
 incident occurred to break the monotony of the curious pro 
 cession. As Kentuck bent over the candle-box half curi 
 ously, the child turned, and, in a spasm of pain, caught at 
 his groping finger, and held it fast for a moment. Kentuck 
 looked foolish and embarrassed. Something like a blush 
 tried to assert itself in his weather-beaten cheek. "The 
 d d little cuss ! " he said, as he extricated his finger, with, 
 perhaps,, more tenderness and care than he might have been 
 deemed capable of showing. He held that finger a little 
 apart from its fellows as he went out, and examined it 
 curiously. The examination, provoked the same original re 
 mark in regard to the child. In fact, he seemed to enjoy 
 repeating it. " He rastled with my finger," he remarked to 
 Tipton, holding up the member, " the d d little cuss ! " 
 
 It was four o'clock before the camp sought repose. A 
 light burnt in the cabin where the watchers sat, for Stumpy 
 did not go to bed that night. NOT did Kentuck. He drank 
 quite freely, and related with great gusto his experience, in 
 variably ending with his characteristic condemnation of the 
 new-comer. It seemed to relieve him of any unjust impli 
 cation of sentiment, and Kentuck had the weaknesses of 
 the nobler sex. When everybody else had gone to bed, he 
 walked clown to the river, and whistled reflectingly. Then, 
 he walked up the gulch, past the cabin, still whistling with 
 demonstrative unconcern. At a large red-wood tree he 
 
 O 
 
 paused and retraced his steps, and again passed the cabin. 
 Half-way down to the river's bank he again paused, and then 
 
8 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 returned and knocked at the door. It was opened by 
 Stumpy. " How goes it ? " said Kentuck, looking past 
 Stumpy toward the candle-box. "All serene," replied 
 Stumpy. "Anything up?" "Nothing." There was a 
 pause an embarrassing one Stumpy still holding the door. 
 Then Kentuck had recourse to his finger, which he held up 
 to Stumpy. " Rastled with it, the d d little cuss," he 
 said, and retired. 
 
 The next day Cherokee Sal had such rude sepulture as 
 Roaring Camp afforded. After her body had been com 
 mitted to the hill-side, there was a formal meeting of the 
 camp to discuss what should be done with her infant. A 
 resolution to adopt it was unanimous and enthusiastic. But 
 an animated discussion in regard to the manner and feasibility 
 of providing for its wants at once sprung up. It was re 
 markable that the argument partook of none of those fierce 
 personalities with which discussions were usually conducted at 
 Roaring Camp. Tipton proposed that they should send the 
 child to Red Dog, a distance of forty miles, where female 
 attention could be procured. But the unlucky suggestion 
 met with fierce and unanimous opposition. It was evident 
 that 110 plan which entailed parting from their new acquisi 
 tion would for a moment be entertained. " Besides," said 
 Tom Ryder, " them fellows at Red Dog would swap it, and 
 ring in somebody else on us." A disbelief in the honesty of 
 other camps prevailed at Roaring Camp as in other places. 
 
 The introduction of a female nurse in the camp also met 
 with objection. It was argued that no decent woman could 
 be prevailed to accept Roaring Camp as her home, and the 
 speaker urged that " they didn't want any more of the other 
 kind." This unkind allusion to the defunct mother, harsh as 
 it may seem, was the first spasm of propriety, the first 
 symptom of the camp's regeneration. Stumpy advanced 
 nothing. Perhaps he felt a certain delicacy in interfering 
 with the selection of a possible successor in office. But when 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 9 
 
 questioned, he averred stoutly that he and "Jinny" the 
 mammal before alluded to could manage to rear the child. 
 There was something original, independent, and heroic about 
 the plan that pleased the camp. Stumpy was retained. 
 Certain articles were sent for to Sacramento. " Mind," said 
 the treasurer, as he pressed a bag of gold-dust into the 
 expressman's hand, "the best that can be got, lace, you 
 know, and filigree-work and frills d n the cost ! " 
 
 Strange to say, the child thrived. Perhaps the invigorat 
 ing climate of the mountain camp was compensation for 
 material deficiencies. Nature took the fondling to her 
 broader breast. In that rare atmosphere of the Sierra foot 
 hills, that air pungent with balsamic odour, that ethereal 
 cordial at once bracing and exhilarating, he may have 
 found food and nourishment, or a subtle chemistry that 
 transmuted asses' milk to lime and phosphorus. Stumpy 
 inclined to the belief that it was the latter, and good nurs 
 ing. " Me and that ass," he would say, ** has been father and 
 mother to him ! Don't you," he would add, apostrophizing 
 the helpless bundle before him, "never go back on us." 
 
 By the time he was a month old, the necessity of giving 
 him a name became apparent. He had generally been 
 known as "the Kid," " Stumpy's boy," "theCayote" (an 
 allusion to his vocal powers), and even by Keiituck's endear 
 ing diminutive of "the d d little cuss." But these were 
 felt to be vague and unsatisfactory, and were at last dis 
 missed under another influence. Gamblers and adventurers 
 are generally superstitious, and Oakhurst one day declared 
 that the baby had brought " the luck" to Roaring Camp. 
 It was certain that of late they had been successful. 
 " Luck " was the name agreed upon, with the prefix of 
 Tommy for greater convenience. No allusion was made to 
 the mother, and the father was unknown. " It 's better," 
 said the philosophical Oakhursb, " to take a fresh deal all 
 round. Call him Luck, and start him fair." A day was 
 
TO THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 accordingly set apart for the christening. What was meant 
 by this ceremony the reader may imagine, who has already 
 gathered some idea of the reckless irreverence of Roaring 
 Camp. The master of ceremonies was one " Boston," a 
 noted wag, and the occasion seemed to promise the greatest 
 facetiousness. This ingenious satirist had spent two days 
 in preparing a burlesque of the church service, with pointed 
 local allusions. The choir was properly trained, and Sandy 
 Tipton was to stand godfather. But after the procession had 
 marched to the grove with music and banners, and the child 
 had been deposited before a mock altar, Stumpy stepped 
 before the expectant crowd. " It ain't my style to spoil fun, 
 boys/' said the little man, stoutly, eyeing the faces around 
 him, " but it strikes me that this thing ain't exactly on the 
 squar. It 's playing it pretty low down on this yer baby to 
 ring in fun on him that he ain't going to understand. And 
 ef there 's going to be any godfathers round, I 'd like to see 
 who's got any better rights than me." A silence followed 
 Stumpy's speech. To the credit of all humorists be it said, 
 that the first man to acknowledge its justice was the sa 
 tirist, thus stopped of his fun. " But," said Stumpy, quickly, 
 following up his advantage, "we're here for a christening, 
 and we '11 have it. I proclaim you Thomas Luck, according 
 to the laws of the United States and the State of Cali 
 fornia, so help me God." It was the first time that the 
 name of the Deity had been uttered otherwise than pro 
 fanely in the camp. The form of christening was perhaps 
 even more ludicrous than the satirist had conceived ; but, 
 strangely enough, nobody saw it, and nobody laughed. 
 " Tommy" was christened as seriously as he would have 
 been under a Christian roof, and cried and was comforted in 
 as orthodox fashion. 
 
 And so the work of regeneration began in Roaring Camp. 
 Almost imperceptibly a change came over the settlement. 
 The cabin assigned to " Tommy Luck" or " The Luck," 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. II 
 
 as he was more frequently called first showed signs of 
 improvement. It was kept scrupulously clean and white 
 washed. Then it was boarded, clothed, and papered. The 
 rosewood cradle packed eighty miles by mule had, in 
 Stumpy's way of putting it, " sorter killed the rest of the 
 furniture." So the rehabilitation, of the cabin became a 
 necessity. The men who were in the habit of lounging in 
 at Stumpy's to see " how the Luck got on" seemed to appre 
 ciate the change, and, in self-defence, the rival establish 
 ment of "Tattle's grocery" bestirred itself, and imported 
 a carpet and mirrors. The reflections of the latter on the 
 appearance of Bearing Camp tended to produce stricter 
 liabits of personal cleanliness. Again, Stumpy imposed a 
 kind of quarantine Lipoii those who aspired to the honour 
 and privilege of holding " The Luck." It was a cruel mor 
 tification to Kentuck who, in the carelessness of a large 
 nature and the habits of frontier life, had begun to regard 
 all garments as a second cuticle, which, like a snake's, only 
 sloughed off through decay to be debarred this privilege 
 from certain prudential reasons. Yet such was the subtle 
 influence of innovation that he thereafter appeared regularly 
 every afternoon in a clean shirt, and face still shining from 
 his ablutions. JSTor were moral and social sanitary laws 
 neglected. " Tommy," who was supposed to spend his whole 
 existence in a persistent attempt to repose, must not be 
 disturbed by noise. The shouting and yelling which had 
 gained the camp its infelicitous title were not permitted 
 within hearing distance of Stumpy's. The men conversed in 
 whispers, or smoked with Indian gravity. Profanity was 
 tacitly given up in these sacred precincts, and throughout 
 the camp a popular form of expletive, known as " D n the 
 luck ! " and " Curse the luck ! " was abandoned, as having a 
 new personal bearing. Yocal music was not interdicted, 
 being supposed to have a soothing, tranquillizing quality, 
 and one song, sung by " Man-o'-war Jack," an English 
 
12 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 sailor, from her Majesty's Australian colonies, was quite 
 popular as a lullaby. It was a lugubrious recital of the 
 exploits of " the Arethusa, Seventy-four," in a muffled 
 minor, ending with a prolonged dying fall at the burden 
 of each verse, " On b-o-o-o-ard of the Arethusa." Jt was a 
 fine sight to see Jack holding The Luck, rocking from side 
 to side as if with the motion of a ship, and crooning forth 
 this naval ditty. Either through the peculiar rocking of 
 Jack or the length of his song it contained ninety stanzas, 
 and was continued with conscientious deliberation to the 
 bitter end the lullaby generally had the desired effect. 
 At such times the men would lie at full length under the 
 trees, in the soft summer twilight, smoking their pipes and 
 drinking in the melodious utterances. An indistinct idea 
 that this was pastoral happiness pervaded the camp. " This 
 'ere kind o' think," said the Cockney Simmons, meditatively 
 reclining on his elbow, "is 'evingly." It reminded him of 
 Greenwich. 
 
 On the long summer days The Luck was usually carried 
 to the gulch, from whence the golden store of Roaring Camp 
 was taken. There, on a blanket spread over pine-boughs, he 
 would lie while the men were working in the ditches below. 
 Latterly there was a rude attempt to decorate this bower 
 with flowers and sweet-smelling shrubs, and generally some 
 one would bring him a cluster of wild honeysuckles, azaleas, 
 or the painted blossoms of Las Mariposas. The men had 
 suddenly awakened to the fact that there were beauty and 
 significance in these trifles, which they had so long trodden 
 carelessly beneath their feet. A flake of glittering mica, a 
 fragment of variegated quartz, a bright pebble from the bed 
 of the creek, became beautiful to eyes thus cleared and 
 strengthened, and were invariably put aside for "The Luck. 5 ' 
 It was wonderful how many treasures the woods and hill 
 sides yielded that " would do for Tommy." Surrounded by 
 playthings such as never child out of fairy-land had before, 
 

 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 13 
 
 it is to be hoped that Tommy was content. He appeared 
 to be securely happy, albeit there was an infantine gravity 
 about him, a contemplative light in his round gray eyes, 
 that sometimes worried Stumpy. He was always tractable 
 and quiet, and it is recorded that once, having crept beyond 
 his "corral," a hedge of tessellated pine-boughs, which 
 surrounded his bed, he dropped over the bank on his head 
 in the soft earth, and remained with his mottled legs in the 
 air in that position for at least five minutes with unflinching 
 gravity. He was extricated without a murmur. I hesitate 
 to record the many other instances of his sagacity, which 
 rest, unfortunately, upon the statements of prejudiced friends. 
 Some of them were not without a tinge of superstition. " I 
 crep' up the bank just now," said Kentuck, one day, in a 
 breathless state of excitement, "and dern my skin if he 
 wasn't a talking to a jay-bird as was a sittin' on his lap. 
 There they was, just as free and sociable as anything you 
 please, a jawin' at each other just like two cherry-bums." 
 Howbeit, whether creeping over the pine-boughs or lying 
 lazily on his back blinking at the leaves above him, to him 
 the birds sang, the squirrels chattered, and the flowers 
 bloomed. Nature was his nurse and playfellow. For him 
 she would let slip between the leaves golden shafts of sun 
 light that fell just within his grasp ; she would send wander 
 ing breezes to visit him with the balm of bay and resinous 
 gums ; to him the tall red-woods nodded familiarly and 
 sleepily, the bumble-bees buzzed, and the rooks cawed a 
 slumbrous accompaniment. 
 
 Such was the golden summer of Roaring Camp. They 
 were "flush times," and the luck was with them. The 
 claims had yielded enormously. The camp was jealous of its 
 privileges, and looked suspiciously on strangers. No encou 
 ragement was given to immigration, and, to make their 
 seclusion more perfect, the land on either side of the moun 
 tain-wall that surrounded the camp they duly pre-empted. 
 
14 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 This, and a reputation for singular proficiency with the 
 revolver, kept the reserve of Roaring Camp inviolate. The 
 expressman their only connecting link with the surround 
 ing world sometimes told wonderful stories of the camp. 
 He would say, " They've a street up there in ( Roaring/ that 
 would lay over any street in Red Dog. They've got vines 
 and flowers round their houses, and they wash themselves 
 twice a day. But they're mighty rough on strangers, and 
 they worship an Ingin baby." 
 
 With the prosperity of the camp came a desire for further 
 improvement. It was proposed to build a hotel in the follow 
 ing spring, and to invite one or two decent families to reside 
 there for the sake of " The Luck," who might perhaps profit 
 by female companionship. The sacrifice that this concession 
 to the sex cost these men, who were fiercely sceptical in 
 regard to its general virtue and usefulness, can only be 
 accounted for by their affection for Tommy. A few still 
 held out. But the resolve could not be carried into effect 
 for three months, and the minority meekly yielded in the 
 hope that something might turn up to prevent it. And it 
 did. 
 
 The winter of 1851 will long be remembered in the foot 
 hills. The snow lay deep on the Sierras, and every mountain 
 creek became a river, and every river a lake. Each gorge 
 and gulch was transformed into a tumultuous watercourse, 
 that descended the hill-sides, tearing down giant trees, and 
 scattering its drift and debris along the plain. Red Dog had 
 been twice under water, and Roaring Camp had been fore 
 warned. "Water put the gold into them gulches," said 
 Stumpy; "it's been here once and will be here again!" 
 And that night the North Fork suddenly leaped over its 
 banks, and swept iip the triangular valley of Roaring Camp. 
 
 In the confusion of rushing water, crushing trees, and 
 crackling timber, and the darkness which seemed to flow 
 with the water and blot out the fair valley, but little could 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 15 
 
 be done to collect the scattered camp. When the morning 
 broke, the cabin of Stumpy nearest the river -bank was gone. 
 Higher up the gulch they found the body of its unlucky 
 owner ; but the pride, the hope, the joy, the Luck of Roar 
 ing Camp had disappeared. They were returning with sad 
 hearts, when a shout from the bank recalled them. . 
 
 It was a relief-boat from down the river. They had picked 
 up, they said, a man and an infant, nearly exhausted, about 
 two miles below. Did anybody know them, and did they 
 belong here ? 
 
 It needed but a glance to show them Ken tuck lying there, 
 cruelly crushed and bruised, but still holding the Luck of 
 Roaring Camp in his arms. As they bent over the strangely 
 assorted pair, they saw that the child was cold and pulseless. 
 "He is dead," said one. Kentuck opened his eyes. "Dead?" 
 he repeated, feebly. "Yes, my man, and you are dying too." 
 A smile lit the eyes of the expiring Kentuck. " Dying," he 
 repeated, " he's a taking me with him, tell the boys I've 
 got the Luck with me now;" and the strong man, clinging 
 to the frail babe as a drowning man is said to cling to a 
 straw, drifted away into the shadowy river that flows for 
 ever to the unknown sea. 
 
 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 A S Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main 
 street of Poker Flat on the morning of the twenty- 
 third of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in 
 its moral atmosphere since the preceding night. Two or 
 three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he 
 approached, and exchanged significant glances. There was a 
 Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to 
 Sabbath influences, looked ominous, 
 
1 6 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst's calm, handsome face betrayed small con 
 cern in these indications. Whether he was conscious of any 
 predisposing cause, was another question. "I reckon they're 
 after somebody," he reflected ; "likely it's me." He returned 
 to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been 
 whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat 
 boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further con 
 jecture. 
 
 In point of fact, Poker Flat was "after somebody." It 
 had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two 
 valuable horses, and a prominent citizen. It was experi 
 encing a spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as lawless and 
 ungovernable as any of the acts that had provoked it. A 
 secret committee had determined to rid the town of. all 
 improper persons. This was done permanently in regard of 
 two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a syca 
 more in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of 
 certain other objectionable characters. I regret to say that 
 some of these were ladies. It is but due to the sex, however, 
 to state that their impropriety was professional, and it was 
 only in such easily established standards of evil that Poker 
 Flat ventured to sit in judgment. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he was included 
 in this category. A few of the committee had urged hang 
 ing him as a possible example, and a sure method of reim 
 bursing themselves from his pockets of the sums he had won 
 from them. " It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, " to let 
 this yer young man from Roaring Camp an entire stranger 
 carry away our money." But a crude sentiment of equity 
 residing in the breasts of those who had been fortunate 
 enough to win from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower 
 local prejudice. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calm 
 ness, none the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation 
 of his judges. lie Avas too much of a gambler not to accept 
 
THA T HE A THEN CHINEE. 
 
 He played it that clay upou V\ Main.". 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 17 
 
 Fate. "With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he. 
 recognised the usual per-centage in favour of the dealer. 
 
 A party of armed men accompanied the deported wicked 
 ness of Poker Flab to the outskirts of the settlement. Besides 
 Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, 
 and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, 
 the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly 
 known as " The Dutchess ;" another, who had bore the title 
 of "Mother Shipton;" and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice- 
 robber and confirmed drunkard. The cavalcade provoked 
 no comments from the spectators, nor was any word uttered 
 by the escort. Only when the gulch which marked the 
 uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke 
 briefly and to the point. The exiles were forbidden to return 
 at the peril of their lives. 
 
 As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found 
 vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad 
 language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of 
 expletives from Uncle Billy. The philosophic Oakhurst 
 alone remained silent. He listened calmly to Mother Ship- 
 ton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated 
 statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, 
 and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out 
 of Uncle Billy as he rode forward, With the easy good- 
 hurnour characteristic of his class, he insisted upon exchanging 
 his own riding-horse, " Five Spot," for the sorry mule which 
 the Duchess rode. But even this act did not draw the party 
 into any closer sympathy. The young woman readjusted her 
 somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, -faded coquetry ; 
 Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with 
 malevolence ; and Uncle Billy included the whole party in 
 one sweeping anathema. 
 
 The road to Sandy Bar a camp that, not having as you 
 experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, con 
 sequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants 
 
 c 
 
1 8 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 lay over a steep mountain range. It was distant a day's 
 severe travel. In that advanced season, the party soon 
 passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills 
 into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras. The trail was 
 narrow and difficult. At noon the Duchess, rolling out of 
 her saddle upon the ground, declared her intention of going 
 no farther, and the party halted. 
 
 The spot was singularly wild and impressive. A wooded 
 amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs 
 of naked granite, sloped gently towards the crest of another 
 precipice that overlooked the valley. It was, undoubtedly, 
 the most suitable spot for a camp, had camping been 
 advisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely half the 
 journey to Sandy Bar was accomplished, and the party were 
 not equipped or provisioned for delay. This fact he pointed 
 out to his companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary 
 on the folly of " throwing up their hand before the game 
 was played out." But they were furnished with liquor, 
 which in this emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, 
 rest, and prescience. In spite of his remonstrances, it was 
 not long before they were more or less under its influence. 
 Uncle Billy passed rapidly from a bellicose state into one of 
 stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother Shipton 
 snored. Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against 
 a rock, calmly surveying them. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with a pro 
 fession which required coolness, impassiveness, and presence 
 of mind, and, in his own language, he "couldn't afford it." 
 As he .gazed at his recumbent fellow-exiles, the loneliness 
 begotten of his pariah-trade, his habits of life, his very vices, 
 for the first time seriously oppressed him. He bestirred 
 himself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and 
 face, and other acts characteristic of his studiously neat 
 habits, and for a moment forgot his annoyance. The thought 
 of deserting his weaker and more pitiable companions never 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 19 
 
 perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could not help feeling the 
 want of that excitement which, singularly enough, was most 
 conducive to that calm equanimity for which he was notori 
 ous. He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand 
 feet sheer above the circling pines around him ; at the sky, 
 ominously clouded ; at the valley below, already deepening 
 into shadow. And, doing so, suddenly he heard his own 
 name called. 
 
 A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the fresh, 
 open face of the new-comer, Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom 
 Simson, otherwise known as " The Innocent " of Sandy Bar. 
 He had met him some months before over a "little game," 
 and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entire fortune 
 amounting to some forty dollars of that guileless youth. 
 After the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youth 
 ful speculator behind the door, and thus addressed him : 
 " Tommy, you 're a good little man, but you can't gamble 
 worth a cent. Don't try it over again." He then handed 
 him his money back, pushed him gently from the room, and 
 so made a devoted slave of Tom Simson.. 
 
 There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthu 
 siastic greeting of Mr. Oakhurst. He had started, he said, 
 to go to Poker Flat to seek his fortune. "Alone?" No, 
 not exactly alone ; in fact (a giggle), he had run away with 
 Piney Woods. Didn't Mr. Oakhurst remember Piney 1 
 She that used to wait on the table at the Temperance House? 
 They had been engaged a long time, but old Jake Woods had 
 objected, and so they had run away, and were going to Poker 
 Flat to be married ; and here they were. And they were 
 tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to 
 camp and company. All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, 
 while Piney, a stout, comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from 
 behind the pine-tree, where she had been blushing unseen, 
 and rode to the side of her lover. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, 
 
 c 2 
 
20 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 still less with propriety ; but he had a vague idea that the 
 situation was not fortunate. He retained, however, his 
 presence of mind sufficiently to kick Uncle Billy, who was 
 about to say something, and Uncle Billy was sober enough 
 to recognize in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power that 
 would not bear trifling. He then endeavoured to dissuade 
 Tom Simson from delaying further, but in vain. He even 
 pointed out the fact that there was no provision, nor means 
 of making a camp. But, unluckily, the Innocent met this 
 objection by assuring the party that he was provided with 
 an extra mule loaded with provisions, and by the discovery 
 of a rude attempt at a log-house near the trail. " Piney can 
 stay with Mrs. Oakhurst," said the Innocent, pointing to the 
 Duchess, " and I can shift for myself." 
 
 Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot saved Uncle 
 Billy from bursting into a roar of laughter. As it was, he 
 felt compelled to retire up the canon until he could recover 
 his gravity. There he confided the joke to the tall pine- 
 trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions of his face, and 
 the usual profanity. But when he returned to the party, he 
 found them seated by a fire for the air had grown strangely 
 chill, and the sky overcast in apparently amicable conver 
 sation. Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, girlish 
 fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an interest 
 and animation she had not shown for many days. The 
 Innocent was holding forth, apparently with equal effect, to 
 Mr. Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, who was actually relax 
 ing into amiability. " Is this yer a d d pic-nic ] " said 
 Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the sylvan 
 group, the glancing 6 relight, and the tethered animals in the 
 foreground. Suddenly an idea mingled with the alcoholic 
 fumes that disturbed his brain. It was apparently of a 
 jocular nature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and 
 cram his fist into his mouth. 
 
 As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 21 
 
 breeze rocked the tops of the pine-trees, and moaned through 
 their long and gloomy aisles. The ruined cabin, patched and 
 covered with pine-boughs, was set apart for the ladies. As 
 the lovers parted, they unaffectedly exchanged a kiss, so 
 honest and sincere that it might have been heard above the 
 swaying pines. The frail Duchess and the malevolent 
 Mother Shipton were probably too stunned to remark upon 
 this last evidence of simplicity, and so turned without a word 
 to the hut. The fire was replenished, the men lay down 
 before the door, and in a few minutes were asleep. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward morning he 
 awoke benumbed and cold. As he stirred the dying fire, the 
 wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek 
 that which caused the blood to leave it, snow ! 
 
 He started to his feet with the intention of awakening the 
 sleepers, for there was no time to lose. But turning to where 
 Uncle Billy had been lying, he found him gone. A suspicion 
 leaped to his brain and a curse to his lips. He ran to the spot 
 where the mules had been tethered ; they were no longer there. 
 The tracks were already rapidly disappearing in the snow. 
 
 The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oakhurst back to 
 the fire with his usual calm. He did not waken the sleepers. 
 The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his 
 good-humoured, freckled face ; the virgin Piney slept beside 
 her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial 
 guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his 
 shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn. 
 It came slowly in a whirling mist of snow-flakes, that dazzled 
 and confused the eye. What could be seen of the landscape 
 appeared magically changed. He looked over the valley, 
 and summed up the present and future in two words 
 " snowed in ! " 
 
 A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately 
 for the party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped 
 the felonious fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that 
 
22 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 with care and prudence they might last ten days longer. 
 " That is," said Mr. Oakhurst, sotto voce to the Innocent, " if 
 you're willing to board us. If you ain't and perhaps you 'd 
 better not you can wait till Uncle Billy gets back with 
 provisions." For some occult reason Mr. Oakhurst could 
 not bring himself to disclose Uncle Billy's rascality, and so 
 offered the hypothesis that he had wandered from the camp 
 and had accidentally stampeded the animals. He dropped a 
 warning to the Duchess and Mother Shipton, who of course 
 knew the facts of their associate's defection. " They'll find out 
 the truth about us all when they find out anything," he added, 
 significantly, "and there's no good frightening them now." 
 
 Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at the 
 disposal of Mr. Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy the prospect 
 of their enforced seclusion. "We'll have a good camp for a 
 week, and then the snow'll melt, and we'll all go back 
 together." The cheerful gaiety of the young man, and Mr. 
 Oakhurst's calm infected the others. The Innocent, with 
 the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless 
 cabin, and the Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement 
 of the interior with a taste and tact that opened the blue 
 eyes of that provincial maiden to their fullest extent. " I 
 reckon now you're used to fine things at Poker Flat," said 
 Piney. The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal some 
 thing that reddened her cheeks through its professional tint, 
 and Mother Shipton requested Piney not to " chatter." But 
 when Mr. Oakhurst returned from a weary search for the 
 trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoed from the 
 rocks. He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts first 
 naturally reverted to the whiskey, which he had prudently 
 cached. " And yet it don't somehow sound like whiskey," 
 said the gambler. It was not until he caught sight of the 
 blazing fire through the still blinding storm and the group 
 around it, that he settled to the conviction that it was 
 "square fun." 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 23 
 
 Whether Mr. Oakliurst had cached his cards with the 
 whiskev as something debarred the free access of the com 
 munity, I cannot say. It was certain that, in Mother 
 Shipton's words, he " didn't say cards once " during that 
 evening. Haply the time was beguiled by an accordion, 
 produced somewhat ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his 
 pack. Notwithstanding some difficulties attending the mani 
 pulation of this instrument, Piuey Woods managed to pluck 
 several reluctant melodies from its keys, to an accompani 
 ment by the Innocent on a pair of bone castinets. But the 
 crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude 
 camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang 
 with great earnestness and vociferation. I fear that a 
 certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, 
 rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to 
 infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain : 
 
 " Fin proud to live in the service of the Lord, 
 And I'm bound to die in His army." 
 
 The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the 
 miserable group, and the flames of their altar leaped heaven 
 ward, as if in token of the vow. 
 
 At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, 
 and the stars glittered keenly above the sleeping camp, 
 Mr. Oakhurst, whose professional habits had enabled him tfc 
 live on the smallest possible amount of sleep, in dividing the 
 watch with Tom Simson, somehow managed to take upon 
 himself the greater part of that duty. He excused himself 
 to the Innocent by saying that he had " often been a week 
 without sleep." "Doing what?" asked Tom. "Poker!" 
 replied Oakhurst, sententiously ; " when a man gets a streak 
 of luck nigger-luck he don't get tired. The luck gives in 
 first. Luck," continued the gambler, reflectively, "is a 
 mighty queer thing. All you know about it for certain is 
 that it's bound to change. And it's finding out when it's 
 
24 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 going to change that makes you. We've had a streak of 
 bad luck since we, left Poker Flat you come along, and slap 
 you get into it, too. If you can hold your cards right along 
 you 're all right For," added the gambler, with cheerful 
 irrelevance 
 
 " ' I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, 
 And I'm bound to die in His army.' " 
 
 The third day came, and the sun, looking through the 
 white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly 
 decreasing store of provisions for the morning meal. It was 
 one of the peculiarities of that mountain climate that its rays 
 diffused a kindly warmth over the wintry landscape, as if in 
 regretful commiseration of the past. But it revealed drift 
 on drift of snow piled high around the hut a hopeless, un- 
 chartered, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky shores 
 to which the castaways still clung. Through the mar 
 vellously clear air the smoke of the pastoral village of Poker 
 Flat rose miles away. Mother Shipton saw it, and from a 
 remote pinnacle of her rocky fastness, hurled in that direc 
 tion a final malediction. It was her last vituperative attempt, 
 and perhaps for that reason was invested with a certain 
 degree of sublimity. It did her good, she privately informed 
 the Duchess. " Just you go out there and cuss, and see." 
 She then set herself to the task of amusing " the child," as 
 she and the Duchess were pleased to call Piney. Piney was 
 no chicken, but it was a soothing and original theory of the 
 pair thus to account for the fact that she didn't swear and 
 wasn't improper. 
 
 When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy 
 notes of the accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long- 
 drawn gasps by the flickering camp-fire. But music failed 
 to fill entirely the aching void left by insufficient food, and a 
 new diversion was proposed by Piney story- telling. Neither 
 Mr. Oakhurst nor his female companions caring to relate 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 25 
 
 tlieir personal experiences, this plan would have failed, too, 
 but for the Innocent. Some months before he had chanced 
 upon a stray copy of Mr. Pope's ingenious translation of the 
 Iliad. He now proposed to narrate the principal incidents 
 of that poem having thoroughly mastered the argument 
 and fairly forgotten the words in the current vernacular of 
 Sandy Bar. And so for the rest of that night the Homeric 
 demigods again walked the earth. Trojan bully and wily 
 Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great pines in the caiion 
 seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of Peleus. Mr. Oak- 
 hurst listened with quiet satisfaction. Most especially was 
 he interested in the fate of " Ash-heels/' as the Innocent 
 persisted in denominating the " swift-footed Achilles." 
 
 So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, 
 a-week passed over the heads of the outcasts. The sun again 
 forsook them, and again from leaden skies the snow-flakes 
 were sifted over the land. Day by day closer around them 
 drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their 
 prison over drifted walls of drizzling white, that towered 
 twenty feet above their heads. It became more and more 
 difficult to replenish their fires, even from the fallen trees 
 beside them, now half hidden in the drifts. And yet no one 
 complained. The lovers turned from the dreary prospect, 
 and looked into each other's eyes, and were happy. Mr. 
 Oakhurst settled himsef coolly to the losing game before 
 him. The Duchess, more cheerful than she had been, 
 assumed the care of Piney. Only Mother Shipton once 
 the strongest of the party seemed to sicken and fade. At 
 midnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to her side. 
 "I'm going," she said, in a voice of querulous weakness, 
 " but don't say anything about it. Don't waken the kids. 
 Take the bundle from under my head and open it." Mr. 
 Oakhurst did so. It contained Mother Shipton's rations for 
 the last week, untouched. " Give 'em to the child," she said, 
 pointing to the sleeping Piney. " You've starved yourself," 
 
26 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 said the gambler. "That's what they call it/' said the 
 woman, querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning 
 her face to the wall, passed quietly away. 
 
 The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and 
 Homer was forgotten. "When the body of Mother Shipton 
 had been committed to the snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the 
 Innocent aside, and showed him a pair of snow-shoes, which 
 he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle. " There's one 
 chance in a hundred to save her yet," he said, pointing to 
 Piney ; "but it's there," he added, pointing toward Poker 
 Flat. "If you can reach there in two days she's safe." 
 "And you?" asked Tom Simson. "I'll stay here," was 
 the curt reply. 
 
 The lovers parted with a long embrace. u You are not 
 going, too?" said the Duchess, as she saw Mr. Oakhurst 
 apparently waiting to accompany him. "As far as the 
 canon," he replied. He turned suddenly, and kissed the 
 Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame, and her trembling 
 limbs rigid with amazement. 
 
 Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the 
 storm again and the whirling snow. Then the Duchess, 
 feeding the fire, found that some one had quietly piled beside 
 the hut enough fuel to last a few days longer. The tears 
 rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney. 
 
 The women slept but little. In the morning, looking 
 into each other's faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke ; 
 but Piney, accepting the position of the stronger, drew near 
 and placed her arm around the Duchess's waist. They kept 
 this attitude for the rest of the day. That night the storm 
 reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder the pro 
 tecting pines, invaded the very hut. 
 
 Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the 
 fire, which gradually died away. As the embers slowly 
 blackened, the Duchess crept closer to Piney, and broke the 
 silence of many hours : " Piney, cart you pray ? " " No, 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 27 
 
 clear," said Piney, simply. The Ducliess, without knowing 
 exactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon Piney's 
 shoulder, spoke no more. And so reclining, the younger 
 and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her 
 virgin breast, they fell asleep. 
 
 The \vind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery 
 drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like 
 white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept. 
 The moon through the rifted clouds looked down upon what 
 had been the camp. But all human stain, all trace of earthly 
 travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle mercifully 
 flung from above. 
 
 They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken 
 when voices and footsteps broke the silence of the camp. 
 And when pitying fingers brushed the snow from their wan 
 faces, you could scarcely have told, from the equal peace that 
 dwelt upon them, which was she that had sinned. Even 
 the law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned away, 
 leaving them still locked in each other's arms. . 
 
 But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine- 
 trees, they found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with 
 a bowie-knife. It bore the following, written in pencil, in a 
 firm hand : 
 
 t 
 
 BENEATH THIS TREE 
 
 LIES THE BODY 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN OAKHUEST, 
 
 WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK 
 ON THE 23RD OF NOVEMBER, 1850, 
 
 AND 
 
 HANDED IN HIS CHECKS 
 ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850. 
 
 4- 
 
 And pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his side and a 
 bullet in his heart, though still calm as in life, beneath the 
 snow lay he who was at once the strongest and yet the 
 weakest of the outcasts of Poker Flat. 
 
28 HIGGLES. 
 
 HIGGLES. 
 
 "\ I 7E were eight, including the driver. We had not 
 spoken during the passage of the last six miles, since 
 the jolting of the heavy vehicle over the roughening road had 
 spoiled the Judge's last poetical quotation. The tall man 
 beside the Judge was asleep, his arm passed through the 
 swaying strap and his head resting upon it altogether a limp, 
 helpless-looking object, as if he had hanged himself and been 
 cut down too late. The French lady on the back seat was 
 asleep, too, yet in a half-conscious propriety of attitude, 
 shown even in the disposition of the handkerchief which she 
 held to her forehead, and which partially veiled her face. 
 The lady from Virginia City, travelling with her husband, 
 had long since lost all individuality in a wild confusion of 
 ribbons, veils, furs, and shawls. There was no sound but the 
 rattling of wheels and the dash of rain, upon the roof. Sud 
 denly the stage stopped, and we became dimly aware of 
 voices. The driver was evidently in the midst of an ex 
 citing colloquy with some one in the road a colloquy of 
 which such fragments as "bridge gone," "twenty feet of 
 water," " can't pass," were occasionally distinguishable above 
 the storm. Then came a lull, and a mysterious voice from 
 the road shouted the parting adjuration, 
 
 " Try Miggles's." 
 
 We caught a glimpse of our leaders as the vehicle slowly 
 turned, of a horseman vanishing through the rain, and we 
 were evidently on our way to Miggles's. 
 
 Who and where was Higgles ? The Judge, our autho 
 rity, did not remember the name, and he knew the country 
 thoroughly. The Washoe traveller thought Higgles must 
 keep a hotel. We only knew that we were stopped by high 
 water in front and rear, and that Higgles was our rock of 
 refuge. A ten minutes' splashing through a tangled by- 
 
HIGGLES. 29 
 
 road, scarcely wide enough for the stage, and we drew up 
 before a barred and boarded gate in a wide stone wall or 
 fence about eight feet high. Evidently Miggles's, and evi 
 dently Miggles did not keep a hotel. 
 
 The driver got down and tried the gate. It was securely 
 locked. 
 
 "Miggl.es! O Miggles!" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Migg-ells ! You Miggles ! " continued the driver, with 
 rising wrath. 
 
 " Migglesy ! " joined in the expressman, persuasively. 
 O Miggy ! Mig!" 
 
 But no reply came from the apparently insensate Miggles. 
 The Judge, who had finally got the window down, put his 
 head out and propounded a series of questions, which if 
 answered categorically would have undoubtedly elucidated 
 the whole mystery, but which the driver evaded by replying 
 that " if we didn't want to sit in the coach all night, we had 
 better rise up and sing out for Miggles." 
 
 So we rose up and called on Miggles in chorus ; then 
 separately. And when we had finished, a Hibernian fellow- 
 passenger from the roof called for "Maygells !" whereat we 
 all laughed. While we were laughing, the driver cried 
 " Shoo ! " 
 
 "We listened. To our infinite amazement the chorus of 
 "Miggles" was repeated from the other side of the wall, 
 even to the final and supplemental " Maygells." 
 
 " Extraordinary echo," said the Judge. 
 
 "Extraordinary d d skunk!" roared the driver, con 
 temptuously. " Come out of that, Miggles, and show your 
 self ! Be a man, Miggles ! Don't hide in the dark ; I 
 wouldn't if I were you, Miggles," continued Yuba Bill, now 
 dancing about in an excess of fury. 
 
 " Miggles ! " continued the voice, " Miggles ! " 
 
 " My good man ! Mr. Myghail ! " said the Judge, soften- 
 
30 MIGGLES 
 
 ing the asperities of the name as much as possible. "Con 
 sider the inhospitality of refusing shelter from the incle 
 mency of the weather to helpless females. Really, my dear 
 
 sir " But a succession of " Higgles," ending in a 
 
 burst of laughter, drowned his voice. 
 
 Yuba Bill hesitated no longer. Taking a heavy stone 
 from the road, he battered down the gate, and with the 
 expressman entered the enclosure. "We followed. Nobody 
 was to be seen. In the gathering darkness all that we 
 could distinguish was that we were in a garden from the 
 rosebushes that scattered over us a minute spray from 
 their dripping leaves and before a long, rambling wooden 
 building. 
 
 " Do you know this Higgles 1" asked the Judge of Yuba 
 Bill. 
 
 " No, nor don't want to," said Bill, shortly, who felt the 
 Pioneer Stage Company insulted in his person by the contu 
 macious Higgles. 
 
 " But, my dear sir," expostulated the Judge, as he thought 
 of the barred gate. 
 
 " Lookee here," said Yuba Bill, with fine irony, " hadn't 
 you better go back and sit in the coach till yer intro 
 duced 1 I 'm going in," and he pushed open the door of the 
 building. 
 
 A long room lighted only by the embers of a fire that 
 was dying on the large hearth at its further extremity ! 
 the walls curiously papered, and the flickering firelight 
 bringing out its grotesque pattern ; somebody sitting in a 
 large arm-chair by the fireplace. All this we saw as we 
 crowded together into the room after the driver and ex 
 pressman. 
 
 " Hello, be you Higgles ?" said Yuba Bill to the solitary 
 occupant. 
 
 The figure neither spoke nor stirred. Yuba Bill walked 
 wruthfully toward it, and turned the eye of his coach-lantern 
 
HIGGLES. 31 
 
 upon its face. It was a man's face, prematurely old and 
 wrinkled, with very large eyes, in which there was that 
 expression of perfectly gratuitous solemnity which I had 
 sometimes seen in an owl's. The large eyes wandered from 
 Bill's face to the lantern, and finally fixed their gaze on 
 that luminous object, without further recognition. 
 
 Bill restrained himself with an effort. 
 
 "Higgles! Be you deaf? Yon ain't dumb anyhow, 
 you know;" and Yuba Bill shook the insensate figure by 
 the shoulder. 
 
 To our great dismay, as Bill removed his hand, the vene 
 rable stranger apparently collapsed, sinking into half his 
 size and an undistinguishable heap of clothing. 
 
 " Well, dern my skin," said Bill, looking appealingly at 
 us, and hopelessly retiring from the contest. 
 
 The Judge now stepped forward, and we lifted the myste 
 rious invertebrate back into his original position. Bill was 
 dismissed with the lantern to reconnoitre outside, for it was 
 evident that from the helplessness of this solitary man there 
 must be attendants near at hand, and we all drew around the 
 fire. The Judge, who had regained his authority, and had 
 never lost his conversational amiability, standing before us 
 with, his back to the hearth, charged us, as an imaginary 
 jury, as follows : 
 
 "It is evident that either our distinguished friend here 
 has reached that condition described by Shakespeare as ' the 
 sere and yellow leaf/ or has suffered some premature abate 
 ment of his mental and physical faculties. Whether he is 
 really the Miggles. " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by " Miggles ! O Miggles 
 Migglesy ! Mig ! " and, in fact, the whole chorus of Miggles 
 in very much the same key as it had once before been 
 delivered unto us. 
 
 We gazed at each other for a moment in some alarm. 
 The Judge, in particular, vacated his position quickly, as 
 
32 HIGGLES, 
 
 the voice seemed to come directly over his shoulder. The 
 cause, however, was soon discovered in a large magpie who 
 was perched upon a shelf over the fireplace, and who im 
 mediately relapsed into a sepulchral silence, which contrasted 
 singularly with his previous volubility. It was, undoubtedly, 
 his voice which we had heard in the road, and our friend in 
 the chair was not responsible for the discourtesy. Yuba 
 Bill, who re-entered the room after an unsuccessful search, 
 was loath to accept the explanation, and still eyed the help 
 less sitter with suspicion. He had found a shed in which 
 he had put up his horses, but he came back dripping 
 and sceptical. " Thar ain't nobody but him within ten 
 mile of the shanty, and that 'ar d d old skeesicks knows 
 it." 
 
 But the faith of the majority proved to be securely based. 
 Bill had scarcely ceased growling before we heard a quick 
 step upon the porch, the trailing of a wet skirt ; the door 
 was flung open, and, with a flash of white teeth, a sparkle of 
 dark eyes, and an utter absence of ceremony or diffidence, 
 a young woman entered, shut the door, and, panting, leaned 
 back against it. 
 
 " Oh, if you please, I'm Miggles ! " 
 
 And this was Miggles ! this bright- eyed, full-throated 
 young woman, whose wet gown of coarse blue stuff could 
 not hide the beauty of the feminine curves to which it clung; 
 from the chestnut crown of whose head, topped by a man's 
 oil-skin sou'wester, to the little feet and ankles, hidden 
 somewhere in the recesses of her boy's brogans, all was 
 grace ; this was Miggles, laughing at us, too, in the most 
 riry, frank, off-hand manner imaginable. 
 
 " You see, boys," said she, quite out of breath, and hold 
 ing one little hand against her side, quite unheeding the 
 speechless discomfiture of our party, or the complete demo 
 ralization of Yuba Bill, whose features had relaxed into an 
 expression of gratuitous and imbecile cheerfulness, "you 
 
THAT HEATHEN CHINEE. 
 
 I -S 
 
 i 
 
 'His srniJe it was pensive aud child-like.' 
 
HIGGLES. 33 
 
 see, boys, I was mor'n two miles away when you passed 
 down the road. I thought you might pull up here, and so 
 I ran the whole way, knowing nobody was home but Jim, 
 and and I 'm out of breath and that lets me out." 
 
 And here Higgles caught her dripping oil-skin hat from 
 her head, with a mischievous swirl that scattered a shower 
 of rain-drops over us ; attempted to put back her hair ; 
 dropped two hair-pins in the attempt ; laughed and sat 
 down beside Yuba Bill, with her hands crossed lightly on 
 her lap. 
 
 The Judge recovered himself first, and essayed an. extra 
 vagant compliment. 
 
 " I '11 trouble you for that thar har-pin," said Higgle^ 
 gravely. Half a dozen hands were eagerly stretched for 
 ward j the missing hair-pain was restored to its fair owner ; 
 and Higgles, crossing the room, looked keenly in the face of 
 the invalid. The solemn eyes looked back at hers with an 
 expression we had never seen before. Life and intelligence 
 seemed to struggle back into the rugged face. Higgles 
 laughed again, it was a singularly eloquent laugh, and 
 turned her black eyes and white teeth once more towards us. 
 
 " This afflicted person is " hesitated the Judge. 
 
 " Jim," said Higgles. 
 
 "Your father?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Brother]' 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Husband V 
 
 Higgles darted a quick, half-defiant glance at the two 
 lady passengers who I had noticed did not participate in the 
 general masculine admiration of Higgles, and said, gravely, 
 "No; it's Jim." 
 
 There was an awkward pause. The lady passengers moved 
 closer to each other ; the Washoe husband looked abstract 
 edly at the fire ; and the tall man apparently turned his 
 
34 HIGGLES. 
 
 eyes inward for self-support at this emergency. But Miggles's 
 laugh, which was very infectious, broke the silence. " Come/' 
 she said, briskly, " you must be hungry. Who '11 bear a 
 hand to help me to get tea T' 
 
 She had no lack of volunteers. In a few moments Yuba 
 Bill was engaged like Caliban in bearing logs for this Mi 
 randa ; the expressman was grinding coffee on the verandah; 
 to myself the arduous duty of slicing bacon was assigned ; 
 and the Judge lent each man his good-humoured and voluble 
 counsel. And when Higgles, assisted by the Judge and our 
 Hibernian " deck passenger," set the table with all the avail 
 able crockery, we had become quite joyous, in spite of the 
 rain that beat against windows, the wind that whirled down 
 the chimney, the two ladies who whispered together in the 
 corner, or the magpie who uttered a satirical and croaking 
 commentary on their conversation from his perch above. In 
 the now bright, blazing fire, we could see that the walls 
 were papered with illustrated journals, arranged with femi 
 nine taste and discrimination. The furniture was extempo 
 rized, and adapted from candle-boxes and packing-cases, and 
 covered with gay calico, or the skin of some animal. The 
 iirm-chair of the helpless Jim was an ingenious variation of 
 u flour-barrel. There was neatness, and even a taste for the 
 picturesque, to be seen in the few details of the long low 
 room. 
 
 The meal was a culinary success. But more, it was a 
 social triumph, chiefly, I think, owing to the rare tact of 
 Miggles in guiding the conversation, asking all the questions 
 herself, yet bearing throughout a frankness that rejected the 
 idea of any concealment on her own part, so that we talked 
 of ourselves, of our prospects, of the journey, of the weather, 
 of each other, of everything but our host and hostess. It 
 must be confessed that Miggles's conversation was never 
 elegant, rarely grammatical, and that at times she employed 
 expletives, the use of which had generally been yielded to 
 
HIGGLES. 35 
 
 our sex. But they were delivered with such a lighting up 
 of teeth and eyes, and were usually followed by a laugh 
 a laugh peculiar to Higgles so frank and honest that it 
 seemed to clear the moral atmosphere. 
 
 Once, during the meal, we heard a noise like the rubbing 
 of a heavy body against the outer walls of the house. This 
 was shortly followed by a scratching and sniffling at the 
 door. " That 's Joaquin," said Higgles, in reply to our 
 questioning glances ; " would you like to see him ?" Before 
 we could answer she had opened the door, and disclosed a 
 half-grown grizzly, who instantly raised himself on his 
 haunches, with his forepaws hanging down, in the popular 
 attitude of mendicancy, and looked admiringly at Higgles, 
 with a very singular resemblance in his manner to Yuba 
 Bill. " That 's my watch -dog," said Higgles, in explanation, 
 <l Oh, he don't bite," she added, as the two lady passengers 
 fluttered into a corner. "Does he, old Toppy?" (the latter 
 remark being addressed directly to the sagacious Joaquin). 
 " I tell you what, boys," continued Higgles, after she had 
 fed and closed the door on Ursa Minor, " you were in big 
 luck that Joaquin wasn't hanging round when you dropped 
 in to-night." " Where was he 1 " asked the Judge. " With 
 me," said Higgles. " Lord love you ; he trots round with 
 me nights like as if he was a man." 
 
 We were silent for a few moments, and listened to the 
 wind. Perhaps we all had the same picture before us, of 
 Higgles walking through the rainy woods, with her savage 
 guardian at her side. The Judge, I remember, said some 
 thing about Una and her lion ; but Higgles received it as 
 she did other compliments, with quiet gravity. Whether 
 she was altogether unconscious of the admiration she ex 
 cited she could hardly have been oblivious of Yuba Bill's 
 adoration I know not ; but her very frankness suggested a 
 perfect sexual equality that was cruelly humiliating to the 
 younger members of our party. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 HIGGLES. 
 
 The incident of the bear did not add anything in Miggles's 
 favour to the opinions of those of her own sex who were 
 present. In fact, the repast over, a chillness radiated from 
 the two lady passengers that no pine-boughs brought in by 
 Yuba Bill and cast as a sacrifice upon the hearth could 
 wholly overcome. Miggles felt it ; and, suddenly declaring 
 that it was time to " turn in," offered to show the ladies to 
 their bed in an adjoining room. " You, boys, will have to- 
 camp out here by the fire as well as you can," she added, 
 ''for thar ain't but the one room." 
 
 Our sex by which, my dear sir, I allude of course to the 
 stronger portion of humanity has been generally relieved 
 from the imputation of curiosity, or a fondness for gossip. 
 Yet I am constrained to say, that hardly had the door closed 
 on Miggles than we crowded together, whispering, snicker 
 ing, smiling, and exchanging suspicions, surmises, and a 
 thousand speculations in regard to our pretty hostess and 
 her singular companion. I fear that we even hustled that 
 imbecile paralytic, who sat like a voiceless Memnon in our 
 mids fc, gazing with the serene indifference of the Past in his 
 passionless eyes upon our wordy counsels. In the midst of 
 an exciting discussion the door opened again and Miggles 
 re-entered. 
 
 But not, apparently, the same Miggles who a few hours 
 before had flashed upon us. Her eyes were downcast, and 
 as she hesitated for a moment on the threshold, with a 
 blanket on her arm, she seemed to have left behind her the 
 frank fearlessness which had charmed us a moment before. 
 Coming into the room, she drew a low stool beside the para 
 lytic's chair, sat down, drew the blanket over her shoulders, 
 and saying, " If it's all the same to you, boys, as we're rather 
 crowded, I'll stop here to-night," took the invalid's withered 
 hand in her own, and turned her eyes upon the dying fire 
 An instinctive feeling that this was only premonitory to 
 more confidential relations, and perhaps some shame at our 
 
HIGGLES. 37 
 
 previous curiosity kept us silent. The rain still beat upon 
 the roof, wandering gusts of wind stirred the embers into mo 
 mentary brightness, until, in a lull of the elements, Higgles 
 suddenly lifted up her head, and throwing her hair over her 
 shoulder, turned her face upon the group and asked, 
 
 " Is there any of you that knows me 1 " 
 
 There was 110 reply. 
 
 " Think again ! I lived at Marysville in '53. Everybody 
 knew me there, and everybody had the right to know me. 
 I kept the Polka Saloon until I came to live with Jim. 
 That's six years ago. Perhaps I've changed some." 
 
 The absence of recognition may have disconcerted her. 
 She turned her head to the fire again, and it was some 
 seconds before she again spoke, and then more rapidly, 
 
 " Well, you see, I thought some of you must have known 
 me. There's no great harm done, anyway. What I was 
 going to say was this : Jim here " she took his hand in 
 both of hers as she spoke " used to know me, if you didn't, 
 and spent a heap of money upon me. I reckon he spent all 
 he had. And one day it's six years ago this winter Jim 
 came into my back room, sat down on my sofy, like as you 
 see him in that chair, and never moved again without help. 
 He was struck all of a heap,, and never seemed to know 
 what ailed him. The doctors came and said as how it was 
 caused all along of his way of life for Jim was mighty free 
 and wild like and that he would never get better, and 
 couldn't last long anyway. They advised me to send him 
 to Frisco, to the hospital, for he was no good to any one 
 and would be a baby all his life. Perhaps it was some 
 thing in Jim's eye, perhaps it was that I never had a baby, 
 but I said ' No.' I was rich then, for I was popular with 
 everybody gentlemen like yourself, sir, came to see me 
 &nd I sold out my business and bought this yer place, be 
 cause it was sort of out of the way of travel, you see, and I 
 brought my baby here." 
 
38 HIGGLES 
 
 With a woman's intuitive tact and poetry, she had, as 
 she spoke, slowly shifted her position so as to bring the 
 mute figure of the ruined man between her and her audience, 
 hiding in the shadow behind it, as if she offered it as a tacit 
 apology for her actions. Silent and expressionless, it yet 
 spoke for her ; helpless, crushed, and smitten with the 
 Divine thunderbolt, it still stretched an invisible arm around 
 her. 
 
 Hidden in the darkness, but still holding his hand, she 
 went on, 
 
 " It was a long time before I could get the hang of things 
 about yer, for I was used to company and excitement. I 
 couldn't get any woman to help me, and a man I dursent 
 trust ; but what with the Indians hereabout, who'd do odd 
 jobs for me, and having everything sent from the North 
 Fork, Jim and I managed to worry through. The Doctor 
 would run up from Sacramento once in a while. He'd ask 
 to see ' Miggles's baby,' as he called Jim, and when he'd go 
 away, he'd say, ' Higgles, you're a trump, God bless you ! ' 
 and it didn't seem so lonely after that. But the last time 
 he was here he said, as he opened the door to go, l Do you 
 know, Miggles, your baby will grow up to be a man yet and 
 an honour to his mother ; but not here, Miggles, not here ! ' 
 And I thought he went away sad and and " and here 
 Miggles's voice and head were somehow both lost completely 
 in the shadow. 
 
 " The folks about here are very kind," said Miggles, after 
 a pause, coming a little into the light again. " The men 
 from the fork used to hang around here, until they found 
 they wasn't wanted, and the women are kind and don't 
 call. I was pretty lonely until I picked up Joaquin in the 
 woods yonder one day, when he wasn't so high, and taught 
 him to beg for his dinner ; and then thar's Polly that's the 
 magpie she knows no end of tricks, and makes it quite 
 sociable of evenings with her talk, and so I don't feel like 
 
HIGGLES. 39 
 
 as I was the only living being about the ranch. And Jim 
 here," said Miggles, with her old laugh again, and coming 
 out quite into the firelight, "Jim why, boys, you would 
 admire to see how much, he knows for a man like him. 
 Sometimes I bring him flowers, and he looks at 'em just as 
 natural as if he knew 'em ; and times, when we're sitting 
 alone, I read him those things on the wall. Why, Lord ! " 
 said Miggles, with her frank laugh, "I've read him that 
 whole side of the house this winter. There never was such 
 a man for reading as Jim." 
 
 "Why," asked the Judge, "do you not marry this mail 
 to whom you have devoted your youthful life ] " 
 
 "Well, you see," said Miggles, "it would be playing it 
 rather low down on Jim, to take advantage of his being so 
 helpless. And then, too, if we were man and wife, now, 
 we'd both know that I was bound to do what I do now of 
 my own accord." 
 
 " But you are young yet and attractive " 
 
 " It's getting late,' said Miggles, gravely, " and you'd 
 better all turn in. Good-night, boys ;" and, throwing the 
 blanket over her head, Miggles laid herself down beside 
 Jim's chair, her head pillowed on the low stool that held 
 his feet, and spoke no more. The fire slowly faded from 
 the hearth ; we each sought our blankets in silence ; and 
 presently there was no sound in the long room but the pat 
 tering of the rain upon the roof, and the heavy breathing of 
 the sleepers. 
 
 It was nearly morning when I awoke from a troubled 
 dream. The storm had passed, the stars were shining, and 
 through the shutterless window the full moon, lifting itself 
 over the solemn pines without, looked into the room. It 
 touched the lonely figure in the chair with an infinite com 
 passion, and seemed to baptize with a shining flood the 
 lowly head of the woman whose hair, as in the sweet old 
 story, bathed the feet of him she loved. It even lent a 
 
43 HIGGLES. 
 
 kindly poetry to the rugged outline of Yuba Bill, half re 
 clining on his elbow between them and his passengers, with 
 savagely patient eyes keeping watch and ward. And then 
 I fell asleep and only woke at broad day, with Yuba Bill 
 standing over me, and " All aboard " ringing in my ears. 
 
 Coffee was waiting for us on the table, but Miggles was 
 gone. We wandered about the house and lingered long after 
 the horses were harnessed, but she did not return. It was 
 evident that she wished to avoid a formal leave-taking, and 
 had so left us to depart as we had come. After we had 
 helped the ladies into the coach, we returned to the house 
 and solemnly shook hands with the paralytic Jim, as so 
 lemnly settling him back into position after each hand 
 shake. Then we looked for the last time around the long 
 low room, at the stool where Miggles had sat, and slowly 
 took our seats in the waiting coach. The whip cracked, 
 and we were off ! 
 
 But as we reached the high-road, Bill's dexterous hand 
 laid the six horses back on their haunches, and the stage 
 stopped with a jerk. For there, on a little eminence beside 
 the road, stood Miggles, her hair flying, her eyes sparkling, 
 her white handkerchief waving, and her white teeth flashing 
 a last " good-by." We waved our hats in return. And 
 then Yuba Bill, as if fearful of further fascination, madly 
 lashed his horses forward, and we sank back in our seats. 
 We exchanged not a word until we reached the North Fork 
 and the stage drew up at the Independence House. Then, 
 the Judge leading, we walked into the bar-room and took 
 our places gravely at the bar. 
 
 "Are your glasses charged, gentlemen ? " said the Judgo, 
 solemnly taking off his white hat. 
 
 They were. 
 
 " Well, then, here's to Higgles, GOD BLESS HER ! " 
 
 Perhaps He had. Who knows ? 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 T DO not think that we ever knew his real name. Our 
 r ignorance of it certainly never gave us any social 
 inconvenience, for at Sandy Bar in 1854 most men were 
 christened anew. Sometimes these appellatives were derived 
 from some distinctiveness of dress, as in the case of 
 " Dungaree Jack ; " or from some peculiarity of habit, as 
 shown in " Saleratus Bill," so called from an undue 
 proportion of that chemical in his daily bread ; or from 
 some unlucky slip, as exhibited in "The Iron Pirate," a 
 mild, inoffensive man, who earned that baleful title by his 
 unfortunate mispronunciation of the term "iron pyrites." 
 Perhaps this may have been the beginning of a rude heraldry ; 
 but I am constrained to think that it was because a man's, 
 real name in that day rested solely upon his own unsupported 
 statement. " Call yourself Clifford, do you 1 " said Boston, 
 addressing a timid new-comer with infinite scorn ; " hell is 
 full of such Cliffords ! " He then introduced the unfor 
 tunate man, whose name happened to be really Clifford, as 
 "Jay-bird Charley," an unhallowed inspiration of the 
 moment, that clung to him ever after. 
 
 But to return to Tennessee's Partner, whom we never 
 knew by any other than this relative title ; that he had 
 ever existed as a separate and distinct individuality we only 
 learned later. It seems that in 1853 he left Poker Flat to 
 go to San Francisco, ostensibly to procure a wife. He never 
 got any farther than Stockton. At that place he was at 
 tracted by a young person who waited upon the table at the 
 hotel where he took his meals. One morning he said some 
 thing to her which caused her to smile not unkindly, to 
 somewhat coquettishly break a plate of toast over his up 
 turned, serious, simple face, and to retreat to the kitchen. 
 He followed her, and emerged a few moments later, covered 
 
42 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 with more toast and victory. That day week they were 
 married by a Justice of the Peace, and returned to Poker 
 Flat. I am aware that something more might be made of 
 this episode, but I prefer to tell it as it was current at Sandy 
 Bar in the gulches and bar rooms where all sentiment 
 was modified by a strong sense of humour. 
 
 Of their married felicity but little is known, perhaps for 
 the reason that Tennessee, then living with his partner, one 
 day took occasion to say something to the bride on his own 
 account, at which, it is said, she smiled not unkindly and 
 chastely retreated, this time as far as Marysville, where 
 Tennessee followed her, and where they went to housekeep 
 ing without the aid of a Justice of the Peace. Tennessee's 
 Partner took the loss of his wife simply and seriously, as was 
 his fashion. But to everybody's surprise, when Tennessee 
 one day returned from Marysville, without his partner's 
 wife, she having smiled and retreated with somebody else, 
 Tennessee's Partner was the first man to shake his hand 
 and greet him with affection. The boys who had gathered 
 in the canon to see the shooting were naturally indignant. 
 Their indignation might have found vent in sarcasm but for 
 a certain look in Tennessee's Partner's eye that indicated a 
 lack of humourous appreciation. In fact, he was a grave 
 man, with a steady application to practical detail which was 
 unpleasant in a difficulty. 
 
 Meanwhile a popular feeling against Tennessee had grown 
 up on the Bar. He was known to be a gambler ; he was 
 suspected to be a thief. In these suspicions Tennessee's 
 Partner was equally compromised ; his continued intimacy 
 with Tennessee after the affair above quoted could only 
 be accounted for on the hypothesis of a copartnership of 
 crime. At last Tennessee's guilt became flagrant. One day 
 he overtook a stranger on his way to Red Dog. The 
 stranger afterward related that Tennessee beguiled the time 
 with interesting anecdote and reminiscence, but illogically 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 43 
 
 concluded the intervieAv in the following words : " And now, 
 young man, I'll trouble you for your knife, your pistols, and 
 your money. You see your weppings might get you into 
 trouble at Red Dog, and your money's a temptation to the 
 evilly disposed. I think you said your address was San 
 Francisco. I shall endeavour to call." It may be stated here 
 that Tennessee had a fine flow of humour, which no busi 
 ness preoccupation, could wholly subdue. 
 
 This exploit was his last. Eed Dog and Sandy Bar made 
 common cause against the highwayman. Tennessee was 
 hunted in very much the same fashion as his prototype, the 
 grizzly. As the toils closed around him, he made a despe 
 rate dash through the Bar, emptying his revolver at the 
 crowd before the Arcade Saloon, and so on up Grizzly Canon ; 
 but at its farther extremity he was stopped by a small man 
 on a gray horse. The men looked at each other a moment 
 in silence. Both were fearless, both self-possessed and inde 
 pendent ; and both types of a civilization that in the seven 
 teenth century would have been called heroic, but, in the 
 nineteenth, simply " reckless." " What have you got there? 
 I call," said Tennessee, quietly. " Two bowers and an 
 ace," said the stranger, as quietly, showing two revolvers 
 and a bowie knife. " That takes me," returned Tennessee ; 
 and with this gambler's epigram, he threw away his useless 
 pistol, and rode back with his captor. 
 
 It was a warm night. The cool breeze which usually 
 sprang up with the going down of the sun behind the cha 
 parral-crested mountain was that evening withheld from 
 Sandy Bar. The little canon was stifling with heated resinous 
 odours, and the decaying drift-wood on the Bar sent forth 
 faint, sickening exhalations. The feverishness of day, and 
 its fierce passions, still filled the camp. Lights moved rest 
 lessly along the bank of the river, striking no answering re 
 flection from its tawny current.. Against the blackness of 
 
44 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 the pines the windows of the old loft above the express- 
 office stood out staringly bright ; and through their curtain- 
 less panes the loungers below could see the forms of those 
 Avho were even then deciding the fate of Tennessee. And 
 above all this, etched on the dark firmament, rose the Sierra, 
 remote and passionless, crowned with remoter passionless 
 stars. 
 
 The trial of Tennessee was conducted as fairly as was con 
 sistent with a judge and jury who felt themselves to some 
 extent obliged to justify, in their verdict, the previous ir 
 regularities of arrest and indictment. The law of Sandy 
 Bar was implacable, but not vengeful. The excitement and 
 personal feeling of the chase were over ; with Tennessee safe 
 in their hands they were ready to listen patiently to any 
 defence, which they were already satisfied was insufficient. 
 There being no doubt in their own minds, they were willing 
 to give the prisoner the benefit of any that might exist. 
 Secure in the hypothesis that he ought to be hanged, on 
 general principles, they indulged him with more latitude of 
 defence than his reckless hardihood seemed to ask. The 
 Judge appeared to be more anxious than the prisoner, who, 
 otherwise unconcerned, evidently took a grim pleasure in the 
 responsibility he had created. " I don't take any hand in this 
 yergame," had been his invariable, but good-humoured reply 
 to all questions. The Judge who was also his captor for a 
 moment vaguely regretted that he had not shot him " on 
 sight," that morning, but presently dismissed this human 
 weakness as unworthy of the judicial mind. Nevertheless, 
 when there was a tap at the door, and it was said that Ten 
 nessee's Partner was there on behalf of the prisoner, he was 
 admitted at once without question. Perhaps the younger 
 members of the jury, to whom the proceedings were be 
 coming irksomely thoughtful, hailed him as a relief. 
 
 For he was not, certainly, an imposing figure. Short and 
 stout, with a square face, sunburned into a preternatural 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 45 
 
 redness, clad in a loose duck "jumper," and trousers 
 streaked and splashed with red soil, his aspect under any 
 circumstances would have been quaint, and was now even 
 ridiculous. As he stooped to deposit at his feet a heavy 
 carpet-bag he was carrying, it became obvious, from 
 partially developed regions and inscriptions, that the ma 
 terial with which his trousers had been patched had been 
 originally intended for a less ambitious covering. Yet he 
 advanced with great gravity, and after having shaken the 
 hand of each person in the room with laboured cordiality, 
 he wiped his serious, perplexed face on a red bandanna hand 
 kerchief, a shade lighter than his complexion, laid his 
 powerful hand upon the table to steady himself, and thus 
 addressed the Judge : 
 
 " I was passin' by," he began, by way of apology, " and 1 
 thought I'd just step in and see how things was gittin' 
 on with Tennessee thar my pardner. It's a hot night. I 
 disremember any sich weather before on the Bar." 
 
 He paused a moment, but nobody volunteering any other 
 meteorological recollection, he again had recourse to his 
 pocket-handkerchief, and for some moments mopped his 
 face diligently. 
 
 " Have you anything to say in behalf of the prisoner 1 " 
 said the Judge, finally. 
 
 "Thet's it," said Tennessee's Partner, in a tone of relief. 
 " I come yar as Tennessee's pardner knowing him nigh 
 on four year, off and on, wet and dry, in luck and out o' 
 luck. His ways ain't allers my ways, but thar ain't any 
 p'ints in that young man, thar ain't any liveliness as he's 
 been up to, as I don't know. And you sez to me, sez 
 you confidential-like, and between man and man- sez you, 
 ' Do you know anything in his behalf? ' and I sez to you, 
 sez I confidential-like, as between man and man ' What 
 should a man know of his pardner 1 ' ' : 
 
 " Is this all you have to say 1 " asked the Judge, irnpa- 
 
46 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 tiently ; feeling, perhaps, that a dangerous sympathy of 
 humour was beginning to humanize the Court. 
 
 " Thet's so," continued Tennessee's Partner. " It ain't for 
 me to say anything agin* him. And now what's the case ? 
 Here's Tennessee wants money, wants it bad, and doesn't 
 like to ask it of his old pardner. Well, what does Tennessee 
 do 1 He lays for a stranger, and he fetches that stranger. 
 And you lays for him, and you fetches him; and the 
 honours is easy. And I put it to you, bein' a far- minded 
 man, and to you, gentlemen, all, as far-minded men, ef this 
 isn't so." 
 
 " Prisoner," said the Judge, interrupting, "have you any 
 questions to ask this man ? " 
 
 " JSTo ! 110 ! " continued Tennessee's Partner, hastily. " I 
 play this yer hand alone. To come down to the bed-rock, 
 it's just this : Tennessee, thar, has played it pretty rough 
 and expensive-like on a stranger, and 011 this yer camp. 
 And now, what's the fair thing ? Some would say more ; 
 some would say less. Here's seventeen hundred dollars 
 in coarse gold and a watch, it's about all my pile, and 
 call it square ! " And before a hand could be raised to pre 
 vent him, he had emptied the contents of the carpet-bag 
 upon the table. 
 
 For a moment his life was in jeopardy. One or two men 
 sprang to their feet, several hands groped for hidden wea 
 pons, and a suggestion to " throw him from the window " 
 was only overridden by a gesture from the Judge. Ten 
 nessee laughed. And apparently oblivious of the excite 
 ment, Tennessee's Partner improved the opportunity to mop 
 his face again with his handkerchief. 
 
 When order was restored, and the man was made to 
 understand, by the use 'of forcible figures and rhetoric, that 
 Tennessee's offence coiild not be condoned by money, his face 
 took a more serious and sanguinary hue, and those who were 
 nearest to him noticed that his rough hand trembled slightly 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 47 
 
 on tho table. He hesitated a moment as lie slowly returned 
 the gold to the carpet-bag, as if he had not yet entirely 
 caught the elevated sense of justice which swayed the tribu 
 nal, and was perplexed with the belief that he had not 
 offered enough. Then he turned to the Judge, and saying, 
 " This yer is a lone hand, played alone, and without iny 
 pardner," he bowed to the jury and was about to withdraw, 
 when the Judge called him back. " If you have anything to 
 say to Tennessee, you had better say it now." For the 
 first time that evening the eyes of the prisoner and his 
 strange advocate met. Tennessee smiled, showed his white 
 teeth, and saying, " Euchred, old man ! " held out his hand. 
 Tennessee's Partner took it in his own, and saying, " I just 
 dropped in as I was passin' to see how things was gettin* 
 on," let the hand passively fall, and adding that "it was a 
 warm night," again mopped his face with his handkerchief, 
 and without another word withdrew. 
 
 The two men never again met each other alive. For the 
 unparalleled insult of a bribe offered to Judge Lynch who, 
 whether bigoted, weak, or narrow, was at least incorruptible 
 firmly fixed in the mind of that mythical personage 
 any wavering determination of Tennessee's fate ; and at the 
 break of day he was marched, closely guarded, to meet it at 
 the top of Marley's Hill. 
 
 How he met it, how cool he was, how he refused to say 
 anything, how perfect were the arrangements of the com 
 mittee, were all duly reported, with the addition of a warn 
 ing moral and example to all future evil-doers, in the Red 
 Dog Clarion, by its editor, who was present, and to whose 
 vigorous English I cheerfully refer the reader. But the 
 beauty of that midsummer morning, the blessed amity of 
 earth and air and sky, the awakened life of the free woods 
 and hills, the joyous renewal and promise of Nature, and 
 above all, the infinite Serenity that thrilled through each, 
 was not reported, as not being a part of the social lesson. 
 
48 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 And yet, when the weak and foolish deed was done, and a 
 life, with its possibilities and responsibilities, had passed 
 out of the misshapen thing that dangled between earth 
 and sky, the birds sang, the flowers bloomed, the sun shone, 
 as cheerily as before ; and possibly the Keel Dog Clarion was 
 
 right. 
 
 Tennessee's Partner was not in the group that surrounded 
 the ominous tree. But as they turned to disperse, attention 
 was drawn to the singular appearance of a motionless 
 donkey-cart halted at the side of the road. As they ap 
 proached, they at once recognised the venerable " Jenny" 
 and the two-wheeled cart as the property of Tennessee's 
 Partner, used by him in carrying dirt from his claim ; and 
 a few paces distant the owner of the equipage himself, sit 
 ing under a buckeye-tree, wiping the perspiration from his 
 glowing face. In answer to an inquiry, he said he had 
 come for the body of the " diseased " " if it was all the same 
 to the committee." He didn't wish to " hurry anything ;" 
 he could " wait." He was not working that day ; and 
 when the gentlemen were done with the " diseased," he 
 would take him. " Ef thar is any present," he added, in his 
 simple, serious way, " as would care to jine in the fuii'l, 
 they kin come." Perhaps it was from a sense of humour, 
 which I have already intimated was a feature of Sandy Bar, 
 perhaps it was from something even better than that ; but 
 two-thirds of the loungers accepted the invitation at once. 
 
 It was noon when the body of Tennessee was delivered 
 into the hands of his partner. As the cart drew up to the 
 fatal tree, we noticed that it contained a rough oblong box, 
 apparently made from a section of sluicing, and half filled 
 with bark and the tassels of pine. The cart was further 
 decorated with slips of willow, and made fragrant with buck 
 eye-blossoms. When the body Avas deposited in the box, 
 Tennessee's Partner drew over it a piece of tarred canvas, 
 and gravely mounting the narrow seat in front, with his 
 
TffA T HE A THEN CHINEE. 
 
 >- 
 
 Which we had a small game. 
 
 " The cards thev were stocke 1.' 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 49 
 
 feet upon the shafts, urged the little donkey forward. The 
 equipage moved slowly on, at that decorous pace which was 
 habitual with "Jenny," even under less solemn circum 
 stances. The men half-curiously, half-jestingly, but all 
 good-humouredly strolled along beside the cart ; some in 
 advance, some a little in the rear of the homely catafalque. 
 But, whether from the narrowing of the road or some 
 present sense of decorum, as the cart passed on the company 
 fell to the rear in couples, keeping step, and otherwise 
 assuming the external show of a formal procession. Jack 
 Folinsbee, who had at the outset played a funeral march in 
 dumb show upon an imaginary trombone, desisted, from a 
 lack of sympathy and appreciation, not having, perhaps, 
 your true humourist's capacity to be content with the en- 
 joyment of his own fun. 
 
 The way led through Grizzly Canon by this time 
 clothed in funereal drapery and shadows. The red-woods, 
 burying their moccasoned feet in the red soil, stood in 
 Indian file along the track, trailing an uncouth benediction 
 from their bending boughs upon the passing bier. A hare, 
 surprised into helpless activity, sat upright and pulsating in 
 the ferns by the roadside as the cortege went by. Squirrels 
 hastened to gain a secure outlook from higher boughs j and 
 the blue-jays, spreading their wings, fluttered before them 
 like outriders, until the outskirts of Sandy Bar were reached, 
 and the solitary cabin of Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 Viewed under more favourable circumstances, it would 
 not have been a cheerful place. The unpicturesque site, the 
 rude and unlovely outlines, the unsavoury details, which 
 distinguish the nest-building of the California miner, were 
 all here, with the dreariness of decay superadded. A few 
 paces from the cabin there was a rough enclosure, which, in 
 the brief days of Tennessee's Partner's matrimonial felicity, 
 had been used as a garden, but was now overgrown with 
 fern. As we approached it, we were surprised to find that 
 
 E 
 
5o TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 what we had taken for a recent attempt at cultivation was 
 the broken soil about an open grave. 
 
 The cart was halted before the enclosure ; and rejecting 
 the offers of assistance with the same air of simple self- 
 reliance he had displayed throughout, Tennessee's Partner 
 lifted the rough coffin on his back, and deposited it, un 
 aided, within the shallow grave. He then nailed down the 
 board which served as a lid ; and mounting the little mound 
 of earth beside it, took off his hat, and slowly mopped his face 
 with his handkerchief. This the crowd felt was a preliminary 
 to speech ; and they disposed themselves variously on stumps 
 and boulders, and sat expectant. 
 
 " When a man," began Tennessee's Partner, slowly, " has 
 been running free all day, what's the natural thing for him 
 to do 1 Why, to come home. And if he ain't in a con 
 dition to go home, what can his best friend do ? Why, 
 bring him home ! And here's Tennessee has been running 
 free, and we brings him home from his wandering." He 
 paused, and picked up a fragment of quartz, rubbed it 
 thoughtfully on his sleeve, and went on : " It ain't the first 
 time that I've packed him on my back, as you see'd me 
 now. It ain't the first time that I brought him to this yer 
 cabin when he couldn't help himself ; it ain't the first time 
 that I and ' Jinny ' have waited for him on yon hill, and 
 picked him up and so fetched him home, when he couldn't 
 speak, and didn't know me. And now that it's the last time, 
 
 why " he paused, and rubbed the quartz gently on his 
 
 sleeve " you see it's a sort of rough on his partner. And 
 now, gentlemen/' he added, abruptly, picking up his long- 
 handled shovel, " the fun'l 's over ; and my thanks, and 
 Tennessee's thanks to you for your trouble." 
 
 Resisting any proffers of assistance, he began to fill in the 
 grave, turning his back upon the crowd, that after a few 
 moments' hesitation gradually withdrew. As they crossed 
 the little ridge that hid Sandy Bar from view, some, looking 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 51 
 
 "back, thought they could see Tennessee's Partner, his work 
 done, sitting upon the grave, his shovel between his knees r 
 and his face buried in his red bandanna handkerchief. But 
 it was argued by others that you couldn't tell his face from 
 his handkerchief at that distance ; and this point remained 
 undecided. 
 
 In the reaction that followed the feverish excitement of 
 that day, Tennessee's Partner was not forgotten. A secret 
 investigation had cleared him of any complicity in Tennessee's 
 guilt, and left only a suspicion of his general sanity. Sandy 
 Bar made a point of calling on him, and proffering various 
 uncouth, but well-meant kindnesses. But from that day this 
 rude health and great strength seemed visibly to decline ; 
 and when the rainy season fairly set in, and the tiny grass - 
 blades were beginning to peep from the rocky mound above 
 Tennessee's grave, he took to his bed. 
 
 One night, when the pines beside the cabin were sway 
 ing in the storm, and trailing their slender fingers over the 
 roof, and the roar and rush of the swollen river were heard 
 below, Tennessee's Partner lifted his head from the pillow, 
 saying, " It is time to go for Tennessee ; I must put 
 ' Jinny ' in the cart ', " and would have risen from his bed 
 but for. the restraint of his attendant. Struggling, he still 
 pursued his singular fancy : " There, now, steady, l Jinny,* 
 steady, old girl. How dark it is ! Look out for the ruts,. 
 and look out for him, too, old gal. Sometimes, you 
 know, when he's blind drunk, he drops down right in the 
 trail. Keep on straight up to the pine on the top of the 
 hill. Thar I told you so ! thar he is, coming this way, 
 too, all by himself, sober, and his face a-shining. Ten 
 nessee ! Pardner ! " 
 
 And so they met. 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 O ANDY was very drunk. He was lying under an azalea- 
 bush, in pretty much the same attitude in which he 
 had fallen some hours before. How long he had been lying 
 there he could not tell, and didn't care ; how long he should 
 lie there was a matter equally indefinite and unconsidered. 
 A tranquil philosophy, born of his physical condition, suf 
 fused and saturated his moral being. 
 
 The spectacle of a drunken man, and of this drunken man 
 In particular, was not, I grieve to say, of sufficient novelty 
 in Red Gulch to attract attention. Earlier in the day 
 some local satirist had erected a temporary tombstone at 
 Sandy's head, bearing the inscription, " Effects of 
 McCorkle's whiskey, kills at forty rods," with a hand 
 pointing to McCorkle's saloon. But this, I imagine, was, 
 like most local satire, personal ; and was a reflection upon 
 the unfairness of the process rather than a commentary upon 
 the impropriety of the result. With this facetious exception, 
 Sandy had been undisturbed. A wandering mule, released 
 from his pack, had cropped the scant herbage beside him, 
 and sniffed curiously at the prostrate man ; a vagabond dog, 
 with that deep sympathy which the species have for drunken 
 men, had licked his dusty boots, and curled himself up at his 
 feet, and lay there, blinking one eye in the sunlight, with a 
 simulation of dissipation that was ingenious and dog-like in 
 its implied flattery of the unconscious man beside him. 
 
 Meanwhile the shadows of the pine-trees had slowly 
 swung around until they crossed the road, and their trunks 
 barred the open meadow with gigantic parallels of black and 
 yellow. Little puffs of red dust, lifted by the plunging 
 hoofs of passing teams, dispersed in a grimy shower upon the 
 recumbent man. The sun sank lower and lower ; and still 
 'Sandy stirred not. And then the repose of this philosopher 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 53 
 
 was disturbed, as other philosophers have been, by the in 
 trusion of an unphilosophical sex. 
 
 " Miss Mary," as she was known to the little flock that 
 she had just dismissed from the log school-house beyond the 
 pines, was taking her afternoon walk. Observing an Tin- 
 usually fine cluster of blossoms on the azalea-bush opposite,, 
 she crossed the road to pluck it, picking her way through 
 the red dust, not without certain fierce little shivers of 
 disgust, and some feline circumlocution. And then she 
 came suddenly upon Sandy ! 
 
 Of course she uttered the little staccato cry of her sex. 
 But when she had paid that tribute to her physical weak 
 ness she became overbold, and halted for a moment, at 
 least six feet from this prostrate monster, with her white 
 skirts gathered in her hand, ready for flight. But neither 
 sound nor motion came from the bush. With one little 
 foot she then overturned the satirical head-board, and mut- 
 terred, " Beasts ! " an epithet which probably, at that 
 moment, conveniently classified in her mind the entire male 
 population of Red Gulch. For Miss Mary, being possessed 
 of certain rigid notions of her own, had not, perhaps, properly 
 appreciated the demonstrative gallantry for which the 
 Californian has been so justly celebrated by his brother 
 Californians, and had, as a new-comer, perhaps, fairly earned 
 the reputation of being "stuck up." 
 
 As she stood there she noticed, also, that the slant sun 
 beams were heating Sandy's head to what she judged to be 
 an unhealthy temperature, and that his hat was lying use 
 lessly at his side. To pick it up and to place it over his face 
 was a work requiring some courage, particularly as his eyes 
 were open. Yet she did it and made good her retreat. But 
 she was somewhat concerned, on looking back, to see that 
 the hat was removed, and that Sandy was sitting up and 
 saying something. 
 
 The truth was, that in the calm depths of Sandy's mind 
 
54 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 he was satisfied that the rays of the sun were beneficial and 
 healthful j that from childhood he had objected to lying down 
 in a hat j that no people but condemned fools, past redemp 
 tion, ever wore hats ; and that his right to dispense with 
 them when he pleased was inalienable. This was the state 
 ment of his inner consciousness. Unfortunately, its outward 
 expression was vague, being limited to a repetition of the 
 following formula, " Su'shine all ri'! Wasser ma'ar, eh 1 
 Wass up, su'shine f 
 
 Miss Mary stopped, and, taking fresh courage from her 
 -vantage of distance, asked him if there was anything that he 
 wanted. 
 
 " Wass up 1 "Wasser maar 2" continued Sandy, in a very 
 high key. 
 
 " Get up, you horrid man ! " said Miss Mary, now 
 thoroughly incensed ; " get up, and go home." 
 
 Sandy staggered to his feet. He was six feet high, and 
 Miss Mary trembled. He started forward a few paces and 
 then stopped. 
 
 "Wass I go home for?" he suddenly asked, with great 
 gravity. 
 
 " Go and take a bath," replied Miss Mary, eying his 
 grimy person with great disfavour. 
 
 To her infinite dismay, Sandy suddenly pulled off his coat 
 and vest, threw; them on the ground, kicked off his boots, 
 and, plunging wildly forward, darted headlong over the hill, 
 in the direction of the river. 
 
 " Goodness Heavens ! the man will be drowned !" said 
 Miss Mary ; and then, with feminine inconsistency, she ran 
 Iback to the school-house, and locked herself in. 
 
 That night, while seated at supper with her hostess, the 
 blacksmith's wife, it came to Miss Mary to ask, demurely, if 
 her husband ever got drunk. "Abner," responded Mrs. 
 'Stidger, reflectively, "let's see : Abner hasn't been tight 
 since last lection." Miss Mary would have liked to ask if 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 55 
 
 ne preferred lying in the sun on these occasions, and if a cold 
 bath would have hurt him ; but this would have involved an 
 explanation, which she did not then care to give. So she 
 contented herself with opening her gray eyes widely at the 
 red-cheeked Mrs. Stidger, a fine specimen of South- western 
 efflorescence, and then dismissed the subject altogether. 
 The next day she wrote to her dearest friend, in Boston : " I 
 think I find the intoxicated portion' of this community the 
 least objectionable. I refer, my dear, to the men, of course. 
 I do not know anything that could make the women 
 tolerable." 
 
 In less than a week Miss Maiy had forgotten this episode, 
 except that her afternoon walks took thereafter, almost un 
 consciously, another direction. She noticed, however, that 
 every morning a fresh cluster of azalea-blossoms appeared 
 among the flowers on her desk. This was not strange, as her 
 little flock were aware of her fondness for flowers, and 
 invariably kept her desk bright with anemones, syringas, 
 and lupines; but, on questioning them, they, one and all, 
 professed ignorance of the azaleas. A few days later, Master 
 Johnny Stidger, whose desk was nearest to the window, was 
 suddenly taken with spasms of apparently gratuitous laughter, 
 that threatened the discipline of the school. All that Miss 
 Mary could get from him was that some one had been 
 "looking in the winder." Irate and indignant, she sallied 
 from her hive to do battle with the intruder. As she turned 
 the corner of the school house she came plump upon the 
 quondam drunkard, now perfectly sober, and inexpressibly 
 sheepish and guilty-looking. 
 
 These facts Miss Mary was not slow to take a feminine 
 advantage of, in her present humour. But it w r as somewhat 
 confusing to observe, also, that the beast, despite some faint 
 signs of past dissipation, was amiable-looking, in fact, a 
 kind of blond Samson, whose corn-coloured, silken beard 
 apparently had never yet known the touch of barber's razor 
 
$6 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 or Delilah's shears. So that the cutting speech which 
 quivered on her ready tongue died upon her lips, and she 
 contented herself with receiving his stammering apology 
 with supercilious eyelids, and the gathered skirts of uncon- 
 tamination. When she re-entered the school- room, her eyes 
 fell upon the azaleas with a new sense of revelation. And 
 then she laughed, and the little people all laughed, and they 
 were all unconsciously very happy. 
 
 It was on a hot day and not long after this that two 
 short-legged boys came to grief on the threshold of the- 
 school with a pail of water, which they had laboriously 
 brought from the spring, and that Miss Mary compassionately 
 seized the pail and started for the spring herself. At the foot 
 of the hill a shadow crossed her path, and a blue-shirted arm 
 dexterously, but gently, relieved her of her burden. Miss 
 Mary was both embarrassed and angry. " If you carried 
 more of that for yourself," she said, spitefully, to the blue 
 arm, without deigning to raise her lashes to its owner, " you'd 
 do better/' In the submissive silence that followed she 
 regretted the speech, and thanked him so sweetly at the door 
 that he stumbled, which caused the children to laugh again, ' 
 a laugh in which Miss Mary joined, until the colour came 
 faintly into her pale cheek. The next day a barrel was 
 mysteriously placed beside the door, and as mysteriously 
 filled with fresh spring- water every morning. 
 
 Nor was this superior young person without other qniet 
 attentions. "Profane Bill," driver of the Slumgnllioii Stage, 
 widely known in the newspapers for his " gallantry " in 
 invariably offering the box-seat to the fair sex, had excepted 
 Miss Mary from this attention, on the ground that he had a 
 habit of " cussin' on up grades," and gave her half the coach 
 to herself. Jack Hamlin, a gambler, having once silently 
 ridden with her in the same coach, afterwards threw a 
 decanter at the head of a confederate for mentioning her 
 name in a bar-room. The over-dressed mother of a pupil 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. $7 
 
 whose paternity was doubtful, had often lingered near this 
 astute Vestal's temple, never daring to enter its sacred pre 
 cincts, but content to worship the priestess from afar. 
 
 With such unconscious intervals the monotonous pro 
 cession of blue skies, glittering sunshine, brief twilights, and 
 starlit nights passed over Red Gulch. Miss Mary grew fond 
 of walking in the sedate and proper woods. Perhaps she 
 believed, with Mrs. Stidger, that the balsamic odours of the 
 firs " did her chest good," for certainly her slight cough was 
 less frequent and her step was firmer ; perhaps she had 
 learned the unending lesson .which the patient pines are 
 never weary of repeating to heedful or listless ears. And so, 
 one day, she planned a pic-nic on Buck-eye Hill, and took the 
 children with her. Away from the dusty road, the straggling 
 shanties, the yellow ditches, the clamour of restless engines, 
 the cheap finery of shop-windows, the deeper glitter of paint 
 and coloured glass, and the thin veneering w r hich barbarism, 
 takes upon itself in such localities what infinite relief was 
 theirs ! The last heap of ragged rock and clay passed, the 
 last unsightly chasm crossed, how the waiting woods 
 opened their long files to receive them ! How the children 
 perhaps because they had not yet grown quite away from the 
 breast of the bounteous Mother threw themselves face 
 downward on her brown bosom with uncouth caresses, 
 filling the air with their laughter ; and how Miss Mary 
 herself felinely fastidious and intrenched as she was in the 
 purity of spotless skirts, collar, and cuffs forgot all, and ran 
 like a crested quail at the head of her brood, until, romping, 
 laughing, and panting, with a loosened braid of brown hair, 
 a hat hanging by a knotted ribbon from her throat, she came 
 suddenly and violently, in the heart of the forest, upon the 
 luckless Sandy ! 
 
 The explanations, apologies, and not overwise conversation 
 that ensued, need not be indicated here. It would seem, 
 however, that Miss Mary had already established some 
 
58 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 acquaintance with this ex-drunkard. Enough that he was 
 soon accepted as one of the party ; that the children, with 
 that quick intelligence which Providence gives the helpless, 
 recognized a friend, and played with his blond beard, and 
 long silken mustache, and took other liberties, as the help 
 less are apt to do. And when he had built a fire against a 
 tree, and had shown them other mysteries of wood-craft, 
 their admiration knew no bounds. At the close of two such 
 foolish, idle, happy hours he found himself lying at the feet 
 of the schoolmistress, gazing dreamily in her face, as she sat 
 upon the sloping hill side, weaving wreaths of laurel and 
 syringa, in very much the same attitude as he had lain when 
 -.first they met. Nor was the similitude greatly forced. The 
 weakness of an easy, sensuous nature, that had found a 
 dreamy exaltation in liquor, it is to be feared was now find 
 ing an equal intoxication in love. 
 
 I think that Sandy was dimly conscious of this himself. 
 I know that he longed to be doing something, slaying a 
 grizzly, scalping a savage, or sacrificing himself in some way 
 for the sake of this sallow-faced, gray-eyed schoolmistress. 
 As I should like to present him in a heroic attitude, I stay 
 my hand with great difficulty at this moment, being only 
 withheld from introducing such an episode by a strong con 
 viction that it does not usually occur at such times. And I 
 trust that my fairest reader, who remembers that, in a real 
 crisis, it is always some uninteresting stranger or unromantic 
 policeman, and not Adolphus, who rescues, will forgive the 
 omission. 
 
 So they sat there, undisturbed the woodpeckers chattering 
 overhead, and the voices of the children coming pleasantly 
 from the hollow below. What they said matters little. What 
 they thought which might have been interesting did not 
 transpire. The woodpeckers only learned how Miss Mary 
 was an orphan ; how she left her uncle's house, to come to 
 California, for the sake of health and independence ; how 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 59 
 
 Sandy was an orphan, too ; how he came to California for ex 
 citement; how he had lived a wildlife, and how he was trying 
 to reform ; and other details, which, from a woodpecker's 
 view-point, undoubtedly must have seemed stupid, and a 
 waste of time. But even in such trifles was the afternoon 
 spent ; and when the children were again gathered, and 
 Sandy, with a delicacy which the schoolmistress well under 
 stood, took leave of them quietly at the outskirts of the 
 settlement, it had seemed the shortest day of her weary life. 
 
 As the long, dry summer withered to its roots, the school 
 term of Red Gulch to use a local euphuism " dried up " 
 also. In another day Miss Mary would be free ; and for a 
 season, at least, Eed Gulch would know her no more. She 
 was seated alone in the school-house, her cheek resting on her. 
 hand, her eyes half closed in one of those day-dreams in 
 which Miss Mary I fear, to the danger of school discipline 
 was lately in the habit of indulging. Her lap was full of 
 mosses, ferns, and other woodland memories. She was so 
 pre-occupied with these and her own thoughts that a gentle 
 tapping at the door passed unheard, or translated itself into 
 the remembrance of far-off woodpeckers. "When at last it 
 asserted itself more distinctly, she started up with a flushed 
 cheek and opened the door. On the threshold stood a 
 woman, the self-assertion and audacity of whose dress were 
 in singular contrast to her timid, irresolute bearing. 
 
 Miss Mary recognised at a glance the dubious mother of 
 her anonymous pupil. Perhaps she was disappointed, perhaps 
 she was only fastidious ; but as she coldly invited her to 
 enter, she half-unconsciously settled her white cuffs and 
 collar, and gathered closer her own chaste skirts. It was, 
 perhaps, for this reason that the embarrassed stranger, after 
 a moment's hesitation, left her gorgeous parasol open and 
 sticking in the dust beside the door, and then sat down at 
 the farther end of a long bench. Her voice was huskv as she 
 began, 
 
60 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 "I lieerd tell that you were goin' down to the Bay to 
 morrow, and I couldn't let you go until I came to thank you 
 for your kindness to my Tommy." 
 
 Tommy, Miss Mary said, was a good boy, and deserved 
 more than the poor attention she could give him. 
 
 " Thank you, miss ; thank ye ! " cried the stranger, 
 brightening even through the colour which Red Gulch knew 
 facetiously as her " war paint/' and striving, in her embar 
 rassment, to drag the long bench nearer the schoolmistress. 
 "I thank you, miss, for that ! and if I am his mother, there 
 ain't a sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. And if I 
 ain't much as says it, thar ain't a sweeter dearer, angeler 
 teacher lives than he's got." 
 
 . Miss Mary, sitting primly behind her desk, with a ruler 
 over her shoulder, opened her gray eyes widely at this, but 
 said nothing. 
 
 " It ain't for you to be complimented by the like of me, 1 
 know," she went on, hurriedly. "It ain't for me to be 
 comin' here, in broad day, to do it, either ; but I come to 
 ask a favour, not for me, miss, not for me, but for the 
 darling boy." 
 
 Encouraged by a look in the young schoolmistress's eye, 
 and putting her lilac-gloved hands together, the fingers down 
 ward, between her knees, she went on, in a low voice, 
 
 " You see, miss, there's no one the boy has any claim on 
 but me, and I ain't the proper person to bring him up. I 
 thought some, last year, of sending him away to 'Frisco to 
 school, but when they talked of bringing a schoolma'am here, 
 I waited till I saw you, and then I knew it was all right, and 
 I could keep my boy a little longer. And 0, miss, he loves 
 you so much ; and if you could hear hirn talk about you, in 
 his pretty way, and if he could ask you what I ask you now, 
 you couldn't refuse him. 
 
 "It is natural," she went on rapidly, in a voice that 
 trembled strangely between pride and humility, "it's natural 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 61 
 
 that lie should take to you, miss, for his father, when I first 
 knew him, was a gentleman, and the boy must forget me, 
 sooner or later, and so I ain't a-goin' to cry about that. 
 For I come to ask you to take my Tommy, God bless him 
 for the bestest, sweetest boy that lives ! to to take him 
 with you." 
 
 She had risen and caught the young girl's hand in her own, 
 and had fallen on her knees beside her. 
 
 "I've money plenty, and it's all yours and his. Put him 
 in some good school, where you can go and see him, and help 
 him to to to forget his mother. Do with him what you 
 like. The worst you can do will be kindness to what he will 
 learn with me. Only take him out of this wicked life, this 
 cruel place, this home of shame and sorrow. You will ; I 
 know you will, won't you 1 You will, you must not, you 
 cannot say no ! You will make him as pure, as gentle as 
 yourself ; and when he has grown up, you will tell him his 
 father's name, the name that hasn't passed my lips for 
 years, the name of Alexander Morton, whom they call here 
 Sandy ! Miss Mary ! do not take your hand away ! Miss 
 Mary, speak to me ! You will take my boy 1 Do not put 
 your face from me. I know it ought not to look on such as 
 me. Miss Mary ! my God, be merciful ! she is leaving me ! " 
 
 Miss Mary had risen, and, in the gathering twilight, had 
 felt her way to the open window. She stood there, leaning 
 against the casement, her eyes fixed on. the last rosy tints 
 that were fading from the western sky. There was still some 
 of its light on her pure young forehead, on her white collar, 
 on her clasped white hands, but all fading slowly away. The 
 suppliant had dragged herself, still on her knees, beside her. 
 
 "I know it takes time to consider. I will wait here all 
 night ; but I cannot go iintil you speak. Do not deny me 
 now. You will ! I see it in your sweet face, such a face 
 as I have seen in my dreams. I see it in your eyes, Miss 
 Mary ! you will take my boy ! " 
 
62 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 The last red beam crept higher, suffused Miss Mary's eyes 
 with something of its glory, flickered, and faded, and went 
 out. The sun had set on Red Gulch. In the twilight and 
 silence Miss Mary's voice sounded pleasantly. 
 
 "I will take the boy. Send him to me to-night." 
 
 The happy mother raised the hem of Miss Mary's skirts to 
 her lips. She would have buried her hot face in its virgin 
 folds, but she dared not. She rose to her feet. 
 
 "Does this man know of your intention 1 ?" asked Miss 
 Mary, suddenly. 
 
 "No; nor cares. He has never even seen the child to 
 know it." 
 
 " Go to him at once, to night, now. Tell him what 
 you have done. Tell him I have taken his child, and tell 
 him he must never see see the child again. Wherever 
 it may be, he must not come ; wherever I may take it, he 
 must not follow ! There, go now, please I'm weary, and 
 have much yet to do ! " 
 
 They walked together to the door. On the threshold the 
 woman turned. 
 
 "Goodnight." 
 
 She would have fallen at Miss Mary's feet. But at the 
 same moment the young girl reached out her arms, caught 
 the sinful woman to her own pure breast for one brief 
 moment, and then closed and locked the door. 
 
 It was with a sudden sense of great responsibility that 
 Profane Bill took the reins of the Slumgullion Stage the next 
 morning, for the schoolmistress was one of his passengers. 
 As he entered the high-road, in obedience to a pleasant -voice 
 from the "inside," he suddenly reined up his horses and 
 respectfully waited, as "Tommy" hopped out at the com 
 mand of Miss Mary. 
 
 "Not that bush, Tommy the next." 
 
 Tommy whipped out his new pocket-knife, and, cutting a 
 
HIGH- WA TER MARK. 63 
 
 branch from a tall azalea-bush, returned with it to Miss 
 Mary. 
 
 "All right now?" 
 
 All right." 
 
 And the stage-door closed on the Idyl of Red Gulch. 
 
 HIGH WATER MARK. 
 
 T \ 7HEN the tide was out on the Decllow Marsh, its 
 extended dreariness was patent. Its spongy, low- 
 lying surface, sluggish, inky pools, and tortuous sloughs, 
 twisting their slimy way, eel-like, toward the open bay, were 
 all hard facts. So were the few green tussocks, with their 
 scant blades^, their amphibious flavour, and unpleasant damp 
 ness. And if you choose to indulge your fancy, although 
 the flat monotony of Dedlow Marsh was not inspiring, the 
 wavy line of scattered drift gave an unpleasant consciousness 
 of the spent waters, and made the dead certainty of the 
 returning tide a gloomy reflection, which no present sunshine 
 could dissipate. The greener meadow-land seemed oppressed 
 with this idea, and made no positive attempt at vegetation" 
 until the work of reclamation should be complete. In the 
 bitter fruit of the low cranberry-bushes one might fancy he 
 detected a naturally sweet disposition curdled and soured by 
 an injudicious course of too much regular cold water. 
 
 The vocal expression of the Dedlow Marsh was also melan 
 choly and depressing. The sepulchral boom of the bittern, 
 the shriek of the curlew, the scream of passing brent, the 
 wrangling of quarrelsome teal, the sharp, querulous protest of 
 the startled crane, and syllabled complaint of the "killdeer" 
 plover were beyond the power of written expression. ISTor 
 was the aspect of these mournful fowls at all cheerful and 
 inspiring. Certainly not the blue heron standing midleg 
 deep in the water, obviously catching cold in a reckless dis- 
 
64 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 regard of wet feet and consequences; nor the mournful curlew, 
 the dejected plover, or the low-spirited snipe, who saw fit to 
 join him in his suicidal contemplation ; nor the impassive 
 king-fisher an ornithological Marius reviewing the deso 
 late expanse ; nor the black raven that went to and fro over 
 the face of the marsh continually, but evidently couldn't 
 make up his mind whether the waters had subsided, and felt 
 low-spirited in the reflection that, after all this trouble, he 
 wouldn't be able to give a definite answer. On the contrary, 
 it was evident at a glance that the dreary expanse of Dedlow 
 Marsh told unpleasantly on the birds, and that the season of 
 migration was looked forward to with a feeling of relief and 
 satisfaction by the full-grown, and of extravagant anticipa 
 tion by the callow, brood. But if Dedlow Marsh was cheer 
 less at the slack of the low tide, you should have seen it 
 when the tide was strong and full. When the damp air 
 blew chilly over the cold, glittering expanse, and came to 
 the faces of those who looked seaward like another tide ; 
 when a steel-like glint marked the low hollows and the 
 sinuous line of slough ; when the great shell-incrusted trunks 
 of fallen trees arose again, and went forth on their dreary, 
 purposeless wanderings, drifting hither and thither, but 
 getting no farther toward any goal at the falling tide or the 
 day's decline than the cursed Hebrew in the legend ; when 
 the glossy ducks swung silently, making neither ripple nor 
 furrow on the simmering surface ; when the fog came in with 
 the tide and shut out the blue above, even as the green, 
 below had been obliterated ; when boatmen, lost in that fog, 
 paddling about in a hopeless way, started at what seemed 
 the brushing of mermen's fingers on the boat's keel, or 
 shrank from the tufts of grass spreading around like the 
 floating hair of a corpse, and knew by these signs that they 
 were lost upon Dedlow Marsh, and must make a night of it, 
 and a gloomy one at that, then you might know something 
 of Dedlow Marsh at high water. 
 
HIGH- WA TER MARK. 65, 
 
 Let me recall a story connected with this latter view, 
 which never failed to recur to my mind in my long gunning 
 excursions upon Decllow Marsh. Although the event was 
 briefly recorded in the county paper, I had the story, in all 
 its eloquent detail, from the lips of the principal actor. I 
 cannot hope to catch the varying emphasis and peculiar 
 colouring of feminine delineation, for my narrator was a, 
 woman ; but I'll try to give at least its substance. 
 
 She lived midway of the great slough of Dedlow Marsh 
 and a good-sized river, which debouched four miles beyond 
 into an estuary formed by the Pacific Ocean, on the long 
 sandy peninsula which constituted the south-western boundary 
 of a noble bay. The house in which she lived was a small 
 frame cabin, raised from the marsh a few feet by stout piles, 
 and was three miles distant from the settlements upon the 
 river. Her husband was a logger, a profitable business in 
 a county where the principal occupation was the manufacture 
 of lumber. 
 
 It was the season of early spring, when her husband left 
 on the ebb of a high tide, with a raft of logs for the usual 
 transportation to the lower end of the bay. As she stood by 
 the door of the little cabin when the voyagers departed, she 
 noticed a cold look in the south-eastern sky, and she remem 
 bered hearing her husband say to his companions that they 
 must endeavour to complete their voyage before the coining 
 of the south-westerly gale which he saw brewing. And that 
 night it began to storm and blow harder than she had ever 
 before experienced, and some great trees fell in the forest by 
 the river, and the house rocked like her baby's cradle. 
 
 But however the storm might roar about the little cabin^ 
 she knew that one she trusted had driven bolt and bar with 
 his own strong hand, and that had he feared for her he 
 would not have left her. This, and her domestic duties, and 
 the care of her little sickly baby, helped to keep her mind 
 from dwelling on the weather, except, of course, to hope that 
 
 F 
 
66 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 he was safely harboured with the logs at Utopia in the 
 dreary distance. But she noticed that day, when she went 
 out to feed the chickens and look after the cow, that the tide 
 was up to the little fence of their garden patch, and the roar 
 of the surf on the south beach, though miles away, she could 
 hear distinctly. And she began to think that she would 
 like to have some one to talk with about matters, and she 
 believed that if it had not been so far and so stormy, and 
 the trail so impassable, she would have taken the baby, and 
 have gone over to Ryckman's, her nearest neighbour. But 
 then, you see, he might have returned in the storm, all wet 
 with no one to see to him ; and it was a long exposure for 
 baby, who was croupy and ailing. 
 
 But that night, she never could tell why, she didn't feel 
 like sleeping or even lying down. The storm had somewhat 
 abated, but she still "sat and sat," and even tried to read. I 
 don't know whether it was a Bible or some profane magazine 
 that this poor woman read, but most probably the latter, for 
 the words all ran together and made such sad nonsense that 
 she was forced at last to put the book down and turn to that 
 dearer volume which lay before her in the cradle, with its 
 white initial leaf as yet unsoiled, and try to look forward to 
 its mysterious future. And, rocking the cradle, she thought of 
 everything and everybody, but still was wide awake as ever. 
 
 It was nearly twelve o'clock when she at last lay down in 
 her clothes. How long she slept she could not remember, 
 but she awoke with a dreadful choking in her throat, and 
 found herself standing, trembling all over, in the middle of 
 the room, with her baby clasped to her breast, and she was 
 " saying something." The baby cried and sobbed, and she 
 walked up and down trying to hush it, when she heard a 
 scratching at the door. She opened it fearfully, and was 
 glad to see it was only old Pete, their dog, who crawled, 
 dripping with water, into the room. She would like to have 
 .looked out, not in the faint hope of her husband's coming, 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK. 67 
 
 but to see how things looked j but the wind shook the door 
 so savagely that she could hardly hold it. Then she sat 
 down a little while, and then walked up and down a 
 little while, and then she lay down again a little while. 
 Lying close by the wall of the little cabin, she thought she 
 heard once or twice something scrape slowly against the 
 clapboards, like the scraping of branches. Then there was 
 a little gurgling sound, "like the baby made when it was 
 swallowing ; " then something went " click-click " and 
 " cluck-cluck," so that she sat up in bed. When she did so 
 she was attracted by something else that seemed creeping 
 from the back door towards the centre of the room. It 
 wasn't much wider than her little finger, but soon it swelled 
 to the width of her hand, and began spreading all over the 
 floor. It was water. 
 
 She ran to the front door and threw it wide open, and saw 
 nothing but water. She ran to the back door and threw it 
 open, and saw nothing but water. She ran to the side 
 window, and, throwing that open, she saw nothing but water. 
 Then she remembered hearing her husband once say that 
 there was no danger in the tide, for that fell regularly, and 
 people could calculate on it, and that he would rather live 
 near the bay than the river, whose banks might overflow at 
 any time. But was it the tide 1 So she ran again to the 
 back door, and threw out a stick of wood. It drifted away 
 towards the bay. She scooped up some of the water and 
 put it eagerly to her lips. It was fresh and sweet. It was 
 the river, and not the tide ! 
 
 It was then O, God be praised for his goodness ! she 
 did neither faint nor fall ; it was then blessed be the 
 Saviour, for it was his merciful hand that touched and 
 strengthened her in this awful moment that fear dropped 
 from her like a garment, and her trembling ceased. It was 
 then and thereafter that she never lost her self-command, 
 through all the trials of thatgloomy night. 
 
 E 2 
 
63 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 She drew the bedstead towards the middle of the room, 
 and placed a table upon it, and on that she put the cradle. 
 The water on the floor was already over her ankles, and the 
 house once or twice moved so perceptibly, and seemed to be 
 racked so, that the closet doors all flew open. Then she 
 heard the same rasping and thumping against the wall, and, 
 looking out, saw that a large uprooted tree, which had lain 
 near the road at the upper end of the pasture, had floated 
 down to the house. Luckily its long roots dragged in the 
 soil and kept it from moving as rapidly as the current, for 
 had it struck the house in its full career, even the strong- 
 nails and bolts in the piles could not have withstood the 
 shock. The hound had leaped upon its knotty surface, and 
 crouched near the roots shivering and whining. A ray of 
 hope flashed across her mind. She drew a heavy blanket 
 from the bed, and, wrapping it about the babe, waded in the 
 deepening waters to the door. As the tree swung again, 
 broadside on, making the little cabin creak and tremble, she 
 leaped on to its trunk. By God's mercy she succeeded in 
 obtaining a footing on its slippery surface, and, twining an 
 arm about its roots, she held in the other a moaning child. 
 Then something cracked near the front porch, and the whole 
 front of the house she had just quitted fell forward, just as 
 cattle fall on their knees before they lie down, and at the 
 same moment the great redwood tree swung round and 
 drifted away with its living cargo into the black night. 
 
 For all the excitement and danger, for all her soothing of 
 her crying babe, for all the whistling of the wind, for all the 
 uncertainty of her situation, she still turned to look at the 
 deserted and water-swept cabin. She remembered even 
 then, and she wonders how foolish she was to think of it at 
 that time, that she wished she had put on another dress and 
 the baby's best clothes ; and she kept praying that the house 
 would be spared so that he, when he returned, would have 
 something to come to, and it wouldn't be quite so desolate. 
 
HIGH- WATER MARK. 69 
 
 and how could he ever know what hud become of her and 
 baby ? And at the thought she grew sick and faint. But 
 she had something else to do besides worrying, for whenever 
 the long roots of her ark struck an obstacle, the whole trunk 
 made half a revolution, and twice dipped her in the black 
 water. The hound, who kept distracting her by running up 
 and down the tree and howling, at last fell off at one of these 
 collisions. He swam for some time beside her, and she tried 
 to get the poor beast upon the tree, but he "acted silly" and 
 wild, and at last she lost sight of him for ever. Then she 
 and her baby were left alone. The light which had burned 
 for a few minutes in the deserted cabin was quenched 
 suddenly. She could not then tell whither she was drifting. 
 The outline of the white dunes on the peninsula showed 
 dimly ahead, and she judged the tree was moving in a line 
 with the river. It must be about slack water, and she had 
 probably reached the eddy formed by the confluence of the 
 tide and the overflowing waters of the river. Unless the 
 tide fell soon, there was present danger of her drifting to its 
 channel, and being carried out to sea or crushed in the float 
 ing drift. That peril averted, if she were carried out on the 
 ebb toward the bay, she might hope to strike one of the 
 wooded promontories of the peninsula, and rest till daylight. 
 Sometimes she thought she heard voices and shouts from the 
 river, and the bellowing of cattle and bleating of sheep. 
 Then again it was only the ringing in her ears and throbbing 
 of her heart. She found at about this time that she was so 
 chilled and stiffened in her cramped position that she could 
 scarcely move, and the baby cried so when she put it to her 
 breast that she noticed the milk refused to flow j and she 
 was so frightened at that, that she put her head under her 
 shawl and for the first time cried bitterly. 
 
 When she raised her head again, the boom of the surf was 
 behind her, and she knew that her ark had again swung 
 round. She dipped up the water to cool her parched throat, 
 
70 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 and found that it was salt as her tears. There was a relief, 
 though, for by this sign she knew she was drifting with the 
 tide. It was then the wind went down, and the great and 
 awful silence oppressed her. There was scarcely a ripple 
 against the furrowed sides of the great trunk on which she 
 rested, and around her all was black gloom and quiet. She 
 spoke to the baby just to hear herself speak, and to know 
 that she had not lost her voice. She thought then it was 
 queer, but she could not help thinking it how awful must 
 have been the night when the great ship swung over the 
 Asiatic peak, and the sounds of creation were blotted out 
 from the world. She thought, too, of mariners clinging to 
 spars, and of poor women who were lashed to rafts, and 
 beaten to death by the cruel sea. She tried to thank God 
 that she was thus spared, and lifted her eyes from the baby 
 who had fallen into a fretful sleep. Suddenly, away to the 
 southward, a great light lifted itself out of the gloom, and 
 flashed and flickered, and flickered and flashed again. Her 
 heart fluttered quickly against the baby's cold cheek. It was 
 the lighthouse at the entrance of the bay. As she was yet 
 wondering, the tree suddenly rolled a little, dragged a little, 
 and then seemed to lie quiet and still. She put out her hand 
 and the current gurgled against it. The tree was aground, 
 and, by the position of the light and the noise of the surf, 
 aground upon the Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Had it not been for her baby, who was ailing and croupy, 
 had it not been for the sudden drying up of that sensitive 
 fountain, she would have felt safe and relieved. Perhaps it 
 was this which tended to make all her impressions mournful 
 and gloomy. As the tide rapidly fell, a great flock of black 
 brent fluttered by her, screaming and crying. Then the 
 plover flew up and piped mournfully, as they wheeled around 
 the trunk, and at last fearlessly lit upon it like a gray cloud. 
 Then the heron flew over and around her, shrieking and 
 protesting, and at last dropped its gaunt legs only a few 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK. 71 
 
 yards from her. Bat, strangest of all, a pretty white bird, 
 larger than a dove, like a pelican, but not a pelican, circled 
 around and around her. At last it lit upon a rootlet of the 
 tree, quite over her shoulder. She put out her hand and 
 stroked its beautiful white neck, and it never appeared to move. 
 It stayed there so long that she thought she would lift up the 
 baby to see it, and try to attract her attention. But when 
 she did so, the child was so chilled and cold, and had such a 
 blue look under the little lashes, which it didn't raise at all 
 that she screamed aloud, and the bird flew away, and she 
 fainted. 
 
 Well, that was the worst of it, and perhaps it was not so 
 much, after all, to any but herself. For when she recovered 
 her senses it was bright sunlight, and dead low water. There 
 was a confused noise of guttural voices about her, and an 
 old squaw, singing an Indian "hushaby," and rocking 
 herself from side to side before a fire built on the marsh, 
 before- which she, the recovered wife and mother, lay weak 
 and weary. Her first thought was for her baby, and she 
 was about to speak, when a young squaw, who must have 
 been a mother herself, fathomed her thought, and brought 
 her the " mowitch," pale but living, in such a queer little 
 willow cradle all bound up, just like the squaw's own young 
 one, that she laughed and cried together, and the young 
 squaw and the old squaw showed their big white teeth and. 
 glinted their black eyes and said, " Plenty get well, skeena 
 mowitch," " wagee man come plenty soon," and she could. '. 
 have kissed their brown faces in her joy. And then she- 
 found that they had been gathering berries on the marsh in 
 their queer, comical baskets, and saw the skirt of her gown 
 fluttering on the tree from afar, and the old squaw couldn't 
 resist the temptation of procuring a new garment, and came 
 down and discovered the " wagee " woman and child. And 
 of course she gave the garment to the old squaw, as you 
 may imagine, and when he came at last and rushed up to 
 
72 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 her, looking about ten years older in his anxiety, she felt so 
 faint again that they had to carry her to the canoe . For, 
 you see, he knew nothing about the flood until he met the 
 Indians at Utopia, and knew by the signs that the poor 
 woman was his wife. And at the next high-tide he towed 
 the tree away back home, although it wasn't worth the 
 trouble, and built another house, using the old tree for the 
 foundation and props, and called it after her, " Mary's Ark ! " 
 But you may guess the next house was built above High- 
 water mark. And that's all. 
 
 Not much, perhaps, considering the malevolent capacity 
 of the Dedlow Marsh. But you must tramp over it at low 
 water, or paddle over it at high tide, or get lost upon it 
 once or twice in the fog, as I have, to understand properly 
 Mary's adventure, or to appreciate duly the blessings of 
 living beyond High- Water Mark. 
 
 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 A S I stepped into the Slumgullion stage I saw that it was 
 a dark night, a lonely road, and that I was the only 
 passenger. Let me assure the reader that I have no ulterior 
 design in making this assertion. A long course of light reading 
 has forewarned me what every experienced intelligence must 
 confidently look for from such a statement. The story-teller 
 who wilfully tempts Fate by such obvious beginnings ; who 
 is to the expectant reader in danger of being robbed or half- 
 murdered, or frightened by an escaped lunatic, or introduced 
 to his lady-love for the first time, deserves to be detected. I 
 am relieved to say that none of these things occurred to me. 
 The road from Wingdam to Slumgullion knew no other 
 banditti than the regularly licensed hotel-keepers ; lunatics 
 had not yet reached such depth of imbecility as to ride of 
 
.A LONELY RIDE. 73 
 
 their own free-will in Californian stages ; and my Laura, 
 amiable and long- suffering as she always is, could not, I fear, 
 have borne up against these depressing circumstances long 
 enough to have made the slightest impression on me. 
 
 I stood with my shawl and carpet-bag in hand, gazing 
 doubtingly on the vehicle. Even in the darkness the red 
 dust of Wingdam was visible on its roof and sides, and the 
 red slime of Slumgullion clung tenaciously to its wheels. I 
 opened the door ; the stage creaked uneasily, and in the 
 gloomy abyss the swaying straps beckoned me, like ghostly 
 hands, to come in now, and have my sufferings out at 
 once. 
 
 I must not omit to mention the occurrence of a circum 
 stance which struck me as appalling and mysterious. A 
 lounger on the steps of the hotel, whom I had reason to 
 stippose was not in any way connected with the stage 
 company, gravely descended, and, walking toward the 
 conveyance, tried the handle of the door, opened it, 
 expectorated in the carriage, and returned to the hotel with 
 a serious demeanour. Hardly had he resumed his position, 
 when another individual, equally disinterested, impassively 
 walked down the steps, proceeded to the back of the stage, 
 lifted it, expectorated carefully on the axle, and returned 
 slowly and pensively to the hotel. A third spectator wearily 
 disengaged himself from one of the Ionic columns of the 
 portico and walked to the box, remained for a moment in 
 serious and expectorative contemplation of the boot, and 
 then returned to his column. There was something so weird 
 in this baptism that I grew quite nervous. 
 
 Perhaps I was out of spirits. A number of infinitesimal 
 annoyances, winding up with the resolute persistency of the 
 clerk at the stage -office to enter my name misspelt on the 
 way-bill, had not predisposed me to cheerfulness. The 
 inmates of the Eureka House, from a social view-point, were 
 not attractive. There was the prevailing opinion so 
 
74 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 common to many honest people that a serious style of 
 deportment and conduct toward a stranger indicates high 
 gentility and elevated station. Obeying this principle, all 
 hilaaity ceased on my entrance to supper, and general remark 
 merged into the safer and uncompromising chronicle of 
 several bad cases of diptheria, then epidemic at Wingdam. 
 When I left the dining-room, with an odd feeling that I had 
 been supping exclusively on mustard and tea-leaves, I 
 stopped a moment at the parlour door. A piano, harmoni 
 ously related to the dinner-bell, tinkled responsive to a 
 diffident and uncertain touch. On the white wall the 
 shadow of an old and sharp profile was bending over several 
 symmetrical and shadowy curls. "I sez to Mariar, Mariar, 
 sez I, ' Praise to the face is open disgrace.' " I heard no 
 more. Dreading some susceptibility to sincere expression 
 on the subject of female loveliness, I walked away, checking 
 the compliment that otherwise might have risen unbidden 
 to my lips, and have brought shame and sorrow to the 
 household. 
 
 It was with the memory of these experiences resting 
 heavily upon me, that I stood hesitatingly before the stage 
 door. The driver, about to mount, was for a moment 
 illuminated by the open door of the hotel. He had the 
 wearied look which was the distinguishing expression of 
 "Wingdam. Satisfied that I was properly way-billed and 
 receipted for, he took no further notice of me. I looked 
 longingly at the box-seat, but he did not respond to the 
 appeal. I flung my carpet-bag into the chasm, dived 
 recklessly after it, and before I was fairly seated with a 
 great sigh, a creaking of unwilling springs, complaining 
 bolts, and harshly expostulating axle, we moved away. 
 Rather the hotel door slipped behind, the sound of the piano 
 sank to rest, and the night and its shadows moved solemnly 
 upon us. 
 
 To say it was dark expressed but faintly the pitchy 
 
A LONELY RIDE. 75 
 
 obscurity that encompassed the vehicle. The roadside trees 
 were scarcely distinguishable as deeper masses of shadow ; I 
 knew them only by the peculiar sodden odour that from 
 time to time sluggishly flowed in at the open window as we 
 rolled by. "We proceeded slowly ; so leisurely that, leaning 
 from the carriage, I more than once detected the fragrant 
 sigh of some astonished cow, whose ruminating repose upon 
 the highway we had ruthlessly disturbed. But in the 
 darkness our progress, more the guidance of some mysterious 
 instinct than any apparent volition of our own-, gave an 
 indefinable charm of security to our journey, that a moment's 
 hesitation or indecision on the part of the driver would have 
 destroyed. 
 
 I had indulged a hope that in the empty vehicle I might 
 obtain that rest so often denied me in its crowded condition. 
 It was a weak delusion. When I stretched out my limbs it 
 was only to find that the ordinary conveniences for making 
 several people distinctly uncomfortable were distributed 
 throughout my individual frame. At last, resting my arms 
 on the straps, by dint of much gymnastic effort I became 
 sufficiently composed to be aware of a more refined species 
 of torture. The springs of the stage, rising and falling 
 regularly, prodiiced a rhythmical beat, which began to 
 painfully absorb my attention. Slowly this thumping 
 merged into a senseless echo of the mysterious female of the 
 hotel parlour, and shaped itself into this awful and 
 benumbing axiom, " Praise- to -the -face -is -open -disgrace. 
 Praise-to-the-face-is-open-disgrace." Inequalities of the road 
 only quickened its utterance or drawled it to an exasperating 
 length. 
 
 It was of no use to seriously consider the statement. It 
 was of no use to except to it indignantly. It was of no use 
 to recall the many instances where praise to the face had 
 redounded to the everlasting honour of praiser and bepraised ; 
 of no use to dwell sentimentally on modest genius and 
 
76 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 courage lifted up and strengthened by open commendation ; 
 of no use to except to the mysterious female, to picture 
 her as rearing a thin-blooded generation on selfish and 
 mechanically-repeated axioms, all this failed to counteract 
 the monotonous repetition of this sentence. There was 
 nothing to do but to give in, and I was about to accept it 
 weakly, as we too often treat other illusions of darkness and 
 necessity, for the time being, when I became aware of some 
 other annoyance that had been forcing itself upon me for the 
 last few moments. How quiet the driver was! 
 
 Was there any driver 1 Had I any reason to suppose 
 that he was not lying, gagged and bound on the roadside, 
 and the highwayman, with blackened face, who did the thing 
 so quietly, driving me whither 1 The thing is perfectly 
 feasible. And what is this fancy now being jolted out of 
 me 1 A story 1 It's of no use to keep it back, particularly 
 in this abysmal vehicle, and here it comes : I am a Marquis 
 a French Marquis ; French, because the peerage is not so 
 well known, and the country is better adapted to romantic 
 incident a Marquis, because the democratic reader delights 
 in the nobility. My name is something ligny. I am coming 
 from Paris to my country seat at St. Germain. It is a dark 
 night, and I fall asleep and tell my honest coachman Andre" 
 not to disturb me, and dream of an angel. The carriage at 
 last stops at the chateau. It is so dark that, when I alight, 
 I do not recognize the face of the footman who holds the 
 carriage-door. But what of that 1 peste ! I am heavy \ 
 with sleep. The same obscurity also hides the old familiar 
 indecencies of the statues on the terrace ; but there is a 
 door, and it opens and shuts behind me smartly. Then I , 
 find myself in a trap, in the presence of the brigand who has 
 quietly gagged poor Andre and conducted the carriage 
 thither. There is nothing for me to do, as a gallant French 
 Marquis, but to say, " Parbleu ! " draw my rapier, and die 
 valorously ! I am found, a week or two after, outside a 
 
A LONELY RIDE. 77 
 
 deserted cabaret near the barrier, with a hole through iny 
 ruffled linen, and my pockets stripped. No ; on second 
 thoughts, I am rescued, rescued by the angel I have been 
 dreaming of, who is the assumed daughter of the brigand, 
 but the real daughter of an intimate friend. 
 
 Looking from the window again, in the vain hope of dis 
 tinguishing the driver, I found my eyes were growing accus 
 tomed to the darkness. I could see the distant horizon, 
 defined by India-inky woods, relieving a lighter sky. A 
 few stars, widely spaced in this picture, glimmered sadly. I 
 noticed again the infinite depth of patient sorrow in their 
 serene faces ; and I hope that the Vandal who first applied 
 the flippant " twinkle " to them may not be driven melan 
 choly mad by their reproachful eyes. I noticed again the 
 mystic charm of space, that imparts a sense of individual 
 solitude to each integer of the densest constellation, involving 
 the smallest star with immeasurable loneliness. Something 
 
 O 
 
 of this calm and solitude crept over me, and I dozed in my 
 gloomy cavern. When I awoke the full moon was rising. 
 Seen from my window, it had an indescribably unreal and 
 theatrical effect. It was the full moon of Norma that 
 remarkable celestial phenomenon which rises so palpably to 
 a hushed audience and a sublime andante chorus, until the 
 Casta Diva is sung the "inconstant moon" that then 
 and thereafter remains fixed in the heavens as though it 
 were a part of the solar system inaugurated by Joshua. 
 Again the white-robed Druids filed past me, again I saw 
 that improbable mistletoe cut from that impossible oak, and 
 again cold chills ran down my back with the first strain of 
 the recitative. The thumping springs essayed to beat time, 
 and the private- box-like obscurity of the vehicle lent a cheap 
 enchantment to the view. But it was a vast improvement 
 upon my past experience, and I hugged the fond delusion. 
 
 My fears for the driver were dissipated with the rising 
 moon. A familiar sound had assured me of his presence in 
 
78 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 the full possession of at least one of his most important func 
 tions. Frequent and full expectoration convinced me that 
 his lips were as yet nob sealed by the gag of highwaymen, 
 and soothed my anxious ear. With this load lifted from my 
 mind, and assisted by the mild presence of Diana, who left, 
 as when she visited Endymion, much of her splendour out 
 side my cavern, I looked around the empty vehicle. On 
 the forward seat lay a woman's hair-pin. I picked it up 
 with an interest that, however, soon abated. There was no 
 scent of the roses to cling to it still, not even of hair-oil- 
 No bend or twist in its rigid angles betrayed any trait of 
 its wearer's character. I tried to think that it might have 
 been "Mariar's." I tried to imagine that, confining the 
 symmetrical curls of that girl, it might have heard the soft 
 compliments whispered in her ears, which provoked the 
 wrath of the aged female. But in vain. It was reticent 
 and unswerving in its upright fidelity, and at last slipped 
 listlessly through my fingers. 
 
 I had dozed repeatedly, waked on the threshold of obli 
 vion by contact with some of the angles of the coach, and 
 feeling that I was unconsciously assuming, in imitation of a 
 humble insect of my childish recollection, that spherical shape 
 which could best resist those impressions, when I perceived 
 that the moon 1 , riding high in the heavens, had begun to 
 separate the formless masses of the shadowy landscape. 
 Trees isolated, in clumps and assemblages, changed places 
 before my window. The sharp outlines of the distant hills 
 came back, as in daylight, but little softened in the dry, 
 cold, dewless air of a California summer night. I was won 
 dering how late it was, and thinking that if the horses of the 
 night travelled as slowly as the team before us, Faustus 
 might have been spared his agonizing prayer, when a sudden 
 spasm of activity attacked my driver. A succession of 
 whip-snappings, like a pack of Chinese crackers, broke from 
 the box before me. The stage leaped forward, and when I 
 
THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 79 
 
 could pick myself from under the seat, a long white build 
 ing had in some mysterious way rolled before my window. 
 It must be Slumgullion ! As I descended from the stage I 
 addressed the driver : 
 
 " I thought you changed horses on the road ?" 
 
 " So we did. Two hours ago." 
 
 " That's odd. I didn't notice it." 
 
 " Must have been asleep, sir. Hope you had a pleasant 
 nap. Bully place for a nice quiet snooze empty stage, sir !" 
 
 THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 T T IS name was Fagg David Fagg. He came to California 
 -* in '52 with us, in the " Skyscraper." I don't think he did 
 it in an adventurous way. He probably had no other place 
 to go to. When a knot of us young fellows would recite 
 what splendid opportunities we resigned to go, and how sorry 
 our friends were to have us leave, and show daguerreotypes 
 and locks of hair, and talk of Mary and Susan, the man of no 
 account used to sit by and listen with a pained, mortified 
 expression on his plain face, and say nothing. I think he 
 had nothing to say. He had no associates, except when we 
 patronized him ; and, in point of fact, he was a good deal of 
 sport to us. He was always sea-sick whenever we had a 
 capful of wind. He never got his sea-legs on either. And 
 I never shall forget how we all laughed when Rattler took 
 
 him the piece of pork on a string, and But you know 
 
 that time-honoured joke. And then we had such a splendid 
 lark with him. Miss Fanny Twinkler couldn't bear the 
 sight of him, and we used to make Fagg think that she had 
 taken a fancy to him, and send him little delicacies and 
 books from the cabin. You ought to have witnessed the 
 rich scene that took place when he came up, stammering and 
 
So THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 very sick, to tliank her ! .Didn't slie flash up grandly and 
 beautifully and scornfully 1 So like " Medora," Rattler 
 said, Eattler knew Byron by heart, and wasn't old Fagg 
 awfully cut up 1 But he got over it, and when Rattler fel 
 sick at Valparaiso, old Fagg used to nurse him. You see he 
 was a good sort of fellow, but he lacked manliness and 
 spirit. 
 
 He had absolutely no idea of poetry. I 've seen him sit 
 stolidly by, mending his old clothes, when Rattler delivered 
 that stirring apostrophe of Byron's to the ocean. He asked 
 Rattler once, quite seriously, if he thought Byron was ever 
 sea-sick. I don't remember Rattler's reply, but I know we 
 all laughed very much, and I have no doubt it was some 
 thing good, for Rattler was smart. 
 
 When the " Skyscraper " arrived at San Francisco, we had 
 a grand "feed." We agreed to meet every year and per 
 petuate the occasion. Of course we didn't invite Fagg. 
 Fagg was a steerage passenger, and it was necessary, you see, 
 now we were ashore, to exercise a little discretion. But Old 
 Fagg, as we called him, he was only about twenty-five 
 years old, oy the way, was the source of immense amuse 
 ment to us that day. It appeared that he had conceived 
 the idea that he could walk to Sacramento, and actually 
 started off afoot. We had a good time, and shook hands 
 with one another all around, and so parted. Ah me ! only 
 eight years ago, and yet some of those hands then clasped in 
 amity have been clenched at each other, or have dipped fur 
 tively in one another's pockets. I know that we didn't dine 
 together the next year, because young Barker swore he 
 wouldn't put his feet under the same mahogany with such a 
 very contemptible scoundrel as that Mixer ; and Nibbles, 
 who borrowed money at Valparaiso of young Stubbs, who 
 was then a waiter in a restaurant, didn't like to meet such 
 people. 
 
 When I bought a number of shares in the Coyote Tunnel 
 
THAT HEATHEN' CHLVEE. 
 
THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT 8r 
 
 at Mugginsville, in '54, I thought I'd take a run up there 
 and see it. I stopped at the Empire Hotel, and after dinner 
 I got a horse and rode round the town and out to the claim. 
 One of those individuals whom newspaper correspondents 
 call " our intelligent informant," and to whom in all small 
 communities the right of answering questions is tacitly 
 yielded, was quietly pointed out to me. Habit had enabled 
 him to work and talk at the same time, and he never pre- 
 terinitted either. He gave me a history of the claim, and 
 added : " You see, stranger " (he addressed the bank before 
 him), "gold is sure to come out 'er that theer claim (he put 
 in a comma with his pick), but the old pro-pri-e-tor (he 
 wriggled out the word and the point of his pick) warn't of 
 much account (a long stroke of the pick for a period). He 
 was green, and let the boys about here jump him," and the 
 rest of his sentence was confided to his hat, which he had 
 removed to wipe his manly brow with his red bandanna. 
 
 I asked him who was the original proprietor. 
 
 "His name war Fagg." 
 
 I went to see him. He looked a little older and plainer. 
 He had worked hard, he said, and was getting 011 " so, so." 
 I took quite a liking to him, and patronized him to some 
 extent. Whether I did so because I was beginning to have 
 a distrust for such fellows as Rattler and Mixer is not neces 
 sary for me to state. 
 
 You remember how the Coyote Tunnel went in, and how 
 awfully we shareholders were done ! Well, the next thing 
 I heard was that Battler, who was one of the heaviest share 
 holders, was up at Mugginsville keeping bar for the pro 
 prietor of the Mugginsville Hotel, and that old Fagg had 
 struck it rich, and didn't know what to do with his money. 
 All this was told me by Mixer, who had been there, settling 
 up matters, and likewise that Fagg was sweet upon the 
 daughter of the proprietor of the aforesaid hotel. And so 
 by hearsay and letter I eventually gathered that old Robins, 
 
82 THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 the hotel man, was trying to get up a match between Nellie 
 Robins and Fagg. Nellie was a pretty, plump, and foolish 
 little thing, and would do just as her father wished. I 
 thought it would be a good thing for Fagg if he should marry 
 and settle down ; that as a married man he might be of 
 some account. So I ran up to Mugginsville one day to look 
 after things. 
 
 It did me an immense deal of good to make Rattler mix 
 my drinks for me, Rattler ? the gay, brilliant, and uncon 
 querable Rattler, who had tried to snub me two years ago. 
 I talked to him about old Fagg and Nellie, particularly as I 
 thought the subject was distasteful. He never liked Fagg, 
 and he was sure, he said, that Nellie didn't. Did Nellie 
 like anybody else ? He turned around to the mirror behind 
 the bar and brushed up his hair; I understood the con 
 ceited wretch. I thought I 'd put Fagg on his guard and 
 get him to hurry up matters. I had a long talk with him. 
 You could see by the way the poor fellow acted that he was 
 badly stuck. He sighed, and promised to pluck up courage 
 to Lurry matters to a crisis. Nellie was a good girl, and I 
 think had a sort of quiet respect for old Fagg's unobtrusive- 
 ness. But her fancy was already taken captive by Rattler's 
 super ficial qualities, which were obvious and pleasing. I 
 don't think Nellie was any worse than you or I. We are 
 more apt to take acquaintances at their apparent value than 
 their intrinsic worth. It's less trouble, and, except when we 
 want to trust them, quite as convenient. The difficulty with 
 women is that their feelings are apt to get interested sooner 
 than ours, and then, you know, reasoning is out of the ques 
 tion. This is what old Fagg would have known had he been 
 of any account. But he wasn't. So much the worse for 
 him. 
 
 It was a few months afterward, and I was sitting in my 
 office, when in walked old Fagg. I was surprised to see 
 him down, but we talked over the current topics in that 
 
THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 83 
 
 mechanical manner of people who know that they have 
 something else to say, but are obliged to get at it in that 
 formal way. After an interval Fagg in his natural manner 
 said, 
 
 " I'm going home !" 
 
 "Going home?" 
 
 "Yes, that is, I think I'll take a trip to the Atlantic 
 States. I came to see you, as you know I have some little 
 property, and I have executed a power of attorney for you 
 to manage my affairs. I have some papers I 'd like to leave 
 with you. Will you take charge of them ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said. But what of Nellie ? " 
 
 His face fell. He tried to smile, and the combination 
 resulted in one of the most startling and grotesque effects I 
 ever beheld. At length he said, 
 
 " I shall not marry Nellie, that is," he seemed to 
 apologize internally for the positive form of expression, "I 
 think that I had better not." 
 
 " David Fagg," I said with sudden severity, " you 're of no 
 account ! " 
 
 To my astonishment his face brightened. " Yes," said he, 
 that's it ! I 'm of 110 account ! But I always knew it. 
 You see I thought Rattler loved that girl as well as I did, 
 and I knew she liked him better than she did me, and would 
 be happier I dare say with him. But then I knew that old 
 Robins would have preferred me to him, as I was better off, 
 and the girl would do as he said, and, you see, I thought I 
 was kinder in the way, and so I left. But," he continued, 
 as I was about to interrupt him, " for fear the old man might 
 object to Hat tier, I've lent him enough to set him up in 
 business for himself in Dogtown. A pushing, active, bril 
 liant fellow, you know, like Rattler, can get along, and will 
 soon be in his old position again, and you needn't be hard 
 on him. you know, if he doesn't. Good by." 
 
 I was too much disgusted with his treatment of that 
 
 Or 2 
 
84 THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 Rattler to be at all amiable, but as his business was pro 
 fitable, I promised to attend to it, and he left. A few weeks 
 passed. The return steamer arrived, and a terrible incident 
 occupied the papers for days afterward. People in all parts 
 of the State conned eagerly the details of an awful ship 
 wreck, and those who had friends aboard went away by 
 themselves, and read the long list of the lost under their 
 breath. I read of the gifted, the gallant, the noble, and 
 loved ones who had perished, and among them I think I 
 was the first to read the name of David Fagg. For the 
 " man of no account" had " gone home !" 
 
1 1 -STORIES. 
 
 MLISS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JUST where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside in gentler 
 undulations, and the rivers grow less rapid and yellow, 
 on the side of a great red mountain, stands "Smith's Pocket.' 7 
 Seen from the red road at sunset, in the red light and the red 
 dust, its white houses look like the outcroppings of quartz on 
 the mountain-side. The red stage topped with red-shirted 
 passengers is lost to view half a dozen times in the tortuous 
 descent, turning up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way places, 
 and vanishing altogether within a hundred yards of the 
 town. It is probably owing to this sudden twist in the road 
 that the advent of a stranger at Smith's Pocket is usually 
 attended with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting from 
 the vehicle at the stage office, the too confident traveller 
 is apt to walk straight out of town under the impression 
 that it lies in quite another direction. It is related that one 
 of the tunnel-men, two miles from town, met one of these 
 self-reliant passengers with a carpet-bag, umbrella, Harper's 
 Magazine, and other evidences of " Civilization and Re 
 finement," plodding along over the road he had just rid 
 den, vainly endeavouring to find the settlement of Smith's 
 Pocket. 
 
 An observant traveller might have found some compensa 
 tion for his disappointment in the weird aspect of that 
 
86 MLISS. 
 
 vicinity. There were huge fissures on the hillside, and dis 
 placements of the red soil, resembling more the chaos of some 
 primary elemental upheaval than the work of man ; while, 
 half-way down, a long flume straddled its narrow body and 
 disproportionate legs over the chasm, like an enormous fossil 
 of some forgotten antediluvian. At every step smaller 
 ditches crossed the road, hiding in their sallow depths un 
 lovely streams that crept away to a clandestine union with 
 the great yellow torrent below, and here and there were the 
 ruins of some cabin with the chimney alone left intact and 
 the hearthstone open to the skies. 
 
 The settlement of Smith's Pocket owed its origin to the 
 finding of a " pocket " on its site by a veritable Smith. 
 Five thousand dollars were taken out of it in one half-hour 
 by Smith. Three thousand dollars were expended by Smith 
 and others in erecting a flume and in tunnelling. And then 
 Smith's Pocket was found to be only a pocket, and subject 
 like other pockets to depletion. Although Smith pierced the 
 bowels of the great red mountain, that five thousand dollars 
 was the first and last return of' his labour. The mountain 
 grew reticent of its golden secrets, and the flume steadily 
 ebbed away the remainder of Smith's fortune. Then Smith 
 went into quartz-mining ; then into quartz-milling ; then 
 into hydraulics and ditching, and then by easy degrees into 
 saloon- keeping. Presently it was whispered that Smith was 
 drinking a great deal ; then it was known that Smith was a 
 habitual drunkard, and then people began to think, as they 
 are apt to, that he had never been anything else. But the 
 settlement of Smith's Pocket, like that of most discoveries, 
 was happily not dependent on the fortune of its pioneer, and 
 other parties projected tunnels and found pockets. So 
 Smith's Pocket became a settlement with its two fancy 
 stores, its two hotels, its one express- office, and its two first 
 families. Occasionally its one long straggling street was 
 overawed by the assumption of the latest San Francisco 
 
MLISS. 87 
 
 fashions, imported per express, exclusively to the first families; 
 making outraged Nature, in the ragged outline of her fur 
 rowed surface, look still more homely, and putting personal 
 insult on that greater portion of the population to whom the 
 Sabbath, with a change of linen, brought merely the neces 
 sity of cleanliness, without the luxury of adornment. Then 
 there was a Methodist Church, and hard by a Monte Bank, 
 and a little beyond, on the mountain-side, a graveyard ; and 
 then a little school-house. 
 
 " The Master," as he was known to his little flock, sat 
 alone one night in the school-house, with some open copy-books 
 before him, carefully making those bold and full characters 
 which are supposed to combine the extremes of chirographi- 
 cal and moral excellence, and had got as far as " Riches are 
 deceitful," and was elaborating the noun with an insincerity 
 of flourish that was quite in the spirit of his text, when he 
 heard a gentle tapping. The woodpeckers had been busy 
 about the roof during the day, and the noise did not disturb 
 his work. But the opening of the door, and the tapping 
 continuing from the inside, caused him to look up. He was 
 slightly startled by the figure of a young girl, dirty and 
 shabbily clad. Still, her great black eyes, her coarse, un 
 combed, lustreless black hair falling over her sun-burned face, 
 her red arms and feet streaked with the red soil, were all 
 familiar to him. It was Melissa Smith, Smith's mother 
 less child. 
 
 " What can she want here 1 " thought the master. Every 
 body knew " Mliss," as she was called, throughout the 
 length and height of Red Mountain. Everybody knew her 
 as an incorrigible girl. Her fierce, ungovernable disposition, 
 her mad freaks and lawless character, were, in their way, as 
 proverbial as the story of her father's weaknesses, and as 
 philosophically accepted by the townsfolk. She wrangled 
 with and fought the school-boys with keener invective and 
 quite as powerful arm. She followed the trails with a wood- 
 
88 MUSS. 
 
 man's craft, and the master had met her before, miles away, 
 shoeless, stockingless, and bareheaded on the mountain road. 
 The miners' camps along the stream supplied her with sub 
 sistence during these voluntary pilgrimages, in freely offered 
 alms. Not but that a larger protection had been previously 
 extended to Mliss. The Rev. Joshua McSnagley, " stated " 
 preacher, had placed her in the hotel as servant, by way of 
 preliminary refinement, and had introduced her to his 
 scholars at Sunday-school. But she threw plates occasionally 
 at the landlord, and quickly retorted to the cheap witticisms 
 of the guests, and created in the Sabbath-school a sensation 
 that was so inimical to the orthodox dulness and placidity of 
 that institution, that, with a decent regard for the starched 
 frocks and unblemished morals of the two pink-and-white- 
 faced children of the first families, the reverend gentleman 
 had her ignomiiiiously expelled. Such were the antecedents, 
 and such the character of Mliss, as she stood before the 
 master. It was shown in the ragged dress, the unkempt 
 hair, and bleeding feet, and asked his pity. It flashed from 
 her black, fearless eyes, and commanded his respect. 
 
 "I come here to-night," she said rapidly and boldly, 
 keeping her hard glance on his, " because I knew you was. 
 alone. I wouldn't come here when them gals was here. I 
 hate 'em and they hates me. That's why. You keep school, 
 don't you ? I want to be teached ! " 
 
 If to the shabbiriess of her apparel and uncomeliness of 
 her tangled hair and dirty face she had added the humility of 
 tears, the master would have extended to her the usual 
 moiety of pity, and nothing more. But with the natural, 
 though illogical instincts of his species, her boldness 
 awakened in him something of that respect which all original 
 natures pay unconsciously to one another in any grade. 
 And he gazed at her the more fixedly as she went on still 
 rapidly, her hand on that door-latch and her eyes on his : 
 
 " My name's Mliss, Mliss Smith ! You can bet your 
 
MUSS. 89 
 
 life on that. My father's Old Smith, Old Bummer Smith, 
 that's what's the matter with him. Mliss Smith, and 
 I I'm coming to school." 
 
 "Well?" said the master. 
 
 Accustomed to be thwarted and opposed, often wantonly 
 and cruelly, for no other purpose than to excite the violent 
 impulses of her nature, the master's phlegm evidently took 
 her by surprise. She stopped ; she began to twist a lock of 
 her hair between her fingers ; and the rigid line of upper 
 lip, drawn over the wicked little teeth, relaxed and quivered 
 slightly. Then her eyes dropped, and something like a 
 blush struggled up to her cheek, and tried to assert itself 
 through the splashes of redder soil, and the sunburn of 
 years. Suddenly she threw herself forward, calling on God 
 to strike her dead, and fell quite weak and helpless, with 
 her face on the master's desk, crying and sobbing as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 The master lifted her gently and waited for the paroxysm 
 to pass. When with face still averted, she was repeating 
 between her sobs the mea culpa of childish penitence, that 
 " she'd be good, she didn't mean to," &c., it came to him to 
 ask her why she had left Sabbath-school. 
 
 Why had she left the Sabbath-school 1 ? why 1 ? O yes. 
 What did he (McSnagley) want to tell her she was wicked 
 for 1 What did he tell her that God hated her for 1 If God 
 hated her, what did she want to go Sabbath-school for 1 She 
 didn't want to be " beholden " to anybody who hated her. 
 
 Had she told McSnagley this ? 
 
 Yes she had. 
 
 The master laughed. It was a hearty laugh, and echoed 
 so oddly in the little school-house, and seemed so inconsistent 
 and discordant with the sighing of the pines without, that he 
 shortly corrected himself with a sigh. The sigh was quite 
 as sincere in its way, however, and after a moment of serious 
 silence he asked her about her father. 
 
9 o MUSS. 
 
 Her father? What father? "Whose father? What had 
 he ever done for her? Why did the girls hate her? Come 
 now! what made the folks say, "Old Bummer Smith's 
 Mliss ! " when she passed ? Yes ; O yes. She wished he was 
 dead, she was dead, everybody was dead ; and her sobs 
 broke forth anew. 
 
 The master, then leaning over her, told her as well as he 
 could what you or I might have said after hearing such 
 unnatural theories from childish lips ; only bearing in mind 
 perhaps better than you or I the unnatural facts of her 
 ragged dress, her bleeding feet, and the omnipresent shadow 
 of her drunken father. Then, raising her to her feet, he 
 wrapped his shawl around her, and, bidding her come early 
 in the morning, he walked with her down the road. There 
 he bade her "good night." The moon shone brightly on the 
 narrow path before them. He stood and watched the bent 
 little figure as it staggered down the road, and waited until 
 it had passed the little graveyard and reached the curve of 
 the hill, where it turned and stood for a moment, a mere 
 atom of suffering outlined against the far-off patient stars. 
 Then he went back to his work. But the lines of the copy 
 book thereafter faded into long parallels of never-ending 
 road, over which childish figures seemed to pass sobbing and 
 crying into the night. Then, the little school-house seeming 
 lonelier than before, he shut the door and went home. 
 
 The next morning Mliss came to school. Her face had 
 been washed, and her coarse black hair bore evidence of 
 recent struggles with the comb, in which both had evidently 
 suffered. The old defiant look shone occasionally in her 
 eyes, but her manner was tamer and more subdued. Then 
 began a series of little trials and self-sacrifices, in which 
 master and pupil bore an equal part, and which increased 
 the confidence and sympathy between them. Although 
 obedient under the master's eye, at times during the recess, 
 if thwarted or stung by a fancied slight, Mliss would rage in 
 
MLISS. 91 
 
 ungovernable fury, and many a palpitating young savage, 
 finding himself matched with his own weapons of torment, 
 would seek the master with torn jacket and scratched face, 
 and complaints of the dreadful Mliss. There was a serious 
 division among the townspeople on the subject; some threat 
 ening to withdraw their children from such evil companion 
 ship, and others as warmly upholding the course of the 
 master in his work of reclamation. Meanwhile, with a 
 steady persistence that seemed quite astonishing to him on 
 looking back afterward, the master drew Mliss gradually 
 out of the shadow of her past life, as though it were but her 
 natural progress down the narrow path on which he had set 
 her feet the moonlit night of their first meeting. Remem 
 bering the experience of the^evangelical McSnagley, he care 
 fully avoided that Rock of Ages on which that unskilful 
 pilot had shipwrecked her young faith. But if, in the course 
 of her reading, she chanced to stumble upon those few words 
 which have lifted such as she above the level of the older, 
 the wiser, and the more prudent, if she learned something 
 of a faith that is symbolized by suffering, and the old light 
 softened in her eyes, it did not take the shape of a lesson. 
 A few of the plainer people had made up a little sum by 
 which the ragged Mliss was enabled to assume the garments 
 of respect and civilisation; and often a rough shake of the 
 hand, and words of homely commendation from a red-shirted 
 and burly figure, sent a glow to the cheek of the young 
 master, and set him to thinking if it was altogether de 
 served. 
 
 Three months had passed from the time of their first meet 
 ing, and the master was sitting late one evening over the 
 moral and sententious copies, when there came a tap at the 
 door, and again Mliss stood before him. She was neatly 
 clad and clean-faced, and there was nothing, perhaps, but 
 the long black hair and bright black eyes to remind him of 
 his former apparition. "Are you busy?" she asked ; "can 
 
92 ML7SS. 
 
 you coine with me]" And on his signifying his readiness, 
 in her old wilful way she said, "Come, then, quick." 
 
 They passed out of the door together, and into the dark 
 road. As they entered the town the master asked her 
 whither she was going. She replied, " To see my father." 
 
 It was the first time he had heard her call him by that 
 filial title, or indeed anything more than "Old Smith," or the 
 " Old Man." It was the first time in three months that she 
 had spoken of him at all, and the master knew she had kept 
 resolutely aloof from him since her great change. Satisfied 
 from her manner that it was fruitless to question her pur 
 pose, he passively followed. In out-of-the-way places, low 
 groggeries, restaurants, and saloons; in gambling-hells and 
 dance-houses, the master, preceded by Mliss, came and went. 
 In the reeking smoke and blasphemous outcries of low dens, 
 the child, holding the master's hand, stood and anxiously 
 gazed, seemingly unconscious of all in the one absorbing 
 nature of her pursuit. Some of the revellers, recognising 
 Mliss, called to the child to sing and dance for them, and 
 would have forced liquor upon her but for the interference 
 of the master. Others, recognising him mutely, made way 
 for them to pass. So an hour slipped by. Then the child 
 whispered in his ear that there was a cabin on the other 
 side of the creek, crossed by the long flume, where she 
 thought he still might be. Thither they crossed, a toilsome 
 half-hour's walk, but in vain. They were returning by the 
 ditch at the abutment of the flume, gazing at the lights of 
 the town on the opposite bank, when suddenly, sharply, a 
 quick report rang out on the clear night air. The echoes 
 caught it, and carried it round and round Red Mountain, and 
 set the dogs to barking all along the streams. Lights seemed 
 to dance and move quickly on the outskirts of the town for 
 a few moments, the stream rippled quite audibly beside 
 them, a few stones loosened themselves from the hillside, and 
 splashed into the stream, a heavy wind seemed to surge the 
 
MLISS. 93 
 
 branches of tlie funereal pines, and then the silence seemed 
 to fall thicker, heavier, and deadlier. The master turned 
 towards Mliss with an unconscious gesture of protection, but 
 the child had gone. Oppressed by a strange fear, he ran 
 quickly down the trail to the river's bed, and, jumping from 
 boulder to boulder, reached the base of Eed Mountain and 
 the outskirts of the village. Midway of the crossing he 
 ooked up and held his breath in awe. For high above him, 
 on the narrow flume, he saw the fluttering little figure of his 
 late companion crossing swiftly in the darkness. 
 
 He climbed the bank, and, guided by a few lights moving 
 about a central point on the mountain, soon found himself 
 breathless among a crowd of awe-stricken arid sorrowful 
 men. Out from among them the child appeared, and, taking 
 the master's hand, led him silently before what seemed a 
 ragged hole in the mountain. Her face was quite white, but 
 her excited manner gone, and her look that of one to whom 
 some long-expected event had at last happened, an expres 
 sion that, to the master in his bewilderment, seemed almost 
 like relief. The walls of the cavern were partly propped by 
 decaying timbers. The child pointed to what appeared to be 
 some ragged cast-off clothes left in the hole by the late occu 
 pant. The master approached nearer with his flaming dip, 
 and bent over them. It was Smith, already cold, with a 
 pistol in his hand, and a bullet in his heart, lying beside his 
 empty pocket. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' I "HE opinion which McSnagley expressed in reference to a 
 "change of heart'' supposed to be experienced by Mliss 
 was more forcibly described in the gulches and tunnels. It was 
 thought there that Mliss had "struck a good lead." So when 
 there was; a new grave added to the little enclosure, and at 
 the expense of the master a little board and inscription put 
 
94 MLISS. 
 
 above it, the Red Mountain Banner came out quite hand 
 somely, and did the fair thing to the memory of one of " our 
 oldest Pioneers," alluding gracefully to that "bane of noble 
 intellects," and otherwise genteelly shelving our dear brother 
 with the past. " He leaves an only child to mourn his loss," 
 says the Banner, " who is now an exemplary scholar, thanks 
 to the efforts of the Rev. Mr. McSnagley." The Rev- 
 McSnagley, in fact, made a strong point of Mliss's conver 
 sion, and, indirectly attributing to the unfortunate child the 
 suicide of her father, made affecting allusions in Sunday- 
 school to the beneficial effects of the " silent tomb," and in 
 this cheerful contemplation drove most of the children into 
 speechless horror, and caused the pink-and-white scions of the 
 first families to howl dismally and refuse to be comforted. 
 
 The long dry summer came. As each fierce day burned 
 itself out in little whiffs of pearl -gray smoke on the mountain 
 summits, and the upspringing breeze scattered its red embers 
 over the landscape, the green wave which in early spring 
 upheaved above Smith's grave grew sere, and dry, and hard. 
 In those days the master, strolling in the little churchyard 
 of a Sabbath afternoon, was sometimes surprised to find a 
 few wild flowers plucked from the damp pine forest scattered 
 there, and oftener rude wreaths hung upon the little pine 
 cross. Most of these wreaths were formed of a sweet-scented 
 grass, which the children loved to keep in their desks, inter 
 twined with the plumes of the buckeye, the syringa, and the 
 wood anemone ; and here and there the master noticed the 
 dark blue cowl of the monk's-hood, or deadly aconite. There 
 was something in the odd association of this noxious plant 
 with these memorials which occasioned a painful sensation to 
 the master deeper than his esthetic sense. One day, during 
 a long walk, in crossing a wooded ridge, he came upon Mliss 
 in the heart of the forest, perched upon a prostrate pine, on 
 a fantastic throne formed by the hanging plumes of lifeless 
 branches, her lap full of grasses and pine-burrs, and crooning 
 
MLISS. 95 
 
 to herself one of the negro melodies of her ydunger life. 
 Recognizing him at a distance, she made room for him on 
 her elevated throne, and with a grave assumption of hospi 
 tality and patronage that would have been ridiculous had ifc 
 not been so terribly earnest, she fed him with pine nuts and 
 crab-apples. The master took that opportunity to point out 
 to her the noxious and deadly qualities of the monk's-hood, 
 whose dark blossoms he saw in her lap, and extorted from 
 her a promise not to meddle with it as long as she remained 
 his pupil. This done, as the master had tested her integrity 
 before, he rested satisfied, and the strange feeling which 
 had overcome him on seeing them died away. 
 
 Of the homes that were offered Mliss when her conversion 
 became known, the master preferred that of Mrs. Morpher, 
 a womanly and kind-hearted specimen of south-western 
 efflorescence, known in her maidenhood as the " Per-rairie 
 Rose." Being one of those who contend resolutely against 
 their own natures, Mrs. Morpher, by a long series of self- 
 sacrifices and struggles, had at last subjugated her naturally 
 careless disposition to principles of "order," which she con 
 sidered, in common with Mr. Pope, as " Heaven's first law." 
 But she could not entirely govern the orbits of her satellites, 
 however regular her own movements, and even her own 
 " Jeemes " sometimes collided with her. Again her old 
 nature asserted itself in her children. Lycurgus dipped into 
 the cupboard " between meals," and Aristides came home 
 from school without shoes, leaving those important articles 
 on the threshold, for the delight of a bare-footed walk down 
 the ditches. Octavia and Cassandra were "keerless" of their 
 clothes. So with but one exception, however much the 
 "Prairie Rose" might have trimmed and pruned and trained 
 her own matured luxuriance, the little shoots came up de 
 fiantly wild and straggling. That one exception was Clytem- 
 nestra Morpher, aged fifteen. She was the realization of her 
 mother's immaculate conception, neat, orderly, and dull. 
 
96 MUSS. 
 
 It was an amiable weakness of Mrs. Morplier to imagine 
 that " Clytie " was a consolation and model for Mliss. 
 Following this fallacy, Mrs. Morpher threw Clytie at the 
 head of Mliss when she was " bad," and set her up before 
 the child for adoration in her penitential moments. It was 
 not, therefore, surprising to the master to hear that Clytie 
 was coming to school, obviously as a favour to the master 
 and as an example for Mliss and others. For " Clytie " was 
 quite a young lady. Inheriting her mother's physical 
 peculiarities, and in obedience to the climatic laws of the 
 Ked Mountain region, she was an early bloomer. The 
 youth of " Smith's Pocket," to whom this kind of flower 
 was rare, sighed for her in April and languished in May. 
 Enamoured swains haunted the school-house at the hour of 
 dismissal. A few were jealous of the master. 
 
 Perhaps it was this latter circumstance that opened the 
 master's eyes to another. He could not help noticing that 
 Clytie was romantic ; that in school she required a great 
 deal of attention ; that her pens were uniformly bad and 
 wanted fixing ; that she usually accompanied the request 
 with a certain expectation in her eye that was somewhat 
 disproportionate to the quality of service she verbally re 
 quired ; that she sometimes allowed the curves of a round, 
 plump white arm to rest on his when he was writing her 
 copies ; that she always blushed and flung back her blond 
 curls when she did so. I don't remember whether I have 
 stated that the master was a young man, it's of little con 
 sequence, however ; he had been severely educated in the 
 school in which Clytie was taking her first lesson, and, on 
 the whole, withstood the flexible curves and factitious glance 
 like the fine young Spartan that he was. Perhaps an in 
 sufficient quality of food may have tended to this asceticism. 
 He generally avoided Clytie ; but one evening when she 
 returned to the school-house after something she had for 
 gotten, and did not find it until the master walked home 
 
TIIA T HE A THEN CfttNEE. 
 
 ' AIIU lie weui LUL- tkat Heathen Chinee ! ' 
 
 i the cards that Ahi Sin had been iudiii fr ." 
 
MLISS. 97 
 
 with. her. I hear that he endeavoured to mate himself 
 particularly agreeable, partly from the fact, I imagine, that 
 his conduct was adding gall and bitterness to the already 
 overcharged hearts of Clytemnestra's admirers. 
 
 The morning after this affecting episode Mliss did not 
 come to school. Noon came, but not Mliss. Question 
 ing Clytie on the subject, it appeared that they had left for 
 school together, but the wilful Mliss had taken another road. 
 The afternoon brought her not. In the evening he called on 
 Mrs. Morpher, whose motherly heart was really alarmed. 
 Mr. Morpher had spent all day in search of her, without 
 discovering a trace that might lead to her discovery. 
 Aristides was summoned as a probable accomplice, but 
 that equitable infant succeeded in impressing the household 
 with his innocence. Mrs. Morpher entertained a vivid im 
 pression that the child would yet be found drowned in a 
 ditch, or, what was almost as terrible, muddied and soiled 
 beyond the redemption of soap and water. Sick at heart, 
 the master returned to the school-house. As he lit his lamp 
 and seated himself at his desk, he found a note lying before 
 him addressed to himself, in Mliss's handwriting. It seemed 
 to be written on a leaf torn from some old memorandum- 
 book, and to prevent sacrilegious trifling, had been sealed 
 with six broken wafers. Opening it almost tenderly, the 
 master read as follows : 
 
 RESPECTED SIR, When you read this, I am run away. 
 Never to come back. Never, NEVER, NEVER. You can 
 give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my Amerika's Pride 
 [a highly-coloured lithograph from a tobacco-box] to Sally 
 Flanders. But don't you give anything to Clytie Morpher. 
 Don't you dare to. Do you know what my opinion is of 
 her, it is this, she is perfekly disgustin. That is all and no 
 more at present from 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 MELISSA SMITH. 
 
98 MLISS. 
 
 The master sat pondering on this strange epistle till the 
 moon lifted its bright face above the distant hills, and 
 illuminated the trail that led to the school-house, beaten 
 quite hard with the coming and going of little feet. Then, 
 more satisfied in mind, he tore the missive into fragments 
 and scattered them along the road. 
 
 At sunrise the next morning he was picking his way 
 through the palm-like fern and thick underbrush of the 
 pine-forest, starting the hare from its form, and awakening a 
 querulous protest from a few dissipated crows, who had 
 evidently been making a night of it, and so came to the 
 wooded ridge where he had once found Mliss. There he 
 found the prostrate pine and tasselled branches, but the 
 throne was vacant. As he drew nearer, what might have 
 been some frightened animal started through the crackling 
 limbs. It ran up the tossed arms of the fallen, monarch, 
 arid sheltered itself in some friendly foliage. The master, 
 reaching the old seat, found the nest still warm ; looking 
 up in the intertwining branches, he met the black eyes of 
 the errant Mliss. They gazed at each other without 
 speaking. She was the first to break the silence. 
 
 " "What do you want 1 ? 1 ' she asked curtly. 
 
 The master had decided on a course of action. " I want 
 some crab-apples," he said, humbly. 
 
 " Shan't have 'em ; go away. Why don't you get 'em of 
 Cly temnerestera ? " (It seemed to be a relief to Mliss to 
 express her contempt in additional syllables to that classical 
 young woman's already long-drawn title.) " O you wicked 
 thing!" 
 
 "I am hungry, Lizzy. I have eaten nothing since 
 dinner yesterday. I am famished!" and the young man, 
 in a state of remarkable exhaustion, leaned against the 
 tree. 
 
 Melissa's heart was touched. In the bitter days of her 
 gipsy life she had known the sensation he so artfully 
 
MLISS. 99 
 
 simulated. Overcome by his heart-broken tone, but not 
 entirely divested of suspicion, she said, 
 
 " Dig under the tree near the roots, and you'll find lots ; 
 but mind you don't tell," for Mliss had her hoards as well 
 as the rats and squirrels. 
 
 But the master, of course, was unable to find them ; the 
 effects of hunger probably blinding his senses. Mliss grew 
 uneasy. At length she peered at him through the leaves in 
 an elfish way, and questioned, 
 
 " If I come down and give you some, you'll promise you 
 won't touch me ] " 
 
 The master promised. 
 
 " Hope you'll die if you do ! " 
 
 The master accepted instant dissolution as a forfeit. 
 Mliss slid down the tree. For a few moments nothing 
 transpired but the munching of the pine-nuts. " Do you 
 feel better ? " she asked, with some solicitude. The master 
 confessed to a recuperated feeling, and then, gravely thank 
 ing her, proceeded to retrace his steps. As he expected, he 
 had not gone far before she called him. He turned. She 
 /\vas standing there quite white, with tears in her widely- 
 opened orbs. The master felt that the right moment had 
 come. Going up to her, he took both her hands, and, look 
 ing in her tearful eyes, said, gravely, " Lissy, do you 
 remember the first evening you came to see me ? " 
 
 Lissy remembered. 
 
 " You asked me if you might come to school, for you 
 wanted to learn something and be better, and I said " 
 
 " Come," responded the child, promptly. 
 
 " What would you say if the master now came to you 
 and said that he was lonely without his little scholar, and 
 that he wanted her to come and teach him to be 'better ?" 
 
 The child hung her head for a few moments in silence. 
 The master waited patiently. Tempted by the quiet, a 
 hare ran close to the couple, and raising her bright eyes and 
 
 n 2 
 
130 MUSS. 
 
 velvet forepaws, sat and gazed at them. A squirrel ran 
 lialf-way down the furrowed bark of the fallen tree, and 
 .there stopped. 
 
 "We are waiting, Lissy," said the master, in a whisper, 
 and the child smiled. Stirred by a passing breeze, the tree- 
 tops rocked, and a long pencil of light stole through their 
 Interlaced boughs full on the doubting face and irresolute 
 little figure. Suddenly she took the master's hand in her 
 <piick way. What she said was scarcely audible, but the 
 master, putting the black hair back from her forehead, kissed 
 lier j and so, hand in hand, they passed out of the damp 
 .aisles and forest odours into the open sunlit road. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OOMEWHAT less spiteful in her intercourse with other 
 scholars, Mliss still retained an offensive attitude in 
 regard to Clytemnestra. Perhaps the jealous element was 
 not entirely lulled in her passionate little breast. Perhaps it 
 "was only that the round curves and plump outline offered 
 more extended pinching surface. But while such ebullitions 
 were under the master's control, her enmity occasionally 
 took a new and irrepressible form. 
 
 The master in his iirst estimate of the child's character 
 could not conceive that she had ever possessed a doll. But 
 the master, like many other professed readers of character, 
 "was safer in ct posteriori than a priori reasoning. Mliss had 
 a doll, but then it was emphatically Mliss's doll, a smaller 
 copy of herself. Its unhappy existence had been a secret 
 Discovered accidentally by Mrs. Morpher. It had been the 
 old-time companion of Mliiss's wanderings, and bore evident 
 marks of suffering. Its original complexion was long since 
 washed awuy by the weather and anointed by the slime of 
 ditches. It looked very much as Mliss had in days past. 
 
MLISS. lot 
 
 Its one gown of faded stuff was dirty and ragged as hers hac? 
 been. Mliss had never been known to apply to it any 
 childish term of endearment She never exhibited it in the 
 presence of other children. It was put severely to bed in a 
 hollow tree near the school-house, and only allowed exerciser 
 during Mliss's rambles. Fulfilling a stern duty to her doll,,, 
 as she would to herself, it knew no luxuries. 
 
 Now Mrs. Morpher, obeying a commendable impulse^, 
 bought another doll and gave it to Mliss. The child received 
 it gravely and curiously. The master, on looking at it one 
 day, fancied he saw a slight resemblance in its round red 
 cheeks and mild blue eyes to Clytemnestra. It became 
 evident before long that Mliss had also noticed the same* 
 resemblance. Accordingly she hammered its waxen head' 
 on the rocks when she was alone, and sometimes dragged it 
 with a string round its neck to and from school. At other- 
 times, setting it up on her desk, she made a pin-cushion of 
 its patient and inoffensive body. Whether this was done in 
 revenge of what she considered a second figurative obtrusion: 
 of Cly tie's excellences upon her, or whether she had an 
 intuitive appreciation of the rites of certain other heathens, 
 and, indulging in that "Fetish," ceremony, imagined that 
 the original of her wax model would pine away and finally 
 die, is a metaphysical question I shall not now consider. 
 
 In spite of these moral vagaries, the master could not help- 
 noticing in her different tasks the working of a quick, restless, 
 and vigorous perception. She knew neither the hesitancy 
 nor the doubts of childhood. Her answers in class were?' 
 always slightly dashed with audacity. Of course she was 
 not infallible. But her courage and daring in passing 
 beyond her own depth and that of the floundering littler 
 swimmers around her, in their minds outweighed all errors 
 of judgment. Children are not better than grown people in? 
 this respect, I fancy ; and whenever the little red hand 
 flashed above her desk, there was a wondering silence, and 
 
103 MLISS. 
 
 even tlie master was sometimes oppressed with a doubt of Ms 
 own experience and judgment. 
 
 Nevertheless, certain attributes which at first amused and 
 entertained his fancy began to afflict him with grave doubts. 
 He could not but see that Mliss was revengeful, irreverent, 
 and wilful. That there was but one better quality which 
 pertained to her semi-savage disposition, the faculty of 
 physical fortitude and self-sacrifice, and another, though not 
 always an attribute of the noble savage, Truth. Mliss was 
 both fearless and sincere ; perhaps in such a character the 
 adjectives were synonymous. 
 
 The master had been doing some hard thinking 011 this 
 subject, and had arrived at that conclusion quite common to 
 all who think sincerely, that he was generally the slave of 
 his own prejudices, when he determined to call on the 
 Eev. McSnagley for advice. This decision was somewhat 
 humiliating to his pride, as he and McSnagley were riot 
 friends. But he thought of Mliss, and the evening of their 
 first meeting ; and perhaps with a pardonable superstition 
 that it was not chance alone that had guided her wilful 
 feet to the school-house, and perhaps with a complacent 
 consciousness' of the rare magnanimity of the act, he choked 
 back his dislike and went to McSnagley. 
 
 The reverend gentleman was glad to see him. Moreover, 
 he observed that the master was looking "peartish," and 
 hoped he had got over the " ueuralgy " and " rheumatiz." 
 He himself had been troubled with a dumb "ager" since 
 last conference. But he had learned to "rastle and pray." 
 
 Pausing a moment to enable the master to write his 
 certain method of curing the dumb " ager " upon the book 
 and volume of his brain, Mr. McSnagley proceeded to in quire 
 after Sister Morpher. "She is an adornment to Christianity, 
 and has a likely growin' young family," added Mr. 
 McSnagley ; " and there's that mannerly young gal, so 
 well behaved, Miss Clytie." In fact, Clytie's perfections 
 
SfLISS. 103 
 
 seemed to affect him to such an extent that he dwelt 
 for several minutes upon them. The master was doubly 
 embarrassed. In the first place, there was an enforced 
 contrast with poor Mliss in all this praise of Clytie. 
 Secondly, there was something unpleasantly confidential in 
 his tone of speaking of Mrs. Morpher's earliest born. So 
 that the master, after a few futile efforts to say something 
 natural, found it convenient to recall another engagement, 
 and left without asking the information required, but in his 
 after, reflections somewhat unjustly giving the Rev. Mr. 
 McSnagley the full benefit of having refused it. 
 
 Perhaps this rebuff placed the master and pupil once 
 more in the close communion of old. The child seemed to 
 notice the change in the master's manner, which had of late 
 been constrained, and in one of their long post-prandial 
 walks she stopped suddenly, and, mounting a stump, looked 
 full in his face with big, searching eyes. " You ain't mad 1 " 
 said she, with an interrogative shake of the black braids. 
 "No." "Nor bothered?" "No." "Nor hungry ?" 
 (Hunger was to Mliss a sickness that might attack a person 
 at any moment.) " No." " Nor thinking of her ? " " Of 
 whom, Lissy?" " That white girl." (This was the latest 
 epithet invented by Mliss, who was a very dark brunette, to 
 express Clytemnestra.) " No." " Upon your word 1 " (A 
 substitute for " Hope you'll die ! " proposed by the master.) 
 " Yes." " And sacred honour 1 " " Yes." Then Mliss gave 
 him a fierce little kiss, and, hopping down, fluttered off. For 
 two or three days after that she condescended to appear 
 more like other children, and be, as she expressed it, 
 "good." 
 
 Two years had passed since the master's advent at Smith's 
 Pocket, and as his salary was not large, and the prospects of 
 Smith's Pocket eventually becoming the capital of the State 
 not entirely definite, he contemplated a change. He had 
 informed the school trustees privately of his intentions, but, 
 
104 MLISS. 
 
 educated young men of unblemished moral character being 
 scarce at that time, he consented to continue his school term 
 through the winter to early spring. None else knew of his 
 intention except his one friend, a Dr. Ducbesiie, a young 
 Creole physician known to the people of Wiiigdam as 
 " Duchesny." He never mentioned it to Mrs. Morpher, Clytie, 
 or any of his scholars. His reticence was partly the result 
 of a constitutional indisposition to fuss, partly a desire to 
 be spared the questions and surmises of vulgar curiosity, and 
 partly that ha never really believed he was going to do 
 anything before it was done. 
 
 He did not like to think of Mliss. It was a selfish 
 instinct, perhaps, which made him try to fancy his feeling 
 for the child was foolish, romantic, and unpractical. He 
 even tried to imagine that she would do better under the 
 control of an older and sterner teacher. Then she was 
 nearly eleven, and in a few years, by the rules of Red 
 Mountain, would be a woman. He had done his duty. 
 After Smith's death he addressed letters to Smith's relatives, 
 and received one answer from a sister of Melissa's mother. 
 Thanking the master, she stated her intention of leaving the 
 Atlantic States for California with her husband in a few 
 months. This was a slight superstructure for the airy castle 
 which the master pictured for Mliss's house, but it was easy 
 to fancy that some loving sympathetic woman, with the 
 claims of kindred, might better guide her wayward nature. 
 Yet, when the master had read the letter, Mliss listened to 
 it carelessly, received it submissively, and afterwards cut 
 figures out of it with her scissors, supposed to represent 
 Clytemnestra, labelled " the white girl," to prevent mistakes, 
 and impaled them upon the outer walls of the school-house. 
 
 When the summer was about spent, and the last harvest 
 had been gathered in the valleys, the master bethought him 
 of gathering in a few ripened shoots of the young idea, and 
 of having his Harvest-Home, or Examination. So the savans 
 
MUSS. 105 
 
 and professionals of Smith's Pocket were gathered to witness 
 that time-honoured custom of placing timid children in a 
 constrained position, and bullying them as in a witness-box. 
 As usual in such cases, the most audacious and self-possessed 
 were the lucky recipients of the honours. The reader will 
 imagine that in the present instance Mliss and Clytie were 
 pre-eminent, and divided public attention ; Mliss with her 
 clearness of material perception and self-reliance, Clytie 
 with her placid self-esteem and saint-like correctness of 
 deportment. The other little ones were timid and blundering. 
 Mliss's readiness and brilliancy, of course, captivated the 
 greatest number and provoked the greatest applause. Mliss's 
 antecedents had unconsciously awakened the strongest 
 sympathies of a class whose athletic forms were ranged 
 against the walls, or whose handsome bearded faces looked 
 in at the windows. But Mliss's popularity was overthrown 
 by an unexpected circumstance. 
 
 McSnagley had invited himself, and had been going 
 through the pleasing entertainment of frightening the more 
 timid pupils by the vaguest and most ambiguous questions 
 delivered in an impressive funereal tone; and Mliss had 
 soared into Astronomy, and was tracking the course of our 
 spotted ball through space, and keeping time with the 
 music of the spheres, and denning the tethered orbits of the 
 planets, when McSnagley impressively arose. " Meelissy ! 
 ye were speaking of the revolutions of this yere yearth 
 and the move-ments of the sun, and I think ye said it had 
 been a-doing of it since the creashun, eh?" Mliss nodded 
 a scornful affirmative. "Well, war that the truth 1 ? "said 
 McSnagley, folding his arms. " Yes," said Mliss, shutting up 
 her little red lips tightly. The handsome outlines at the 
 windows peered further in the school-room, and a saintly 
 Raphael-face, with blond beard and soft blue eyes, belonging 
 to the biggest scamp in the diggings, turned toward the 
 child and whispered, " Stick to it Mliss ! " The reverend 
 
106 MLISS. 
 
 gentleman heaved a deep sigh, and cast a compassionate 
 glance at the master, then at the children, and then rested 
 his look on Clytie. That young woman softly elevated her 
 round, white arm. Its seductive curves were enhanced by 
 a gorgeous and massive specimen bracelet, the gift of one of 
 her humblest worshippers, worn in honour of the occasion. 
 There was a momentary silence. Clytie's round cheeks were 
 very pink and soft. Clytie's big eyes were very bright and 
 blue. Clytie's low-necked white book-muslin rested softly 
 on Clytie's white, plump shoulders. Clytie looked at 
 the master, and the master nodded. Then Clytie spoke 
 softly : 
 
 " Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and it obeyed 
 him ! " There was a low hum of applause in the scnool- 
 room, a triumphant expression on MeSnagley's facs, a grave 
 shadow on the master's, and a comical look of disappoint 
 ment reflected from the windows. Mliss skimmed rapidly 
 over her Astronomy, and then shut the book with a loud 
 snap. A groan burst from McSnagley, an expression ot 
 astonishment from the school-room, a yell from the windows, 
 as Mliss brought her red fist down on the desk, with the 
 emphatic declaration, 
 
 " It's a d n lie. I don't believe it ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. . 
 
 r ~T^HE long wet season had drawn near its close. Signs of 
 spring were visible in the swelling buds and rushing 
 torrents. The pine-forests exhaled the fresher spicery. The 
 azaleas were already budding, the Ceauothus getting ready its 
 lilac livery for spring. On the green upland which climbed 
 Bed Mountain at its southern aspect the long spike of the 
 monk's-hood shot up from its broad-leaved stool, and once 
 more shook its dark-blue bells. Again the billow above 
 
MLISS. 107 
 
 Smith's grave was soft and green, its crest just tossed with 
 the foam of daisies and buttercups. The little graveyard 
 had gathered a few new dwellers in the past year, and the 
 mounds were placed two by two by the little paling until 
 they reached Smith's gravej and there there. was but one. 
 General superstition had shunned it, and the plot beside 
 Smith was vacant. 
 
 There had been several placards posted about the town, 
 intimating that, at a certain period, a celebrated dramatic 
 company would perform, for a few days, a series of " side 
 splitting" and " screaming farces;" that, alternating plea 
 santly with this, there would be some melodrama and a 
 grand divertisement, which would include singing, dancing, 
 &c. These announcements occasioned a great fluttering 
 among the little folk, and were the theme of much excite 
 ment and great speculation among the master's scholars. 
 The master had promised Mliss, to whom this sort of thing 
 was sacred and rare, that she should go, and on that momen 
 tous evening the master and Mliss " assisted." 
 
 The performance was the prevalent style of heavy medio 
 crity j the melodrama was not bad enough to laugh at nor 
 good enough to excite. But the master, turning wearily to 
 the child, was astonished, and felt something like self-accu 
 sation in noticing the peculiar effect upon her excitable 
 nature. The red blood flushed in her cheeks at each stroke 
 of her panting little heart. Her small passionate lips were 
 slightly parted to give vent to her hurried breath. Her widely 
 opened lids threw up and arched her black eyebrows. She 
 did not laugh at the dismal comicalities of the funny man, 
 for Mliss seldom laughed. Nor was she discreetly affected 
 to the delicate extremes of the corner of a white handker 
 chief, as was the tender-hearted " Clytie," who was talking 
 with her "feller" and ogling the master at the same mo 
 ment. But when the performance was over, and the green 
 curtain fell on the little stage, Mliss drew a long deep 
 
io8 MUSS. 
 
 breath, and turned to the master's grave face with a half- 
 apologetic smile and wearied gesture. Then she said, 
 "Now take me home ! " and dropped the lids of her 
 black eyes, as if to dwell once more in fancy on the mimic 
 stage. 
 
 On their way to Mrs. Morpher's, the master thought 
 proper to ridicule the whole performance. Now he shouldn't 
 wonder if Mliss thought that the young lady who acted 
 so beautifully was really in earnest, and in love with the 
 gentleman who wore such fine clothes. "Well, if she 
 were in love with him, it was a very unfortunate thing ! 
 " Why 1 " said Mliss, with an upward sweep of the drooping 
 lid. " Oh ! well, he couldn't support his wife at his present 
 salary, and pay so much a week for his fine clothes, and then 
 they wouldn't receive as much wages if they were married 
 as if they were merely lovers that is," added the master, 
 " if they are not talreacly married to somebody else ; but I 
 think the husband of the pretty young countess takes the 
 tickets at the door, or pulls up the curtain, or snuffs the 
 candles, or does something equally refined and elegant. As 
 to the young man with nice clothes, which are really nice 
 now, and must cost at least two and a half or three dollars, 
 not to speak of that mantle of reel drugget which I happen 
 to know the price of, for I bought some of it for my room 
 once ; as to this young man, Lissy, he is a pretty good 
 fellow, and if he does drink occasionally, I don't think people 
 ought to take advantage of it and give him black eyes and 
 throw him in the mud. Do you 1 I am sure he might owo 
 me two dollars and a half a long time, before I would throw 
 it up in his face, as the fellow did the other night at Wing- 
 dam." 
 
 Mliss had taken his hand in both of hers and was trying 
 to look in his eyes, which the young man kept as resolutely 
 averted. Mliss had a faint idea of irony, indulging herself 
 sometimes in a species of sardonic humour, which was 
 
MLISS. 109 
 
 equally visible in her actions and her speech. But the 
 young man continued in this strain until they had reached 
 Mrs. Morpher's, and he had deposited Mliss in her maternal 
 charge. Waiving the invitation of Mrs. Morpher to refresh- 
 men b and rest, and shading his eyes with bis hand to keep 
 out the blue-eyea Clytemiiestra's siren glances, he excused 
 himself, and went home. 
 
 For two or three days after the advent of the dramatic 
 company, Mliss was late at school, and the master's usual 
 Friday afternoon ramble was for once omitted, owing to the 
 absence of his trustworthy guide. As he was putting away 
 his books and preparing to leave the school-house, a small 
 voice piped at his side, " Please, sir 1 " The master turned, 
 and there stood Aristides Morpher. 
 
 "Well, my little man," said the master, impatiently, 
 " what is it ] quick ! " 
 
 " Please, sir, me and ' Kerg ' thinks that Mliss is going to 
 run away agin." 
 
 " What's that, sir ? " said the master, with that unjust 
 testiness with which we always receive disagreeable news. 
 
 "Why, sir, she don't stay home any more, and 'Kerg' 
 and me see her talking with one of those actor fellers, and 
 she's with him now ; and please, sir, yesterday she told 
 ' Kerg ' and me she could make a speech as well as Miss 
 Cellerstina Montmoressy, and she spouted right off by heart," 
 and the little fellow paused in a collapsed condition. 
 
 "What actor?" asked the master. 
 
 " Him as wears the shiny hat. And hair. And gold 
 pic. And gold chain," said the just Aristides, putting 
 periods for commas to eke out his breath. 
 
 The master put on his gloves and hat, feeling an unplea 
 sant tightness in his chest and thorax, and walked out in 
 the road. Aristides trotted along by his side, endeavouring 
 to keep pace with his short legs to the master's strides, 
 when the master stopped suddenly, and Aristides bumped 
 
no MUSS. 
 
 up against him. ""Where were they talking]" asked the 
 master, as if continuing the conversation. 
 
 "At the Arcade," said Aristides. 
 
 When they reached the main street the master paused. 
 " Run down home," said he to the boy. " If Mliss is there, 
 come to the Arcade and tell me. If she isn't there, stay 
 home j run ! " And off trotted the short-legged Aris 
 tides. 
 
 The Arcade was just across the way a long rambling 
 building, containing a bar-room, billiard-room, and restau 
 rant. As the young man crossed the plaza he noticed that 
 two or three of the passers-by turned and looked after him. 
 He looked at his clothes, took out his handkerchief and 
 wiped his face, before he entered the bar-room. It contained 
 the usual number of loungers, who stared at him as he en 
 tered. One of them looked at him so fixedly and with such 
 a strange expression, that the master stopped and looked 
 again, and then saw it was only his own reflection in a large 
 mirror. This made the master think that perhaps he was 
 a little excited, and so he took up a copy of the Red Moun 
 tain Banner from one of the tables, and tried to recover his 
 composure by reading the column of advertisements. 
 
 He then walked through the bar-room, through the res 
 taurant, and into the billiard-room. The child was not 
 there. In the latter apartment a person was standing by 
 one of the tables with a broad-brimmed glazed hat on his 
 head. The master recognized him as the agent of the dra 
 matic company ; he had taken a dislike to him at their first 
 meeting, from the peculiar fashion of wearing his beard and 
 hair. Satisfied that the object of his search was not there, 
 he turned to the man with a glazed hat. He had noticed 
 the master, but tried that common trick of unconsciousness, 
 in which vulgar natures always fail. Balancing a billiard 
 cue in his hand, he pretended to play with a ball in the 
 centre of the table. The master stood opposite to him until 
 
MLISS. ill 
 
 he raised his eyes ; when their glances met, the master 
 walked up to him. 
 
 He had intended to avoid a scene or quarrel, but when 
 he began to speak, something kept rising in his throat and 
 retarded his utterance, and his own voice frightened him, 
 it sounded so distant, low, and resonant. "I understand," 
 he brgan, " that Melissa Smith, an orphan, and one of rny 
 scholars, has talked with you about adopting your profession. 
 Is that so 1 " 
 
 The man with the glazed hat leaned over the table, and 
 made an imaginary shot, that sent the ball spinning round 
 the cushions. Then walking round the table he recovered 
 the ball, and placed it upon the spot. This duty discharged, 
 getting ready for another shot, he said, 
 
 " S'pose she has ] " 
 
 The master choked up again, but, squeezing the cushion 
 of the table in his gloved hand, he went on : 
 
 " If you are a gentleman, I have only to tell you that I 
 am her guardian, and responsible for her career. You know 
 as well as I do the kind of life you offer her. As you may 
 larn of any one here, I have already brought her out of an 
 existence worise than death, out of the streets and the con 
 tamination of vice. I am trying to do so agtiin. Let us talk 
 like men. She has neither father, mother, sister, or brother. 
 Are. you seeking to give her an equivalent for these ? " 
 
 The man with the glazed hat examined the point of his 
 cue, and then looked around for somebody to enjoy the joke 
 with him. 
 
 " I know that she is a strange, wilful girl," continued the 
 master, "but she is better than she was. I believe that I 
 Lave some influence over her still. I beg and hope, there 
 fore, that you will take no further steps in this matter, 
 but as a man, as a gentleman, leave her to me. I am 
 
 willing " But here something rose again in the master's 
 
 throat, and the sentence remaiued unfinished. 
 
U2 MLISS. 
 
 The man with the glazed hat, mistaking the master's 
 silence, raised his head with a coarse, brutal laugh, and said 
 in a loud voice, 
 
 " Want her yourself, do you 1 That cock won't fight here, 
 young man ! " 
 
 The insult was more in the tone than the words, more in 
 the glance than tone, and more in the man's instinctive '; 
 nature than all these. The best appreciable rhetoric to this 
 kind of animal is a blow. The master felt this, and with 
 his pent-up, nervous energy finding expression in the one 
 act, he struck the brute full in his grinning face. The blow 
 sent the glazed hat one way and the cue another, and tore 
 the glove and skin from the master's hand from knuckle to 
 joint. It opened up the corners of the fellow's mouth, and 
 spoilt the peculiar shape of his beard for some time to come. 
 
 There was a shout, an imprecation, a scuffle, and the 
 trampling of many feet. Then the crowd parted right and 
 left, and two sharp quick reports followed each other in 
 rapid succession. Then they closed again about his opponent, 
 and the master was standing alone. He remembered picking 
 bits of burning wadding from his coat-sleeve with his left 
 hand. Some one was holding his other hand. Looking at it, 
 he saw it was still bleeding from the blow, but his fingers 
 were clenched around the handle of a glittering knife. He 
 could not remember when or how he got it. 
 
 The man who was holding his hand was Mr. Morpher. 
 He hurried the master to the door, but the master held back, / 
 and tried to tell him as well as he could with his parched 
 throat about " Mliss." " It's all right, my boy," said Mr. 
 Morpher. "She's home!'' And they passed out into the street 
 together. As they walked along Mr. Morpher said that 
 Mliss had come running into the house a few moments before, 
 and had dragged him out, saying that somebody was trying 
 to kill the master at the Arcade. Wishing to be alone, the 
 master promised Mr. Morpher that he would not seek the 
 
MLISS. 113 
 
 Agent again that night, and parted from him, taking the 
 road toward the school-house. He was surprised in nearing 
 it to find the door open, still more surprised to find Mliss. 
 sitting there. 
 
 The master's nature, as I have hinted before, had, like 
 most sensitive organizations, a selfish basis. The brutal 
 taunt thrown out by his late adversary still rankled in his 
 heart. It was possible, he thought, that such a construc 
 tion might be put upon his affection for the child, which at 
 best was foolish and Quixotic. Besides, had she not volun 
 tarily abnegated his authority and affection? And whafe 
 had everybody else said about her ? Why should he alone 
 combat the opinion of all, and be at last obliged tacitly to 
 confess the truth of all they had predicted ? And he had 
 been a participant in a low bar-room fight with a common 
 boor, and risked his life, to prove what 1 What had he 
 proved 1 Nothing ! What would the people say ? What 
 would his friends say ? What would McSnagley say 1 
 
 In. his self-accusation the last person he should have 
 wished to meet was Mliss. He entered the door, arid, going 
 up to his desk told the child, in a few cold words, that he 
 was busy, and wished to be alone. As she rose he took her 
 vacant seat, and, sitting down, buried his head in his hands. 
 When he looked up again she was still standing there. She 
 was looking at his face with an anxious expression. 
 
 " Did you kill him ? " she asked. 
 
 "No!" said the master. 
 
 " That's what I gave you the knife for ! " said the child, 
 quickly. 
 
 "Gave me the knife?" repeated the master, in bewilderment. 
 
 " Yes, gave you the knife. I was there under the bar. 
 Saw you hit him. Saw you both fall. He dropped his old 
 knife. I gave it to you. Why didn't you stick him 1 " said 
 Mliss, rapidly, with an expressive twinkle of the black eyes, 
 and a gesture of the little red hand. 
 
 1 
 
114 MLISS. 
 
 The master could only look his astonishment. 
 
 "Yes," Said Mliss. "If you'd asked me, I'd told you I was 
 off with the play-actors. Why was I off with the play 
 actors ? Because you wouldn't tell me you was going away. 
 I knew it. I heard you tell the Doctor so. I wasn't 
 a-going to stay here alone with those Morpher's. I'd rather 
 die first." 
 
 "With a dramatic gesture which was perfectly consistent 
 with her character, she drew from her bosom a few limp 
 green leaves, and, holding them out at arm's length, said in 
 her quick vivid way, and in the queer pronunciation of her 
 old life, which she fell into when unduly excited, 
 
 " That's the poison plant you said would kill me. I'll go 
 with the play-actors, or I'll eat this and die here. I don't 
 care which. I won't stay here, where they hate and des 
 pise me ! Neither would you let me, i you didn't hate and 
 despise me too ! " 
 
 The passionate little breast heaved, and two big tears 
 peeped over the edge of Mliss's eyelids, but she whisked 
 them away with the corner of her apron as if they had been 
 wasps. 
 
 " If you lock me up in jail," said Mliss fiercely, "to keep 
 me from the play-actors, I'll poison myself. Father killed 
 himself, why shouldn't I ? You said a mouthful of that 
 root would kill me, and I always carry it here," and she 
 struck her breast with her clenched fist. 
 
 The master thought of the vacant plot beside Smith's 
 grave, and of the passionate little figure before him. Seizing 
 her hands in his and looking full into her truthful eyes, 
 he said, 
 
 " Lissy, will you go with me. ? " 
 
 The child put her arms around his neck, and said, joyfully, 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But now to-night ? " 
 
 "To-night." 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 115 
 
 And, hand in hand, they passed into ^he road, the 
 narrow road that had once brought her weary feet to the 
 master's door, and which it seemed she should not tread 
 again alone. The stars glittered brightly above them. For 
 good or ill the lesson had been learned, and behind them the 
 school of .Red Mountain closed upon them for ever. 
 
 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 
 
 HPHE year of grace 1797 passed away on the coast of 
 California in a south-westerly gale. The little bay 
 of San Carlos, albeit sheltered by the headlands of the 
 blessed Trinity, was rough and turbulent ; its foam clung 
 quivering to the seaward wall of the Mission garden ; the 
 air was filled with flying sand and spume, and as the Sen or 
 Comandaute, Hermenegildo Salvatierra, looked from the 
 deep embrasured window of the Presidio guard room, he 
 felt the salt breath of the distant sea buffet a colour into 
 his smoke-dried cheeks. 
 
 The Commander, I have said, was gazing thoughtfully 
 from the window of the guard-room. He may have been 
 reviewing the events of the year now about to pass away. 
 But, like the garrison at the Presidio, there was little to re 
 view ; the year, like its predecessors, had been uneventful, 
 the days had slipped by in a delicious monotony of simple 
 duties, unbroken by incident or interruption. The regularly 
 recurring feasts and saints' days, the half-yearly courier from 
 San Diego, the rare transport-ship and rarer foreign vessel, 
 were the mere details of his patriarchal life. If there was 
 no achievement, there was certainly no failure. Abundant 
 harvests and patient industry amply supplied the wants of 
 Presidio and Mission. Isolated from the family of nations, 
 the wars which shook the world concerned them not so much 
 
 i 2 
 
n6 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER 
 
 as the latest earthquake ; the struggle that emancipated 
 their sister colonies on the other side of the continent to 
 them had no snggestiveness. In short, it was that glorious 
 Indian summer of California history, around which so much 
 poetical haze still lingers, that bland, indolent autumn of 
 Spanish rule, so soon to be followed by the wintry storms of 
 Mexican independence and the reviving spring of American 
 conquest. 
 
 The Commander turned from the window and walked 
 toward the fire that burned brightly on the deep oven-like 
 hearth. A pile of copy-books, the work of the Presidio 
 school, lay on the table. As he turned over the leaves with 
 a paternal interest, and surveyed the fair round Scripture- 
 text, the first pious pot-hooks of the pupils of San Carlos, 
 an audible commentary fell from his lips : " ( Abimelech 
 took her from Abraham ' ah, little one, excellent ! ' Jacob 
 sent to see his brother ' body of Christ ! that up-stroke of 
 thine, Paquita, is marvellous ; the Governor shall see it ! " 
 A film of honest pride dimmed the Commander's left eye, 
 the right, alas ! twenty years before had been sealed by an 
 Indian arrow. He rubbed it softly with the sleeve of his 
 leather jacket, and continued : " ' The Ishmaelites having 
 arrived ' " 
 
 He stopped, for there was a step in the court-yard, a foot 
 upon the threshold, and a stranger entered. With the 
 instinct of an old soldier, the Commander, after one glance 
 at the intruder, turned quickly toward the wall, where his 
 trusty Toledo hung, or should have been hanging. But it 
 was not there, and as he recalled the last time he had seen 
 that weapon it was being ridden up and down the gallery by 
 Pepito, the infant son of Bautista, the tortilio-maker, he 
 blushed and then contented himself with frowning upon the 
 intruder. 
 
 But the stranger's air, though irreverent, was decidedly 
 peaceful. He was unarmed, and wore the ordinary cape of 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 117 
 
 tarpaulin and sea-boots of a mariner. Except a villanous 
 smell of codfish, there was little about him that was pe 
 culiar. 
 
 His name, as he informed the Commander, in Spanish, 
 that was more fluent than elegant or precise, his name was 
 Peleg Scudder. He was master of the schooner General 
 Court, of the port of Salem, in Massachusetts, on a trading- 
 voyage to the South Seas, but now driven by stress of 
 weather into the bay of San Carlos. He begged permission 
 to ride out the gale under the headlands of the blessed 
 Trinity, and no more. Water he did not need, having taken 
 in a supply at Bodega. He knew the strict surveillance of 
 the Spanish port regulations in regard to foreign vessels, and 
 would do nothing against the severe discipline and good 
 order of the settlement. There was a slight tinge of sar 
 casm in his tone as he glanced toward the desolate parade- 
 ground of the Presidio and the open unguarded gate. The 
 fact was that th.3 sentry, Felipe Gomez, had discreetly retired 
 to shelter at the beginning of the storm, and was then sound 
 asleep in the corridor. 
 
 The Commander hesitated. The port regulations were 
 severe, but he was accustomed to exercise individual au 
 thority, and beyond an old order issued ten years before, 
 regarding the American ship Columbia., there was no prece 
 dent to guide him. The storm was severe, and a sentiment 
 of humanity urged him to grant the stranger's request. It 
 is but just to the Commander to say, that his inability to en 
 force a refusal did not weigh with his decision. He would 
 have denied with equal disregard of consequences that right 
 to a seventy-four gun. ship which he now yielded so grace 
 fully to this Yankee trading schooner. He stipulated only, 
 that there should be no communication between the ship and 
 shore. " For yourself, Seiior Captain," he continued, "accept 
 my hospitality. The fort is yours as long as you shall 
 grace it with your distinguished presence ; " and with old- 
 
Ii8 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 
 
 fashioned courtesy, lie made the semblance of withdrawing 
 from the guard-room. 
 
 Master Peleg Scudder smiled as he thought of the half- 
 dismantled fort, the two mouldy brass cannon, cast in Manila 
 a century previous, and the shiftless garrison. A wild 
 thought of accepting the Commander's offer literally, con 
 ceived in the reckless spirit of a man who never let slip an 
 offer for trade, for a moment filled bis brain, but a timely 
 reflection of the commercial unimportance of the transaction 
 checked him. He only took a capacious quid of tobacco, as 
 the Commander gravely drew a settle before the fire, and in 
 honour of his guest untied the black silk handkerchief that 
 bound his grizzled brows. 
 
 "What passed between Salvatierra and his guest that night 
 it becomes me not, as a grave chronicler of the salient points 
 of history, to relate. I have said that Master Peleg Scudder 
 was a flueut talker, and under the influence of divers strong 
 waters, furnished by his host, he became still more loqua 
 cious. And think of a man with a twenty years' budget of 
 gossip ! The Commander learned, for the first time, how 
 Great Britain lost her colonies ; of the French Revolution; 
 of the great Napoleon, whose achievements, perhaps, Peleg 
 coloured more highly than the Commander's superiors would 
 have liked. And when Peleg turned questioner, the Com 
 mander was at his mercy. He gradually made himself 
 master of the gossip of the Mission and Presidio, the 
 "small -beer" chronicles of the pastoral age, the conversion 
 of the heathen, the Presidio schools, and even asked the 
 Commander how he had lost his eye ! It is said that at 
 this point of the conversation Master Peleg produced from 
 about his person divers small trinkets, kick-shaws and new 
 fangled trifles, and even forced some of them upon his 
 host. It is further alleged that under the malign influence 
 of Peleg and several glasses of aguardiente, the Com 
 mander lost somewhat of his decorum, and behaved in a 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 119 
 
 manner unseemly for one in his position, reciting high-flown. 
 Spanish poetry, and even piping in a thin, high voice, divers 
 madrigals arid heathen canzonets of an amorous complexion ; 
 chiefly in regard to a " little one " who was his, the Com 
 mander's, " soul ! " These allegations, perhaps unworthy 
 the notice of a serious chronicler, should be received with 
 great caution, and are introduced here as simple hearsay. 
 That the Commander, however, took a handkerchief, and 
 attempted to show his guest the mysteries of the sembi 
 cuacua, capering in an agile but indecorous manner about 
 the apartment, has been denied. Enough for the puposes of 
 this narrative, that at midnight Peleg assisted his host to 
 bed with many protestations of undying friendship, and 
 then, as the gale had abated, took his leave of the Presidio 
 and hurried aboard the General Court. When the day broke 
 the ship was gone. 
 
 I know not if Peleg kept his word with his host. It is 
 said that the holy fathers at the Mission that night heard 
 a loud chanting in the plaza, as of the heathens singing 
 psalms through their noses ; that for many days after an 
 odour of salt codfish prevailed in the settlement ; that a 
 dozen hard nutmegs, which were unfit for spice or seed, 
 were found in the possession of the wife of the baker, and 
 that several bushels of shoe-pegs, which bore a pleasing 
 resemblance to oats, but were quite inadequate to the pur 
 poses of provender, were discovered in the stable of the 
 blacksmith. But when the reader reflects upon the sacred- 
 ness of a Yankee trader's word, the stringent discipline of 
 the Spanish port regulations, and the proverbial indispo 
 sition of my countrymen to impose upon the confidence of 
 a simple people, he will at once reject this part of the 
 story. 
 
 A roll of drums, ushering in the year 1798, awoke the 
 Commander. The sun was shining brightly, and the storm 
 
120 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 
 
 Lad ceased. He sat up in bed, and through, the force of 
 habit rubbed his left eye. As the remembrance of the 
 previous night came back to him, he jumped from his couch 
 and ran to the window. There was no ship in the bay. A 
 sudden thought seemed to strike him, and he rubbed both of 
 his eyes. Not content with this, he consulted the metallic 
 mirror which hung beside his crucifix. There was no 
 mistake ; the Commander had a visible second eye, a 
 right one, as good, save for the purposes of vision, as the 
 left. 
 
 Whatever might have been the true secret of this trans 
 formation, but one opinion prevailed at San Carlos. It was 
 one of those rare miracles vouchsafed a pious Catholic com 
 munity as an evidence to the heathen, through the inter 
 cession of the blessed San Carlos himself. That their 
 beloved Commander, the temporal defender of the Faith, 
 -should be the recipient of this miraculous manifestation was 
 most fit and seemly. The Commander himself was reticent ; 
 he could not tell a falsehold, he dared not tell the truth. 
 After all, if the good folk of San Carlos believed that the 
 powers of his right eye were actually restored, was it wise 
 and discreet for him to undeceive them? For the first 
 time in his life the Commander thought of policy, for the 
 first time he quoted that text which has been the lure of so 
 many well-meaning but easy Christians, of being " all things 
 to all men." Infelix Hermenegildo Salvatierra ! 
 
 For by degrees an ominous whisper crept through the 
 little settlement. The Right Eye of the Commander, al 
 though miraculous, seemed to exercise a baleful effect upon 
 the beholder. No one could look at it without winking. It 
 was cold, hard, relentless, and unflinching. More than that, 
 it seemed to be endowed with a dreadful prescience, a 
 faculty of seeing through and into the inarticulate thoughts 
 of those it looked upon. The soldiers of the garrison obeyed 
 the eye rather than the voice of their commander, and 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 121 
 
 answered his glance rather than his lips in questioning. The 
 servants could not evade the ever watchful but cold atten 
 tion that seemed to pursue them. The children of the 
 Presidio School smirched their copy books under the awful 
 supervision, and poor Paquita, the prize pupil, failed utterly 
 in that marvellous up-stroke when her patron stood beside 
 her. Gradually distrust, suspicion, self -accusation, and 
 timidity took the place of trust, confidence, and security 
 throughout San Carlos. "Wherever the Right Eye of the 
 Commander fell, a shadow fell with it. 
 
 Nor was Salvatierra entirely free from the baleful in 
 fluence of his miraculous acquisition. Unconscious of its 
 effect upon others, he only saw in their actions evidence of 
 certain things that the crafty Peleg had hinted on that 
 eventful New Year's eve. His most trusty retainers 
 stammered, blushed, and faltered before him. Self-accusa 
 tions, confessions of minor faults and delinquencies, or 
 extravagant excuses and apologies met his mildest inquiries. 
 The very children that he loved his pet pupil, Paquita 
 seemed to be conscious of some hidden sin. The result of 
 this constant irritation showed itself more plainly. For the 
 first half-year the Commander's voice and eye were at 
 variance. He was still kind, tender, and thoughtful in 
 speech. Gradually, however, his voice took upon itself the 
 hardness of his glance and its sceptical impassive quality, 
 and as the year again neared its close, it was plain that the 
 Commander had fitted himself to the eye, and not the eye 
 to the Commander. 
 
 It may be surmised that these changes did not escape the 
 watchful solicitude of the Fathers. Indeed, the few who 
 were first to ascribe the right eye of Salvatierra to mira 
 culous origin, and the special grace of the blessed San Carlos, 
 now talked openly of witchcraft and the agency of Luzbel, 
 the evil one. It would have fared ill with Hermenegildo 
 Salvatierra had he been aught but Commander or amenable 
 
122 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 
 
 to local authority. But the reverend father, Friar Manuel 
 de Cortes, had no power over the political executive, and all 
 attempts at spiritual advice failed signally. He retired 
 baffled and confused from his first interview with the 
 Commander, who seemed now to take a grim satisfaction in. 
 the fateful power of his glance. The holy father contra 
 dicted himself, exposed the fallacies of his own arguments, 
 and even, it is asserted, committed himself to several un 
 doubted heresies. When the Commander stood up at mass, 
 if the officiating priest caught that sceptical and searching 
 e}'e, the service was inevitably ruined. Even the power of 
 the Holy Church seemed to be lost, and the last hold upon 
 the affections of the people and the good order of the settle 
 ment departed from San Carlos. 
 
 As the long dry summer passed, the low hills that sur 
 rounded the white walls of the Presidio grew more and more 
 to resemble in hue the leathern jacket of the Commander, 
 and Nature herself seemed to have borrowed his dry, hard 
 glare. The earth was cracked and seamed with drought ; a 
 blight had fallen upon the orchards and vineyards, and the 
 rain, long delayed and ardently prayed for, came not. The 
 sky was as tearless as the right eye of the Commander. 
 Murmurs of discontent, insubordination, and plotting among 
 the Indians reached his ears ; he only set his teeth the more 
 firmly, tightened the knot of his black silk handkerchief, 
 and looked up his Toledo. 
 
 The last day of the year 1798 found the Commander 
 sitting, at the hour of evening prayers, alone in the guard 
 room. He no longer attended the services of the Holy 
 Church, but crept away at such times to some solitary spot, 
 where he spent the interval in silent meditation. The fire 
 light played upon the low beams and rafters, but left the 
 bowed figure of Salvatierra in darkness. Sitting thus, he 
 felt a small hand touch his arm, and, looking down, saw the 
 figure of Paquita, his little Indian pupil, at his knee. " Ah, 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 123 
 
 littlest of all," said the Commander, with something of his 
 old tenderness, lingering over the endearing diminutives of 
 his native speech, " sweet one, whatdoest thou here'? Art 
 thou not afraid of him whom every one shuns and fears'? " 
 
 " No," said the little Indian, readily, " not in the dark. I 
 Lear your voice, the old voice ; I feel your touch, the old 
 touch ; but I see not your eye, Senor Commandaiite. That 
 only I fear, and that, O Senor, O my father," said the 
 child, lifting her little arms towards his, " that I know is not 
 thine own !" 
 
 The Commander shuddered and turned away. Then, re 
 covering himself, he kissed Paquita gravely on the forehead 
 and bade her retire. A few hours later, when silence had 
 fallen upon the Presidio, he sought his own couch and slept 
 peacefully. 
 
 At about the middle watch of the night a dusky figure 
 crept through the low embrasure of the Commander's apart 
 ment. Other figures were flitting through the parade-ground, 
 which the Commander might have seen had he not slept 
 so quietly. The intruder stepped noiselessly to the couch 
 and listened to the sleeper's deep-drawn inspiration. Some 
 thing glittered in the firelight as the savage lifted his arm ; 
 another moment and the sore perplexities of Hermenegildo 
 Salvatierra would have been over, when suddenly the savage 
 started, and fell back in a paroxysm of terror. The Com 
 mander slept peacefully, but his right eye, widely opened, 
 fixed and unaltered, glared coldly on the would-be assassin. 
 The man full to the earth in a fit, and the noise awoke the 
 sleeper. 
 
 To rise to his feet, grasp his sword, and deal blows thick 
 and fast upon the mutinous savages who now thronged the 
 room, was the work of a moment. Help opportunely 
 arrived, and the undisciplined Indians were speedily driven 
 beyond the walls, but in the scuffle the Commander received 
 a blow upon his right eye, and, lifting his hand to that mys- 
 
124 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 terious organ, it was gone. Never again was it found, and 
 never again, for bale or bliss, did it adorn the right orbit of 
 the Commander. 
 
 With it passed away the spell that had fallen upon San 
 Carlos. The rain returned to invigorate the languid soil, 
 harmony was restored between priest and soldier, the green 
 grass presently waved over the sere hillsides, the children 
 flocked again to the side of their martial preceptor, a Te 
 Deum was sung in the Mission Church, and pastoral con 
 tent once more smiled upon the gentle valleys of San Carlos. 
 And far southward crept the General Court with its master, 
 Peleg Scudder, trafficking in beads and peltries with the 
 Indians, and offering glass eyes, wooden legs, and other 
 Eoston notions to the chiefs. 
 
 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 PART I. IN THE FIELD. 
 
 T T was near the close of an October day that I began to be 
 disagreeably conscious of the Sacramento Valley. I 
 had been riding since sunrise, and my course, through the 
 depressing monotony of the long level landscape, affected 
 me more like a dull dyspeptic dream than a business journey, 
 performed under that sincerest of natural phenomena, a 
 California sky. The recurring stretches of brown and baked 
 fields, the gaping fissures in the dusty trail, the hard outline 
 of the distant hills, and the herds of slowly moving cattle, 
 seemed like features of some glittering stereoscopic picture 
 that never changed. Active exercise might have removed 
 this feeling, but my horse by some subtle instinct had long 
 since given up all ambitious effort, and had lapsed into a 
 dogged trot. 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 125 
 
 Tt was autumn, but not the season suggested to the At 
 lantic reader under that title. The sharply denned bounda 
 ries of the wet and dry seasons were prefigured in the clear 
 outlines of the distant hills. In the dry atmosphere the 
 decay of vegetation was too rapid for the slow hectic which 
 overtakes an Eastern landscape, or else Nature was too 
 practical for such thin disguises. She merely turned the 
 Hippocratic face to the spectator, with the old diagnosis of 
 Death in her sharp, contracted features. 
 
 In the contemplation of such a prospect there was little 
 to excite any but a morbid fancy. There were no clouds in 
 the flinty blue heavens, and the setting of the sun was 
 accompanied with as little ostentation as was consistent with 
 the dryly practical atmosphere. Darkness soon followed, 
 with a rising wind, which increased as the shadows deepened 
 on the plain. The fringe of alder by the watercourse began 
 to loom up as I urged my horse forward. A half-hour's 
 active spurring brought me to a corral, and a little beyond a 
 house, so low and broad it seemed at first sight to be half 
 buried in the earth. 
 
 My second impression was that it had grown out of the 
 soil, like some monstrous vegetable, its dreary proportions 
 were so in keeping with the vast prospect. There were no 
 recesses along its roughly boarded walls for vagrant and un 
 profitable shadows to lurk in the daily sunshine. No pro 
 jection for the wind by night to grow musical over, to wail, 
 whistle, or whisper to ; only a long wooden shelf containing 
 a chilly looking tin basin, and a bar of soap. Its uncur 
 tained windows were red with the sinking sun, as though 
 bloodshot and inflamed from a too long unlidded existence. 
 The tracks of cattle led to its front door, firmly closed 
 against the rattling wind. 
 
 To avoid being confounded with this familiar element, I 
 walked to the rear of the house, which was connected with 
 a smaller building by a slight platform. A grizzled, hard- 
 
126 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 faced old man was standing there, and met my salutation 
 with a look of inquiry, and without speaking, led the way to 
 the principal room. As I entered, four young men. who 
 were reclining by the fire, slightly altered their attitudes of 
 perfect repose, but beyond that bet rayed neither curiosity nor 
 interest. A hound started from a dark corner with a growl, 
 but was immediately kicked by the old man into obscurity, 
 and silenced again. I can't tell why, but I instantly re 
 ceived the impression that for a long time the group by the 
 fire had not uttered a word or moved a muscle. Taking a 
 seat, I briefly stated my business. 
 
 "Was a United States surveyor. Had come on account of 
 the Espiritu Santo Rancho. Wanted to correct the exterior 
 boundaries of township lines, so as to connect with the near 
 exteriors of private grants. There had been some inter 
 vention to the old survey by a Mr. Tryan who had pre 
 empted adjacent " settled land warrants," interrupted the 
 old man. " Ah, yes ! Land Warrants, and then this was 
 Mr. Tryan 1 " 
 
 I had spoken mechanically, for I was preoccupied in con 
 necting other public lines with private surveys, as I looked 
 in his face. It was certainly a hard face, and reminded me 
 of the singular effect of that mining operation known as 
 " ground sluicing ; " the harder lines of underlying character 
 were exposed, and what were once plastic curves and soft 
 outlines were obliterated by some powerful agency. 
 
 There was a dryness in his voice not unlike the prevailing 
 atmosphere of the valley, as he launched into an ex parte 
 statement of the contest, with a fluency, which, like the wind 
 without, showed frequent and unrestrained expression. He 
 told me what I had already learned that the boundary 
 line of the old Spanish grant was a creek, described in the 
 loose phraseology of the deseno as beginning in the valda or 
 skirt of the hill, its precise location long the subject of liti 
 gation. I listened and answered with little interest, for my 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 127 
 
 mind was still distracted by the wind which swept violently 
 by the house, as well as by his odd face, which was again 
 reflected in the resemblance that the silent group by the fire 
 bore toward him. He was still talking, and the wind was 
 yet blowing, when my confused attention was aroused by a 
 remark addressed to the recumbent figures. 
 
 "Now, then, which on ye'll see the stranger up the creek 
 to Altascar's, to-morrow ! " 
 
 There was a general movement of opposition in the group, 
 but no decided answer. 
 
 " Kin you go, Kerg 1 " 
 
 " Who's to look up stock in Strarberry per-ar-ie ? " 
 
 This seemed to imply a negative, and the old man turned 
 to another hopeful, who was pulling the fur from a mangy 
 bear-skin on which he was lying, with an expression as 
 though it were somebody's hair. 
 
 " Well, Torn, wot's to hinder you from goin' ? " 
 
 " Mam's goin' to Brown's store at sun-up, and I s'pose 
 I've got to pack her and the baby agin." 
 
 I think the expression of scorn, this unfortunate youth 
 exhibited for the filial duty into which he had been evi 
 dently beguiled, was one of the finest things I had ever seen. 
 
 " Wise ? " 
 
 Wise deigned no verbal reply, but figuratively thrust 
 a worn and patched boot into the discourse. The old man 
 flushed quickly. 
 
 " I told you to get Brown to give you a pair the last time 
 you war down the river." 
 
 "Said he wouldn't without'en order. Said it was like 
 pulling gum-teeth to get the money from you even then.' 
 
 There was a grim smile at this local hit at the old man's 
 parsimony, and Wise, who was clearly the privileged wit of 
 the family, sank back in honourable, retirement. 
 
 " Well, Joe, ef your boots are new, and you aren't 
 pestered with wimmin and children, p'r'aps you'll go," said 
 
128 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 Tryan, with a nervous twitching, intended for a smile, about 
 a mouth not remarkably mirthful. 
 
 Joe lifted a pair of bushy eyebrows, and said shortly, 
 
 " Got no saddle." 
 
 " Wot's gone of your saddle 1 " 
 
 " Kerg, there," indicating his brother with a look such 
 as Cain might have worn at the sacrifice. 
 
 " You lie," returned Kerg, cheerfully. 
 
 Tryan sprang to his feet, seizing the chair, flourishing it 
 around his head and gazing furiously in the hard young 
 faces which fearlessly met his own. But it was only fur a 
 moment ; his arm soon dropped by his side, and a look of 
 hopeless fatality crossed his face. He allowed me to take 
 the chair from his hand, and I was trying to pacify him by 
 the assurance that I required no guide, when the irre 
 pressible Wise again lifted his voice : 
 
 " There's George comin' ? why don't ye ask him ? He'll 
 go and introduce you to Don Fernandy's darter, too, ef you 
 ain't partickler." 
 
 The laugh which followed this joke, which evidently had 
 some domestic allusion (the general tendency of rural 
 pleasantry), was followed by a light step on the platform, 
 and the young man entered. Seing a stranger present, he 
 stopped and coloured ; made a shy salute and coloured again, 
 and then, drawing a box from the corner, sat down, his 
 hands clasped lightly together and his very handsome bright 
 blue eyes turned frankly on mine. 
 
 Perhaps I was in a condition to receive the romantic im 
 pression he made upon me, and I took it upon myself to ask 
 his company as guide, and he cheerfully assented. But some 
 domestic duty called him presently away. 
 
 The fire gleamed brightly on the hearth, and no longer 
 resisting the prevailing influence, I silently watched the 
 spirting flame, listening to the wind which continually shook 
 the tenement. Besides the one chair which had acquired a 
 
DOIVS FLAT, 1856. 
 
 lit- goes to the well ; I And stops for a spell, 
 
 And he stands on the brink, | Jest to listen and think." 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 129 
 
 new importance in my eyes, I presently discovered a crazy 
 table in one corner, with an ink-bottle and pen ; the latter 
 in that greasy state of decomposition peculiar to country 
 taverns and farm-houses. A goodly array of rifles and 
 double barrelled guns stocked the corner ; half a dozen 
 saddles and blankets lay near, with a mild flavour of the 
 horse about them. Some deer and bear skins completed the 
 inventory. As I sat there, with the silent group around 
 me, the shadowy gloom within and the dominant wind with 
 out, I found it difficult to believe I had ever known a different 
 existence. My profession had often led me to wilder scenes,, 
 but rarely among those whose unrestrained habits and easy 
 unconsciousness made me feel so lonely and uncomfortable. 
 I shrank closer to myself, not without grave doubts which 
 I think occur naturally to people in like situations that 
 this was the general rule of humanity, and I was a solitaiy 
 anct somewhat gratuitous exception. 
 
 It was a relief when a laconic announcement of supper by 
 a, weak-eyed girl caused a general movement in the family. 
 We walked across the dark platform, which led to another 
 low-ceiled room. Its entire length was occupied by a table, 
 at the farther end of which a weak-eyed woman was already 
 taking her repast, as she, at the same time, gave nourishment 
 to a weak-eyed baby. As the formalities of introduction 
 had been dispensed with, and as she took no notice of me, 
 
 I was enabled to slip into a seat without discomposing or 
 interrupting her. Tryan extemporized a grace, and the 
 attention of the family became absorbed in bacon, potatoes, 
 and dried apples. 
 
 The meal was a sincere one. Gentle gurglings at the 
 upper end of the table often betrayed the presence of the 
 
 II well-spring of pleasure." The conversation generally re 
 ferred to the labours of the day, and comparing notes as to- 
 the whereabouts of missing stock. Yet the supper was such 
 a vast improvement upon the previous intellectual feast, that 
 
130 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 when a chance allusion of mine to the business of my visit 
 brought out the elder Tryan, the interest grew quite exciting. 
 I remember he inveighed bitterly against the system of ranch- 
 holding by the " greasers," as he was pleased to term the 
 native Californians. As the same ideas have been sometimes 
 advanced under more pretentious circumstances, they may 
 be worthy of record. 
 
 " Look at 'em holdiii' the finest grazin.' land that ever lay 
 outer doors ? "Whar's the papers for it ? "Was it grants ? 
 Mighty fine grants, most of 'em made arter the 'Merrikans 
 got possession. More fools the 'Merrikans for lettin' 'em 
 hold 'em. "Wot paid for 'em 1 'Merrikan blood and money. 
 
 " Didn't they oughter have suthin out of their native 
 country ? Wot for 1 Did they ever improve 1 Got a lot 
 of yaller-skinned diggers, not so sensible as niggers to look 
 arter stock, and they a-sittin' home and siuokin'. With 
 their gold and silver candlesticks, and missions, and cruci- 
 fixens, priests and graven idols, and sich ? Them sort things 
 wurent allowed in Mizzoori." 
 
 At the mention of improvements, I involuntarily lifted 
 my eyes, and met the half-laughing, half-embarrassed look of 
 George. The act did nob escape detection, and I had at 
 once the satisfaction of seeing that the rest of the family 
 had formed an offensive alliance against us. 
 
 "It was agin ISTater, and agin God," added Tryan. "God 
 never intended gold in the rocks to be made into heathen 
 candlesticks and crucifixens. That's why he sent 'Merrikans 
 here. Nater never intended such a climate for lazy lopers. 
 She never gin six months' sunshine to be slept and smoked 
 away." 
 
 How long he continued, and with what further illustration, 
 I could not say, for I took an early opportunity to escape to 
 the sitting-room. I was soon followed by George, who called 
 me to an open door leading to a smaller room, and pointed 
 to a bed. 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 131 
 
 "You'd better sleep there to-night," he said ; "you'll be 
 more comfortable, and I'll call you early. 
 
 I thanked him, and would have asked him several questions 
 which were then troubling me, but he shily slipped to the 
 door and vanished. 
 
 A shadow seemed to fall on the room when he had gone. 
 The " boys " returned, one by one, and shuffled to their old 
 places. A larger log was thrown on the fire, and the huge 
 chimney glowed like a furnace, but it did not seem to melt 
 or subdue a single line of the hard faces that it lit. In half 
 an hour later, the furs which had served as chairs by day 
 undertook the nightly office of mattresses, and each received 
 its owner's full-length figure. Mr. Tryan had not returned, 
 and I missed George. I sat there until, wakeful and 
 nervous, I saw the fire fall and shadows mount the wall. 
 There was no sound but the rushing of the wind and the 
 snoring of the sleepers. At last, feeling the place insup 
 portable, I seized my hat and, opening the door, ran out 
 briskly into the night. 
 
 The acceleration of my torpid pulse in the keen fight 
 with the wind, whose violence was almost equal to that of a 
 tornado, and the familiar faces of the bright stars above me, 
 I felt as a blessed relief. I ran. not knowing whither, and 
 when I halted, the square outline of the house was lost in 
 the alder-bushes. An uninterrupted plain stretched before 
 me, like a vast sea beaten flat by the force of the gale. As 
 I kept on I noticed a slight elevation toward the horizon, 
 and presently my progress was impeded by the ascent of an 
 Indian mound. It struck me forcibly as resembling an 
 island in the sea. Its height gave me a better view of the 
 expanding plain. But even here I found no rest. The 
 ridiculous interpretation Tryan had given the climate was 
 somehow sung in my ears, and echoed in ray throbbing 
 pulse, as, guided by the star, I sought the house again. 
 But I felt fresher and more natural as I stepped upon the 
 
 * 2 
 
132 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 platform. The door of the lower building was open, and tlw 
 old man was sitting beside the table, thumbing the leaves of 
 a Bible with a look in his face as though he were hunting up 
 prophecies against the "Greaser." I turned to enter, but my 
 attention was attracted by a blanketed figure lying beside 
 the house, on the platform. The broad chest heaving with 
 healthy slumber, and the open, honest face were familiar. 
 It was George, who had given up his bed to the stranger 
 among his people. I was about to wake him, but he lay so 
 peaceful and quiet, I felt awed and hushed. And I went to 
 bed with a pleasant impression of his handsome face and 
 tranquil figure soothing me to sleep. 
 
 I was awakened the next morning from a sense of lulled 
 repose and grateful silence by the cheery voice of George, 
 who stood beside my bed, ostentatiously twirling a "riata," 
 as if to recall the duties of the clay to my sleep-bewildered 
 eyes. I locksd around me. The wind had been magically 
 laid, and the sun shone warmly through the windows. A 
 dash of cold water, with an extra chill on from the tin basin, 
 helped to brighten me. It was still early, but the family 
 had already breakfasted and dispersed, and a waggon winding 
 far in the distance showed that the unfortunate Tom had 
 already " packed " his relatives away. I felt more cheer 
 ful, there are few troubles Youth cannot distance with a 
 start of a good night's rest. After a substantial breakfast, 
 prepared by George, in a few moments we were mounted 
 and dashing down the plain. 
 
 We followed the line of alder that defined the creek, now 
 dry and baked with summer's heat, but which in winter, 
 George told me, overflowed its banks. I still retain a vivid 
 impression of that morning's ride, the far-off mountains, like 
 silhouettes, against the steel-blue sky, the crisp dry air, and 
 the expanding track before me, animated often by the well- 
 knit figure of George Try an, musical with jingling spurs, 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 133 
 
 and picturesque with flying " riata." He rode a powerful 
 native roan, wild-eyed, untiring in stride and unbroken in 
 nature. Alas ! the curves of beauty were concealed by the 
 cumbrous machillas of the Spanish saddle, which levels all 
 equine distinctions. The single rein lay loosely on the cruel 
 bit that can gripe, and, if need be, crush the jaw it controls. 
 
 Again the illimitable freedom of the valley rises before 
 me, as we again bear down into sunlit space. Can this bo 
 " Clm-Chu," staid and respectable filly of American pedi 
 gree, "Chu-Chu," forgetful of plank-roads and cobble 
 stones, wild with excitement, twinkling her small white feet 
 beneath me ? George laughs out of a cloud of dust, " Give 
 her her head ; don't you see she likes it ? " and " Clm-Chu ; ' 
 seems to like it, and, whether bitten by native tarantula into 
 native barbarism or emulous of the roan, "blood" asserts 
 itself, and in a moment the peaceful servitude of years is 
 beaten out in the music of her clattering hoofs. The creek 
 widens to a deep gully. We dive into it and up on the 
 opposite side, carrying a moving cloud of impalpable powder 
 with us. Cattle are scattered over the plain, grazing quietly, 
 or banded together in vast restless herds. George makes a 
 wide, indefinite sweep with the " riata," as if to include 
 them all in his vaquero's loop, and says, " Ours." 
 
 " About how many, George 1 " 
 
 " Don't know." 
 
 " How many ? " 
 
 "Well, p'r'aps three thousand head/' says George, re 
 flecting. "We don't know ; takes five men to look 'em up 
 and keep run." 
 
 " What are they worth ? " 
 
 "About thirty dollars a head." 
 
 I make a rapid calculation, and look my astonishment at 
 the laughing George. Perhaps a recollection of the domestic 
 economy of the Tryan household is expressed in that look, 
 for George averts his eye and says, apologetically, 
 
134 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 " I've tried to get the old man to sell and build, but you 
 know he says it ain't no use to settle down, just yet. We 
 must keep movin'. In fact, he built the shanty for that 
 purpose, lest titles should fall through, and we'd have to get 
 up and move stakes farther down." 
 
 Suddenly his quick eye detects some unusual sight in a 
 herd we are passing, and with an exclamation he puts his 
 roan into the centre of the mass. I follow, or rather 
 " Chu-Chu " darts after the roan, and in a few moments we 
 are in the midst of apparently inextricable horns and hoofs. 
 " Toro ! " shouts George, with vaquero enthusiasm, and the 
 band opens the way for the swinging " riata." I can feel 
 their steaming breaths, and their spume is cast on "Chu- 
 Chu's " quivering flank. 
 
 Wild, devilish-looking beasts are they ; not such shapes 
 as Jove might have chosen to woo a goddess, nor such as 
 peacefully range the downs of Devon, but lean and hungry 
 Cassius-like bovines, economically got up to meet the exi 
 gencies of a six months' rainless climate, and accustomed 
 to wrestle with the distracting wind and the blinding 
 dust. 
 
 " That's not our brand," says George, " they're strange 
 stock," and he points to what my scientific eye recognizes- 
 as the astrological sign of Yenus deeply seared in the brown 
 flanks of the bull he is chasing. But the herd are closing 
 round us with low mutterings, and George has again recourse 
 to the authoritative " Toro," and with swinging " riata " 
 divides the " bossy bucklers " on either side. When we are 
 free, and breathing somewhat more easily, I venture to ask 
 George if they ever attack any one. 
 
 "Never horsemen, sometimes footmen. Not through 
 rage, you know, but curiosity. They think a man and his 
 horse are one, and if they meet a chap afoot, they run him 
 down and trample him under hoof, in the pursuit of know 
 ledge. But," adds George, "here's the lower bench of the 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 135 
 
 foot-hills, and here's Altascar's corral, and that white build 
 ing you see yonder is the casa." 
 
 A whitewashed wall enclosed a court containing another 
 adobe building, baked with the solar beams of many sum 
 mers. Leaving our horses in the charge of a few peons in 
 the courtyard, who were basking lazily in the sun, we entered 
 a low doorway, where a deep shadow and an agreeable cool 
 ness fell upon us, as sudden and grateful as a plunge in cold 
 water, from its contrast with the external glare and heat. 
 In the centre of a low-ceiled apartment sat an old man with 
 a black silk handkerchief tied about his head, the few grey 
 hairs that escaped from its folds relieving his gamboge- 
 coloured face. The odour of cigarritos was as incense added 
 to the cathedral gloom of the building. 
 
 As Senor Altascar rose with well-bred gravity to receive 
 us, George advanced with such a heightened colour, and 
 such a blending of tenderness and respect in his manner, 
 that I was touched to the heart by so much devotion in the 
 careless youth. In fact, my eyes were still dazzled by the 
 effect of the outer sunshine, and at first I did not see the 
 white teeth and black eyes of Pepita, who slipped into the 
 corridor as we entered. 
 
 It was no pleasant matter to disclose particulars of busi 
 ness which would deprive the old Senor of the greater part 
 of that land we had just ridden over, and I did it with great 
 embarrassment. But he listened calmly, not a muscle 
 of his dark face stirring, and the smoke, curling placidly 
 from his lips, showed his regular respiration. When I had 
 finished, he offered quietly to accompany us to the line of 
 demarcation. George had meanwhile disappeared, but a sus 
 picious conversation, in broken Spanish and English, in the 
 corridor, betrayed his vicinity. When he returned again, a 
 little absent-minded, the old man, by far the coolest and 
 most self-possessed of the party, extinguished his black silk 
 cap beneath that stiff, uncomely sombrero which all native 
 
136 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 Californiaiis affect. A serapa, thrown over his shoulders, 
 hinted that he was waiting. Horses are always ready saddled 
 in Spanish ranches, and in half an hour from the time of our 
 arrival we were again <: loping " in the staring sunlight. 
 
 But not as cheerfully as before. George and myself were 
 weighed down by restraint, and Altascar was gravely quiet. 
 To break the silence, and by way of a consolatory essay, 
 I hinted to him that there might be further intervention or 
 appeal, but the proffered oil and wine were returned with a 
 careless shrug of the shoulders and a sententious " Que 
 buenol Your courts are always just." 
 
 The Indian mound of the previous night's discovery was 
 a. bearing monument of the new line, and there we halted. 
 We were surprised to find the old man, Tryan, waiting us. 
 For the first time during our interview, the old Spaniard 
 seemed moved, and the blood rose in his yellow cheek. I 
 was anxious to close the scene, and pointed out the corner 
 boundaries as clearly as my recollection served. 
 
 " The deputies will be here to-morrow to run the lines 
 from this initial point, and there will be no further trouble, 
 I believe, gentlemen." 
 
 Seiior Altascar had dismounted, and was gathering a fow 
 tufts of dried grass in his hands. George and I exchanged 
 glances. He presently arose from his stooping posture, and 
 advancing to within a few paces of Joseph Tryan, said, in a 
 voice broken with passion, 
 
 " And I, Fernando Jesus Maria Altascar, put you in pos 
 session of my land in the fashion of my country." 
 
 He threw a sod to each of the cardinal points. 
 
 " I don't know your courts, your judges, or your corregi- 
 dores. Take the llano ! and take this with it. May the 
 drought seize your cattle till their tongues hang down us 
 long as those of your lying lawyers ! May it be the curse 
 and torment of your old age, as you and yours have made it 
 of mine ! " 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 137 
 
 We stepped between the principal actors in this scene, 
 which only the passion of Altascar made tragical, but 
 Tryan, with a humility but ill concealing his triumph, inter 
 rupted, 
 
 " Let him curse on. He ; 11 find 'em coining home to him 
 sooner than the cattle he has lost through his sloth and 
 pride. The Lord is on the side of the just, as well as agin 
 all slanderers and revilers." 
 
 Altascar but half guessed the meaning of the Missourian, 
 yet sufficiently to drive from his mind all but the extrava 
 gant power of his native invective. 
 
 " Stealer of the Sacrament : Open not ! open not, I say, 
 your lying, Judas lips to me ! Ah ! half-breed, with the soul 
 of a cayote ! Car-r-r-ramba !" 
 
 "With his passion reverberating among the consonants like 
 distant thunder, he laid his hand upon the mane of his horse 
 as though it had been the grey locks of his adversary, swung 
 himself into the saddle, and galloped away. 
 
 George turned to me, 
 
 " "Will you go back with us to-night ?" 
 
 I thought of the cheerless walls, the silent figures by the- 
 fire, and the roaring wind, and hesitated. 
 
 " Well, then, good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye, George." 
 
 Another wring of the hands, and we parted. I had not 
 ridden far when I turned and looked back. The wind had 
 risen early that afternoon, and was already sweeping across 
 the plain. A cloud of dust travelled before it, and a pictu 
 resque figure occasionally emerging therefrom was my last 
 indistinct impression of George Tryan. 
 
138 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 PART II. IN THE FLOOD. 
 
 T^HREE months after the survey of the Espirita Santa 
 Rancho, I was again in the valley of the Sacramento. 
 But a general and terrible visitation had erased the memory 
 of that event as completely as I supposed it had obliterated 
 the boundary monuments I had planted. The great flood of 
 1861 62 was at its height, when, obeying some indefinite 
 yearning, I took my carpet-bag and embarked for the inun 
 dated valley. 
 
 There was nothing to be seen from the bright cabin win 
 dows of the Golden City but night deepening over the water. 
 The only sound was the pattering rain, and that had grown 
 monotonous for the past two weeks, and did not disturb the 
 national gravity of my countrymen as they silently sat 
 around the cabin stove. Some on errands of relief to friends 
 and relatives wore anxious faces, and conversed soberly on 
 the one absorbing topic. Others, like myself, attracted by 
 curiosity, listened eagerly to newer details. But with that 
 human disposition to seize upon any circumstance that 
 might give chance event the exaggerated importance of in 
 stinct, I was half conscious of something more than curiosity 
 as an impelling motive. 
 
 The dripping of rain, the low gurgle of water, and a leaden 
 sky greeted us the next morning as we lay beside the half- 
 submerged levee of Sacramento. Here, however, the novelty 
 of boats to convey us to the hotels was an appeal that was 
 irresistible. I resigned myself to a dripping rubber-cased 
 mariner called " Joe," and, wrapping myself in a shining 
 cloak of the like material, about as suggestive of warmth as 
 court-plaster might have been, took my seat in the stern- 
 sheets of his boat. It w^as no slight inward struggle to part 
 from the steamer, that to most of the passengers was the 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 139 
 
 only visible connecting link between us and the dry and 
 habitable earth, but we pulled away and entered the city, 
 stemming a rapid current as we shot the levee. 
 
 We glided up the long level of K Street, once a cheer 
 ful, busy thoroughfare, now distressing in its silent desolation. 
 The turbid water which seemed to meet the horizon edge 
 before us flowed at right angles in sluggish rivers through 
 the streets. Nature had revenged herself on the local taste , 
 by disarraying the regular rectangles, by huddling houses on 
 street corners, where they presented abrupt gables to the 
 current, or by capsizing them in compact ruin. Crafts of all 
 kinds were gliding in and out of low-arched doorways. The 
 water was over the top of the fences surrounding well kept 
 gardens, in the first stories of hotels and private dwellings, 
 trailing its slime on velvet carpets as well as roughly boarded 
 floors. And a silence quite as suggestive as the visible deso 
 lation was in the voiceless streets that no longer echoed to 
 carriage-wheel or footfall. The low ripple of water, the 
 occasional splash of oars, or the warning cry of boatmen 
 were the few signs of life and habitation. 
 
 With such scenes before my eyes and such sounds in my 
 ears, as I lie lazily in the boat, is mingled the song of my 
 gondolier who sings to the music of his oars. It is not 
 quite as romantic as his brother of the Lido might improvise, 
 but my Yankee "Giuseppe" has the advantage of earnest 
 ness and energy, and gives a graphic description of the ter 
 rors of the past week and of noble deeds of self-sacrifice and 
 devotion, occasionally pointing out a balcony from which 
 some California Bianca or Laura had been snatched, half 
 clothed and famished. Giuseppe is otherwise peculiar, and 
 refuses the proffered fare, for am I not a citizen of San 
 Francisco, which was first to respond to the suffering cry of 
 Sacramento 1 ? and is not he, Giuseppe, a member of the 
 Howard Society 1 No ! Giuseppe is poor, but cannot take 
 my money. Still, if I must spend it, there is the Howard 
 
140 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 Society, and the women and children without food and 
 clothes at the Agricultural Hall. 
 
 I thank the generous gondolier, and we go to the Hall, 
 a dismal, bleak place, ghastly with the memories of last 
 year's opulence and plenty, and here Giuseppe's fare is 
 swelled by the stranger's mite. But here Giuseppe tells me 
 of the " Belief Boat" which leaves for the flooded district in 
 the interior, and here, profiting by the lesson he has taught 
 me, I make the resolve to turn my curiosity to the account 
 of others, and am accepted of those who go forth to succour 
 and help the afflicted. Giuseppe takes charge of my carpet 
 bag, and does not part from me until I stand on the slippery 
 deck of "Relief Boat No. 3." 
 
 An hour later I am in the pilot-house, looking down upon 
 what was once the channel of a peaceful river. But its 
 banks are only defined by tossing tufts of willow washed by 
 the long swell that breaks over a vast inland sea. Stretches 
 of "tule" land fertilized by its once regular channel and 
 dotted by flourishing ranchos are now cleanly erased. The 
 cultivated profile of the old landscape had faded. Dotted 
 lines in symmetrical perspective mark orchards that are 
 baried and chilled in the turbid flood. The roofs of a few 
 farm houses are visible, and here and there the smoke curl 
 ing from chimneys of half-submerged tenements show an 
 undaunted life within. Cattle and sheep are gathered on 
 Indian mounds waiting the fate of their companions whose 
 carcasses drift by us, or swing in eddies with the wrecks of 
 barns and out-houses. Waggons are stranded everywhere 
 where the tide could carry them. As I wipe the moistened 
 glass, I see nothing but water, pattering on the deck from 
 the lowering clouds, dashing against the window, dripping 
 from the willows, hissing by the wheels, everywhere wash 
 ing, coiling, sapping, hurrying in rapids, or swelling at last 
 into deeper and vaster lakes, awful in their suggestive quiet 
 and concealment. 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 141 
 
 As day fades into night the monotony of this strange 
 prospect grows oppressive. I seek the engine-room, and in 
 the company of some of the few half-drowned sufferers we 
 Lave already picked up from temporary rafts, I forget the . 
 general aspect of desolation in their individual misery. 
 Later we meet the San Francisco packet, and transfer a 
 number of our passengers. From them we learn how in 
 ward bound vessels report to having struck the well-defined 
 channel of the Sacramento, fifty miles beyond the bar. 
 There is a voluntary contribution taken among the generous 
 travellers for the use of our afflicted, and we part company 
 with a hearty "God-speed" on either side. But our signal- 
 lights are not far distant before a familiar sound comes back 
 to us, an indomitable Yankee cheer, which scatters the 
 gloom. 
 
 Our course is altered, and wo are steaming over the obli 
 terated banks far in the interior. Once or twice black 
 objects loom up near us, the wrecks of houses floating 
 by. There is a slight rift in the sky towards the north, and 
 a few bearing stars to guide us over the waste. As we pene 
 trate into shallower water, it is deemed advisable to divide 
 our party into smaller boats, and diverge over the sub 
 merged prairie. I borrow a pea-coat of one of the crew, and 
 in that practical disguise am doubtfully permitted to pass 
 into one of the boats. We give way northerly. It is quite 
 dark yet, although the rift of cloud has widened. 
 
 It must have been about three o'clock, and we were lying 
 upon our oars in an eddy formed by a clump of cottonwood, 
 and the light of the steamer is a solitary, bright star in the 
 distance, when the silence is broken by the " bow oar," 
 
 " Light ahead." 
 
 All eyes are turned in that direction. In a few seconds a 
 twinkling light appears, shines steadily, and again disap 
 pears, as if by the shifting position of some black object 
 apparently drifting close upon us. 
 
U2 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 " Stern, all ; a steamer !" 
 
 "Hold hard there! Steamer be d d!" is tlie reply of 
 the coxswain. " It's a house, and a big one too." 
 
 It is a big one, looming in the starlight like a huge frag 
 ment of the darkness. The light conies from a single candle, 
 which shines through a window as the great shape swings by. 
 Some recollection is drifting back to me with it, as I listen 
 with beating heart. 
 
 "There's some one in it, by Heavens ! Give way, boys, 
 lay her alongside. Handsomely, now ! The door's fas 
 tened ; try the window j no ! here's another !" 
 
 In another moment we are trampling in the water, which 
 washes the floor to the depth of several inches. It is a large 
 room, at the farther end of which an old man is sitting 
 wrapped in a blanket, holding a candle in one hand, and 
 apparently absorbed in the book he holds with the other. I 
 spring toward him with an exclamation, 
 
 " Joseph Tryan ! " 
 
 He does not move. "We gather closer to him, and I lay my 
 hand gently on his shoulder, and say, 
 
 " Look up, old man, look up ! Your wife and children, 
 where are they 1 The boys, George ! Are they here ? are 
 they safe?" 
 
 He raises his head slowly, and turns his eyes to mine, and 
 we involuntarily recoil before his look. It is a calm and 
 quiet glance, free from fear, anger, or pain ; but it somehow 
 sends the blood curdling through our veins. He bowed his 
 head over his book again, taking no further notice of us. The 
 men look at rne compassionately, and hold their peace. I 
 make one more effort : 
 
 "Joseph Tryan, don't you know me? the surveyor who 
 surveyed your ranch, the Espiritu Santo 1 Look up, old 
 man!" 
 
 He shuddered, and wrapped himself closer in his blanket. 
 Presently he repeated to himself, " The surveyor who sur- 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 143 
 
 veyed your ranch, Espiritu Santo," over and over again, as 
 though it were a lesson he was trying to fix in his memory. 
 
 I was turning sadly to the boatmen, when he suddenly 
 caught me fearfully by the hand and said, 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 We were silent. 
 
 " Listen ! " He puts his arm around my neck and whispers 
 in my ear, " I'm a moving off /" 
 
 "Moving off?" 
 
 " Hush ! Don't speak so loud. Moving off. Ah ! wot's 
 that 1 Don't you hear 1 there ! listen !" 
 
 We listen and hear the water gurgle and click beneath the 
 floor. 
 
 " It's them wot he sent ! Old Altasear sent. They've 
 been here all night. I heard 'em first in the creek, when 
 they came to tell the old man to move farther off. They 
 came nearer and nearer. They whispered under the door, and 
 I saw their eyes on the step, their cruel, hard eyes. Ah ! 
 why don't they quit "?" 
 
 I tell the men to search the room and see if they can find 
 any further traces of the family, while Tryan resumes his old 
 attitude. It is so much like the figure I remember on the 
 breezy night that a superstitious feeling is fast overcoming 
 me. When they have returned, I tell them briefly what I 
 know of him, and the old man murmurs again, 
 
 " Why don't they quit, then 1 They have the stock, all 
 gone gone, gone for the hides and hoofs," and he groans 
 bitterly. 
 
 " There are other boats below us. The shanty cannot have 
 drifted far, and perhaps the family are safe by this time," 
 says the coxswain, hopefully. 
 
 We lift the old man up, for he is quite helpless, and carry 
 him to the boat. He is still grasping the Bible in his right 
 hand, though its strengthening grace is blank to his vacant 
 eye, and he cowers in the stern as we pull slowly to the 
 
144 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 steamer, while a pale gleain in the sky shows the coming 
 day. 
 
 I was weary with excitement, and when we reached the 
 steamer, and I had seen Joseph Tryan comfortably bestowed, 
 T wrapped myself in a blanket near the boiler and presently 
 fell asleep. But even then the figure of the old man often 
 started before me, and a sense of uneasiness about George 
 made a strong undercurrent to drifting dreams. I was 
 awakened at about eight o'clock in the morning by the 
 engineer, who told me one of the old man's sons had been 
 picked up and was now on board. 
 
 " Is it George Tryan ?" I ask quickly. 
 
 " Don't know ; but he's a sweet one, whoever he is," adds 
 the engineer, with a smile at some luscious remembrance. 
 " You'll find him for'ard." 
 
 I hurry to the bow of the boat, and find, not George, but 
 the irrepressible Wise, sitting on a coil of rope, a little 
 dirtier and rather more dilapidated than I can remember 
 having seen him. 
 
 He is examining, with apparent admiration, some rough, 
 dry clothes that have been put out for his disposal. I cannot 
 help thinking that circumstances have somewhat exalted his 
 usual cheerfulness. He puts me at my ease by at once 
 addressing me : 
 
 '' These are high old times, ain't they ? I say, what do you 
 reckon's become o' them thar bound'ry momments you 
 stuck? Ah!" 
 
 The pause which succeeds this outburst is the effect of a 
 spasm of admiration at a pair of high boots, which, by great 
 exertion, he has at last pulled on his feet. 
 
 " So you've picked up the ole man in the shanty, clean 
 crazy ? He must have been soft to have stuck there instead 
 o' leavin' with the old woman. Didn't know me from Adam ; 
 took me for George ! " 
 
 At this affecting instance of paternal forgetfulness, Wise 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 145 
 
 was evidently divided between amusement and chagrin. I 
 took advantage of the contending emotions to ask about 
 George. 
 
 " Don't know whar he is ! If he'd tended stock instead of 
 running about the prairie, packin' off wimmin and children, 
 he might have saved suthin. He lost every hoof and hide, 
 I'll bet a cookey. Say you," to a passing boatman, " when 
 are you goin' to give us some grub 1 I'm hungry 'nough to 
 skin and eat a hoss. Beckon I'll turn butcher when things 
 is dried up, and save hides, horns, and taller." 
 
 I could not but admire this indomitable energy, which 
 under softer climatic influences might have borne such goodly 
 fruit. 
 
 " Have you any idea what you'll do, Wise ? " I ask. 
 
 " Thar ain't much to do now," says the practical young 
 man. " I'll have to lay over a spell, I reckon, till things 
 comes straight. The land ain't worth much now, and won't 
 be, I dessay, for some time. Wonder whar the ole man'll 
 drive stakes next." 
 
 " I meant as to your father and George, Wise." 
 
 " O, the ole man and I'll go on to ' Miles's,' whar Tom 
 packed the old woman and babies last week. George'll turn 
 up somewhar atweeii this and Altascar's, ef he ain't thar now. :> 
 
 I ask how the Altascars have suffered. 
 
 " Well, I reckon he ain't lost much in stock. I shouldn't 
 wonder if George helped him drive 'em up the foot-hills. 
 And his ' casa' 's built too high. 0, thar ain't any water 
 thar, you bet. Ah," says Wise, with reflective admiration, 
 " those greasers ain't the darned fools people think 'em. I'll 
 bet thar ain't one swamped out in all 'er Califoruy." But 
 the appearance of " grub " cut this rhapsody short. 
 
 " I shall keep on a little farther," I say, " and try to find 
 George." 
 
 Wise stared a moment at this eccentricity until a new light 
 dawned upon him. 
 
 L 
 
S46 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 " I don't think you'll save much. What's the percentage., 
 workin.' on shares, eh ! " 
 
 I answer that I am only curious, which I feel lessens his 
 opinion of me, and with a sadder feeling than his assurance of 
 George's safety might warrant, I walked away. 
 
 From others whom we picked up from time to time we 
 heard of George's self-sacrificing devotion, with the praises of 
 the many he had helped and rescued. But I did not feel 
 disposed to return until I had seen him, and soon prepared 
 myself to take a boat to the lower " valda " of the foot-hills, 
 and visit Altascar. I soon perfected my arrangements, bade 
 farewell to Wise, and took a last look at the old man, who 
 was sitting by the furnace-fires quite passive and composed. 
 Then our boat-head swung round, pulled by sturdy and 
 willing hands. 
 
 It was again raining, and a disagreeable wind had risen. 
 Our course lay nearly west, and we soon knew by the strong 
 current that we were in the creek of the Espiritu Santo. 
 From time to time the wrecks of barns were seen, and we 
 passed many half-submerged willows hung with farming 
 implements. 
 
 We emerge at last into a broad silent sea. It is the 
 if llano de Espiritu Santo." As the wind whistles by me, 
 piling the shallower fresh water into mimic waves, I go 
 back, in fancy, to the long ride of October over that 
 boundless plain, and recall the sharp outlines of the 
 distant hills which are now lost in the lowering clouds. 
 The men are rowing silently, and I find my mind, released 
 from its tension, growing benumbed and depressed as then. 
 The water, too, is getting more shallow as we leave the 
 banks of the creek, and with my hand dipped listlessly 
 over the thwarts, I detect the tops of chimisal, which 
 ahows the tide to have somewhat fallen. There is a black 
 mound, bearing to the north of the line of alder, making an 
 adverse current^ which, as we sweep to the right to avoid, I 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 147 
 
 recognize. We pull close alongside and I call to the men to 
 stop. 
 
 There was a stake driven near its summit with the initials, 
 " L. E. S. I." Tied half-way down was a curiously worked 
 "riata." It was George's. It had been cut with some 
 sharp instrument, and the loose gravelly soil of the mound 
 was deeply dented with horse's hoofs. The stake was 
 covered with horse-hairs. It was a record, but no 
 clew. 
 
 The wind had grown more violent, as we still fought our 
 way forward, resting and rowing by turns, and oftener 
 " poling " the shallower surface, but the old " valda," or 
 bench, is still distant. My recollection of the old survey 
 enables me to guess the relative position of the meanderings 
 of the creek, and an occasional simple professional experiment 
 to determine the distance gives my crew the fullest faith in 
 my ability. Night overtakes us in our impeded progress. 
 Our condition looks more dangerous than it really is, but I 
 urge the men, many of whom are still new in this mode of 
 navigation, to greater exertion by assurance of perfect safety 
 and speedy relief ahead. We go on in this way until about 
 eight o'clock, and ground by the willows. We have a muddy 
 walk for a few hundred yards before we strike a dry trail, 
 and simultaneously the white walls of Altascar's appear like 
 a snow-bank before us. Lights are moving in the courtyard ; 
 but otherwise the old tomb-like repose characterizes the 
 building. 
 
 One of the peons recognized me as I entered the court, and 
 Altascar met me on the corridor. 
 
 I was too weak to do more than beg his hospitality for the 
 men who had dragged wearily with me. He looked at my 
 hand, which still unconsciously held the broken " riata." I 
 began, wearily, to tell him about George and my fears, but 
 with a gentler courtesy than was even his wont, he gravely 
 laid his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 L2 
 
H8 AZOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 " Poco a poco Senor, not now. You are tired, you have 
 hunger, you have cold. Necessary it is you should have 
 peace." 
 
 He took us into a small room and poured out some French 
 cognac, which he gave to the men. that had accompanied me. 
 They drank and threw themselves before the fire in the 
 larger room. The repose of the building was intensified that 
 night, and I even fancied that the footsteps on the corridor 
 were lighter and softer. The old Spaniard's habitual gravity 
 was deeper ; we might have been shut out from the world as 
 well as the whistling storm, behind those ancient walls with 
 their time-worn inheritor. 
 
 Before I could repeat my inquiry he retired. In a few 
 minutes two smoking dishes of " chupa " with coffee were 
 placed before us, and my men ate ravenously. I drank the 
 coffee, but my excitement and weariness kept down the 
 instincts of hunger. 
 
 I was sitting sadly by the fire when he re-entered. 
 
 " You have eat?" 
 
 I said, " Yes," to please him. 
 
 " Bueno, eat when you can, food and appetite are not 
 always." 
 
 He said this with that Sancho-like simplicity with which 
 most of his countrymen utter a proverb, as though it were 
 an experience rather than a legend, and, taking the " riata " 
 from the floor, held it almost tenderly before him. 
 
 " It was made by me, Senor." 
 
 " I kept it as a clew to him, Don Altascar," I said. " If 
 I could find him " 
 
 " He is here." 
 
 "Here ! and" but I could not say "well !" I under 
 stood the gravity of the old man's face, the hushed footfalls, 
 the tomb-like repose of the building in an electric flash of 
 consciousness ; I held the clew to the broken riata at last. 
 Altascar took my hand, and we crossed the corridor to a 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 149 
 
 sombre apartment. A few tall candles were burning in 
 sconces before the window. 
 
 In an alcove there was a deep bed with its counterpane, 
 pillows, and sheets heavily edged with lace, in all that 
 splendid luxury which the humblest of these strange people 
 lavish upon this single item of their household. I stepped 
 beside it arid saw George lying, as I had seen him once before,, 
 peacefully at rest. But a greater sacrifice than that he had 
 known was here, and his generous heart was stilled for ever. 
 " He was honest and brave," said the old man, and turned 
 away. 
 
 There was another figure in the room a heavy shawl 
 drawn over her graceful outline, and her long black hair 
 hiding the hands that buried her downcast face. I did not 
 seem to notice her, and, retiring presently, left the loving and 
 loved together. 
 
 When we were again beside the crackling fire, in the shift-, 
 ing shadows of the great chamber, Altascar told me how he 
 had that morning met the horse of George Tryan swimming 
 on the prairie ; how that, farther on, he found him lying, 
 quite cold and dead, with no marks or bruises on his person ; 
 that he had probably become exhausted in fording the creek, 
 and that he had as probably reached the mound only to die 
 for the want of that help he had so freely given to others ; 
 that, as a last act, he had freed his horse. These incidents 
 were corroborated by many who collected in the great 
 chamber that evening, women and children, most of them 
 succoured through the devoted energies of him who lay cold 
 and lifeless above. 
 
 He was buried in the Indian mound, the single spot of 
 strange perennial greenness, which the poor aborigines had 
 raised above the dusty plain. A little slab of sandstone, 
 with the initials " G. T.," is his monument, and one of the 
 bearings of the initial corner of the new survey of the 
 " Espiritu Santo Raucho/' 
 
HI-BOHEMIAN PAPERS. 
 
 THE MISSION DOLORES. 
 
 HTHE Mission Dolores is destined to be "The Last Sigh" 
 of the native Californian. "When the last "Greaser" 
 shall indolently give way to the bustling Yankee, I can 
 imagine he will, like the Moorish King, ascend one of the 
 Mission hills to take his last lingering look at the hilled city. 
 For a long time he will cling tenaciously to Pacific Street. 
 He will delve in the rocky fastnesses of Telegraph Hill until 
 progress shall remove it. He will haunt Vallejo Street, and 
 those back slums which so vividly typify the degradation of 
 a people ; but he will eventually make way for improve 
 ment. The Mission will be last to drop from his nerveless 
 fingers. 
 
 As I stand here this pleasant afternoon, looking up at the 
 old chapel, its ragged senility contrasting with the smart 
 spring sunshine, its two gouty pillars with the plaster drop 
 ping away like tattered bandages, its rayless windows, its 
 crumbling entrances, the leper spots on its whitewashed wall 
 eating through the dark abode, I give the poor old mendi 
 cant but a few years longer to sit by the highway and ask 
 alms in the names of the blessed saints. Already the vici 
 nity is haunted with the shadow of its dissolution. The 
 shriek of the locomotive discords with the Angelus bell. An 
 Episcopal church, of a green Gothic type, with massive but 
 tresses of Oregon pine, even now mocks its hoary age with * 
 
THE MISSION DOLORES. 1 5 r 
 
 imitation, and supplants it with a sham. Vain, alas ! were 
 those rural accessories, the nurseries and market-gardens, 
 that once gathered about its walls and resisted civic encroach 
 ment. They, too, are passing away. Even those queer little 
 adobe buildings with tiled roofs like longitudinal slips of cin 
 namon, and walled enclosures sacredly guarding a few bullock 
 horns and strips of hide. I look in vain for the half- 
 reclaimed Mexican, whose respectability stopped at his waist, 
 and whose red sash under his vest was the utter undoing of 
 
 O 
 
 his black broadcloth. I miss, too, those black-haired women, 
 wh swaying unstable busts, whose dresses were always un 
 seasonable in texture and pattern j whose wearing of a shawl 
 was a terrible awakening from the poetic dream of the 
 Spanish mantilla. Traces of another nationality are visible. 
 The railroad "navvy" has builded his shanty near the 
 chapel, and smokes his pipe in the Posada. Gutturals have 
 taken the place of linguals and sibilants ; I miss the half- 
 chanted, half-drawled cadences that used to mingle with the 
 cheery " All aboard " of the stage-driver, in those good old 
 days when the stages ran hourly to the Mission, and a trip 
 thither was an excursion. At the very gates of the temple, 
 in the place of those u who sell cloves for sacrifice/' a vendor 
 of mechanical spiders has halted with his unhallowed wares. 
 Even the old Padre last type of the Missionary, and des- 
 cendent of the good Junipero I cannot find to-day ; in his 
 stead a light-haired Celt is reading a lesson from a Yulgate 
 that is wonderfully replete with double r's. Gentle priest, 
 in thy E.-isons, let the stranger and heretic be remembered. 
 
 I open a little gate and enter the Mission Churchyard. 
 There is no change here, though perhaps the graves lie closer 
 together. A willow-tree, growing beside the deep, brown 
 wall, has burst into tufted plumes in the fulness of spring. 
 Tlie tall grass-blades over each mound show a strange 
 quickening of the soil below. It is pleasanter here than on 
 tke bleak mountain seaward, where distracting winds con- 
 
152 THE MISSION DOLORES. 
 
 tinually bring the strife and turmoil of the ocean. Tlie 
 Mission hills lovingly embrace the little cemetery whose deco 
 rative taste is less ostentatious. The foreign flavour is 
 strong ; here are never-failing garlands of immortelles, with 
 their sepulchral spicery ; here are little cheap medallions of 
 pewter, with the adornment of three black tears, that would 
 look like the three of clubs, but that the simple humility of 
 the inscription counterbalances all sense of the ridiculous. 
 Here are children's graves with guardian angels of great spe 
 cific gravity ; but here, too, are the little one's toys in a gkss 
 case beside them. Here is the average quantity of execrable 
 original verses ; but one stanza over a sailor's grave is 
 striking, for it expresses a hope of salvation through die 
 " Lord High Admiral Christ ! " Over the foreign graves 
 there is a notable lack of scriptural quotation, and an increase, 
 if I may say it, of humanity and tenderness. I cannot help 
 thinking that too many of my countrymen are influenced by 
 a morbid desire to make a practical point of this occasion, and 
 are too apt hastily to crowd a whole life of omission into the 
 culminating act. But when I see the gray immortdles 
 crowning a tombstone, I know I shall find the mysteries of 
 the resurrection shown rather in symbols, and only the bve 
 taught in His new commandment left for the graphic touch. 
 But "they manage these things better in France." 
 
 During my purposeless ramble the .sun has been steadily 
 climbing the brown wall of the church, and the air seems to 
 grow cold and raw. The bright green dies out of the grsss y 
 and the rich bronze comes down from the wall. The willow- 
 tree seems half inclined to doff its plumes, and wears the 
 dejected air of a broken faith and violated trust. The 
 spice of the immortelles mixes with the incense that steals 
 through the open window. Within, the barbaric gilt and 
 crimson look cold and cheap in this searching air ; by this 
 light the church certainly is old and ugly. I cannot help 
 
JOHN CHINAMAN, 153 
 
 wondering whether the old Fathers, if they ever revisit the 
 scene of their former labours, in their larger comprehensions, 
 view with regret the impending change, or mourn over the 
 day when the Mission Dolores shall appropriately come to 
 grief. 
 
 JOHN CHINAMAN. 
 
 PHE expression of the Chinese face in the aggregate is 
 neither cheerful nor happy. In an acquaintance of half 
 a dozen years, I can only recall one or two exceptions to this 
 rule. There is an abiding consciousness of degradation, a 
 secret pain or self-hum iliatioii visible in the lines of the 
 mouth and eye. Whether it is only a modification of 
 Turkish gravity, or whether it is the dread Valley of the 
 Shadow of the Drug through which they are continually 
 straying, I cannot say. They seldom, smile, and their 
 laughter is of such an extraordinary and sardonic nature 
 so purely a mechanical spasm, quite independent of any 
 mirthful attribute that to this day T am doubtful whether 
 I ever saw a Chinaman laugh. A theatrical representation 
 by natives, one might think, would have set my mind at ease 
 on this point ; but it did not. Indeed, a new difficulty pre 
 sented itself, the impossibility of determining whether the 
 performance was a tragedy or farce. I thought I detected 
 the low comedian in an active youth who turned two somer 
 saults, and knocked everybody down on entering the stage. 
 But, unfortunately, even this classic resemblance to the legi 
 timate farce of our civilization was deceptive. Another 
 brocaded actor, who represented the hero of the play, turned 
 three somersaults, and not only upset my theory and his 
 fellow-actors at the same time, but apparently run a-muck 
 behind the scenes for some time afterward. I looked around 
 at the glinting white teeth to observe the effect of these two 
 
154 JOHN CHINAMAN. 
 
 palpable hits. They were received with equal acclamation, 
 and apparently equal facial spasms. One or two beheadings, 
 which enlivened the play, produced the same sardonic effect, 
 and left upon my mind a painful anxiety to know what was 
 the serious business of life in China. It was noticeable, how 
 ever, that my unrestrained laughter had a discordant effect, 
 and that triangular eyes sometimes turned ominously toward 
 the "Fanqui devil ;" but as I retired discreetly before the 
 play was finished, there were 110 serious results. I have only 
 given the above as an instance of the impossibility of decid 
 ing upon the outward and superficial expression of Chinese 
 mirth. Of its inner and deeper existence I have some private 
 doubts. An audience that will view with a serious aspect 
 the hero, after a frightful and agonizing death, get up and 
 quietly walk off the stage, cannot be said to have remarkable 
 perceptions of the ludicrous. 
 
 I have often been struck with the, delicate pliability of the 
 Chinese expression and taste, that might suggest a broader 
 and deeper criticism than is becoming these pages. A China 
 man will adopt the American costume, and wear it with a 
 taste of colour and detail that will surpass those "native, and 
 to the manner born." To look at a Chinese slipper, one 
 might imagine it impossible to shape the original foot to any 
 thing less cumbrous and roomy, yet a neater-fitting boot than 
 that belonging to the Americanized Chinaman is rarely seen 
 on this side of the Continent. When the loose sack or pale 
 tot takes the place of his brocade blouse, it is worn with a 
 refinement and grace that might bring a jealous pang to the 
 exquisite of our more refined civilization. Pantaloons fall 
 easily and naturally over legs that have known unlimited 
 freedom and bagginess, and even garrote collars meet cor 
 rectly around sun-tanned throats. The new expression 
 seldom overflows in gaudy cravats. I will back my Ameri 
 canized Chinaman against any neophyte of European birth 
 in the choice of that article. While in our own State, the 
 
JOHN CHINAMAN. 155 
 
 Greaser resists one by one the garments of the Northern 
 invader, and even wears the livery of his conqueror with a 
 wild and buttonless freedom, the Chinaman, abused and de 
 graded as he is, changes by correctly graded transition to 
 the garments of Christian civilization. There is but one 
 article of European wear that he avoids. These Bohemian 
 eyes have never yet been pained by the spectacle of a tall hat 
 on the head of an intelligent Chinaman. 
 
 My acquaintance with John has been made up of weekly 
 interviews, involving the adjustment of the washing accounts, 
 so that I have not been able to study his character from a 
 social view- point, or observe him in the privacy of the 
 domestic circle. I have gathered enough to justify me in 
 believing him to be generally honest, faithful, simple, and 
 painstaking. Of his simplicity let me record an instance, 
 where a sad and civil young Chinaman brought me certain 
 shirts with most of the buttons missing and others hanging 
 on delusively by a single thread. In a moment of unguarded 
 irony, I informed him that unity would at least have been 
 preserved if the buttons were removed altogether. He 
 smiled sadly and went away. I thought I had hurb his 
 feelings, until the next week, when he brought me my shirts 
 with a look of intelligence, and the buttons carefully and 
 totally erased. A.t another time, to guard against his general 
 disposition to carry off anything as soiled clothes that he 
 thought could hold water, I requested him to always wait 
 until he saw me. Coming home late one evening, I found 
 the household in great consternation over an immovable 
 Celestial who had remained seated on the front door-step 
 during the -day, sad and submissive, firm, but also patient, 
 and only betraying any animation or token of his mission 
 when he saw me coming. This same Chinaman evinced 
 some evidences of regard for a little girl in the family, who 
 in her turn reposed such faith in his intellectual qualities as 
 to present him with a preternaturally uninteresting Sunday- 
 
i $6 FROM A BACK WINDOW. 
 
 school book, her own property. This book John made a 
 point of carrying ostentatiously with him in his weekly 
 visits. It appeared usually on the top of the clean clothes, 
 and was sometimes painfully clasped outside of the big 
 bundle of solid linen. Whether John believed he uncon 
 sciously imbibed some spiritual life through its pasteboard 
 cover, as the Prince in the Arabian Nights imbibed the 
 medicine through the handle of the mallet, or whether he 
 wished to exhibit a due sense of gratitude, or whether he 
 hadn't any pockets, I have never been able to ascertain. In 
 his turn he would sometimes cut marvellous imitation roses 
 from carrots for his little friend. I am inclined to think 
 that the few roses strewn in John's path were such scentless 
 imitations. The thorns only were real. From the persecu 
 tions of the young and old of a certain class, his life was a 
 torment. I don't know what was the exact philosophy that 
 Confucius taught, but it is to be hoped that poor John in his 
 persecution is still able to detect the conscious hate and fear 
 with which inferiority always regards the possibility of 
 even-handed justice, and which is the key-note to the vulgar 
 clamour about servile and degraded races. 
 
 FROM A BACK WINDOW. 
 
 T REMEMBER that long ago, as a sanguine and trustful 
 * child, I became possessed of a highly coloured litho 
 graph, representing a fair Circassian sitting by a window. 
 The price I paid for this work of art may have been extra 
 vagant, even in youth's fluctuating slate-pencil currency; 
 but the secret joy I felt in its possession knew no pecuniary 
 equivalent. It was not alone that Nature in Circassia 
 lavished alike upon the cheek of beauty and the vegetable 
 kingdom that most expensive of colours Lake ; nor was it 
 
FROM A SACK WINDOW. 157 
 
 that the rose which bloomed beside the fair Circassian's 
 window had no visible stem, and was directly grafted upon a 
 marble balcony ; but it was because it embodied an idea. 
 That idea was a hinting of my Fate. I felt that somewhere 
 a young and fair Circassian was sitting by a window looking 
 out for me. The idea of resisting such an array of charms 
 and colour never occurred to me, and to my honour be it 
 recorded, that during the feverish period of adolescence I 
 never thought of averting my destiny. But as vacation and 
 holiday came and went, and as my picture at first grew 
 blurred, and then faded quite away between the Eastern and 
 Western continents in my atlas, so its charm seemed myste 
 riously to pass away. When I became convinced that few 
 females, of Circassian or other origin, sat pensively resting 
 their chins on their henna- tinged nails, at their parlour 
 windows, I turned my attention to back windows. Although 
 the fair Circassian has not yet burst upon me with open 
 shutters, some peculiarities not unworthy of note have fallen 
 under my observation. This knowledge has not been gained 
 without sacrifice. I have made myself familiar with back 
 windows and their prospects, in the weak disguise of seeking 
 lodgings, heedless of the suspicious glances of landladies and 
 their evident reluctance to show them. I have caught cold 
 by long exposure to draughts. I have become estranged 
 from friends by unconsciously walking to their back windows 
 during a visit, when the weekly linen hung upon the line, or 
 where Miss Fanny (ostensibly indisposed) actually assisted in 
 the laundry, and Master Bobby, in scant attire, disported 
 himself on the area railings. But I have thought of 
 Galileo, and the invariable experience of all seekers and 
 discoverers of truth has sustained me. 
 
 Show me the back windows of a man's dwelling, and I 
 will tell you his character. The rear of a house only is 
 sincere. The attitude of deception kept up at the front 
 windows leaves the back area defenceless. The world enters 
 
158 FROM A BACK WINDOW. 
 
 at the front door, but nature conies out at the back passage. 
 That glossy, well-brushed individual,, who lets himself in 
 with a latch-key at the front door at night, is a very different 
 being from the slipshod wretch who growls of mornings for 
 hot' water at the door of the kitchen. The same with 
 Madame, whose contour of figure grows angular, whose face 
 grows pallid, whose hair comes down, and who looks some 
 ten years older through the sincere medium, of a baok 
 window. No wonder that intimate friends fail to recognize 
 each other in this dos a dos position. You may imagine 
 yourself familiar with the silver door-plate and bow-windows 
 of the mansion where dwells your Saccharissa ; you may 
 even fancy you recognize her graceful figure between the 
 lace curtains of the upper chamber which you fondly imagine 
 to be hers j but you shall dwell for months in the rear of 
 her dwelling and within whispering distance of her bower, 
 and never know it. You shall see her with a handkerchief 
 tied round her head in confidential discussion with the 
 butcher, and know her not. You shall hear her voice in 
 shrill expostulation with her younger brother, and it shall 
 awaken no familiar response. 
 
 I am writing at a back window. As I prefer the warmth of 
 my coal- fire to the foggy freshness of the afternoon breeze that 
 rattles the leafless shrubs in the garden below me, I have 
 my window-sash closed ; consequently, I miss much of the 
 shrilly altercation that has been going on in the kitchen of 
 No. 7 just opposite. I have heard fragments of an enter 
 taining style of dialogue usually known as " chaffing," 
 which has just taken place between Biddy in No. 9, and the 
 butcher who brings the dinner. I have been pitying the 
 chilled aspect of a poor canary, put out to taste the fresh air, 
 from the window of No 5. I have been watching and 
 envying, I fear the real enjoyment of two children raking 
 over an old dust-heap in the alley, containing the waste and 
 debris of all the back yards in tho neighbourhood. What a 
 
BOONDER. 159 
 
 wealth of soda-water bottles and old iron they have acquired ! 
 But I am waiting for an even more familiar prospect from 
 rny Lack window. I know that later in the afternoon, when 
 the evening paper conies, a thickset, grey-haired man will 
 appear in his shirt-sleeves at the back door of No. 9, and, 
 seating himself on the door-step, begin to read. He lives in 
 a pretentious house, and I hear he is a rich man. But there 
 is such humility in his attitude, and such evidence of 
 gratitude at being allowed to sit outside of his own house 
 and read his paper in his shirt sleeves, that I can picture his 
 domestic history pretty clearly. Perhaps he is following 
 some old habit of humbler days. Perhaps he has entered 
 into an agreement with his wife not to indulge his disgraceful 
 habit in-doors. He does not look like a man who could be 
 coaxed into a dressing-gown. In front of his own palatial 
 residence, I know him to be a quiet and respectable middle- 
 aged business-man, but it is from my back window that my 
 heart warms toward him in his shirt-sleeved simplicity. So 
 I sit and watch him in the twilight as he reads gravely, and 
 wonder sometimes, when he looks up, squares his chest, and 
 folds his paper thoughtfully over his knee, whether he doesn't 
 fancy he hears the letting down of bars, or the tinkling of 
 bells, as the cows come home, and stand lowing for him at 
 the gate. 
 
 BOONDER. 
 
 T NEVER knew how the subject of this memoir came to 
 attach himself so closely to the affections of my family. 
 He was not a prepossessing dog. He was not a dog of even 
 average birth and breeding. His pedigree was involved in 
 the deepest obscurity. He may have had brothers and sisters, 
 but in the whole range of my canine acquaintance (a pretty 
 extensive one), I never detected any of Boonder's peculiarities 
 
160 BOONDER. 
 
 in any other of his species. His body was long, and his 
 fore-legs and hind-legs were very wide apart, as though 
 Nature originally intended to put an extra pair between 
 them, but had unwisely allowed herself to be persuaded out 
 of it. This peculiarity was annoying on cold nights, as it 
 always prolonged the interval of keeping the door open for 
 Boonder's ingress long enough to allow two or three dogs of 
 a reasonable length to enter. Boonder's feet were decided ; 
 his toes turned out considerably, and in repose his favourite 
 attitude was the first position of dancing. Add to a pair 
 of bright eyes ears that seemed to belong to some other 
 dog, and a symmetrically-pointed nose that fitted all aper 
 tures like a pass-key, and you have Boonder as we knew 
 him. 
 
 I am inclined to think that his popularity was mainly 
 owing to his quiet impudence. His advent in the family 
 was that of an old member, who had been absent for a short 
 time, but had returned to familiar haunts and associations. 
 In a Pythagorean point of view this might have been the 
 case, but I cannot recall any deceased member of the family 
 who was in life partial to bone-burying (though it might be 
 post mortem a consistent amusement), and this was Boonder's 
 great weakness. He was at first discovered coiled up on a 
 rug in an upper chamber, and was the least disconcerted of 
 the entire household. From that moment Boonder became 
 one of its recognised members, and privileges, often denied 
 the most intelligent and valuable of his species, were quietly 
 taken by him and submitted to by us. Thus, if he were 
 found coiled up in a clothes-basket, or any article of clothing 
 assumed locomotion on its own account, we only said, " O, 
 it's Boonder," with a feeling of relief that it was nothing 
 worse. 
 
 I have spoken of his fondness for bone-burying. It could 
 not be called an economical faculty, for he invariably forgot 
 the locality of his treasure, and covered the garden with 
 
TRUTHFUL JAMES. 
 
 L. 
 
 ' Are thing? what they seam 
 Or id visions about 1 
 
 Is our civilization a failure ? 
 Or is the Caucasian played out ?' 
 
BOONDER. 161 
 
 purposeless holes ; but although the violets and daisies were 
 not improved by Boonder's gardening, no one ever thought 
 of punishing him. He became a synonyme for Fate ; a 
 Boonder to be grumbled at, to be accepted philosophically, 
 but never to be averted. But although he was not an 
 intelligent dog, nor an ornamental dog, he possessed some 
 gentlemanly instincts. When he performed his only feat, 
 begging upon his hind legs (and looking remarkably like a- 
 penguin), ignorant strangers would offer him crackers or 
 cake, which he didn't like, as a reward of merit. Boonder 
 always made a great show of accepting the proffered dainties, 
 and even made hypocritical contortions as if swallowing, but 
 always deposited the morsel when he was unobserved in the 
 first convenient receptacle, usually the visitor's overshoes. 
 
 In matters that did not involve courtesy, Boonder was sin 
 cere in his likes and dislikes. He was instinctively opposed 
 to the railroad. When the track was laid through our 
 street, Boonder maintained a defiant attitude toward every 
 rail as it went down, and resisted the cars shortly after to 
 the fullest extent of his lungs. I have a vivid recollection 
 of seeing him, on the day of the trial trip, come down the 
 street in front of the car, barking himself out of all shape, 
 and thrown back several feet by the recoil of each bark. 
 But Boonder was not the only one who has resisted inno 
 vations, or has lived to see the innovation prosper and 
 even crush But I am anticipating. Booiider had pre 
 viously resisted the gas, but although he spent one whole 
 day in angry altercation with the workmen, leaving his 
 bones unburied and bleaching in the sun somehow the gas 
 went in. The Spring Valley water was likewise unsuccess 
 fully opposed, and the grading of an adjoining lot was for a 
 long time a personal matter between Boonder and the con 
 tractor. 
 
 These peculiarities seemed to evince some decided cha 
 racter and embody some idea. A prolonged debate in the 
 
1 62 BOONDER. 
 
 family upon this topic resulted in an addition to his name, 
 we called him "Boonder the Conservative/' with a faint 
 acknowledgment of his fateful power. But, although Booii- 
 der had his own way, his path was not entirely of roses. 
 Thorns sometimes pricked his sensibilities. When certain 
 minor chords were struck on the piano, Boonder was always 
 painfully affected and howled a remonstrance. If he were 
 removed for company's sake to the back yard, at the recur 
 rence of the provocation, he would go his whole length 
 (which was something) to improvise a howl that should 
 reach the performer. But we got accustomed to Boonder, 
 and as we were fond of music the playing went OIL 
 
 One morning Boonder left the house in good spirits with 
 his regular bone in his mouth, and apparently the usual 
 intention of burying it. The next day he was picked up 
 lifeless on the track, run over, apparently, by the first car 
 that went out of the dep6t. 
 
SENSATION NOVELS 
 
 CONDENSED. 
 
 M2 
 
SELINA SEDILIA. 
 
 BY MISS M. E. B-DD-N AND MRS. H-N-Y W-D. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HP HE sun was setting over Sloperton Grange, and red 
 dened the windows of the lonely chamber in the 
 western tower, supposed to be haunted by Sir Edward 
 Sedilia, the founder of the Grange. In the dreamy distance 
 arose the gilded mausoleum of Lady Felicia Sedilia, who 
 haunted that portion of Sedilia Manor known as " Stiff-uns 
 Acre." A little to the left of the Grange might have been 
 seen a mouldering ruin, known as " Guy's Keep," haunted 
 by the spirit of Sir Guy Sedilia, who was found, one morning, 
 crushed by one of the fallen battlements. Yet, as the setting- 
 sun gilded these objects, a beautiful and almost holy calm 
 seemed diffused about the Grange. 
 
 The Lady Selina sat by an oriel window overlooking the 
 park. The sun sank gently in the bosom of the German 
 Ocean, and yet the lady did not lift her beautiful head from 
 the finely-curved arm and diminutive hand which supported 
 it. When darkness finally shrouded the landscape, she 
 started, for the sound of horse-hoofs clattered over the stones 
 of the avenue. She had scarcely risen before an aristocratic 
 young man fell on his knees before her. 
 
 " My Selina ! " 
 
 " Edgardo ! You here ? " 
 
 " Yes, dearest." 
 
 ft And you you have seen nothing 1 " said the lady 
 
166 SELINA SEDILIA. 
 
 in an agitated voice and nervous manner, turning her face 
 aside to conceal her emotion. 
 
 " Nothing that is, nothing of any account," said Edgardo. 
 " I passed the ghost of your aunt in the part, noticed the 
 spectre of your uncle in the ruined keep, and observed the 
 familiar features of the spirit of your great grandfather at 
 his post. But nothing beyond these trifles, my Selina. 
 Nothing more, love, absolutely nothing." 
 
 The young man turned his dark liquid orbs fondly upon 
 the ingenuous face of his betrothed. 
 
 " My own Edgardo ! and you still love me ? You still 
 would marry me in spite of this dark mystery which sur- 
 roiinds me 1 In spite of the fatal history of my race 1 In 
 spite of the ominous predictions of my aged nurse ? " 
 
 " I would, Selina ; " and the young man passed his arm 
 around her yielding waist. The two lovers gazed at each 
 other's faces in unspeakable bliss. Suddenly Selina started. 
 
 " Leave me, Edgardo ! leave me ! A mysterious some 
 thing a fatal misgiving a dark ambiguity an equivocal 
 mistrust oppresses me. I would be alone ! " 
 
 The young man arose, and cast a loving glance on the 
 lady. " Then we will be married on the seventeenth." 
 
 "The seventeenth," repeated Selina, with a mysterious 
 shudder. 
 
 They embraced and parted. As the clatter of hoofs in 
 the courtyard died away, the Lady Selina sank into the chair 
 she had just quitted. 
 
 " The seventeenth," she repeated slowly, with the same fatal 
 shudder. "Ah ! what if he should know that I have another 
 husband living? Dare I reveal to him that I have two 
 legitimate and three natural children 1 Dare I repeat to 
 him the history of my youth 1 Dare I confess that at the age 
 of seven I poisoned my sister, by putting verdigris in her 
 cream tarts that I threw my cousin from a swing at the 
 age of twelve? That the Jaidy's-maid who incurred the 
 
SELINA SEDILTA. 167 
 
 displeasure of my girlhood now lies at the bottom of the 
 horsepond ? No ! no ! he is too pure too good too inno 
 cent, to hear such improper conversation ! " and her whole 
 body writhed as she rocked to and fro in a paroxysm of 
 grief. 
 
 But she was soon calm. Rising to her feet, she opened a 
 secret panel in the wall, and revealed a slow-match ready 
 for lighting. 
 
 " This match," said the Lady Selina, "is connected with a 
 mine beneath the western tower, where my three children 
 are confined; another branch of it lies under the parish 
 church, where the record of my first marriage is kept. I 
 have only to light this match and the whole of my past life 
 is swept away ! She approached the match with a lighted 
 candle. 
 
 But a hand was laid upon her arm, and with a shriek the 
 Lady Selina fell on her knees before the spectre of Sir Guy. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "FOBBEAR, Selina," said the phantom in a hollow voice. 
 
 " Why should I forbear ? " responded Selina haughtily, as 
 she recovered her courage. "You know the secret of our 
 race ? " 
 
 "I do. Understand me I do not object to the eccen 
 tricities of your youth. I know the fearful fate which, pur 
 suing you, led you to poison your sister and drown your 
 lady's maid. I know the awful doom which I have brought 
 upon this house ! But if you make away with these chil 
 dren " 
 
 " Well 1 " said the Lady Selina hastily. 
 
 " They will haunt you ! " 
 
 " Well, I fear them not," said Selina, drawing her superb 
 figure to its full height. 
 
 " But what place are they to haunt ? The ruin is sacred 
 
168 SELINA SEDILIA. 
 
 to your uncle's spirit. Your aunt monopolises the park, and, 
 I must be allowed to state, not unfrequently trespasses upon 
 the grounds of others. The horsepond is frequented by the 
 spirit of your maid, and your murdered sister walks these 
 corridors. To be plain, there is no room at Sloperton 
 Grange for another ghost. I cannot have them in my room 
 for you know I don't like children. Think of this, rash 
 girl, and forbear ! Would you, Selina," said the phantom 
 mournfully, " would you force your great grandfather's spirit 
 to take lodgings elsewhere 1 " 
 
 Lady Selina's hand trembled ; the lighted candle fell from 
 Jier nerveless fingers. 
 
 " No," she cried passionately, " never ! " and fell fainting 
 to the floor. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EDGARDO galloped rapidly towards Sloperton. "When the 
 outline of the Grange had faded away in the darkness, he 
 reined his magnificent steed beside the ruins of Guy's Keep. 
 
 " It wants but a few minutes of the hour," he said, consult 
 ing his watch by the light of the moon. " He dared not 
 break his word. He will come." He paused, and peered 
 anxiously into the darkness. " But come what may, she is 
 mine," he continued, as his thoughts reverted fondly to the 
 fair lady he had quitted. " Yet if she knew all. If she 
 knew that I were a disgraced and ruined man a felon and 
 an outcast. If she knew that at the age of fourteen I 
 murdered my Latin tutor and forged my uncle's will. If 
 .she knew that I had three wives already, and that the fourth 
 victim of misplaced confidence and my unfortunate pecu 
 liarity is expected to be at Sloperton by to-night's train with 
 her baby. But no ; she must not know it. Constance must 
 not arrive. Burke the Sloggcr must attend to that. 
 
 "Ha! here he is! WelU" 
 
SELINA S ED I LI A. 169 
 
 These words were addressed to a ruffian in a slouched hat, 
 who suddenly appeared from Guy's Keep. 
 
 "I he's here, measter," said the villain, with a disgrace- 
 folly low accent and complete disregard of grammatical rules. 
 
 "It is well. Listen : I'm in possession of facts that will 
 send you to the gallows. I know of the murder of Bill 
 Smithers, the robbery of the toll-gate keeper, and the making 
 away of the youngest daughter of Sir Reginald de Walton. 
 A word from me, and the officers of justice are on your 
 track." 
 
 Burke the Slogger trembled. 
 
 " Hark ye ! serve my purpose, and I may yet save you. 
 .The 5.30 train from Clapham will be due at Slopertoii at 
 ^9.25. It must not arrive /" 
 
 The villain's eyes sparkled as he nodded at Edgardo. 
 
 " Enough you understand ; leave me ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ABOUT half a mile from Sloperton Station the South Clapham 
 and Medway line crossed a bridge over Sloperton-oii-Treiit. 
 As the shades of evening were closing, a man in a slouched 
 hat might have been seen carrying a saw and axe under his 
 arm, hanging about the bridge. From time to time he dis 
 appeared in the shadow of its abutments, but the sound of 
 a> saw and axe still betrayed his vicinity. At exactly nine 
 o'clock he reappeared, and crossing to the Sloperton side, 
 rested his shoulder against the abutment and gave a shove. 
 The bridge swayed a moment, and then fell with a splash 
 into the water, leaving a space of one hundred feet between 
 the two banks. This done, Burke the Slogger for it was he 
 with a fiendish chuckle seated himself on the divided rail 
 way track and awaited the coming of the train. 
 
 A shriek from the woods announced its approach. For 
 an instant Burke the Slogger saw the glaring of a red lamp. 
 
170 SELINA SEDILIA. 
 
 The ground trembled. The train was going with fearful 
 rapidity. Another second and it had reached the bank. 
 Burke the Slogger uttered a fiendish laugh. But the next 
 moment the train leaped across the chasm, striking the rails 
 exactly even, and, dashing out the life of Burke the Slogger, 
 sped away to Sloperton. 
 
 The first object that greeted Edgardo as he rode up to the 
 station on the arrival of the train, was the body of Burke 
 the Slogger hanging on the cow-catcher ; the second was the 
 the face of his deserted wife looking from the windows of a 
 second-class carriage. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A NAMELESS terror seemed to have taken possession of Cla 
 rissa, Lady Selina's maid, as she rushed into the presence of 
 her mistress. 
 
 " Oh, my lady, such news !" 
 
 " Explain yourself," said her mistress, rising. 
 
 "An accident has happened on the railway, and a man 
 has been killed." 
 
 " What not Edgardo ! " almost screamed Selina. 
 
 " No, Burke the Slogger, your ladyship ! " 
 
 " My first husband ! " said Lady Selina, sinking on her 
 knees. "Just Heaven, I thank thee !" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE morning of the seventeenth dawned brightly over Slo 
 perton. " A fine day for the wedding," said the sexton to 
 Swipes, the butler of Sloperton Grange. The aged retainer 
 shook his head sadly. "Alas! there's no trusting in signs !" 
 he continued. " Seventy-five years ago, on a day like this, 
 my young mistress " but he was cut short by the appear 
 ance of a stranger. 
 
SELINA SEDILIA. 171 
 
 " I would see Sir Edgardo," said the new-comer im 
 patiently. 
 
 " The bridegroom, who, with the rest of the wedding train, 
 was about stepping into the carriage to proceed to the parish 
 church, drew the stranger aside. 
 
 " It's done !" said the stranger, in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 " Ah ! and you buried her 1 " 
 
 "With the others!" 
 
 "Enough. No more at present. Meet me after the 
 ceremony, and you shall have your reward." 
 
 The stranger shuffled away, and Edgardo returned to his 
 bride. " A trifling matter of business I had forgotten, my 
 dear Selina ; let us proceed," and the' young man pressed the 
 timid hand of his blushing bride as he handed her into the 
 carriage. The cavalcade rode out of the courtyard. At the 
 same moment, the deep bell on Guy's Keep tolled ominously. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SCARCELY had the wedding train left the Grange than 
 Sedilia, youngest daughter of Lady Selina, made her escape 
 from the western tower, owing to a lack of watchfulness on 
 the part of Clarissa. The innocent child, freed from re 
 straint, rambled through the lonely corridors, and finally, 
 opening a door, found herself in her mother's boudoir For 
 some time she amused herself by examining the various orna 
 ments and elegant trifles with which it was filled. Then, in. 
 pursuance of a childish freak, she dressed herself in her 
 mother's laces and ribbons. In this occupation she chanced 
 to touch a peg which proved to be a spring that opened a 
 secret panel in the wall. Alice uttered a cry of delight as 
 she noticed what, to her childish fancy, appeared to be the 
 slow-match of a firework. Taking a lucifer match in her 
 hand she approached the fuse. She hesitated a moment, 
 "What would her mother and her nurse say 1 
 
172 SELINA SEDILIA. 
 
 Suddenly the ringing of the chimes of Sloperton parish 
 church met her ear. Alice knew that the sound signified 
 that the marriage party had entered the church, and that she 
 was secured from interruption. With a childish smile upon 
 her lips, Alice Sedilia touched off the slow-match. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AT exactly two o'clock on the seventeenth, Eupert Sedelia, 
 who had just returned from India, was thoughtfully descend 
 ing the hill towards Sloperton Manor. " If I can prove that 
 my aunt, Lady Selina, was married before my father died, 
 I can establish my claim to Sloperton Grange," he uttered, 
 half aloud. He paused, for a sudden trembling of the earth 
 beneath his feet, and a terrific explosion, as of a park of 
 artillery, arrested his progress. At the same moment he 
 beheld a dense cloud of smoke envelop the churchyard of 
 Sloperton, and the western tower of the Grange seemed to be 
 lifted bodily from its foundation. The air seemed filled with 
 falling fragments, and two dark objects struck the earth close 
 at his feet. Rupert picked them up. One seemed to be a 
 heavy volume bound in brass. 
 
 A cry burst from his lips. 
 
 " The Parish Records." He opened the volume hastily. 
 It contained the marriage of Lady Selina to " Burke the 
 Slogger." 
 
 The second object proved to be a piece of parchment. He 
 tore it open with trembling fingers. It was the missing will 
 of Sir James Sedilia ! 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHEN the bells again rang on the new parish church of 
 Sloperton it was for the marriage of Sir Rupert Sedilia and 
 his cousin, the only remaining members of the family. 
 
FANTINE. 173 
 
 Five more ghosts were added to the supernatural popula 
 tion of Sloperton Grange. Perhaps this was the reason why 
 Sir Rupert sold the property shortly afterward, and that for 
 many years a dark shadow seemed to hang over the ruins of 
 Sloperton Grange. 
 
 FANTINE. 
 
 AFTER THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 :-o-: 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 As long as there shall exist three paradoxes a moral Frenchman, a. 
 religious Atheist, and a believing sceptic so long, in fact, as book 
 sellers shall wait say twenty-five years for a new gospel; so long as 
 paper shall remain cheap and ink three sous a bottle, I have no hesita 
 tion in saying that such books as these are not utterly profitless. 
 
 VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 '"PO be good is to be queer. What is a good man? 
 Bishop Myriel. 
 
 My friend, you will possibly object to this. You will say 
 you know what a good man is. Perhaps you will say your 
 clergyman is a good man, for instance, 
 
 Bah ! you are mistaken j you are an Englishman, and an 
 Englishman is a beast. 
 
 Englishmen think they are moral when they are only 
 serious. These Englishmen also wear ill-shaped hats, and 
 dress horribly ! 
 
 Bah ! they are canaille. 
 
 Still, Bishop Myriel was a good man quite as good as 
 you. Better than you, in fact. 
 
 One day M. Myriel was in Paris. This angel used to 
 walk about the streets like any other man. He was not 
 
174 FANTINE. 
 
 proud, though fine-looking. Well, three gamins de Paris 
 
 called him bad names. Says one : 
 
 " A h, mon Dieu ! there goes a priest ; look out for your 
 
 eggs and chickens ! " 
 
 What did this good man do ? He called to them kindly : 
 " My children," said he, " this is clearly not your fault. I 
 
 recognise in this insult and irreverence only the fault of 
 
 your immediate progenitors. Let us pray for your immediate 
 
 progenitors." 
 
 They knelt down and prayed for their immediate pro 
 genitors. 
 
 The effect was touching. 
 
 The bishop looked calmly around : 
 
 " On reflection," said he, gravely, " I was mistaken ; this 
 is clearly the fault of Society. Let us pray for Society." 
 
 They knelt down and prayed for Society. 
 
 The effect was sublimer yet. What do you think of that ? 
 You, I mean. 
 
 Everybody remembers the story of the Bishop and Mother 
 JSTez Retrousse. Old Mother Nez Retrouss6 sold asparagus. 
 She was poor ; there's a great deal of meaning in that word, 
 my friend. Some people say " poor but honest ; " I say, 
 Bah ! 
 
 Bishop Myriel bought six bunches of asparagus. This 
 good man had one charming failing j he was fond of 
 asparagus. He gave her a franc and received three sous 
 change. 
 
 The sous were bad counterfeit. What did this good 
 Bishop do 1 He said : " I should not have taken change 
 from a poor woman." 
 
 Then afterwards to his housekeeper : " Never take change 
 from a poor worn an."- 
 
 " Then he added to himself: " For the sous will probably 
 be bad." 
 
FANTINE. 175 
 
 ir. 
 
 WHEN a man commits a crime Society claps him in prison. 
 A prison is one of the worst hotels imaginable. The people 
 there are low and vulgar. The butter is bad, the coffee is 
 green. Ah, it is horrible ! 
 
 In prison, as in a bad hotel, a man soon loses, not only his 
 morals, but what is much worse to a Frenchman, his sense of 
 refinement and delicacy. 
 
 Jean Valjean came from prison with confused notions of 
 society. He forgot the modern peculiarities of hospitality. 
 So he walked off with the Bishop's candlesticks. 
 
 Let us consider : candlesticks were stolen ; that was 
 evident. Society put Jean Yaljean in prison ; that was 
 evident, too. In prison, Society took away his refinement ; 
 that is evident, likewise. 
 
 Who is Society ? 
 
 You and I are Society. 
 
 My friend, you and I stole those candlesticks ! 
 
 in. 
 
 THE Bishop thought so, too. He meditated profoundly 
 for six days. On the morning of the seventh he went to the 
 Prefecture of Police. 
 
 He said : " Monsieur, have me arrested. I have stolen 
 candlesticks." 
 
 The official was governed by the law of Society, and 
 refused. 
 
 What did this Bishop do 1 
 
 He had a charming ball and chain made, affixed to his 
 leg, and wore it the rest of his life. 
 
 This is a fact ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 LOVE is a mystery. 
 
 A little friend of mine down, in the country, at Auvergne, 
 
i;6 FAN TINE. 
 
 said to me one day : " Victor, Love is the world it contains 
 everything." 
 
 She was only sixteen, this sharp-witted little girl, and a 
 beautiful blonde. She thought everything of me. 
 
 Fantine was one of those women who do wrong in the 
 most virtuous and touching manner. This is a peculiarity 
 of French grisettes. 
 
 You are an Englishman, and you don't understand. 
 Learn, my friend, learn. Come to Paris and improve your 
 morals 
 
 Fantine was the soul of modesty. She always wore high- 
 neck dresses. High-neck dresses are a sign of modesty. 
 
 Fantine loved Thomolyes. Why ? My God ! What are 
 you to do 1 It was the fault of her parents, and she hadn't 
 any. How shall you teach her 1 ? You must teach the 
 parent if you wish to educate the child. How would you 
 become virtuous 1 
 
 Teach your grandmother ! 
 
 WHEN Thorn olyes ran away from Fantine which was 
 done in a charming, gentlemanly manner Fantine became 
 convinced that a rigid sense of propriety might look upon 
 her conduct as immoral. She was a creature of sensitiveness 
 and her eyes were opened. 
 
 She was virtuous still, and resolved to break off the liaison 
 at once. 
 
 So she put up her wardrobe and baby in a bundle. Child 
 as she was, she loved them both. Then left Paris. 
 
 ti. 
 
 FANTITS T E'S native place had changed. 
 
 M. Madeline an angel, and inventor of jet-work, had 
 been teaching the villagers how to make spurious jet ! 
 
FANTINE. 177 
 
 This is a progressive age. Those Americans children of 
 the West they make nutmegs out of wood. 
 
 I, myself, have seen hams made of pine, in the wigwams 
 of those children of the forest. 
 
 But civilisation has acquired deception too. Society is 
 made up of deception. Even the best French society. 
 
 Still there was one sincere episode. 
 
 Eh? 
 
 The French Revolution ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 M. MADELINE was, if anything, better than Myriel. 
 
 M. Myriel was a saint. M. Madeline a good man. 
 
 M. Myriel was dead. M. Madeline was living. 
 
 That made all the difference. 
 
 M. Madeline made virtue profitable. I have seen it 
 written : 
 
 "Be virtuous and you will be happy." 
 
 Where did I see this written] In the modern Bible 1 ? 
 No. In the Koran 1 No. In Rousseau ? No. Diderot 1 
 No. Where then? 
 
 In a copy book. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 M. MADELINE was M. le Maire. , 
 
 This is how it came about. 
 
 For a long time he refused the honour. One day an old 
 woman, standing on the steps, said : 
 
 "Bah, a good mayor is a good thing. 
 
 " You are a good thing. 
 
 "Be a good mayor." 
 
 This woman was a rhetorician. She understood inductive 
 ratiocination. 
 
 IX. 
 
 WHEN this good M. Madeline, whom the reader will 
 derceive must have been a former convict, and a very bad 
 
 H 
 
178 TERENCE DEUVILLE. 
 
 man gave himself tip to justice as the real Jean Valjean ; 
 about this same time, Fantine was turned away from the 
 manufactory, and met with a number of losses from society. 
 Society attacked her, and this is what she lost : 
 
 First her lover. 
 
 Then her child. 
 
 Then her place. 
 
 Then her hair. 
 
 Then her teeth. 
 
 Then her liberty. 
 
 Then her life. 
 
 "What do you think of society after that ? I tell you the 
 present social system is a humbug. 
 
 x. 
 
 THIS is necessarily the end of Fantine. 
 
 There are other tilings that will be stated in other volumes 
 to follow. Don't be alarmed : there are plenty of miserable 
 people left. 
 
 Au revoir my friend. 
 
 TERENCE DEUVILLE. 
 
 BY CH-L-S L-V-R. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MY HOME. 
 
 little village of Pilwiddle is one of the smallest 
 and obscurest hamlets on the western coast of Ireland. 
 On a lofty crag, overlooking the hoarse Atlantic, stands 
 " Deuville's Shot Tower" a corruption by the peasantry of 
 D 'Eauvillds CMteau, so called from my great-grandfather, 
 Phelim St. Remy D'Euville, who assumed the name and 
 
TERENCE DEUVILLE. 179 
 
 title of a French heiress with whom he ran away. To this 
 fact my familiar knowledge and excellent pronunciation of 
 the French language may be attributed, as well as many of 
 the events which covered rny after life. 
 
 The Deuvilles were always passionately fond of field 
 sports. At the age of four, I was already the boldest rider 
 and the best shot in the country. When only eight, I won 
 the St. Remy Cup at the Pilwiddle races riding my 
 favourite bloodmare Hell/ire. As I approached the stand 
 amidst the plaudits of the assembled multitude, and cries 
 of " Thrue for ye, Masther Terence," and " Oh, but it's a 
 Diuville ! " there was a slight stir among the gentry, who 
 surrounded the Lord Lieutenant, and other titled personages 
 whom the race had attracted thither. " How young he is 
 a mere child ; and yet how noble looking," said a sweet, 
 low voice, which thrilled my soul. 
 
 I looked up and met the full liquid orbs of the Hon. 
 Blanche Fitzroy Sackville, youngest daughter of the Lord 
 Lieutenant. She blushed deeply. I turned pale and almost 
 fainted. But the cold, sneering tones of a masculine voice 
 sent the blood back again into my youthful cheek. 
 
 "Very likely the ragged scion of one of these banditti 
 Irish gentry, who has taken naturally to 'the road.' He 
 should be at school though I warrant me his knowledge 
 of Terence will not extend beyond his own name," said 
 Lord Henry Somerset, aide-de-camp to the Lord Lieu 
 tenant. 
 
 A moment and I was perfectly calm, though cold as iccv 
 Dismounting, and stepping to the side of the speaker, I said 
 in a. low, firm voice : 
 
 " Had your Lordship read Terence more carefully, you 
 would have learned that banditti are sometimes proficient in 
 other arts beside horsemanship," and I touched his holster 
 significantly with my hand. I had not read Terence my 
 self, but with the skilful audacity of my race I calculated 
 
 N 2 
 
iSo TERENCE DEUVILLE. 
 
 that a vague allusion, coupled with a threat, would em 
 barrass him. It did. 
 
 "Ah what mean you?" he said, white with rage. 
 
 "Enough, we are observed," I replied; "Father Tom 
 will wait on you this evening ; and to-morrow morning, 
 my lord, in the glen below Pilwiddle we will meet 
 again." 
 
 "Father Tom glen !" ejaculated the Englishman, with 
 genuine surprise. " What 1 do priests carry challenges and 
 act as seconds in your infernal country ?' 
 
 " Yes ! " I answered scornfully, " why should they not ? 
 Their services are more often necessary than those of a 
 surgeon," I added significantly, turning away. 
 
 The party slowly rode off, with the exception of the Hon. 
 Blanche Sackville, who lingered for a moment behind. In 
 an instant I was at her side. Bending her blushing face 
 over the neck of her white filly, she said hurriedly : 
 
 " Words have passed between Lord Somerset and your 
 self. You are about to fight. Don't deny it but hear me. 
 You will meet him I know your skill of weapons. He 
 will be at your mercy. I entreat you to spare his life ! " 
 
 I hesitated. "Never!" I cried passionately; "he has 
 insulted a Deuville ! " 
 
 " Terence," she whispered, " Terence -for my sake?" 
 
 The blood rushed to my cheeks at the loving epithets, 
 and her eyes sought the ground in bashful confusion. 
 
 " You love him then !" I cried, bitterly. 
 
 " No, no/' she said, agitatedly, " no, you do me wrong. 
 I I cannot explain myself. My father! the Lady 
 Dowager Sackville the estate of Sackville the borough 
 my uncle, Fitzroy Somerset. Ah? what am I saying? 
 Forgive me. Oh, Terence," she said, as her beautiful head 
 sank on my shoulder, " you know not what I suffer !" 
 
 I seized her hand and covered it with passionate kisses. 
 But the high-bred English girl, recovering something of her 
 
TERENCE DEUVILLE. igi 
 
 former hauteur, said hastily, " Leave me, leave me, but 
 promise !" 
 
 " I promise," I replied, enthusiastically : " I will spare his 
 life!" 
 
 " Thanks, Terence thanks !" and disengaging her hand 
 from my lips she rode rapidly away. 
 
 The next morning, the Hon. Capt. Henry Somerset and 
 myself exchanged nineteen shots in the glen, and at each 
 fire I shot away a button from his uniform. As my last 
 bullet shot off the last button from his sleeve, I remarked 
 quietly, " You seem now, my lord, to be almost as ragged as 
 the gentry you sneered at," and rode haughtily away. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FIGHTING FIFTY-SIXTH. 
 
 WHEN I was nineteen years old my father sold the Chdteau 
 d 'Euville and purchased my commission in the " Fifty-sixth' > 
 with the proceeds. " I say, Deuville," said young McSpad- 
 den, a boy-faced ensign, who had just joined, "you'll repre 
 sent the estate in the Army, if you won't in the House." 
 Poor fellow, he paid for his meaningless joke with his life, 
 for I shot him through the heart the next morning. " You're 
 a good fellow, Deuville," said the poor boy, faintly, as I 
 knelt beside him: "good-bye!" Eor the first time since 
 my grandfather's death I wept. I could not help thinking 
 that I would have been a better man if Blanche but why 
 proceed 1 Was she not now in Florence the belle of the 
 English Embassy ? 
 
 But Napoleon had returned from Elba. Europe was in 
 a blaze of excitement. The Allies were preparing to resist 
 the Man of Destiny. We were ordered from Gibraltar 
 home, and were soon again en route for Brussels. I did not 
 regret that I was to be placed in active service. .1 was am 
 bitious, and longed for an opportunity to distinguish myself. 
 
182 TERENCE DEUVILLE. 
 
 My garrison life in Gibraltar had been monotonous and dull. 
 I had killed five men in duel, and had an affair with the 
 colonel of my regiment, who handsomely apologised before 
 the matter assumed a serious aspect. I had been twice in 
 love. Yet these were but boyish freaks and follies. I 
 wished to be a man. 
 
 The time soon came the morning of Waterloo. But 
 why describe that momentous battle, on which the fate of 
 the entire world was hanging 1 Twice were the Fifty-sixth 
 surrounded by French cuirassiers, and twice did we mow 
 them down by our fire. I had seven horses shot under me, 
 and was mounting the eighth, when an orderly rode up 
 hastily, touched his cap, and handing me a despatch, gal 
 loped rapidly away. 
 
 I opened it hurriedly and read : 
 
 " LET PlCTON ADVANCE IMMEDIATELY ON THE EIGHT." 
 
 I saw it all at a glance. I had been mistaken for a general 
 officer. But what was to be done 1 Picton's division was 
 two miles away, only accessible through a heavy cross fire 
 of artillery and musketry. But my mind was made up. 
 
 In an instant I was engaged with an entire squadron of 
 cavalry, who endeavoured to surround me. Cutting my way 
 through them, I advanced boldly upon a battery and sabred 
 the gunners before they could bring their pieces to bear. 
 Looking around, I saw that I had in fact penetrated the 
 French centre. Before I was well aware of the locality, I 
 was hailed by a sharp voice in French : 
 
 " Come here, sir ! " 
 
 I obeyed, and advanced to the side of a little man in a 
 cocked hat. 
 
 " Has Grouchy come ] " 
 
 "Not yet, sire," I replied for it was the Emperor. 
 
 " Ha ! " he said suddenly, bending his piercing eyes on 
 my uniform ; " a prisoner ? " 
 
 "Kb, sire," I replied proudly. 
 
TERENCE DEUVILLE. 183 
 
 "A spy?" 
 
 1 placed my hand upon iny sword, but a gesture from the 
 Emperor made me forbear." 
 
 " You are a brave man," he said. 
 
 I took my snuff-box from my pocket, and taking a pinch, 
 replied by handing it, with a bow, to the Emperor. 
 
 His quick eye caught the cipher on the lid. 
 
 " What ! a Deuville ! " Ha ! this accounts for the purity 
 of your accent. Any relation to Roderick d'Euville 1 " 
 
 " My father, sire ! " 
 
 "He was my schoolfellow at the Ecole Poly technique. 
 Embrace me ! " and the Emperor fell upon my neck in the 
 presence of his entire stafl'. Then recovering himself, he 
 gently placed in my hand his own magnificent snuff-box, in 
 exchange for mine, and hanging upon my breast the cross of 
 the Legion of Honour which he took from his own, he bade 
 one of his marshals conduct me back to my regiment. 
 
 I was so intoxicated with the honour of which I had been 
 the recipient, that on reaching our lines I uttered a shout of 
 joy and put spurs to iny horse. The intelligent animal 
 seemed to sympathise with my feelings, and fairly flew over 
 the ground. On a rising eminence a few yards before me 
 stood a grey-haired officer, surrounded by his staff. I don't 
 know what possessed me, but putting spurs to my horse, I 
 rode at him boldly, and with one bound, cleared him, horse 
 and all. A shout of indignation arose from the assembled 
 staff. I wheeled suddenly, with the intention of apologising, 
 but my mare misunderstood me, and again dashing forward, 
 once more vaulted over the head of the officer, this time 
 unfortunately uncovering him by a vicious kick of her hoof. 
 " Seize him ! " roared the entire army. I was seized. As 
 the soldiers led me away, I asked the name of the grey- 
 haired officer. " That why that's the DUKE OF WELLING 
 TON!" 
 I fainted. 
 
1 84 THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 For six months I had brain fever. During my illness 
 the grapeshot were extracted from my body which I had 
 unconsciously received during the battle. When I opened 
 my eyes I met the sweet glance of a Sister of Mercy. 
 
 " Blanche ! " I stammered feebly. 
 
 " The same," she replied. 
 
 "You here?" 
 
 " Yes, dear ; but hush ! It's a long story. You, see, 
 dear Terence, your grandfather married my great-aimt's 
 sister, and your father again married my grandmother's niece, 
 who dying without a will, was, according to the French 
 
 " Bub I do not comprehend," I said. 
 
 "Of course not," said Blanche, with her old sweet smile; 
 " you've had brain fever ; so go to sleep." 
 
 I understood, however, that Blanche loved me ; and I am 
 now dear, dear reader, Sir Terence Sackville, K.C.B., and 
 Lady Blanche is Lady Sackville. 
 
 THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 BY SIR ED-D L-TT-N B-LW-R. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 THE PROMPTINGS OF THE IDEAL. 
 
 T T was noon. Sir Edward had stepped from his brougham 
 and was proceeding on foot down the Strand. He was 
 dressed with his usual faultless taste, but in alighting from 
 his vehicle his foot had slipped, and a small round disc of 
 conglomerated soil, which instantly appeared on his high 
 arched instep, marred the harmonious glitter of his boots. 
 Sir Edward was fastidious. Casting his eyes around, at a 
 little distance he perceived the stand of a youthful boot 
 black. Thither he sauntered, and carelessly placing his foot 
 
THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. 185 
 
 on the low stool, lie waited the application of the polisher's 
 art. "Tis true," said Sir Edward to himself, yet half 
 aloud, "the contact of the Foul and the Disgusting rnars the 
 general effect of the Shiny and the Beautiful and yet, why 
 am I here ? I repeat it, calmly and deliberately why am 
 I here ? Ha ! Boy ! " 
 
 The Boy looked up his dark Italian eyes glanced intel 
 ligently at the "Philosopher, and, as with one hand he tossed 
 back his glossy curls from his marble brow, and with the 
 other he spread the equally glossy Day and Martin over the 
 Baronet's boot, he answered in deep rich tones : " The Ideal 
 is subjective to the Real. The exercise of apperception 
 gives a distinctiveness to idiocracy, which is, however, sub 
 ject to the limits of ME. You are an admirer of the 
 Beautiful, sir. You wish your boots blacked. The Beau- 
 ful is attainable by means of the Coin." 
 
 "Ah," said Sir Edward thoughtfully, gazing upon the 
 almost supernal beauty of the Child before hinij "you speak 
 well. You have read Kant" 
 
 The Boy blushed deeply. He drew a copy of Kant from 
 his bosom, but in his confusion several other volumes dropped 
 from his bosom on the ground. The Baronet picked them up, 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Philosopher, " what's this ] Cicero's l)e 
 Senectute, and at your age, too 1 Martial's Epigrams, Ccesar's 
 Commentaries. What ! a classical scholar ? " 
 
 " E pluribus TJnum. Nux vomica. Nil desperandum. 
 ISTihil fit ! " said the Boy, enthusiastically. The Philosopher 
 gazed at the Child. A strange presence seemed to trans 
 fuse and possess him. Over the brow of the Boy glittered 
 the pale nimbus of the Student. 
 
 " Ah, and Schiller's Robbers, too 1 " queried the Philoso 
 pher. 
 
 " Das ist ausgespielt," said the Boy modestly. 
 
 " Then you have read my translation of Schiller's Ballads ? " 
 continued the Baronet, with some show of interest. 
 
1 86 THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 " I have, and infinitely prefer them to the original," said 
 the Boy with intellectual warmth. " You have shown how 
 in Actual life we strive for a Goal we cannot reach ; how in 
 the Ideal the Goal is attainable, and there effort is victory. 
 You have given us the Antithesis which is a key to the 
 Remainder, and constantly balances before us the conditions 
 of the Actual and the privileges of the Ideal." 
 
 " My very words," said the Baronet ; " wonderful, won 
 derful !" and he gazed fondly at the Italian boy, who again 
 resumed his menial employment. Alas ! the wings of the 
 Ideal were folded. The Student had been absorbed in the 
 Boy. 
 
 But Sir Edward's boots were blacked, and he turned to 
 depart. Placing his hand upon the clustering tendrils that 
 surrounded the classic nob of the infant Italian, he said 
 softly, like a strain of distant music : 
 
 " Boy, you have done well. Love the Good. Protect the 
 Innocent. Provide for The Indigent. Respect the Philo 
 sopher." ..." Stay ! Can you tell me what is The True? 
 The Beautiful, The Innocent, The Virtuous ?" 
 
 " They are things that commence with a capital letter," 
 said the Boy, promptly. 
 
 " Enough ! Respect everything that commences with a 
 capital letter ? Respect ME !" and dropping a halfpenny in 
 , the hand of the Boy, he departed. 
 
 The Boy gazed fixedly at the coin. A frightful and 
 instantaneous change overspread his features. His noble 
 brow was corrugated with baser lines of calculation. His 
 black eye, serpent-like, glittered with suppressed passion. 
 Dropping upon his hands and feet, he crawled to the curb 
 stone and hissed after the retreating form of the Baronet, the 
 single word : 
 
 "Bilk! 1 
 
THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. 187 
 BOOK II. 
 
 IN THE WORLD. 
 
 "ELEVEN years ago, said Sir Edward to himself, as his 
 brougham slowly rolled him toward the Committee Boom ; 
 "just eleven years ago my natural son disappeared mys 
 teriously. I have no doubt in the world but that this little 
 bootblack is he. His mother died in Italy. He resembles 
 his mother very much. Perhaps I ought to provide for him. 
 Shall I disclose myself? No ! no ! Better he should taste 
 the sweets of labour. Penury ennobles the mind and kindles 
 the Love of the Beautiful. I will act to him, nofc like a 
 Father, not like a Guardian, not like a Friend but like a 
 Philosopher !" 
 
 With these words, Sir Edward entered the Committee 
 Room. His Secretary approached him. " Sir Edward, there 
 are fears of a division in the House, and the Prime Minister 
 has sent for you." 
 
 " I will be there," said Sir Edward, as he placed his hand 
 on his chest and uttered a hollow cough ! 
 
 No one who heard the Baronet that night, in his sarcastic 
 and withering speech on the Drainage and Sewerage Bill, 
 would have recognised the lover of the Ideal and the Philo 
 sopher of the Beautiful. No one who listened to his eloquence 
 would have dreamed of the Spartan resolution this iron man 
 had taken in regard to the Lost Boy his own beloved 
 Lionel. None ! 
 
 " A fine speech from Sir Edward to-night," said Lord 
 Billingsgate, as, arm-in-arm with the Premier, he entered his 
 carriage. 
 
 " Yes ! but how dreadfully he coughs I" 
 
 " Exactly. Dr. Bolus says his lungs are entirely gone ; he 
 breathes solely by an effort of will, and altogether independent 
 of pulmonary assistance." 
 
 " How strange !" and the carriage rolled away. 
 
1 88 THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. 
 BOOK III. 
 
 THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD 
 
 " ADON Ai, appear ! appear !" 
 
 And as the Seer spoke, the awful Presence glided out of 
 Nothingness, and sat, sphinxlike, at the feet of the Alchemist. 
 
 " I am come !" said the Thing. 
 
 " You should say ' I have come ' it's better grammar," 
 said the Boy-Neophyte, thoughtfully accenting the substituted 
 expression. 
 
 " Hush, rash Boy," said the Seer sternly. " Would you 
 oppose your feeble knowledge to the infinite intelligence of 
 the Unmistakable "? A word, and you are lost for ever." 
 
 The Boy breathed a silent prayer, and handing a sealed 
 package to the Seer, begged him to hand it to his father in. 
 case of his premature decease. 
 
 " You have sent for me," hissed the Presence. " Behold 
 me, Apokatharticon the Unpronounceable. In me all 
 things exist which are not already co-existent. I am the 
 Unattainable, the Intangible, the Cause, and the Effect. In 
 me observe the Brahma of Mr. Emerson ; not only Brahma 
 himself, but also the sacred musical composition rehearsed by 
 the faithful Hindoo. I am the real Gyges. None others are 
 genuine." 
 
 And the veiled Son of the Starbeam laid himself loosely 
 about the room, and permeated Space generally. 
 
 " Unfathomable Mystery," said the Rosicrucian in a low, 
 sweet voice. " Brave Child with the Vitreous Optic ! Thou 
 who pervadest all things and rubbest against us without 
 abrasion of the cuticle. I command thee, speak !" 
 
 And the misty, intangible, indefinite Presence spoke. 
 
THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. 189 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 MYSELF. 
 
 AFTER the events related in the last chapter, the reader will 
 perceive that nothing was easier than to reconcile Sir Edward 
 to his son Lionel, nor to resuscitate the beautiful Italian girl, 
 who, it appears, was not dead, and to cause Sir Edward to 
 marry his first and boyish love whom he had deserted. They 
 were married in Sfc. George's, Hanover Square. As the bridal 
 party stood before the altar, Sir Edward, with a sweet, sad 
 smile, said, in quite his old manner : 
 
 " The Sublime and Beautiful are the Eeal ; the only Ideal 
 is the Ridiculous and Homely. Let us always remember 
 this. Let us through life endeavour to personify the virtues, 
 and always begin 'em with a capital letter. Let us, whenever 
 we can find an opportunity, deliver our sentiments in the 
 form of roundhaiid copies. Respect the Aged. Eschew 
 Vulgarity. Admire Ourselves. Regard the Novelist." 
 
 THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. 
 
 BY AL-X-D-R D-M-S. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SHOWING THE QUALITY OF THE CUSTOMERS OF THE INNKEEPER 
 OF PROVINS. 
 
 years afcer, the gigantic innkeeper of Provins 
 stood looking at a cloud of dusfc on the highway. 
 This cloud of dust betokened the approach of a traveller. 
 Travellers had been rare that season on the highway between 
 Paris and Provins, 
 
 The heart of the innkeeper rejoiced. Turning to Dame 
 Perigord, his wife, he said, stroking his white apron : 
 
 "St. Denis ! make haste and spread the cloth. Add a 
 
IQO THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. 
 
 bottle of Charlevoix to the table. This traveller, who rides 
 so fast, by his pace must be a Monseigneur." 
 
 Truly the traveller, clad in the uniform of a musketeer, 
 as he drew up to the door of the hostelry, did not seem to 
 have spared his horse. Throwing his reins to the landlord, 
 he leaped lightly to the ground. He was a young man of 
 four and twenty, and spoke with a slight Gascon accent. 
 
 " I am hungry. Morbleu ! I wish to dine ! " 
 
 The gigantic innkeeper bowed and led the way to a neat 
 apartment, where a table stood covered with tempting viands. 
 The musketeer at once set to work. Fowls, fish, and pates 
 disappeared before him. Perigord sighed as he witnes&ed 
 the devastation. Only once the stranger paused. 
 
 "Wine!" 
 
 Perigord brought wine. The stranger drank a dozen 
 bottles. Finally he rose to depart. Turning to the ex 
 pectant landlord, he said : 
 
 " Charge it." 
 
 " To whom, your highness 2 " said Perigord, anxiously. 
 
 " To his Eminence ! " 
 
 " Mazarin ! " ejaculated the innkeeper. 
 
 " The same. Bring me my horse," and the musketeer, 
 remounting his favourite animal, rode away. 
 
 The innkeeper slowly turned back into the inn. Scarcely 
 had he reached the courtyard, before the clatter of hoofs 
 again called him to the doorway. A musketeer of a light 
 and graceful figure rode up. 
 
 " Parbleu, my dear Perigord, I am famishing. What have 
 you got for dinner 2 " 
 
 " Venison, capons, larks and pigeons, your excellency," 
 replied the obsequious landlord, bowing to the ground. 
 
 " Enough ! " The young musketeer dismounted and 
 entered the inn. Seating himself at the table replenished 
 by the careful Perigord, he speedily swept it as clean as the 
 first comer. 
 
THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. 191 
 
 " Some wine, my brave Perigord," said the graceful young 
 musketeer, as soon as lie could find utterance. 
 
 Perigord brought three dozen of Charlevoix. The young 
 man emptied them almost at a draught. 
 
 " By-by," Perigord," he said lightly, waving his hand, as, 
 preceding the astonished landlord, he slowly withdrew. 
 
 " But, your highness the bill," said the astounded Peri 
 gord. 
 
 " Ah, the bill. Charge it ! " 
 
 " To whom 1 " 
 
 " The Queen ! " 
 
 < What, Madam?" 
 
 " The same. Adieu, my good Perigord," and the graceful 
 stranger rode away. An interval of quiet succeeded, in 
 which the inkeeper gazed woefully at his wife. Suddenly he 
 was startled by a clatter of hoofs, and an aristocratic figure 
 stood in the doorway. 
 
 "Ah," said the courtier good-naturedly. "What, do 
 my eyes deceive me 1 No, it is the festive and luxurious 
 Perigord. Perigord, listen. I famish. I languish I would 
 dine." 
 
 The innkeeper again covered the table with viands. 
 Again it was swept clean as the fields of Egypt before the 
 miraculous swarm of locusts. The stranger looked up. 
 
 " Bring me another fowl, my Perigord." 
 
 ' Imposible, your excellency, the larder is stripped clean." 
 
 " Another flitch of bacon, then." 
 
 " Impossible, your highness there is no more." 
 
 "Well, then, wine!" 
 
 The landlord brought one hundred and forty-four bottles. 
 The courtier drank them all. 
 
 " One may drink if one cannot eat," said the aristocratic 
 stranger, good-humouredly. 
 
 The innkeeper shuddered. 
 
 The guest rose to depart. The innkeeper came slowly for- 
 
192 THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. 
 
 ward with his bill, to which he had covertly added the losses 
 which he had suffered from the previous strangers. 
 
 " Ah ! the bill charge it." 
 
 " Charge it ! to whom ? " 
 
 " To the King," said the guest. 
 
 What ! his Majesty ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Farewell, Perigord." 
 
 The innkeeper groaned. Then he went out and took down 
 his sign. Then remarked to his wife : 
 
 "lam a plain man, and don't understand politics. It 
 seems, however, that the country is in a troubled state. Be 
 tween his Eminence the Cardinal, his Majesty the King, and 
 her Majesty the Queen, I am a ruined man." 
 
 " Stay," said Dame Perigord, " I have an idea." 
 
 " And that is " 
 
 " Become yourself a musketeer." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE COMBAT. 
 
 ON leaving Provins the first musketeer proceeded to 
 Nangis, where he was reinforced by thirty- three followers. 
 The second musketeer, arriving at Nangis at the same 
 moment, placed himself at the head of thirty-three more. 
 The third guest of the Landlord of Provins arrived at 
 iNangis in time to assemble together thirty-three other 
 mustketeers. 
 
 The first stranger led the troops of his Eminence. 
 
 The second led the troops of the Queen. 
 
 The third led the troops of the King. 
 
 The fight commenced. It raged terribly for seven hours. 
 The first musketeer killed thirty of the Queen's troops. The 
 second musketeer killed thirty of the King's troops. The 
 third musketeer killed thirty of his Eminence's troops. 
 
PENELOPE. SIMPSONS BAR, 1858. 
 
 1 Uou't you go, Jot. Or I'll faiut, sure I bluill." 
 
THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. 193 
 
 By this time it will be perceived tlie number of muske 
 teers had been narrowed down to four on each side. 
 
 Naturally the three principal warriors approached each 
 other. 
 
 They simultaneously uttered a cry : 
 
 " Araniis ! " 
 
 " Athos ! " 
 
 " D'Artagnan ! " 
 
 They fell into each other's arms. 
 
 " And it seems that we are fighting against each other, 
 my children," said the Count de la Fere, mournfully. 
 
 " How singular ! " exclaimed Aramis and D'Artagnan. 
 
 " Let us stop this fratricidal warfare," said Athos. 
 
 " We will ! " they exclaimed together. 
 
 '' But how to disband our followers? " queried D'Artagnan. 
 
 Aramis winked. They understood each other. " Let us 
 cut 'em down ! " 
 
 They cut 'em down. Aramis killed three. D'Artagnan 
 three. Athos three. 
 
 The friends again embraced. " How like old times ! " 
 said Aramis. " How touching ! " exclaimed the serious and 
 philosophic Count de la Fere. 
 
 The galloping of hoofs caused them to withdraw from 
 each other's embraces. A gigantic figure rapidly ap 
 proached. 
 
 " The innkeeper of Provins ! " they cried, drawing their 
 swords. 
 
 " Perigord, down with him ! " shouted D'Artagnan. 
 
 " Stay," said Athos. 
 
 The gigantic figure was beside them. He uttered a cry. 
 
 " Athos, Aramis, D'Artagnan ! " 
 
 " Porthos ! " exclaimed the astonished trio. 
 
 " The same." They all fell in each other's arms. 
 
 The Count de la Fere slowly raised his hand to Heaven. 
 " Bless you ! Bless us^ my children ! However different 
 
194 THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. 
 
 our opinions may be in regard to politics, we have but one 
 opinion in regard to our own merits. Where can you find a 
 better man than Aramis ? " 
 
 "Th'anPorthos?" said Aramis. 
 
 "Than D'Artagnan ? " said Porthos. 
 
 " Than Athos 2 " said D'Artagnan. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHOWING HOW THE KING OF FRANCE WENT UP A LADDER. 
 
 THE King descended into the garden. Proceeding cautiously 
 along the terraced walk, he came to the wall immediately 
 below the windows of Madame. To the left were two win 
 dows, concealed by vines. They opened into the apartments 
 of La Yalliere. 
 
 The King sighed. 
 
 " It is about nineteen feet to that window," said the King. 
 " If I had a ladder about nineteen feet long, it would reach 
 to that window. This is logic." 
 
 Suddenly the King stumbled over something. " St. 
 Denis !" he exclaimed, looking down. It was a ladder, just 
 nineteen feet long. 
 
 The King placed it against the wall. In so doing, he 
 fixed the lower end upon the abdomen of a man who lay con 
 cealed by the wall. The man did not utter a cry or wince. 
 The King suspected nothing. He ascended the ladder. 
 . The ladder was too short. Louis the Grand was not a tall 
 man. He was still two feet below the window. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the King. 
 
 Suddenly the ladder was lifted two feet from below. This 
 enabled the King to leap in the window. At the further 
 end of the apartment stood a young girl, with, red hair and a 
 lame leg. She was trembling with emotion. 
 
 "Louise!" 
 
 "The King!" 
 
THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN. 195 
 
 " Ah, my God, mademoiselle." 
 
 "All, my God, sire." 
 
 But a low knock at the door interrupted the lovers. The- 
 King uttered a cry of rage j Louise one of despair. 
 
 The door opened and D'Artagnan entered. 
 
 " Good evening, sire," said the musketeer. 
 
 The King touched a bell. Porthos appeared in the door 
 way. ,1 
 
 " Good evening, sire." 
 
 " Arrest M. D'Artagnan." 
 
 Porthos looked at D'Artagnan, and did not move. 
 
 The King almost turned purple with rage. He again 
 touched the bell. Athos entered. 
 
 " Count, arrest Porthos and D'Artagnan." 
 
 The Count de la Fere glanced at Porthos and D'Artagnan^ 
 and smiled sweetly. 
 
 " Sacre ! Where is Aramis 1 " said the King, violently. 
 
 " Here, sire," and Aramis entered. 
 
 " Arrest Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan." 
 
 Aramis bowed, and folded his arms. 
 
 " Arrest yourself ! " 
 
 Aramis did not move. 
 
 The King shuddered and turned pale. " Am I not King 
 of France ? " 
 
 " Assuredly, sire, but we are also severally Porthos, Ara 
 mis, D'Artagnan, and Athos." 
 
 "Ah!" said the King. 
 
 " Yes, sire." 
 
 " What does this mean 1 " 
 
 " It means, your majesty," said Aramis, stepping forward, 
 " that your conduct as a married man is highly improper. I 
 am an Abbe, and I object to these improprieties. My friends 
 here, D'Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos, pure-minded young 
 men, are also terribly shocked. Observe, sire, how they 
 blush !" 
 
 O 2 
 
196 MUCK-A-MUCK. 
 
 Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan blushed. 
 
 " Ah," said the King, thoughtfully. " You teach me a 
 lesson. You are devoted and noble young gentlemen, but 
 your only weakness is your excessive modesty. From this 
 moment I make you all Marshals and Dukes, with the excep 
 tion of Aramis." 
 
 " And me, sire ?" said Aramis. 
 
 " You shall be an Archbishop !" 
 
 The four friends looked up and then rushed into each 
 other's arms. The King embraced Louise de la Yalliere, by 
 way of keeping them company. A pause ensued. At last 
 Athos spoke : 
 
 " Swear, my children, that next to yourselves, you will 
 respect the King of France ; and remember that ' Forty 
 years after ' we will meet again." 
 
 MUCK-A-MUCK. 
 Jttotfcrn Enfctan $oi3cT 
 
 AFTER COOPER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T T was towards the close of a bright October day. The 
 last rays of the setting sun were reflected from one of those 
 sylvan lakes peculiar to the Sierras of California. On the 
 right the curling smoke of an Indian village rose between the 
 columns of the lofty pines, while to the left the log cottage 
 of Judge Tompkins, embowered in buckeyes, completed the 
 enchanting picture. 
 
 Although the exterior of the cottage was humble and un 
 pretentious, and in keeping with the wilduess of the .'and- 
 scape, its interior gave evidence of the cultivation and refine- 
 
MUCK-A-MUCK. 197 
 
 ment of its inmates. An aquarium, containing gold-fishes, 
 stood on a marble centre table at one end of the apartment, 
 while a magnificent grand piano occupied the other. The- 
 floor was covered with a yielding tapestry carpet, and the 
 walls were adorned with paintings from the pencils of Van 
 Dyke, Rubens, Tintoretto, Michael Angelo, and the produc 
 tions of the more modern Turner, Kensett, Church and Bier- 
 stadt. Although Judge Tompkins had chosen the frontiers 
 of civilisation as his home, it was impossible for him to en 
 tirely forego the habits and tastes of his former life. He was 
 seated in a luxurious arm-chair, writing at a mahogany ecri- 
 toire, while his daughter, a lovely young girl of seventeen 
 summers, plied her crochet needle on an ottoman beside him. 
 A bright fire of pine logs flickered and flamed on the ample 
 hearth. 
 
 Genevra Octavia Tompkins was Judge Tompkins's only 
 child. Her mother had long since died on the Plains. Reared 
 in affluence, no pains had been spared with the daughter's edu 
 cation. She was a graduate of one of the principal seminaries, 
 and spoke French with a perfect Benicia accent. Peerlessly 
 beautiful, she was dressed in a white moire antique robe 
 trimmed with tulle. That simple rosebud, with which most 
 heroines exclusively decorate their hair, was all she wore in 
 her raven locks. 
 
 The Judge was the first to break the silence 
 
 " Genevra, the logs which compose yonder fire seem to have 
 been incautiously chosen. The sibilatioii produced by the 
 sap, which exudes copiously therefrom, is not conducive to- 
 composition." 
 
 " True, father, but I thought it would be preferable to the 
 constant crepitation which is apt to attend the combustion 
 of more seasoned ligneous fragments." 
 
 The Judge looked admiringly at the intellectual features 
 of the graceful girl, and half forgot the slight annoyances of 
 the green wood in the musical accents of his daughter. He 
 
398 MUCK-A-MUCK. 
 
 was smoothing her hair tenderly, when the shadow of a tall 
 figure, which suddenly darkened the doorway, caused him to 
 look up. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IT needed but a glance at the new comer to detect at once 
 the form and features of the haughty aborigine the untaught 
 and untrammelled son of the forest. Over one shoulder a 
 "blanket, negligently but gracefully thrown, disclosed a bare 
 and powerful breast, decorated with a quantity of three cent 
 postage stamps which he had despoiled from an Overland 
 Mail stage a few weeks previous. A cast-off beaver of Judge 
 Tompkins's, adorned by a simple feather, covered his erect 
 head, from beneath which his straight locks descended. His 
 right hand hung lightly by his side, while his left was engaged 
 in holding on a pair of pantaloons, which the lawless grace 
 and freedom of his lower limbs evidently could not brook. 
 
 " Why," said the Indian, in a low sweet tone, " why does 
 the Pale Face still follow the track of the Red Man 1 Why 
 does he pursue him, even as 0-kee-choiv, the wild cat, chases 
 Ka-ka, the skunk 1 ? "Why are the feet of Sorrel-top, the 
 white chief, among the acorns of Muck-a-Muck, the mountain 
 forest 1 Why," he repeated, quietly but firmly, abstracting 
 a silver spoon from the table, " why do you seek to drive 
 him from the wigwams of his fathers ? His brothers are 
 already gone to the happy hunting grounds. Will the Pale 
 Face seek him there T And, averting his face from the 
 Judge, he hastily slipped a silver cake-basket beneath his 
 blanket, to conceal his emotion. 
 
 " Huck-a-Muck has spoken," said Geiievra softly. " Let 
 him now listen. Are the acorns of the mountain sweeter 
 than the esculent and nutritious bean of the Pale Face 
 miner ? Does my brother prize the edible qualities of the 
 snail above that of the crisp and oleaginous bacon 1 Delicious 
 .are the grasshoppers that sport on the hillside are they 
 
MUCK-A-MUCK. 199 
 
 better than the dried apples of the Pale Faces 1 Pleasant is 
 the gurgle of the torrent, Kisli-Kish, but is it better than the 
 cluck-cluck of Bourbon brandy from the old stone bottle V 
 
 "Ugh!" said the Indian, " TJgh ! good. The White 
 Babbit is wise. Her words fall as the snow on Tootoonolo, 
 and the rocky heart of Muck-a-Muck is hidden. What says 
 my brother the Gray Gopher of Dutch Flat ?" 
 
 " She has spoken, Muck-a-Muck," said the Judge, gazing 
 fondly on his daughter. " It is well. Our treaty is con 
 cluded. No, thank you you need not dance the dance of 
 Snow Shoes, or the Moccasin Dance, the Dance of Green 
 Corn, or the Treaty Dance. I would be alone. A strange 
 sadness overpowers me." 
 
 " I go," said the Indian. " Tell your great chief in Wash 
 ington, the Sachem Andy, that the Red Man is retiring 
 before the footsteps of the adventurous Pioneer. Inform 
 him, if you please, that westward the star of empire takes its 
 way, that the chiefs of the Pi-Ute nation are for Reconstruc 
 tion to a man, and that Klamath will poll a heavy Republican 
 vote in the fall." 
 
 And folding his blanket more tightly around him, Muck-a- 
 Muck withdrew. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GENEVRA TOMPKINS stood at the door of the log cabin, look 
 ing after the retreating Overland Mail stage which conveyed 
 her father to Virginia City. " He may never return again," 
 sighed the young girl as she glanced at the frightfully rolling 
 vehicle and wildly careering horses " at least, with unbroken 
 bones. Should he meet with an accident ! I mind me now 
 a fearful legend, familiar to my childhood. Can it be that 
 the drivers on this line are privately instructed to despatch 
 all passengers maimed by accident, to prevent tedious litiga 
 tion 1 No, no. But why this weight upon my heart ? " 
 She seated herself at the piano and lightly passed her hand 
 
200 MUCK-A-MUCK. 
 
 over the keys. Then, in a, clear mezzo-soprano voice, she 
 sang the first verse of one of the popular Irish ballads : 
 
 "O Arrah, ma dhedish, the distant dudheen * 
 Lies soft in the moonlight, ma bouckal vourneen : 
 The springing gossoons on the heather are still, 
 And the caubeens and colleens are heard on the hills." 
 
 But as the ravishing notes of her sweet voice died upon the 
 air, her hand sank listlessly to her side. Music could not 
 chase away the mysterious shadow from her heart. Again 
 she rose. Putting on a white crape bonnet, and carefully 
 drawing a pair of lemon-coloured gloves over her taper 
 fingers, she seized her parasol and plunged into the depths of 
 the pine forest. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GENEVRA had not proceeded many miles before a weariness 
 seized upon her fragile limbs, and she would fain seat herself 
 upon the trunk of a prostrate pine, which she previously 
 dusted with her handkerchief. The sun was just sinking 
 below the horizon, and the scene was one of gorgeous and 
 sylvan beauty. " How beautiful is Nature," murmured the 
 innocent girl, as, reclining gracefully against the root of the 
 tree, she gathered up her skirts and tied her handkerchief 
 around her throat. But a low growl interrupted her medi 
 tation. Starting to her feet, her eyes met a sight which 
 froze her blood with terror. 
 
 The only outlet to the forest was the narrow path, barely 
 wide enough for a single person, hemmed in by trees and 
 rocks, which she had just traversed. Down this path, in 
 Indian file, came a monstrous grizzly, closely followed by a 
 California lion, a wild cat, and a buffalo, the rear being 
 brought up by a wild Spanish bull. The mouths of the three 
 first animals were distended with frightful significance ; the 
 horns of the last were lowered as ominously. As Genevra 
 was preparing to faint, she heard a low voice behind her. 
 
MUCK-A-MUCK. 201 
 
 " Eternally clog-gone* my skin ef this ain't the puttiest 
 chance yet." 
 
 At the same moment, a long, shining barrel dropped 
 lightly from behind her, and rested over her shoulder. 
 Genevra shuddered. 
 
 " Burn ye don't move !" 
 
 Genevra became motionless. 
 
 The crack of a rifle rang through the woods. Three 
 frightful yells were heard, and two sullen roars. Five 
 animals bounded into the air and five lifeless bodies lay upon 
 the plain. The well-aimed bullet had done its work. Enter 
 ing the open throat of the grizzly, it had traversed his body, 
 only to enter the throat of the California lion, and in like 
 manner the catamount, until it passed through into the 
 respective foreheads of the bull and the buffalo, and finally 
 fell flattened from the rocky hillside. 
 
 " Genevra turned quickly. " My preserver ! " she shrieked, 
 and fell into the arms of Natty Bumpo the celebrated Pike 
 Hanger of Donner Lake. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE moon rose cheerfully above Donner Lake. On its placid 
 bosom a dug-out canoe glided rapidly, containing Natty 
 Bumpo and Genevra Tompkins. 
 
 Both were silent. The same thought possessed each, and 
 perhaps there was sweet companionship even in the unbroken 
 quiet. Genevra -bit the handle of her parasol and blushed. 
 Natty Bumpo took a fresh chew of tobacco. At length 
 Genevra said, as if in half-spoken reverie : 
 
 " The soft shining of the moon and the peaceful ripple of 
 the waves seem to say to us various things of an instructive 
 and moral tendency." 
 
 * A euphemism common with the men of the West, and equal to 
 the English "Oil rat it," or " Gol darn." 
 
202 MUCK-A-MUCK. 
 
 " You may bet yer pile"* on that, Miss/' said her com 
 panion gravely. " It's all the preachin' and psalm- singin 
 I've heern since I was a boy." 
 
 "Noble being !" said Miss Tompkins to herself, glancing 
 at the stately Pike as he bent over his paddle to conceal his 
 emotion. " Reared in this wild seclusion, yet he has become 
 penetrated with visible consciousness of a Great First Cause." 
 Then, collecting herself, she said aloud : " Methinks 'twere 
 pleasant to glide ever thus down the stream of life, hand in 
 hand with the one being whom the soul claims as its affinity. 
 But what am I saying ]" and the delicate -minded girl hid 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 A long silence ensued, which was at length broken by her 
 companion. 
 
 " Ef you mean you're on the marry," he said thoughtfully, 
 tl I ain't in no wise partikler ! " 
 
 " My husband," faltered the blushing girl ; and she fell 
 into his arms. 
 
 In ten minutes more the loving couple had landed at 
 Judge Tompkins's. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A YEAR has passed away. Natty Bumpo was returning from 
 Gold Hill, where he had been to purchase provisions. On 
 his way to Donner Lake, rumours of an Indian uprising met 
 his ears. " Dern their pesky skins, ef they dare to touch my 
 Jenny," he muttered between his clenched teeth. 
 
 It was dark when he reached the borders of the lake. 
 Around a glittering fire he dimly discerned dusky figures 
 dancing. They were in war paint. Conspicuous among 
 them was the renowned Muck-a-Muck. But why did the 
 fingers of Natty Bumpo tighten convulsively around his 
 rifle? 
 
 * I.e., pile of money. 
 
MUCK-A-MUCK. 203 
 
 The chief held in his hand long tufts of raven hair. The 
 heart of the pioneer sickened as he recognised the clustering 
 curls of Genevra. In a moment his rifle was at his shoulder, 
 and with a sharp " ping," Muck-a-Muck leaped into the air 
 a corpse. To dash out the brains of the remaining savages, 
 tear the tresses from the stiffening hand of Muck-a-Muck, 
 and dash rapidly forward to the cottage of Judge Tompkins, 
 was the work of a moment. 
 
 He burst open the door. Why did he stand transfixed with 
 open mouth and distended eyeballs 1 Was the sight too hor 
 rible to be borne 1 On the contrary, before him, in her peerless 
 beauty, stood Genevra Tompkins, leaning on her father's arm. 
 
 " Ye'r not scalped, then !'' gasped her lover. 
 
 " No. I have no hesitation in saying that I am not ; but 
 why this abruptness ? " responded Genevra. 
 
 Bumpo could not speak, but frantically produced the silken 
 tresses. Genevra turned her face aside. 
 
 " Why, that's her chignon," said the Judge. 
 
 Bumpo sank fainting on the floor. 
 
 The famous Pike chieftain never recovered from the deceit, 
 and refused to marry Genevra, who died, twenty years after 
 wards, of a broken heart. Judge Tompkins lost his fortune 
 in Wild Cat. The stage passes twice a week the deserted 
 cottage at Donner Lake. Thus was the death of Muck-a- 
 Muck avenged. 
 
204 MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. 
 
 MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. 
 A NAVAL OFFICER. 
 
 DY CAPTAIN M-RRY-T, R.N. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TV /IT Y father was a north-country surgeon. He had retired, 
 **, widower, from Her Majesty's navy many years before, 
 and had a small practice in his native village. When I was 
 seven years old he employed me to carry medicines to his 
 patients. Being of a lively disposition, I sometimes amused 
 myself, during my daily rounds, by mixing the contents of the 
 different phials. Although I had no reason to doubt that the 
 general result of this practice was beneficial, yet, as the death 
 of a consumptive curate followed the addition of a strong 
 mercurial lotion to his expectorant, my father concluded to 
 withdraw me from the profession and send me to school. 
 
 Grubbins, the schoolmaster, was a tyrant, and it was not 
 long before my impetuous and self-willed nature rebelled 
 against his authority. I soon began to form plans of revenge. 
 In this T was assisted by Tom Snaffle a school-fellow. One 
 day Tom suggested : 
 
 " Suppose we blow him up. I've got two pounds of 
 powder !" 
 
 " No, that's too noisy," I replied. 
 Tom was silent for a minute, and again spoke : 
 " You remember how you flattened out the curate, Pills 1 
 Couldn't you give Grubbins something something to make 
 him leathery sick eh 1" 
 
 A flash of inspiration crossed my mind. I went to the 
 shop of the village apothecary. He knew me ; I had often 
 purchased vitrol, which I poured into Grubbins's inkstand to 
 corrode his pens and burn up his coat-tail, on which he was 
 in the habit of wiping them. I boldly asked for an ounce of 
 
MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. 20$ 
 
 chloroform. The young apothecary winked and handed me 
 the bottle. 
 
 It was Grubbins's custom to throw his handkerchief over 
 his head, recline in his chair, and take a short nap during 
 recess. Watching my opportunity, as he dozed, I managed 
 to slip his handkerchief from his face and substitute my own, 
 moistened with chloroform. In a few minutes he was insen 
 sible. Tom and I then quickly shaved his head, beard, and 
 eyebrows, blackened his face with a mixture of vitriol and 
 burnt cork, and fled. There was a row and scandal the 
 next clay. My father always excused me by asserting that 
 Grubbins had got drunk but somehow found it convenient 
 to procure me an appointment in Her Majesty's navy at an 
 early day. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN official letter, with the Admiralty seal, informed me that 
 I was expected to join H.M. ship Belcher, Captain Boltrope, 
 at Portsmouth, without delay. In a few days I presented 
 myself to a tall, stern- visaged man, who was slowly pacing 
 the leeward side of the quarter-deck. As I touched my hat 
 he eyed me sternly : 
 
 " So ho ! Another young suckling. The service is going 
 to the devil. Nothing but babes in the cockpit and grannies in 
 the board. Boatswain's mate, pass the word for Mr. Cheek ! " 
 
 Mr. Cheek, the steward, appeared and touched his hat. 
 " Introduce Mr. Breezy to the young gentlemen. Stop ! 
 Where's Mr. Swizzle?" 
 
 " At the masthead, sir." 
 
 "Where's Mr. Lankey ?" 
 
 " At the masthead, sir." 
 
 "Mr. BriggsT 
 
 "Masthead, too, sir." 
 
 " And the rest of the young gentlemen ? " roared tho 
 enraged officer. 
 
206 MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. 
 
 " All masthead, sir." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Captain Boltrope, as he smiled grimly, 
 "under the circumstances, Mr. Breezy, you had better go to 
 the masthead too." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT the masthead I made the acquaintance of two youngsters 
 of about my own age, one of whom informed me that he had 
 been there 332 days out of the year. 
 
 " In rough weather, when the old cock is out of sorts, you 
 know, we never come down," added a young gentleman of 
 nine years, with a dirk nearly as long as himself, who had 
 been introduced to me as Mr. Briggs. " By the way, Pills," 
 he continued, " how did you come to omit giving the captain 
 a naval salute ?" 
 
 " "Why, I touched my hat," I said, innocently. 
 " Yes, but that isn't enough, you know. That will do 
 very well at other times. He expects the naval salute when 
 you first come on board greeny ! " 
 
 I began to feel alarmed, and begged him to explain. 
 " Why, you see, after touching your hat, you should have 
 touched him lightly with your forefinger ill his waistcoat, so, 
 and asked, ' How's his nibs 1 ' you see ? " 
 " How's his nibs f ' I repeated. 
 
 " Exactly. He would have drawn back a little, and then 
 you should have repeated the salute, remarking, ' How's his 
 royal nibs ? ' asking cautiously after his wife and family, and 
 requesting to be introduced to the gunner's daughter." 
 v " The gunner's daughter 1 " 
 
 " The same ; you know she takes care of us young gentle 
 men ; now don't forget, Pillsy !" 
 
 When we were called down to the deck I thought it a 
 good chance to profit by this instruction. I approached 
 Captain Boltrope and repeated the salute without conscien* 
 
MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. 207 
 
 tiously omitting a single detail. He remained for a moment 
 livid and speechless. At length he gasped out : 
 
 " Boatswain's mate ! " 
 
 " If yon please, sir," I asked, tremulously, " I should like 
 to be introduced to the gunner's daughter ! " 
 
 " 0, very good, sir ! " screamed Captain Boltrope, rubbing 
 his hands and absolutely capering about the deck with rage. 
 " O d n you ! Of course you shall ! ho ! the gunner's 
 daughter ! O, h 11 ! this is too much ! Boatswain's mate !" 
 Before I well knew where I was, I was seized, borne to an 
 eight-pounder, tied upon it and flogged ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 As we sat together in the cockpit, picking the weevils out of 
 our biscuit, Briggs consoled me for my late mishap, adding 
 that the "naval salute," as a custom, seemed just then to be 
 honoured more in the breach than the observance. I joined 
 in the hilarity occasioned by the witticism, and in a few 
 moments we were all friends. Presently Swizzle turned to 
 me : 
 
 " We have been just planning how to confiscate a keg of 
 claret, which Nips, the purser, keeps under his bunk. The 
 old nipcheese lies there drunk half the day, and there's no 
 getting at it." 
 
 " Let's get beneath the state-room, and bore through the 
 deck, and so tap it," said Lankey. 
 
 The proposition was received with a shout of applause. A 
 long half-inch auger and bit was procured from Chips, the 
 carpenter's mate, and Swizzle, after a careful examination of 
 the timbers beneath the wardroom, commenced operations. 
 The auger at last disappeared, when suddenly there was a 
 slight disturbance on the deck above. Swizzle withdrew 
 the auger hurriedly j from its point a few bright red drops 
 trickled. 
 
208 MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. 
 
 " Huzza ! send her up again ! " cried Lankey. 
 
 The auger was again applied. This time a shriek was 
 heard from the purser's cabin. Instantly the light was 
 doused, and the party retreated hurriedly to the cockpit. 
 A sound of snoring was heard as the sentry stuck his head 
 into the door. " All right, sir," he replied in answer to the 
 voice of the officer of the deck. 
 
 The next morning we heard that Nips was in the surgeon's 
 hands, with a bad wound in the fleshy part of his leg, and 
 that the auger had not struck claret. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Now, Pills, you'll have a chance to smell powder," said 
 Briggs as he entered the cockpit and buckled around his 
 waist an enormous cutlass. " We have just sighted a French 
 ship." 
 
 We went 011 deck. Captain Boltrope grinned as we 
 touched our hats. He hated the purser. "Come, young 
 gentlemen, if you're boring for French claret, yonder 's a 
 good quality. Mind your con, sir," he added, turning to the 
 quartermaster, who was grinning. 
 
 The ship was already cleared for action. The men, in 
 their eagerness, had started the coffee from the tubs and 
 filled them with shot. Presently the Frenchman yawed, and 
 a shot from a long thirty-two came skipping over the water. 
 It killed the quartermaster and took off both of Lankey's 
 legs. " Tell the purser our account is squared," said the 
 dying boy, with a feeble smile. 
 
 The fight raged fiercely for two hours. I remember kill 
 ing the French Admiral, as we boarded, but on looking 
 around for Briggs, after the smoke had cleared away, I was 
 intensely amused at witnessing the following novel sight : 
 
 Briggs had pinned the French captain against the mast 
 with his cutlass, and was now engaged, with all the hilarity 
 
THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS. 
 
 My name is Truthful James." 
 
 1 The rare animal re-constructed." 
 
 *' lirown of Calaveras, and his fossil bones." " Jones says the bones are those 
 
 of his lost mule." 
 
 1 The proceedings of that Society beautiful 
 to see." 
 
 Brown says, " Yes, from Jones' 
 family vault." 
 
MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. 209 
 
 of youth, in pulling the captain's coat-tails between his legsy 
 in imitation of a dancing-jack. As the Frenchman lifted his; 
 legs and arms, at each jerk of Briggs's, I could not help 
 participating in the general mirth. 
 
 " You young devil, what are you doing ? " said a stifled 
 voice behind me. I looked up and beheld Captain Boltrope, 
 endeavouring to calm his stern features, but the twitching 
 around his mouth betrayed his intense enjoyment of tha 
 scene. "Go to the masthead up with you, sir!" he re 
 peated sternly to Briggs. 
 
 " Yery good, sir," said the boy, coolly preparing to mount 
 the shrouds. " Good-bye, Johnny Crapaud. Humph ! " he 
 added, in a tone intended for my ear, " a pretty way to treat 
 a hero the service is going to the devil 1 " 
 
 I thought so too. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WE were ordered to the West Indies. Although Captain 
 Boltrope's manner toward me was still severe and even^ 
 harsh, I understood that my name had been favourably 
 mentioned in the despatches. 
 
 Reader, were you ever at Jamaica 1 If so, you remember 
 the negresses, the oranges, Port Royal Tom the yellow 
 fever. After being two weeks at the station, I was taken 
 sick of the fever. In a month I was delirious. During my 
 paroxysms, I had a wild distempered dream of a stern face- 
 bending anxiously over my pillow, a rough hand smoothing 
 my hair, and a kind voice saying : 
 
 " B'ess his 'ittle heart ! Did he have the naughty fever !' r ' 
 This face seemed again changed to the well-known stern 
 features of Captain Boltrope. 
 
 When I was convalescent, a packet edged in black wa& 
 put in my hand. It contained the news of my father's 
 death, and a sealed letter which he had requested to ba 
 
210 MR MIDSHIPMAN BREEZY. 
 
 given to me on his decease. I opened it tremblingly. It 
 read thus : 
 
 " MY DEAR BOY, I regret to inform you that in all 
 probability you are not my son. Your mother, I am 
 grieved to say. was a highly improper person. Who your 
 father may be I really cannot say, but perjiaps the Honour 
 able Henry Boltrope, Captain R. IS"., may be able to inform 
 you. Circumstances over which I have 110 control have 
 deferred this important disclosure. 
 
 "YouR STRICKEN PARENT." 
 
 And so Captain Boltrope was my father. Heavens ! 
 Was it a dream 1 I recalled his stern manner, his obser 
 vant eye, his ill-concealed uneasiness when in my presence. 
 I longed to embrace him. Staggering to my feet, I rushed 
 in my scanty apparel to the deck, where Captain Boltrope 
 was just then engaged in receiving the Governor's wife and 
 daughter. The ladies shrieked ; the youngest, a beautiful 
 girl, blushed deeply. Heeding them not, 1 sank at his feet, 
 and embracing them, cried : 
 
 "My father!" 
 
 " Chuck him overboard ! " roared Captain Boltrope. 
 
 "Stay," pleaded the soft voice of Clara Maitland, the 
 Governor's daughter. 
 
 " Shave his head ! he's a wretched lunatic ! " continued 
 Captain Boltrope, while his voice trembled with excite 
 ment. 
 
 " No, let me nurse and take care of him," said the lovely 
 girl, blushing as she spoke. " Mamma, can't we take him 
 home ? " 
 
 The daughter's pleading was not without effect. In the 
 meantime I had fainted. When I recovered my senses I 
 lound myself in Governor Maitland's mansion. 
 
MR. MIDSHIPMAN BREEZ Y. 2 1 1 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE reader will guess what followed. I fell deeply in love 
 with Clara Maitland, to whom I confided the secret of my 
 birth. The generous girl asserted that she had detected the 
 superiority of my manner at once. We plighted our troth, 
 and resolved to wait upon events. 
 
 Briggs called to see me a few days afterward. He said 
 that the purser had insulted the whole cockpit, and all the 
 midshipmen had called him out. But he added thought 
 fully : "I don't see how we can arrange the duel. You see 
 there are six of us to fight him." 
 
 " Very easily," I replied. "Let your fellows all stand in 
 a row, and take his fire ; that, you see, gives him six chances 
 to one, and he must be a bad shot if he can't hit one of you; 
 while, on the other hand, you see, he gets a volley from you. 
 six, and one of you'll be certain to fetch him." 
 
 " Exactly ; " and away Briggs went, but soon returned to 
 say that the purser had declined " like a d d coward," he 
 added. 
 
 But the news of the sudden and serious illness of Captain 
 Boltrope put off the duel. I hastened to his bedside, but 
 too late an hour previous he had given up the ghost. 
 
 I resolved to return to England. I made known the 
 secret of my birth, and exhibited my adopted father's letter 
 to Lady Maitland, who at once suggested my marriage with 
 her daughter, before I returned to claim the property. "We 
 were married, and took our departure next day. 
 
 I made no delay in posting at once, in company with my 
 wife and my friend Briggs, to my native village. Judge of 
 my horror and surprise when my late adopted father came 
 out of his shop to welcome me. 
 
 " Then you are not dead ! " I gasped. 
 
 " No, my dear boy." 
 
 " And this letter 1. " 
 
212 GUY HEA VYSTONE. 
 
 My father as I must still call him glanced on the paper, 
 and pronounced it a forgery. Briggs roared with laughter. 
 I turned to him and demanded an explanation. 
 
 " Why, don't you see, greeny, it's all a joke a midship 
 man's joke ! " 
 
 "But "I asked. 
 
 " Don't be a fool. You've got a good wife be satisfied." 
 
 I turned to Clara, and was satisfied. Although Mrs. 
 Maitland never forgave me, the jolly old Governor laughed 
 heartily over the joke, and so well used his influence that I 
 soon became, dear reader, Admiral Breezy, K.C.B. 
 
 GUY HEAVYSTONE; 
 
 OR, "ENTIRE." 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " SWORD AND GUN." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 " Nerei repandirostrum incurvicervicum pecus." 
 
 A DINGY, swashy, splashy afternoon in October ; a 
 school-yard filled with a mob of riotous boys. A lot 
 of us standing outside. 
 
 Suddenly came a dull, crashing sound from the school 
 room. At the ominous interruption I shuddered involun 
 tarily, and called to Sniithsye : 
 
 "What's up, Smithums?" 
 
 " Guy's cleaning out the fourth form," he replied. 
 
 At the same moment George de Coverly passed me, 
 holding his nose, from whence the bright Norman blood 
 streamed redly. To him the plebeian Smithsye laughingly : 
 
 "Cully! how's his nibs ?" 
 
GUY HE A VYSTONE. 2 1 3 
 
 I pushed the door of the school- room open. There are 
 some spectacles which a man never forgets. The burning of 
 Troy probably seemed a large-sized conflagration to the pious 
 .^Eneas, and made an impression on him which he carried 
 away with the feeble Anchises. 
 
 In the centre of the room, lightly brandishing the piston- 
 rod of a steam-engine, stood Guy lieavystone alone. I say 
 alone, for the pile of small boys on the floor in the corner 
 could hardly be called company. 
 
 I will try and sketch him for the reader. Guy Heavy- 
 stone was then only fifteen. His broad, deep chest, his 
 sinewy and quivering flank, his straight pastern showed him 
 to be a thorough-bred. Perhaps he was a trifle heavy in the 
 fetlock, but he held his head haughtily erect. His eyes were 
 glittering but pitiless. There was a sternness about the 
 lower part of his face the old Heavystone look a stern 
 ness heightened, perhaps, by the snaffle-bit which, in one of 
 his strange freaks, he wore in his mouth to curb his occa 
 sional ferocity. His dress was well adapted to his square-set 
 and Herculean frame. A striped knit undershirt, close-fitting 
 striped tights, and a few spangles set off his figure ; a neat 
 Glengarry cap adorned his head. On it was displayed the 
 Heavystone crest, a cock regardant on a dunghill or, and the 
 motto, " Devil a better ! " 
 
 I thought of Horatius on the bridge, of Hector before the 
 walls. I always make it a point to think of something 
 classical at such times. 
 
 He saw me, and his sternness partly relaxed. Something 
 like a smile struggled through his grim lineaments. It was 
 like looking on the Jungfrau after having seen Mont Blanc 
 a trifle, only a trifle less sublime and awful. Resting his 
 hand lightly on the shoulder of the head-master, who 
 shuddered and collapsed under his touch, he strode toward 
 me. 
 
 His walk was peculiar. You could not call it a stride. 
 
214 GUY HEA VYSTONE. 
 
 It was like the " crest-tossing Bellerophon " a kind of 
 prancing gait. Guy Heavystone pranced toward me. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Lord Lovel lie stood at the garden gate, 
 A-combing his milk-white steed." 
 
 IT was the winter of 186- when I next met Guy Heavystone. 
 He had left the University and had entered the 76th 
 "Heavies." "I have exchanged the gown for the sword, 
 you see," he said, grasping my hand, and fracturing the bones 
 of my little finger,as he shook it. 
 
 I gazed at him with unmixed admiration. He was 
 squarer, sterner, and in every way smarter and more 
 remarkable than ever. I began to feel toward this man as 
 Phalaster felt towards Phyrgino, as somebody must have felt 
 toward Archididascalus, as Boswell felt towards Johnson. 
 
 " Come into my den," he said, and lifting me gently by 
 the seat of my pantaloons, he carried me up-stairs and 
 deposited me, before I could apologise, on the sofa. I looked 
 around the room. It was a bachelor's apartment, character 
 istically furnished in the taste of the proprietor. A few 
 claymores and battle-axes were ranged against the wall, and 
 a culverin, captured by Sir Ralph Heavystone, occupied the 
 corner, the other end of the room being taken up by a light 
 battery. Foils, boxing-gloves, saddles, and fishing-poles lay 
 around carelessly. A small pile of billets-doux lay upon a silver 
 salver. The man was not an anchorite, nor yet a Sir Galahad. 
 
 I never could tell what Guy thought of women. " Poor 
 little beasts," he would often say when the conversation 
 turned on any of his fresh conquests. Then, passing his 
 hand over his marble brow, the old look of stern fixedness* 
 of purpose and unflinching severity would straighten the 
 lines of his mouth, and he would mutter, half to himself, 
 "'Sdeath!" 
 
GUY HEA VYSTONE. 215 
 
 "Come with me to Heavystone Grange. The Exmoor 
 Hounds throw off to-morrow. I'll give you a mount," he 
 said, as he amused himself by rolling up a silver candlestick 
 between his fingers. " You shall have Cleopatra. But stay," 
 he added, thoughtfully ; " now I remember, I ordered 
 Cleopatra to be shot this morning." 
 
 " And why ] " I queried. 
 
 " She threw her rider yesterday and fell on him " 
 
 "And killed him?" 
 
 " No. That's the reason why I have ordered her to be 
 shot. I keep no animals that are not dangerous I 
 should add deadly ! " He hissed the last sentence between 
 his teeth, and a gloomy frown descended over his calm 
 brow. 
 
 I affected to turn over the tradesmen's bills that lay on 
 the table ; for, like all of the Heavystone race, Guy seldom 
 paid cash, and said : 
 
 " You remind me of the time when Leonidas " 
 
 "0, bother Leonidas and your classical allusions. 
 Come!" 
 
 We descended to dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " He carries weight, he rides a race, 
 'Tis for a thousand pound." 
 
 "THERE is Flora Billingsgate, the greatest coquette and 
 hardest rider in the country," said my companion, Ralph 
 Mortmain, as we stood upon Dingleby Common before the 
 meet. 
 
 I looked up and beheld Guy Heavystone bending 
 haughtily over the saddle, as he addressed a beautiful 
 brunette. She was indeed a splendidly-groomed and high- 
 spirited woman. We were near enough to overhear the 
 following conversation, which any high-toned reader will 
 
Z2 16 GUY HE A VYSTONE. 
 
 recognise as the common and natural expression of the 
 iiigher classes. 
 
 "When Diana takes the field the chase is not wholly 
 confined to objects ferae, naturce" said Guy, darting a 
 significant glance at his companion. .Flora did not shrink 
 either from the glance or the meaning implied in the 
 sarcasm. 
 
 "If I were looking for an Endymion, now," she said 
 archly, as she playfully cantered over a few hounds and 
 leaped a five-barred gate. 
 
 Guy whispered a few words, inaudible to the rest of the 
 party, and curvetting slightly, cleverly cleared two of the 
 huntsmen in a flying leap, galloped up the front steps of the 
 mansion, and dashing at full speed through the hall, leaped 
 through the drawing-room window and rejoined me, languidly, 
 on the lawn. 
 
 " Be careful of Flora Billingsgate," he said to me, in low 
 stern tones, while his pitiless eye shot a baleful fire. 
 M Gardez vous ! " 
 
 " Gnothi seauton" I replied calmly, not wishing to appear 
 to be behind him in perception or verbal felicity. 
 
 Guy started off in high spirits. He was well carried. He 
 and the first whip, a ten-stone man, were head and head at 
 the last fence, while the hounds were rolling over their fox, 
 a hundred yards farther in the open. 
 
 But an unexpected circumstance occurred. Coming back, 
 liis chestnut mare refused a ten-foot wall. She reared 'and 
 fell backward. Again he led her up to it lightly ; again she 
 Tefused, falling heavily from the coping. Guy started to his 
 feet. The old pitiless fire shone in his eyes ; the old stern 
 look settled around his mouth. Seizing the mare by the tail 
 and mane he threw her over the wall. She landed twenty 
 feet on the other side, erect and trembling. Lightly leaping 
 ~the same obstacle himself, he remounted her. She did not 
 Tcfuse the wall the next time. 
 
GUY HEA VYSTONE. 217 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 " He holds him by his glittering eye." 
 
 GUY was in the north of Ireland, cock-shooting. So Ralph 
 Mortmain told me, and also that the match between Mary 
 Brandagee and Guy had been broken off by Flora Billings 
 gate. "I don't like those Billingsgates," said Ralph, 
 " they're a bad stock. Her father, Smithfield cle Billings 
 gate, had an unpleasant way of turning up the knave from 
 the bottom of the pack. But nous verrons ; let us go and 
 see Guy." 
 
 The next morning we started for Fin-ma-Conl's Crossing. 
 When I reached the shooting-box, where Guy was enter 
 taining a select company of friends, Flora Billingsgate 
 greeted me with a saucy smile. 
 
 Guy was even squarer and sterner than ever. His gusts 
 of passion were more frequent, and it was with difficulty that 
 he could keep an able-bodied servant in his family. His 
 present retainers were more or less maimed from exposure to 
 the fury of their master. There was a strange cynicism, a 
 cutting sarcasm in his address piercing through his polished 
 manner. I thought of Timon, etc., etc. 
 
 One evening we were sitting over our Chambertin, after a 
 hard day's work, and Guy was listlessly turning over some 
 letters, when suddenly he uttered a cry. Did you ever hear 
 the trumpeting of a wounded elephant 1 It was like that. 
 
 I looked at him with consternation. He was glancing at 
 a, letter which he held at arm's length, and snorting, as it 
 were, at it as he gazed. The lower part of his face was 
 stern, but not as rigid as usual. He was slowly grinding 
 between his teeth the fragments of the glass he had just 
 been drinking from. Suddenly he seized one of his servants, 
 and, forcing the wretch upon his knees, exclaimed with the 
 roar of a tiger : 
 
2 1 8 GUY HE A VYSTONE. 
 
 " Dog ! why was this kept from me ?" 
 
 " Why, please, sir, Miss Flora said as how it was a recon 
 ciliation, from Miss Brandagee, and it was to be kept from 
 you where you would not be likely to see it and and " 
 
 " Speak, dog- ! and you " 
 
 " I put it among your bills, sir !" 
 
 With a groan like distant thunder, Guy fell swooning to 
 the floor. 
 
 He soon recovered, for the next moment a servant came 
 rushing into the room with the information that a number of 
 the ingenuous peasantry of the neighbourhood were about to 
 indulge that evening in the national pastime of burning a 
 farmhouse and shooting a landlord. Guy smiled a fearful 
 smile, without, however, altering his stern and pitiless 
 expression. 
 
 " Let them come," he said calmly ; " I feel like entertain 
 ing company." 
 
 We barricaded the doors and windows, and then chose our 
 arms from the armoury. Guy's choice was a singular one : 
 it was a landing net with a long handle, and a sharp cavalry 
 sabre. 
 
 We were not destined to remain long in ignorance of its 
 use. A howl was heard from without, and a party of fifty 
 or sixty armed men precipitated themselves against the 
 door. 
 
 Suddenly the window opened. With the rapidity of light 
 ning, Guy Heavystone cast the net over the head of the ring 
 leader, ejaculated " Ilabet J" and with a back stroke of his 
 cavalry sabre severed the member from its trunk, and draw 
 ing the net back again, cast the gory head upon the floor, 
 saying quietly : 
 
 ""One." 
 
 Again the net was cast, the steel flashed, the net was 
 withdrawn, and the ominous "Two!" accompanied the 
 head as it rolled on the floor. 
 
THE HAUNTED MAN. 219 
 
 " Do you remember what Pliny says of the gladiator ?" 
 said Guy, calmly wiping his sabre. " How graphic is that 
 passage commencing : ' Inter nos, etc.'' " The sport con 
 tinued until the heads of twenty desperadoes had been 
 gathered in. The rest seemed inclined to disperse. Guy 
 incautiously showed himself at the door ; a ringing shot was 
 heard, and he staggered back pierced through the heart. 
 Grasping the door-post in the last unconscious throes of his 
 mighty frame, the whole side of the house yielded to that 
 earthquake tremor, and we had barely time to escape before 
 the whole building fell in ruins. I thought of Samson, the 
 Giant Judge, etc., etc. ; but all was over. 
 
 Guy Heavy stone had died as he had lived hard. 
 
 THE HAUNTED MAN. 
 & Christmas Storn. 
 
 BY CH-R-S D-C-K-N-S. 
 PART I. 
 
 THE FIRST PHANTOM. 
 
 tell me that it wasn't a knocker. I had seen it 
 often enough, and I ought to know. So ought the 
 three o'clock beer, in dirty highlows, swinging himself over 
 the railing, or executing a demoniacal jig upon the doorstep; 
 so ought the butcher, although butchers as a general thing 
 are scornful of such trifles ; so ought the postman, to whom 
 knockers of the most extravagant description were merely 
 human weaknesses, that were to be pitied and used. And 
 so ought, for the matter of that, etc., etc., etc. 
 
 But then it was suck a knocker. A wild, extravagant, and 
 utterly incomprehensible knocker. A knocker so mysterious 
 and suspicious that Policeman X 37, first coming upon it, felt 
 
220 THE HA UNTED MAN. 
 
 inclined to take it instantly in custody, but compromised 
 with his professional instincts by sharply and sternly noting 
 it with an eye that admitted of no nonsense, but confidently 
 expected to detect its secret yet. An ugly knocker; a 
 knocker with a hard, human face, that was a type of the 
 harder human face within. A human face that held between 
 its teeth a brazen rod. So hereafter in the mysterious future 
 should be held, etc., etc. 
 
 But if the knocker had a fierce human aspect in the glare 
 of day, you should have seen it at night, when it peered out 
 of the gathering shadows and suggested an ambushed figure ; 
 when the light of the street lamps fell upon it, and wrought a 
 play of sinister expression in its hard outlines ; when it 
 seemed to wink meaningly at a shrouded figure who, as the 
 night fell darkly, crept up the steps and passed into the 
 mysterious house ; when the swinging door disclosed a black 
 passage into which the figure seemed to lose itself and become 
 a, part of the mysterious gloom ; when the night grew 
 boisterous and the fierce wind made furious charges at the 
 knocker, as if to wrench it off and carry it away in triumph. 
 Such a night as this. 
 
 It was a wild and pitiless wind. A wind that had com 
 menced life as a gentle country zephyr, but wandering 
 through manufacturing towns had become demoralised, and 
 reaching the city had plunged into extravagant dissipation 
 and wild excesses. A roystering wind that indulged in 
 Bacchanalian shouts on the street corners, that knocked off 
 the hats from the heads of helpless passengers, and then 
 fulfilled its duties by speeding away, like all young prodigals 
 to sea. 
 
 He sat alone in a gloomy library listening to the wind that 
 roared in the chimney. Around him novels and story-books 
 were strewn thickly ; in his lap he held one with its pages 
 freshly cut, and turned the leaves wearily until his eyes 
 rested upon a portrait in its frontispiece. And as the wind 
 
THE HA UNTED MAN. 22 1 
 
 howled the more fiercely, and the darkness without fell 
 blacker, a strange and fateful likeness to that portrait 
 appeared above his chair and leaned upon, his shoulder. The 
 Haunted Man gazed at the portrait and sighed. The figure 
 gazed at the portrait and sighed too. 
 
 " Here again?" said the Haunted Man. 
 
 " Here again," it repeated in a low voice. 
 
 "Another novel? " 
 
 " Another novel." 
 
 "The old story!" 
 
 " The old story." 
 
 " I see a child," said the Haunted Man, gazing from the 
 pages of the book into the fire " a most unnatural child, a 
 model infant. It is prematurely old and philosophic It dies 
 in poverty to slow music. It dies surroundeed by luxury to 
 slow music. It dies with an accompaniment of golden water 
 and rattling carts to slow musie. Previous to its decease it 
 makes a will; it repeats the Lord's Prayer, it kisses the. 
 ' boofer lady.' That child " 
 
 " Is mine," said the phantom. 
 
 " I see a good woman, undersized. I see several charming 
 women, but they are all undersized. They are more or less 
 imbecile and idiotic, but always fascinating and undersized. 
 They wear coquettish caps and aprons. I observe that 
 feminine virtue is invariably below the medium height, and 
 that it is always babyish and infantine. These women " 
 
 " Are mine." 
 
 " I see a haughty, proud, and wicked lady. She is tall and 
 queenly. I remark that all proud and wicked women are 
 tall and queenly. That woman " 
 
 " Is mine," said the phantom, wringing his hands. 
 
 " I see several things continually impending. I observe 
 that whenever an accident, a murder, or death is about 
 to happen, there is something in the furniture, in the 
 locality, in the atmosphere that foreshadows and suggests it 
 
222 THE HAUNTED MAN. 
 
 years in advance. I cannot say that in real life I have 
 noticed it the perception of this surprising fact belongs " 
 
 "To me!" said the phantom. The Haunted Man con 
 tinued, in a despairing tone : 
 
 " I see the influence of this in the magazines and daily 
 papers : I see weak imitators rise up and enfeeble the world 
 with senseless formula. I am getting tired of it. It won't 
 do, Charles ! it won't do ! " and the Haunted Man buried 
 his head in his hands and groaned. The figure looked down 
 upon him sternly : the portrait in the frontispiece frowned 
 as he gazed. 
 
 "Wretched man," said the phantom, "and how have 
 these things affected you ? " 
 
 " Once I laughed and cried, but then I was younger. 
 Now, I would forget them if I could." 
 
 "Have then your wish. And take this with you, man 
 whom I renounce. From this day henceforth you shall live 
 with those whom I displace. Without forgetting me, 'twill 
 be your lot to walk through life as if we had not met. But 
 first you shall survey these scenes that henceforth must be 
 yours. At one to-night, prepare to meet the phantom I 
 have raised. Farewell ! " 
 
 The sound of its voice seemed to fade away with the 
 dying wind, and the Haunted Man was alone. But the 
 firelight flickered gaily, and the light danced on the walls, 
 making grotesque figures of the furniture. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " said the Haunted Man, rubbing his hands 
 gleefully ; " now for a whiskey punch and a cigar." 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 THE SECOND PHANTOM. 
 
 ONE ! The stroke of the far-off bell had hardly died before 
 the front door closed with a reverberating clang. Steps 
 were heard along the passage ; the library door swung open 
 
THE HAUNTED MAN. 223 
 
 of itself, and the Knocker yes, the Knocker slowly strode 
 into the room. The Haunted Man rubbed his eyes no ! 
 there could be no mistake about it it was the Knocker's 
 face, mounted on a misty, almost imperceptible body. The 
 brazen rod was transferred from its mouth to its right hand, 
 where it was held like a ghostly truncheon. 
 
 " It's a cold evening," paid the Haunted Man. 
 
 " It is," said the Goblin, in a hard, metallic voice. 
 
 "It must be pretty cold out there," said the Haunted 
 Man, with vague politeness. "Do you ever will you 
 take some hot water and brandy 1 " 
 
 " No," said the Goblin. 
 
 " Perhaps you'd like it cold, by way of change 1 ?" continued 
 the Haunted Man, correcting himself, as he remembered 
 the peculiar temperature with which the Goblin was pro 
 bably familiar. 
 
 "Time flies," said the Goblin coldly. "We have no 
 leisure for idle talk. Come ! " He moved his ghostly 
 truncheon toward the window, and laid his hand upon the 
 other's arm. At his touch the body of the Haunted Man 
 seemed to become as thin and incorporeal as that of the 
 Goblin himself, and together they glided out of the window 
 into the black and blowy night. 
 
 In the rapidity of their flight the senses of the Haunted 
 Man seemed to leave him. At length they stopped suddenly. 
 
 " What do you see ? " asked the Goblin. 
 
 " I see a battlemented medieval castle. Gallant men in 
 mail ride over the drawbridge, and kiss their gauntleted 
 fingers to fair ladies, who wave their lily hands in return. 
 I see fight ar*l fray and tournament. I hear roaring heralds 
 bawling the charms of delicate women, and shamelessly pro 
 claiming their lovers. Stay. I see a Jewess about to leap 
 from a battlement. I see knightly deeds, violence, rapine, 
 and a good deal of blood. I've seen pretty much the same 
 at Astley's." 
 
224 THE HAUNTED MAN. 
 
 " Look again." 
 
 " I see purple moors, glens, masculine women, bare-legged 
 men, priggish bookworms, more violence, physical excellence, 
 and blood. Always blood and the superiority of physical 
 attainments." 
 
 " And how do you feel now ! " said the Goblin. 
 
 The Haunted Man shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "None the better for being carried back and asked to 
 sympathise with a barbarous age." 
 
 The Goblin smiled and clutched his arm ; they again sped 
 rapidly through the black night, and again halted. 
 
 " What do you see 1 " said the Goblin. 
 
 "I see a barrack room, with a mess table, and a group of 
 intoxicated Celtic officers telling funny stories, and giving 
 challenges to duel. I see a young Irish gentleman capable 
 of performing prodigies of valour. I learn incidentally that 
 the acme of all heroism is the cornetcy of a dragoon regi 
 ment. I hear a good deal of French ! No, thank you," 
 said the Haunted Man hurriedly, as he stayed the waving 
 hand of the Goblin, " I would rather not go to the Peninsula, 
 and don't care to have a private interview with Napoleon." 
 
 Again the Goblin flew away with the unfortunate man, 
 and from a strange roaring below them, he judged they were 
 above the ocean. A ship hove in sight, and the Goblin 
 stayed its flight. " Look," he said, squeezing his com 
 panion's arm. 
 
 The Haunted Man yawned. " Don't you think, Charles, 
 you're rather running this thing into the ground 1 ? Of 
 course, it's very moral and instructive, and all that. But 
 ain't there a little too much pantomime about it ? Come 
 now ! " 
 
 "Look ! " repeated the Goblin, pinching his arm malevo 
 lently. The Haunted Man groaned. 
 
 "Oh, of course, I see Her Majesty's ship Arethusa. Of 
 course I am familiar with her stern First Lieutenant, her 
 
THE HAUNTED MAN. 225 
 
 eccentric Captain, her one fascinating and several mis 
 chievous midshipmen. Of course, I know it's a splendid 
 thing to see all this, and not to be sea-sick. Oh, there the 
 young gentlemen are going to play a trick on the purser. 
 .For God's sake, let us go," arid the unhappy man absolutely 
 dragged the Goblin away with him. 
 
 When they next halted, it was at the edge of a broad and 
 boundless prairie, in the middle of an oak opening. 
 
 " I see," said the Haunted Man, without waiting for his 
 cue, but mechanically, and as if he were repeating a lesson 
 which the Goblin had taught him "I see the Noble 
 Savage. He is very fine to look at ! But I observe under 
 his war paint, feathers and picturesque blanket dirt, disease, 
 and an un symmetrical contour. I observe beneath his in 
 flated rhetoric deceit and hypocrisy. Beneath his physical 
 hardihood, cruelty, malice and revenge. The Noble Savage 
 is a humbug. I remarked the same to Mr. Catlin." 
 
 " Come," said the phantom. 
 
 The Haunted Man sighed, and took out his watch. 
 " Couldn't we do the rest of this another time ! " 
 
 " My hour is almost spent, irreverent being, but there is 
 yet a chance for your reformation. Come ! " 
 
 Again they sped through the night, and again they halted. 
 The sound of delicious but melancholy music fell upon their 
 ears. 
 
 "I see," said the Haunted Man, with something of inte 
 rest in his manner, "I see an old moss-covered manse beside 
 a sluggish, flowing river. I see weird shapes : witches, 
 Puritans, clergymen, little children, judges, mesmerised 
 maidens, moving to the sound of melody that thrills me 
 with its sweetness and purity. 
 
 " But, although carried along its calm and evenly- flowing 
 current, the shapes are strange and frightful : an eating 
 lichen gnaws at the heart of each j not only the clergymen, 
 but witch, maiden, judge, and Puritan, all wear Scarlet 
 
 Q 
 
226 THE HAUNTED MAN. 
 
 Letters of some kind burned upon their hearts. I am fasci 
 nated and thrilled, but I feel a morbid sensitiveness creeping 
 over me. I I beg your pardon." The Goblin was yawn 
 ing frightfully. " Well, perhaps we had better go." 
 
 "One more, and the last," said the Goblin. They were 
 moving home. Streaks of red were beginning to appear in 
 the eastern sky. Along the banks of the blackly flowing 
 river, by moorland and stagnant fens, by low houses, clus 
 tering close to the water's edge, like strange mollusks, 
 crawled upon the beach to dry ; by misty black barges, the 
 more misty and indistinct seen through its mysterious veil, 
 the river fog was slowly rising. So rolled away and rose 
 from the heart of the Haunted Man, etc., etc. 
 
 They stopped before a quaint mansion of red brick. The 
 Goblin waved his hand without speaking. 
 
 " I see," said the Haunted Man, " a gay drawing-room. 
 I see my old friends of the club, of the college, of society, 
 even as they lived and moved. I see the gallant and un 
 selfish men whom I have loved, and the snobs whom I have 
 hated. I see strangely mingling with them, and now and 
 then blending with their forms., our old friends Dick Steele, 
 Addison, and Congreve. I observe, though, that these gen 
 tlemen have a habit of getting too much in the way. The 
 royal standard of Queen Anne, not in itself a beautiful 
 ornament, is rather too prominent in the picture. The long 
 galleries of black oak, the formal furniture, the old portraits, 
 are picturesque, but depressing. The house is damp. I 
 enjoy myself better here on the lawn, where they are getting 
 up a Vanity Fair. See, the bell rings, the curtain is rising, 
 the puppets are brought out for a new play. Let me 
 see." 
 
 The Haunted Man was pressing forward in his eagerness, 
 but the hand of the Goblin stayed him, and pointing to his 
 feet, he saw between him and the rising curtain, a new-made 
 grave. And bending above the grave in passionate grief, 
 
THE HA UNTED MAN. 227 
 
 the Haunted Man beheld the phantom of the previous 
 night. 
 
 ****** ::- -.:- 
 
 The Haunted Man started, and woke. The bright sun 
 shine streamed into the room. The air was sparkling with 
 frost. He ran joyously to the window and opened it. A 
 small boy saluted him with K Merry Christmas." The 
 Haunted Man instantly gave him a Bank of England note. 
 "How much like Tiny Tim, Tom and Bobby that boy 
 looked bless my soul, what a genius this Dickens has ! " 
 
 A knock at the door, and Boots entered. 
 
 " Consider your salary doubled instantly. Have you 
 read David Copperfield ? " 
 
 " Yezzur." 
 
 " Your salary is quadrupled. What do you think of the 
 Old Curiosity Shop ? " 
 
 The man instantly burst into a torrent of tears, and then 
 into a roar of laughter. 
 
 "Enough ! Here are five thousand pounds. Open a 
 porter-house, and call it, f Our Mutual .Friend.' Huzza ! I 
 feel so happy ! " And the Haunted Man danced about the 
 room. 
 
 And so, bathed in the light of that blessed sun, and yet 
 glowing with the warmth of a good action, the Haunted 
 Man, haunted no longer, save by those shapes which make 
 the dreams of children beautiful, re-seated himself in his- 
 chair, and finished Our Mutual Friend. 
 
 Q2 
 
228 LA FEMME. 
 
 "LA FEMME." 
 
 AFTER THE FRENCH OF M. MICHELET. 
 
 I. 
 
 WOMEN AS AN INSTITUTION. 
 
 " I F it were not for women, few of us would at present be 
 in existence." This is the remark of a cautious and 
 discreet writer. He was also sagacious and intelligent. 
 
 Woman ! Look upon her and admire her. Gaze upon 
 her and love her. If she wishes to embrace you, permit her. 
 Remember she is weak and you are strong. 
 
 But don't treat her unkindly. Don't make love to another 
 woman before her face, even if she be your wife. Don't do 
 it. Always be polite, even should she fancy somebody better 
 than you. 
 
 If your mother, my dear Amadis, had not fancied your 
 father better than somebody, you might have been that 
 somebody's son. Consider this. Always be a philosopher, 
 even about women. 
 
 Few men understand women. Frenchmen perhaps better 
 than any one else. I am a Frenchman. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE INFANT. 
 
 SHE is a child a little thing an infant. 
 
 She has a mother and father. Let us suppose, for ex 
 ample, they are married. Let us be moral if we cannot be 
 happy and free-~-they are married perhaps they love one 
 another who knows ? 
 
 But she is not lovely at first. It is cruel, perhaps but 
 She is red and positively ugly. She feels this keenly, and 
 
LA FEMME. 229 
 
 cries. She weeps. Ah, my God ! how she weeps ! Her 
 cries and lamentations now are really distressing. 
 
 Tears stream from her in floods. She feels deeply and 
 copiously like M. Alphonse de Lamartine in his Confessions. 
 
 If you are her mother, Madame, you will fancy worms ; 
 you will examine her linen for pins and what not. Ah, 
 hypocrite ! you, even you, misunderstand her. 
 
 Yet she has charming natural impulses. See how she 
 tosses her dimpled arms. She looks longingly at her mother. 
 She has a language of her own. She says " goo goo," and 
 "gaga." 
 
 She demands something this infant ! 
 
 She is faint, poor thing. She famishes. She wishes to be 
 restored. .Restore her, Mother ! 
 
 It is the first duty of a mother to restore her child / 
 
 III. 
 
 THE DOLL. 
 
 SHE is hardly able to walk she already totters under 
 the weight of a doll. 
 
 It is a charming and elegant affair. It has pink cheeks 
 and purple-black hair. She prefers brunettes, for she has 
 already, with the quick knowledge of a French infant, per 
 ceived she is a blonde and that her doll cannot rival her. 
 Mon Dieu, how touching ! Happy child ! She spends hours 
 in preparing its toilette. She begins to show her taste iiv 
 the exquisite details of its dress. She loves it madly, de 
 votedly. She will prefer it to bonbons. She already antici 
 pates the wealth of love she will hereafter pour out on her 
 lover, her mother, her father, and finally perhaps her 
 husband. 
 
 This is the time the anxious parent will guide these 
 first outpourings. She will read her extracts from, Miche- 
 
\ 
 
 230 LA FEMME. 
 
 let's U 'Amour ', Rousseau's Heloise^ and tlie Hevue dcs de^ti 
 Mondes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE MUD PIE. 
 
 SHE was in tears to-day. 
 
 She had stolen away from lier bonne, and was with some 
 rustic infants. They had noses in the air, and large, coarse 
 hands and feet. 
 
 They had seated themselves around a pool in the road, 
 and were fashioning fantastic shapes in the clayey soil with 
 their hands. Her throat swelled and her eyes sparkled with 
 delight as, for the first time, her soft palms touched the 
 plastic mud. She made a graceful and lovely pie. She 
 stuffed it with stones for almonds and plums. She forgot 
 everything. It was being baked in the solar rays, when 
 inadame came and took her away. , 
 
 She weeps. It is night, and she is weeping still. 
 
 V. 
 
 HER FIRST LOVE. 
 
 SHE no longer doubts her beauty. She is loved. 
 
 She saw him secretly. He is vivacious and sprightly. He 
 is famous. He .has already had an affair with Fiiifin, the 
 fille de chambre, and poor Finfin is desolate. He is noble. 
 She knows he is the son of Madame la Barorme Couturiere. 
 She adores him. 
 
 She affects not to notice him. Poor little thing ! 
 Hippolyte is distracted annihilated inconsolable and 
 charming. 
 
 She admires his boots, his cravat, his little gloves his 
 exquisite pantaloons his coat, and cane. 
 
 She offers to run away with him. He is transported, 
 
SEMSATtON NOVELS. 
 
 oros 
 
 Sue 
 
 " He is laii.on.s He is nohle 
 
 at uiires his cravat, his little gloves Ins exquibi'.e jw.nt uoou.< his coal! .... 
 ! ut what is this new and ravishing light that breaks upon her? The toilette and 
 wedding clothes I" La Femme. 
 
 ""You are an Englishman, aui you don't understand I'aitine was the 
 
 soul of modesty. She always wore high neck dresses ifdiuiue loved 
 
 Thoinolyes. Why?" Fantine. 
 
LA FEMME. 231 
 
 but magnanimous. He is wearied, perhaps. She sees him 
 the next day offering flowers to the daughter of Madame la 
 Comtesse Blanchisseuse. 
 
 She is again in tears. 
 
 She reads Paul et Virginie. She is secretly transported. 
 When she reads how the exemplary young woman laid 
 down her life rather than appear en deshabille to her lover, 
 she weeps again. Tasteful and virtuous Bernardine de St. 
 Pierre ! the daughters of France admire you ! 
 
 All this time her doll is headless in the cabinet. The 
 mud pie is broken on the road. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE WIFE. 
 
 SHE is tired of loving, and she marries. 
 
 Her mother thinks it, on the whole, the best thing. As 
 the day approaches, she is found frequently in tears. Her 
 mother will not permit the affianced one to see her, and he 
 makes several attempts to commit suicide. 
 
 But something happens. Perhaps it is winter, and the 
 water is cold. Perhaps there are not enough people present 
 to witness his heroism. 
 
 In this way her future husband is spared to her. She 
 will offer philosophy. She will tell her she was married 
 herself. 
 
 But what is this new and ravishing light that breaks 
 upon her 1 The toilette and wedding clothes ! She is in a 
 new sphere. 
 
 She makes out her list in her own charming writing. 
 Here it is. Let every mother heed it.* 
 
 The delicate reader will appreciate the omission of certain articles 
 for which English synonyms are forbidden. 
 
232 MAR Y McGILL UP. 
 
 She is married. On the day after, she meets her old 
 lover, Hippolyte. He is again transported. 
 
 VII. 
 
 iHER OLD AGE. 
 
 A FKENCH woman never grows old. 
 
 MARY MCGILLUP. 
 
 ^ Southern $obcl. 
 
 AFTER BELLE BOYD. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 VERY reader of Belle Boyd's narrative will remember 
 an allusion to a " lovely, fragile-looking girl of nine 
 teen," who rivalled Belle Boyd in devotion to the Southern 
 cause, and who, like her, earned the enviable distinction of 
 being a " rebel spy." 
 
 I am that " fragile " young creature. Although on 
 friendly terms with the late Miss Boyd, now Mrs. Harding, 
 candour compels me to state that nothing but our common 
 politics prevents me from exposing the ungenerous spirit she 
 has displayed in this allusion. To be dismissed in a single 
 paragraph after years of but I anticipate. To put up with 
 this feeble and forced acknowledgment of serv'ces rendered 
 would be a confession of a craven spirit, which, thank God, 
 though "fragile" and only "nineteen," I do not possess. 
 I may not have the " blood of a Howard" in my veins, as 
 some people, whom I shall not disgrace myself by naming, 
 claim to have, but I have yet to learn that the race of 
 M'Gillup ever yet brooked slight or insult. I shall not say 
 
MAR Y McGILL UP. 233 
 
 that attention in certain quarters seems to have turned some 
 people's heads ; nor that it would have been more delicate 
 if certain folks had kept quiet on the subject of their court 
 ship, and the rejection of certain offers, when it is known 
 that their forward conduct was all that procured them a 
 husband ! Thank Heaven, the South has some daughters 
 who are above such base considerations. While nothing 
 shall tempt me to reveal the promises to share equally the 
 fame of certain enterprises which were made by one who 
 shall now be nameless, I have deemed it only just to myself 
 to put my own adventures upon record. If they are not 
 equal to those of another individual, it is because, though 
 " fragile," my education has taught me to have some con 
 sideration for the truth. ,. I am done. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I WAS born in Missouri. My dislike for the Northern scum 
 was inherent. This was shown, at an early age, in the 
 extreme distaste I exhibited for Webster's spelling-book 
 the work of a well-known Eastern Abolitionist. I cannot 
 be too grateful for the consideration shown by my chival 
 rous father a gentleman of the old school who resisted to 
 the last an attempt to introduce Mitchell's Astronomy and 
 Geography into the public school of our district. When I 
 state that this same Mitchell became afterward a hireling 
 helot in the Yankee Army, every intelligent reader will 
 appreciate the prophetic discrimination of this true son of 
 the South. 
 
 I was eight years old when I struck the first blow for 
 Southern freedom against the Northern Tyrant. It is 
 hardly necessary to state that in this instance the oppressor 
 was a pale, over-worked New England " school-marm." The 
 principle for which I was contending, I felt, however, to be 
 the same. Resenting an affront put upon me, I one day 
 
234 MAR Y McGILL UP. 
 
 heaved a rock* at the head of the Yandal schoolmistress. 
 I was seized and overpowered. My pen falters as I reach 
 the climax. English readers will not give credit to this 
 sickening story the civilised world will avert its head but 
 I, Mary McGillup, was publicly SPANKED ! 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BUT the chaotic vortex of civil war approached, and fell 
 destruction, often procrastinated, brooded in the storm."j" 
 As the English people may like to know what was really 
 the origin of the rebellion, I have no hesitation in giving 
 them the true and only cause. Slavery had nothing to do 
 with it, although the violation of the Declaration of Inde 
 pendence, in the disregard by the North of the Fugitive 
 Slave Law,J might have provoked a less fiery people than 
 the Southrons. At the inception of the struggle a large 
 amount of Southern indebtedness was held by the people of 
 the North. To force payment from the generous but insol 
 vent debtor to obtain liquidation from the Southern 
 planter was really the soulless and mercenary object of 
 the craven Northerners. Let the common people of Eng 
 land look to this. Let the improvident literary hack ; the 
 starved impecunious Grub Street debtor the newspaper fre 
 quenter of sponging-houses, remember this in their criticisms 
 of the vile and slavish Yankee. 
 
 * NOTE, BY B. B. B. In the South-west, any stone larger than a pea 
 is termed "a rock." 
 
 t I make no pretension to fine writing, but perhaps Mrs. Harding 
 can lay over that. Oh, of course ! M. McG. 
 
 J The Declaration of Independence grants to each subject " the 
 pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness." A fugitive slave may be said to 
 personify " life, liberty, and happiness." Hence his pursuit is really 
 legal This is logic. B. B. B. 
 
MAR Y McGILL UP. 235 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE roasting of an Abolitionist, by a greatly infuriated 
 community, was my first taste of the horrors of civil war. 
 Heavens ! Why will the North persist in this fratricidal 
 warfare 1 The expulsion of several Union refugees, which 
 soon followed, now fairly plunged my beloved State in the 
 seething vortex. 
 
 I was sitting at the piano one afternoon, singing that 
 stirring refrain, so justly celebrated, but which a craven 
 spirit, unworthy of England, has excluded from some of her 
 principal restaurants, and was dwelling with some enthusiasm 
 on the folio win cr line : 
 
 o 
 
 lt Huzza ! she spurns the Northern scum ! " 
 
 when a fragment of that scum, clothed in that detestable 
 blue uniform which is the symbol of oppression, entered the 
 apartment. " I have the honour of addressing the celebrated 
 rebel spy, Miss McGillup," said the Yandal officer. 
 
 In a moment I was perfectly calm. With the exception 
 of slightly expectorating twice in the face of the minion, I 
 did not betray my agitation. Haughtily, yet firmly, I 
 replied : 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " You looked as if you might be," the brute replied, as he 
 turned on his heel to leave the apartment. 
 
 In an instant I threw myself before him. " You shall 
 not leave here thus," I shrieked, grappling him with an 
 energy which no one, seeing my frail figure, would have 
 believed. " I know the reputation of your hireling crew. 
 I read your dreadful purpose in your eye. Tell me not that 
 your designs are not sinister. You came here to insult me 
 to kiss me, perhaps. You shan't you naughty man. 
 Go away !" 
 
236 MAR Y McGILL UP. 
 
 The blush of conscious degradation rose to the cheek of 
 the Lincoln hireling as he turned his face away from mine. 
 
 In an instant I drew my pistol from my belt, which, in. 
 anticipation of some such outrage, I always carried, and shot 
 him. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Thy forte was less to act than speak, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 Thy politics were changed each week, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 
 With Northern Vandals thou wast meek, 
 With sympathisers thou wouldst skriek, 
 I know thee 'twas like thy cheek I 
 
 Maryland ! my Maryland ! " 
 
 AFTER committing the act described in the preceding 
 chapter, which every English reader will pardon, I went 
 up-stairs, put on a clean pair of stockings, and placing a rose 
 in my lustrous black hair, proceeded at once to the camp of 
 Generals Price and Mosby to put them in possession of in 
 formation which would lead to the destruction of a portion 
 of the Federal army. During a great part of my flight I 
 was exposed to a running fire from the Federal pickets of 
 such coarse expressions as, 
 
 " Go it, Sally Reb." 
 
 " Dust it, my Confederate beauty." 
 
 But I succeeded in reaching the glorious Southern camp 
 uninjured. 
 
 Tn a week afterwards I was arrested, by a lettre de cacliet 
 of Mr. Stanton, and placed in the Bastile. British readers 
 of my story will express surprise at these terms, but I 
 assure them that not only these articles but tumbrils, 
 guillotines, and conciergeries were in active use among the 
 Federals. If substantiation be required, I refer to the 
 Charleston Mercury, the only reliable organ, next to the 
 
MAR Y McGILL UP. 237 
 
 New York Daily News, published in the country. At the 
 jBastile I made the acquaintance of the accomplished and 
 elegant author of Guy Livingstone^ to whom I presented a 
 curiously-carved thigh-bone of a Union officer, and from 
 whom I received the following beautiful acknowledgment: 
 
 "Demoiselle: Should I ever win hame to my ain countrie, 
 I make mine avow to enshrine in my reliquaire this elegant 
 bijouterie and offering of La Belle Relette. Nay, methinks 
 this fraction of man's anatomy were some compensation for 
 the rib lost by the 'grand old gardener,' Adam." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 RELEASED at last from durance vile and placed on board of 
 an Erie canal-boat, on my way to Canada, I for a moment 
 breathed the sweets of liberty. Perhaps the interval gave 
 me opportunity to indulge in certain reveries which I had 
 hitherto sternly dismissed. Henry Breckinridge Folair, a 
 consistent copperhead, captain of the canal-boat, again and 
 again pressed that suit I had so often rejected. 
 
 It was a lovely moonlight night. We sat on the deck of 
 the gliding craft. The moonbeam and the lash of the driver 
 fell softly on the flanks of the off-horse, and only the surging 
 of the tow-rope broke the silence. Folair's arm clasped my 
 waist. I suffered it to remain. Placing in my lap a small 
 but not ungrateful roll of checkerberry lozenges, he took the 
 occasion to repeat softly in my ear the words of a motto he 
 had just unwrapped with its graceful covering of the tissue- 
 paper from a sugar almond. The heart of the wicked little 
 rebel, Mary McGillup, was won ! 
 
 * The recent conduct of Mr. Livingstone renders him unworthy of 
 . my notice. His disgusting praise of Belle Boyd, and complete ignoring 
 of my claims, show the artfulness of some females and puppyism of 
 some men. M. McG. 
 
238 MISS MIX. 
 
 The story of Mary McGillup is done. I might have added 
 the journal of my husband, Henry Breckinridge Folair, but 
 as it refers chiefly to his freights, and a schedule of his 
 passengers, I have been obliged, reluctantly, to suppress it. 
 
 It is due to my friends to say that I have been requested 
 not to write this book. Expressions have reached my ears, 
 the reverse of complimentary, I have been told that its 
 publication will probably ensure my banishment for life. Be 
 it so. If the cause for which I laboured have been sub 
 served, I am content. 
 LONDON, May, 1865. 
 
 MISS MIX. 
 
 BY CH-L-TTE BR-NTE, 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TV /T Y earliest impressions are of a huge, mis-shapen rock, 
 against which the hoarse waves beat unceasingly. On 
 this rock three pelicans are standing in a defiant attitude. A 
 dark sky lowers in the background, while two sea-gulls and 
 a gigantic cormorant eye with extreme disfavour the floating 
 corpse of a drowned woman in the foreground. A few 
 bracelets, coral necklaces, and other articles of jewelry, 
 scattered around loosely, complete this remarkable picture. 
 
 It is one which, in some vague, unconscious way, symbo 
 lises, to my fancy, the character of a man. I have never 
 been able to explain exactly why. I think I must have 
 seen the picture in some illustrated volume, when a baby, or 
 my mother may have dreamed it before I was born. 
 
 As a child I was not handsome. When I consulted the 
 triangular bit of looking-glass which I always carried with 
 me, it showed a pale, sandy and freckled face, shaded by 
 
MISS MIX. 239 
 
 locks like the colour of sea-weed when the sun strikes it in 
 deep water. My eyes were said to be indistinctive ; they 
 were a faint ashen grey j but above them rose my only 
 beauty a high, massive, domelike forehead, with polished 
 temples, like door-knobs of the purest porcelain. 
 
 Our family was a family of governesses. My mother had 
 been one, and my sisters had the same occupation. Conse 
 quently, when at the age of thirteen, my eldest sister handed 
 me the advertisement of Mr. Bawj ester, clipped from that 
 day's Times, I accepted it as my destiny. Nevertheless, a 
 mysterious presentiment of an indefinite future haunted me 
 in my dreams that night, as I lay upon my little snow-white 
 bed. The next morning, with two band -boxes tied up in 
 silk handkerchiefs, and a hair trunk, I turned my back upon 
 Minerva Cottage for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 BLUNDERBOEE HALL, the seat of James Rawj ester, Esq., was 
 encompassed by dark pines and funereal hemlocks on all sides. 
 The wind sang weirdly in the turrets and moaned through 
 the long-drawn avenues of the park. As I approached the 
 house I saw several mysterious figures flit before the 
 windows, and a yell of demoniac laughter answered my 
 summons at the bell. While I strove to repress my gloomy 
 forebodings, the housekeeper, a timid, scared-looking old 
 woman, showed me into the library. 
 
 I entered, overcome with conflicting emotions. I was 
 dressed in a narrow gown of dark serge, trimmed with black 
 bugles. A thick green shawl was pinned across my breast. 
 My hands were encased with black half-mittens worked 
 with steel beads ; on my feet were large pattens, originally 
 the property of my deceased grandmother. I carried a blue 
 cotton umbrella. As I passed before a mirror, I could not 
 
240 MISS MIX. 
 
 help glancing at it, nor could I disguise fr.om myself the fact 
 that I was not handsome. 
 
 Drawing a chair into a recess, I sat down with folded 
 hands, calmly awaiting the arrival of my master. Once or 
 twice a fearful yell rang through the house, or the rattling of 
 chains, and curses uttered in a deep, manly voice, broke upon 
 the expressive stillness. I began to feel my soul rising with 
 the emergency of the moment. 
 
 " You look alarmed, miss. You don't hear anything, my 
 dear, do you V' asked the housekeeper nervously. 
 
 " Nothing whatever," I remarked calmly, as a terrific 
 scream, followed by the dragging of chairs and tables in the 
 room above, drowned for a moment my reply. " It is the 
 silence, on the contrary, which has made me foolishly 
 nervous." 
 
 The housekeeper looked at me approvingly, and instantly 
 made some tea for me. 
 
 I drank seven cups ; as I was beginning the eighth, I 
 heard a crash, and the next moment a man leaped into the 
 room through the broken window. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE crash startled me from my self-control. The house 
 keeper bent toward me and whispered : 
 
 " Don't be excited. It's Mr. Rawj ester he prefers to 
 come in sometimes in this way. It's his playfulness, ha ! 
 ha! ha !" 
 
 " I perceive," I said calmly. " It's the unfettered impulse 
 of a lofty soul breaking the tyrannising bonds of custom," 
 and I turned toward him. 
 
 He had never once looked at me. He stood with his back 
 to the fire, which set off the Herculean breadth of his 
 shoulders. His face was dark and expressive ; his under- 
 
MISS MIX. 241 
 
 jaw squarely formed, and remarkably heavy. I was struck 
 with his remarkable likeness to a Gorilla. 
 
 As he absently tied the poker into hard knots with his 
 nervous fingers, I watched him with some interest. Sud 
 denly he turned toward me : 
 
 " Do you think I'm handsome, young woman V 1 
 
 11 Not classically beautiful," I returned calmly ; " but you 
 have, if I may so express myself, an abstract manliness a 
 sincere and wholesome barbarity which, involving as it does 
 the naturalness" but I stopped, for he yawned at that 
 moment an action which singularly developed the immense 
 breadth of his lower jaw and I saw he had forgotten me. 
 Presently he turned to the housekeeper : 
 
 " Leave us." 
 
 The old woman withdrew with a courtesy. 
 
 Mr. Rawj ester deliberately turned his back upon me and 
 remained silent for twenty minutes. I drew my shawl the 
 more closely around my shoulders and closed my eyes. 
 
 " You are the governess V at length he said. 
 
 " I am, sir.' 1 
 
 " A creature who teaches geography, arithmetic, and the 
 use of the globes ha ! a wretched remnant of femininity 
 a skimp pattern of girlhood with a premature flavour of tea- 
 leaves and morality. Ugh ! " 
 
 I bowed my head silently. 
 
 " Listen to me, girl ! " he said sternly ; " this child yon 
 have come to teach my ward is not legitimate. She is 
 the offspring of my mistress a common harlot. Ah ! Miss 
 Mix, what do you think of me now ?" 
 
 " I admire," I replied, calmly, " your sincerity. A maw 
 kish regard for delicacy might have kept this disclosure to 
 yourself. I only recognise in your frankness that perfect 
 community of thought and sentiment which should exist 
 between original natures." 
 
 I looked up ; he had already forgotten my presence, and 
 
243 
 
 was engaged in pulling off his boots and coat. This clone, 
 he sank down in an arm-chair before the fire, and ran the 
 poker wearily through his hair. 1 could not help pitying him. 
 
 The wind howled fearfully without, and the rain beat 
 furiously against the windows. I crept toward him and 
 seated myself on a low stool beside his chair. 
 
 Presently he turned, without seeing me, and placed his 
 foot absently in my lap. I affected not to notice it. But 
 he started and looked down. 
 
 " You here yet, Carrothead 1 Ah, I forgot. Do you 
 speak French ?" 
 
 " Oui, Monsieur" 
 
 11 Taisez-vous /" he said sharply, with singular purity of 
 accent. I complied. The wind moaned fearfully in the 
 chimney, and the light burned dim. I shuddered in spite of 
 myself. " Ah, you tremble, girl ! " 
 
 " It is a fearful night." 
 
 " Fearful ! Call you this fearful ha ! ha ! ha ! Look ! 
 you wretched little atom, look!" and he dashed forward, 
 and, leaping out of the window, stood like a statute in the 
 pelting storm, with folded arms. He did not stay long, but 
 in a few minutes he returned by way of the hall chimney. 
 I saw from the way that he wiped his feet on my dress that 
 he had again forgotten my presence. 
 
 " You are a governess. What can you teach ?" he asked, 
 suddenly and fiercely thrusting his face in mine. 
 
 " Manners !" I replied calmly. 
 
 "Ha ! teach me/" 
 
 " You mistake yourself," I said adjusting my mittens. 
 <c Yoiir manners require not the artificial restraint of society. 
 You are radically polite ; this impetuosity and ferociousness 
 is simply the sincerity which is the basis of a proper deport 
 ment. Your instincts are moral ; your better nature, I see, 
 is religious. As St. Paul justly remarks see chap. 6, 8, 9, 
 and 10 ," 
 
MISS MIX. 243 
 
 He seized a heavy candlestick, and threw it at me. I 
 dodged it submissively, but firmly. 
 
 " Excuse me," he remarked, as his uncler-jaw slowly 
 relaxed. " Excuse me, Miss Mix but I can't stand St. 
 Paul Enough you are engaged." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I FOLLOWED the housekeeper as she led the way timidly to 
 my room. As we passed into a dark hall in the wing, I 
 noticed that it was closed by an iron gate with a grating. 
 Three of the doors on the corridor were likewise grated. A 
 strange noise, as of shuffling feet, and the howling of in 
 furiated animals, rang through the hall. Bidding the house 
 keeper good night, and taking the candle, I entered my 
 bedchamber. 
 
 I took off my dress, and putting on a yellow flannel night 
 gown, which I could not help feeling did not agree with my 
 complexion, I composed myself to rest by reading Blairs 
 Rhetoric and Paleifs Moral Philosophy. I had just put out 
 the light, when I heard voices in the corridor. I listened 
 attentively. I recognised Mr. Rawj ester's stern tones. 
 
 " Have you fed No. 1 V he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said a gruff voice, apparently belonging to a 
 domestic. 
 
 "How's No. 2?" 
 
 " She's a little off her feed just now, but will pick up in a 
 day or two ! " 
 
 "And No. 3T 
 
 " Perfectly furious, sir. Her tantrums are ungovernable." 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 The voices died away, and I sank into a fitful slumber. 
 
 I dreamed that I was wandering through a tropical forest. 
 Suddenly I saw the figure of a gorilla approaching me. As 
 it ricared me, I recognised the features of Mr. Rawjester. 
 
244 MISS MIX. 
 
 He held his hand to his side as if in pain. I saw that he 
 had been wounded. He recognised me and called me by 
 name, but at the same moment the vision changed to an 
 Ashantee village, where, around the fire, a group of negroes 
 were dancing and participating in some wild Obi festival. I 
 awoke with the strain still surging in niy ears. 
 
 " Hokee-pokee wokee fum !" 
 
 Good Heavens ! could I be dreaming ? I heard the voice 
 distinctly on the floor below, and smelt something burning. 
 I arose, with an indistinct presentiment of evil, and hastily 
 puting some cotton in my ears and tying a towel about my 
 head, I wrapped myself in a shawl and rushed down 
 stairs. The door of Mr. Rawj ester's room was open. I 
 entered. 
 
 Mr. Rawj ester lay apparently in a deep slumber, from 
 which even the clouds of smoke that came from the burning 
 curtains of his bed could not rouse him. Around the room 
 a large and powerful iiegress, scantily attired, with her head 
 adorned with feathers, was dancing wildly, accompanying 
 herself with bone castanets. It looked like some terrible 
 fetich. 
 
 I did not lose my calmness. After firmly emptying the 
 pitcher, basin, and slop-jar on the burning bed, I proceeded 
 cautiously to the garden, and, returning with the garden- 
 engine, I directed a small stream at Mr. Rawjester. 
 
 At my entrance the gigantic negress fled. Mr. Ha wj ester 
 yawned and woke. I explained to him, as he rose dripping 
 from the bed, the reason of my presence. He did not seem 
 to be excited, alarmed, or discomposed. He gazed at me 
 curiously. 
 
 " So you risked your life to save mine, eh ] you canary- 
 coloured teacher of infants 1" 
 
 I blushed modestly, and drew my shawl tightly over my 
 yellow flannel nightgown. 
 
 ' You love me, Mary Jane don't deny ifc ! This tremt> 
 
MISS MIX. 245 
 
 ling shows it ! " He drew me closely towards him, and said, 
 with his deep voice tenderly modulated : 
 
 " How's her pooty tootans did she get her 'ittle tootens 
 wet b'ess her 1" 
 
 I understood his allusion to my feet. I glanced down and 
 saw that in my hurry I had put on a pair of his old India- 
 rubbers. My feet were not small or pretty, and the addition 
 did not add to their beauty. 
 
 " Let me go, sir," I remarked quietly. " This is all im 
 proper ; it sets a bad example for your child j" and I firmly 
 but gently extricated myself from his grasp. I approached 
 the door. He seemed for a moment buried in deep thought. 
 
 " You say this was a negress ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Humph ; No. 1, I suppose !" 
 
 " Who is Number One, sir ?" 
 
 "My first,'" he remarked, with a significant and sarcastic 
 smile. Then, relapsing into his old manner, he threw his 
 boots at my head, and bade me begone. I withdrew calmly. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MY pupil was a bright little girl, who spoke French with a 
 perfect accent. Her mother had been a French ballet- 
 dancer, which probably accounted for it. Although she was 
 only six years old, it was easy to perceive that she had been 
 several times in love. She once said to me : 
 
 " Miss Mix, did you ever have the grande passion 1 Did 
 you ever feel a fluttering here T' and she placed her hand 
 upon her small chest, and sighed quaintly, "a kind of dis 
 taste for bonbons and caromels, when the world seemed as 
 tasteless and hollow as a broken cordial drop." 
 
 "Then you have felt it, Nina T I said quietly. 
 
 " O dear, yes. There was Buttons that was our page, 
 
246 MISS MIX. 
 
 you know I loved him dearly, but papa sent him away. 
 Then there was Dick, the groom, but he laughed at me, and 
 I suffered misery !" and she struck a tragic French attitude. 
 " There is to be company here to-morrow," she added, 
 rattling on with childish naivete, " and papa's sweetheart 
 Blanche Marabout is to be here. You know they say she 
 is to be my mamma." 
 
 What thrill was this shot through me 1 ? But I rose 
 calmly, and administering a slight correction to the child, 
 left the apartment. 
 
 Blunderbore House, for the next week, was the scene of 
 gaiety and merriment. That portion of the mansion closed 
 with a grating was walled up, and the midnight shrieks no 
 longer troubled me. 
 
 But I felt more keenly the degradation of my situation. 
 I was obliged to help Lady Blanche at her toilette and help 
 her to look beautiful. For what 1 To captivate him 1 Oh 
 no, no but why this sudden thrill and faintness 1 Did 
 he really love her 3 I had seen him pinch and swear at her. 
 But I reflected that he had thrown a candlestick at my head, 
 and my foolish heart was reassured. 
 
 It was a night of festivity, when a sudden message obliged 
 Mr. Rawj ester to leave his guests for a few hours. " Make 
 yourselves merry, idiots," lie added, under his breath, as he 
 passed me. The door closed and he was gone. 
 
 A half hour passed. In the midst of the dancing a shriek 
 was heard, and out of the swaying crowd of fainting women 
 and excited men, a wild figure strode into the room. One 
 glance showed it to be a highwayman, heavily armed, hold 
 ing a pistol in each hand. 
 
 " Let no one pass out of this room !" he said, in a voice of 
 thunder. " The house is surrounded and you cannot escape. 
 The first one who crosses yonder threshold will be shot like 
 a dog. Gentlemen, I'll trouble you to approach in single 
 file, and hand me your purses and watches." 
 
MISS MIX. 247 
 
 Finding resistance useless, the order was ungraciously 
 obeyed. 
 
 "Now, ladies, please to pass up your jewelry and 
 trinkets." 
 
 This order was still more ungraciously complied with. As- 
 Blanche handed to the bandit captain her bracelet, she en 
 deavoured to conceal a diamond necklace, the gift of Mr, 
 Raw-jester, in her bosom. But, with a demoniac grin, the 
 powerful brute tore it from its concealment, and adminis 
 tering a hearty box on the ear of the young girl, flung her 
 aside. 
 
 It was now my turn. With a beating heart, I made 
 my way to the robber chieftain, and sank at his feet. 
 "Oh, sir, I am nothing but a poor governess, pray let 
 me go." 
 
 " Oh, ho ! A governess 1 Give me your last month's 
 wages, then. Give me what you have stolen from yonr 
 master !" and he laughed fiendishly. 
 
 I gazed at him quietly, and said, in a low voice, " I have 
 stolen nothing from you, Mr. Eawj ester !" 
 
 "Ah, discovered 1 ? Hush! listen, girl!" he hissed, in a 
 fiercer whisper, "utter a syllable to frustrate my plans and 
 you die aid me, and " but he was gone. 
 
 In a few moments the party, with the exception of 
 myself, were gagged and locked in the cellar. The next 
 moment torches were applied to the rich hangings, and the 
 house was in flames. I felt a strong hand seize me, and 
 bear me out in the open air and place me upon the hillside, 
 where I could overlook the burning mansion. It was Mr. 
 Rawj ester. 
 
 " Burn !" he said, as he shook his fist at the flames. Then 
 sinking on his knees before me, he said hurriedly : 
 
 " Mary Jane, I love you \ the obstacles to our union are 
 or will be soon removed. In yonder mansion were confined 
 my three crazy wives. One of them, as you know, attempted 
 
243 N N. 
 
 to kill me ! Ha ! this is vengeance ! But will you bo 
 mine 1 " 
 
 J fell, without a word, upon his neck. 
 
 NN. 
 ifcing a ,$obcl m tfje JFrcnd) paragraphic S-tpIe. 
 
 TWTADEMOISELLE, I swear to you that I love 
 
 -**-* you. 
 
 You who read these pages. You who turn your burn 
 ing eyes upon these words words that I trace Ah, 
 Heaven ! the thought maddens me. 
 
 I will be calm. I will imitate the reserve of the festive 
 Englishman, who wears a spotted handkerchief which he 
 calls a Belchio, who eats biftek, and caresses a bull-dog. I 
 will subdue myself like him. 
 
 Ha ! Poto-beer ! All right Goddam ! 
 
 Or, I will conduct myself as the free-born American 
 the gay Brother Jonathan ! I will whittle me a stick. I 
 will whistle to myself "Yankee Doodle," and forget my 
 passion in excessive expectoration. 
 
 Ploho ! wake snakes and walk chalks. 
 
 The world is divided into two great divisions : Paris and 
 the provinces. There is but one Paris. There are several pro 
 vinces, among winch may be numbered England, America, 
 Jlussia, and Italy. 
 
 N N. was a Parisian. 
 
 But N N. did not live in Paris. Drop a Parisian in the 
 provinces, and you drop a part of Paris with him. Drop 
 liiin in Sencgambia, and in three days he will give you an 
 omelette soufflee or a patu de foie gras, served by the neatest 
 of Senegarnbian filles, whom he will call Mademoiselle. In 
 three weeks he will give you an opera. 
 
N IV. 249 
 
 N N". was not dropped in Senegambia, but in San Fran 
 cisco quite as awkward. 
 
 They find gold in San Francisco, but they don't under 
 stand gilding. 
 
 N N. existed three years in this place. He became bald 
 on the top of his head, as all Parisians do. Look down 
 from your box at the Opera Comique, Mademoiselle, and 
 count the bald crowns of the fast young men in the pit. 
 Ah you tremble ! They show where the arrows of love 
 have struck and glanced off. 
 
 N 1ST. was also near-sighted, as all Parisians finally be 
 come. This is a gallant provision of Nature to spare them 
 the mortification of observing that their lady friends grow old. 
 After a certain age every woman is handsome to a Parisian. 
 
 One day, N N. was walking down "Washington-street. 
 Suddenly he stopped. 
 
 He was standing before the door of a milliner's shop. 
 Beside the counter, at the further extremity of the shop, 
 stood a young and elegantly-formed woman. Her face was 
 turned from N X. He entered. "With a plausible excuse, 
 and seeming indifference, he gracefully opened conversation 
 with the milliner as only a Parisian can. But he had to 
 deal with a Parisian. His attempts to view the features of 
 the fair stranger by the counter were deftly combated by 
 the shop-woman. He was obliged to retire. 
 
 N N. went home and lost his appetite. He was haunted 
 by the elegant basque and graceful shoulders of the fair 
 unknown, during the whole night. 
 
 The next day he sauntered by the milliner. Ah ! Heavens ! 
 A thrill ran through his frame, and his fingers tingled with 
 a delicious electricity. The fair inconnu was there ! He 
 raised his hat gracefully. He was not certain, but he thought 
 that a slight motion of her faultless bonnet betrayed recogni 
 tion. He would have wildly darted into the shop, but just 
 then the figure of the milliner appeared in the doorway. 
 
250 AT N. 
 
 Did Monsieur wish anything 1 
 
 Misfortune ! Desperation ! N 1ST. purchased a bottle of 
 prussic acid, a sack of charcoal, and a quire of pink note- 
 paper, and returned home. He wrote a letter of farewell to the 
 closely-fitting basque, and opened the bottle of prussic acid. 
 
 Some one knocked at his door. It was a Chinaman, with 
 his weekly linen. 
 
 These Chinese are docile, but not intelligent. They are 
 ingenious, but not creative. They are cunning in expe 
 dients, but deficient in tact. In love they are simply 
 barbarous. They purchase their wives openly, and not 
 constructively by attorney. By offering small sums for 
 their sweethearts, they degrade the value of the sex. 
 
 Nevertheless, N N". felt he was saved. He explained all 
 to the faithful Mongolian, and exhibited the letter he had 
 written. He implored him to deliver it. 
 
 The Mongolian assented. The race are not cleanly or 
 sweet-savoured, but N N. fell upon his neck. He embraced 
 him with one hand, and closed his nostrils with the other. 
 Through him he felt he clasped the close-fitting basque. 
 
 The next day was one of agony and suspense. Evening 
 came, but no Mercy. N N. lit the charcoal. But, to com 
 pose his nerves, he closed his door and first walked mildly 
 up and down Montgomery Street. When he returned, he 
 found the faithful Mongolian on the steps. 
 
 All lity ! 
 
 These Chinese are not accurate in their pronunciation. 
 They avoid the r, like the English nobleman. 
 
 N N. gasped for breath. He leaned heavily against the 
 Chinaman. 
 
 Then you have seen her, Ching Long 1 
 
 Yes. All lity. She cnm. Top side of house. 
 
 The docile barbarian pointed up the stairs, and chuckled. 
 
 She here impossible ! Ah, Heaven ! do I dream ? 
 
 Yes. All lity top side of house. Good-bye, John. 
 
N N. 251 
 
 This is the familiar parting epithet of the Mongolian. It 
 is equivalent to our au revoir. 
 
 N N. gazed with a stupefied air on the departing servant. 
 
 He placed his hand on his throbbing heart. She here 
 alone beneath his roof. Oh, Heavens what happiness ! 
 
 But how ? Torn from her home. Ruthlessly dragged, 
 perhaps, from her evening devotions, by the hands of a re 
 lentless barbarian. Could she forgive him 1 
 
 He dashed frantically up the stairs. He opened the door. 
 She was standing beside his couch with averted face. 
 
 A strange giddiness overtook him. He sank upon his 
 knees at the threshold. 
 
 Pardon, pardon. My angel, can you forgive me 1 
 
 A terrible nausea now seemed added to the fearful giddi 
 ness. His utterance grew thick and sluggish. 
 
 Speak, speak, enchantress. Forgiveness is all I ask. 
 My Love, my Life ! 
 
 She did not answer. He staggered to his feet. As he rose, 
 his eyes fell on the pan of burning charcoal. A terrible 
 suspicion flashed across his mind. This giddiness this 
 nausea. The ignorance of the barbarian. This silence. O 
 merciful heavens ; she was dying ! 
 
 He crawled toward her. He touched her. She fell for 
 ward with a lifeless sound upon the floor. He uttered a 
 piercing shriek, and threw himself beside her. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A file of gendarmes, accompanied by the Chef Burke, 
 found him the next morning lying lifeless upon the floor. 
 They laughed brutally these cruel minions of the law and 
 disengaged his arm from the waist of the wooden dummy 
 which they had come to reclaim from the mantua-maker. 
 
 Emptying a few bucketfuls of water over his form, they 
 finally succeeded in robbing him, not only of his mistress, 
 but of that Death he had coveted without her. 
 
 Ah ! we live in a strange world, Messieurs. 
 
252 NO TITLP 
 
 NO TITLE. 
 
 BY W-LK-E C-LL-NS. 
 
 :-o-: 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 HTHE following advertisement appeared in the Times of 
 the 17th of June, 1845 : 
 
 "\ A/" ANTED. A few young men for a light genteel employment. 
 VV Address J. W.,P. 0. 
 
 In the same paper, of same date, in another column : 
 
 'HP LET. That commodious and elegant family mansion, No. 27, 
 * Limehouse Koad, Pultneyville, will be rented low to a respectable 
 tenant if applied for immediately, the family being about to remove to 
 the continent. 
 
 Under the local intelligence, in another column : 
 
 MISSING. An unknown elderly gentleman a week ago left his 
 lodgings in the Kent Road, since which nothing has been heard 
 of him. He left no trace of his identity except a portmanteau con 
 taining a couple of shirts marked " 209, "WARD." 
 
 To find the connection between the mysterious disappear 
 ance of the elderly gentleman and the anonymous communi 
 cation, the relevancy of both these incidents to the letting 
 of a commodious family mansion, and the dead secret in 
 volved in the three occurrences, is the task of the writer of 
 this history. 
 
 A slim young man with spectacles, a large hat, drab 
 gaiters, and a note-book, sat late that night with a copy of 
 the Times before him, and a pencil which he rattled ner 
 vously between his teeth, in the coffee-room of the " Blue 
 Dragon." 
 
NO TITLE. 253 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MARY JONES'S NARRATIVE. 
 
 I AM upper housemaid to the family that live at No. 27, 
 Limehouse Road, Pultneyville. I have been requested by 
 Mr. "Wilkey Ceilings, which I takes the liberty of here stating 
 is a gentleman born and bred, and has some consideration for 
 the feelings of servants, and is not above rewarding them for 
 their trouble, which is more than you can say for some who 
 ask questions and gets short answers enough, gracious knows, 
 to tell what I know about them. I have been requested to 
 tell my story in my own langwidge, though, being no schol- 
 lard, mind cannot conceive. I think my master is a brute. 
 Do not know that he has ever attempted to poison my missus 
 which is too good for him, and how she ever came to- 
 many him, heart only can tell but believe him to be capable 
 of any such hatrosity. Have heard him swear dreadful 
 because of not having his shaving water at 9 o'clock pre 
 cisely. Do not know whether he ever forged a will or tried 
 to get my missus' property, although, not having confidence 
 in the man, should not be suprised if he had done so. 
 Believe that there was always something mysterious in his 
 conduct. Remember distinctly how the family left home 
 to go abroad. Was putting up my back hair, last Saturday 
 morning, when I heard a ring. Says cook, " That's missus' 
 bell, and mind you hurry, or the master 'ill know why." Says I, 
 " Humbly thanking you, mem, but taking advice of them as 
 is competent to give it, I'll take my time." Found missus 
 dressing herself, and master growling as usual. Says missus, 
 quite calm and easy like, " Mary, we begin to pack to-day." 
 " What for, mem 1 " says I, taken aback. " What's that 
 hussy asking ? " says master from the bedclothes, quite 
 gavagelike. "For the Continent Italy," says missus; "can 
 you go, Mary ? " Her voice was quite gentle and saintlike, 
 
254 NO TITLE. 
 
 but I knew the struggle it cost, and says I, " With you, 
 mem, to India's torrid clime, if required, but with African 
 Gorillas," says I, looking toward the bed, " never." " Leave 
 the room," says master, starting up and catching of his boot- 
 jack. " Why, Charles," says missus, " how you talk ! " affect 
 ing surprise. " Do go, Mary," says she, slipping a half- 
 crown into my hand. I left the room scorning to take 
 notice of the odious wretch's conduct. 
 
 Cannot say whether my master and missus were ever 
 legally married. What with the dreadful state of morals 
 now-a-days, and them stories in the circulating libraries, 
 innocent girls don't know into what society they might be 
 obliged to take situations. Never saw missus' marriage cer 
 tificate, though I have quite accidental -like looked in her 
 desk when open, and would have seen it. Do not know 
 of any lovers missus might have had. Believe she had a 
 liking for John Thomas, footman, for she was always spite- 
 ful-like poor lady when we were together though there 
 was nothing between us, as cook well knows, and dare not 
 deny, and missus needn't have been jealous. Have never 
 seen arsenic or Prussian acid in any of the private drawers, 
 but have seen paregoric and camphor. One of my master's 
 friends was a Count Moscow, a Kussian papist which I 
 detested. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SLIM YOUNG MAN'S STORY. 
 
 I AM by profession a reporter, and writer for the press. I 
 live at Pultneyville. I have always had a passion for the 
 marvellous, and have been distinguished for my facility in 
 tracing out mysteries, and solving enigmatical occurrences. 
 On the night of the 17th June, 1845, I left my office and 
 walked homeward. The night was bright and starlight. I 
 was revolving in my mind the words of a singular item I had 
 
NO TITLE. 255 
 
 just read in the Times. I had reached the darkest portion 
 of the road, and found myself mechanically repeating "An 
 elderly gentleman a week ago left his lodgings in the Kent 
 Road," when suddenly I heard a step behind me. 
 
 I turned quickly, with an expression of horror in my face, 
 and by the light of the newly-risen moon beheld an elderly 
 gentleman, with green cotton umbrella, approaching me. His 
 hair, which was snow-white, was parted over a broad, open 
 forehead. The expression of his face, which was slightly 
 flushed, was that of amiability verging almost upon imbeci 
 lity. There was a strange, inquiring look about the widely- 
 opened mild blue eye a look that might have been intensi 
 fied to insanity, or modified to idiocy. As he passed me, he 
 paused, and partly turned his face, with a gesture of inquiry. 
 I see him sfcill, his white locks blowing in the evening breeze, 
 his hat a little on the back of his head, and his figure painted 
 in relief against the dark blue sky. 
 
 Suddenly he turned his mild eye full upon me. A weak 
 smile played about his thin lips. In a voice which had 
 something of the tremulousness of age and the self-satisfied 
 chuckle of imbecility in it, he asked, pointing to the rising 
 moon, "Why? Hush!" 
 
 He had dodged behind me, and appeared to be looking 
 anxiously down the road. I could feel his aged frame shak 
 ing with terror as he laid his thin hands upon my shoulders 
 and faced me in the direction of the supposed danger. 
 
 " Hush ! did you not hear them coming ?" 
 
 I listened ; there was no sound but the soughing of the 
 roadside trees in the evening wind. I endeavoured to re 
 assure him, with such success that in a few moments the old 
 weak smile appeared on his benevolent face. 
 
 "Why 1 ? " But the look of interrogation was suc 
 ceeded by a hopeless blankness. 
 
 " Why !" I repeated with assuring accents. 
 
 " Why," he said, a gleam of intelligence nickering over 
 
256 NO TITLE. 
 
 nis face, "is yonder moon, as she sails in the blue empyrean, 
 casting a flood of light o'er hill and dale, like Why," ho 
 repeated with a feeble smile, " is yonder moon, as she sails 
 in the blue empyrean " He hesitated stammered and 
 gazed at me hopelessly, with the tears dripping from his 
 moist and widely-opened eyes. 
 
 I took his hand kindly in my own. " Casting a shadow 
 o'er hill and dale," I repeated quietly, leading him up the 
 subject, "like Come, now." 
 
 "Ah!" he said, pressing my hand tremulously, "you 
 know it V 1 
 
 "I do. Why is it like the eh the commodious man 
 sion in the Limehouse Road 1 " 
 
 A blank stare only followed. He shook his head sadly. 
 " Like the young men wanted for a light, genteel employ 
 ment]" 
 
 He wagged his feeble old head cunningly. 
 
 " Or, Mr. Ward," I said with bold confidence, " like the 
 mysterious disappearance from the Kent Road." 
 
 The moment was full of suspense. He did not seem to 
 Lear me. Suddenly he turned. 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 I darted forward. But he had vanished in the darkness. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 NO. 27, LIMEHOUSE ROAD. 
 
 IT was a hot midsummer evening. Limehouse Road was 
 deserted save by dust and a few rattling butchers' carts, and 
 the bell of the muffin and crumpet man. A commodious 
 mansion which stood on the right of the road as you enter 
 Pultneyville, surrounded by stately poplars and a high fence 
 surmounted by a chevaux defrise of broken glass, looked to 
 the passing and footsore pedestrian like the genius of seclu- 
 
NO TITLE. 257 
 
 sion and solitude. A bill announcing in the usual terms 
 that the house was to let, hung from the bell at the servants' 
 entrance. 
 
 As the shades of evening closed, and the long shadows of 
 the poplars stretched across the road, a man carrying a small 
 kettle stopped and gazed, first at the bill and then at the 
 house. When he had reached the corner of the fence, he 
 again stopped and looked cautiously up and down the road. 
 Apparently satisfied with the result of his scrutiny, he deli 
 berately sat himself down in the dark shadow of the fence, 
 and at once busied himself in some employment, so well con 
 cealed as to be invisible to the gaze of passers-by. At the 
 end of an hour he retired cautiously. 
 
 But not altogether unseen. A slim young man, with 
 spectacles and note-book, stepped from behind a tree as the 
 retreating figure of the intruder was lost in the twilight, and 
 transferred from the fence to his note-book the freshly sten 
 cilled inscription" S T 1860 X." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 COUNT MOSCOW'S NARRATIVE. 
 
 I AM a foreigner. Observe ! To be a foreigner in England 
 is to be mysterious, suspicious, intriguing. M. Collins has 
 requested the history of my complicity with certain occur 
 rences. It is nothing bah absolutely nothing. 
 
 I write with ease and fluency. Why should I not write I 
 Tra la la ! I am what you English call corpulent. Ha, 
 ha ! I am a pupil of Macchiavelli. I find it much better 
 to disbelieve everything, and to approach my subject and 
 wishes circuitously, than in a direct manner. You have 
 observed that playful animal, the cat. Call it, and it does 
 not come to you directly, but rubs itself against all the fur 
 niture in the room, and reaches you finally and scratches. 
 
258 NO TITLE. 
 
 Ah, ha, scratches ! I am of the feline species. People call 
 me a villain bah ! 
 
 I know the family living at No. 27, Limehouse Road. 
 I respect the gentleman a fine, burly specimen of your 
 Englishman and madame, charming, ravishing, delightful. 
 "When it became known to me that they designed to let their 
 delightful residence, and visit foreign shores, I at once called 
 upon them. I kissed the hand of madame. I embraced the 
 great Englishman. Madame blushed slightly. The great 
 Englishman shook my hand like a mastiff. 
 
 I began in that dexterous, insinuating manner of which 1 
 am truly proud. I thought madame was ill. Ah no. A 
 change, then, was all that was required. I sat down at the 
 piano and sang. In a few minutes madame retired. I was 
 alone with my friend. 
 
 Seizing his hand, I began with every demonstration of 
 courteous sympathy. I do not repeat my words, for my 
 intention was conveyed more in accent, emphasis, and 
 manner, than speech. I hinted to him that he had another 
 wife living. I suggested that this was balanced ha ! by 
 his wife's lover. That, possibly, he wished to fly hence the 
 letting of his delightful mansion. That he regularly and 
 systematically beat his wife in the English manner, and that 
 she repeatedly deceived him. I talked of hope, of consola 
 tion, of remedy. I carelessly produced a bottle of strychnine 
 and a small vial of stramonium from my pocket, and enlarged 
 on the efficiency of drugs. His face, which had gradually 
 become convulsed, suddenly became fixed with a frightful 
 expression. He started to his feet, and roared : " You d d 
 Frenchman ! " 
 
 I instantly changed my tactics, and endeavoured to em 
 brace him. He kicked me twice, violently. I begged 
 permission to kiss madame's hand. He replied by throwing 
 me down-stairs. 
 
 I am in bed with my head bound up, and beef-steaks 
 
NO TITLE. 259 
 
 upon my eyes, but still confident and buoyant. I have not 
 lost faith in Macchiavelli. Tra la la ! as they sing in the 
 opera. I kiss everybody's hands. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DR. BIGGS' STATEMENT. 
 
 MY name is David Diggs. I am a surgeon living at No. 9, 
 Tottenham Court. On the 15th of June, 1854, I was called 
 to see an elderly gentleman lodging in the Kent Road. 
 Found him highly excited, with strong febrile symptoms, 
 pulse 120, increasing. Repeated incoherently what I judged 
 to be the popular form of a conundrum. On closer exami 
 nation found acute hydrocephalus and both lobes of the brain 
 rapidly filling with water. In consultation with an eminent 
 phrenologist, it was further discovered that all the organs 
 were more or less obliterated except that of Comparison. 
 Hence the patient was enabled to only distinguish the most 
 common points of resemblance between objects, without 
 drawing upon other faculties, such as Ideality or Language, 
 for assistance. Later in the day found him sinking being 
 evidently unable to carry the most ordinary conundrum to a 
 successful issue. Exhibited Tinct. VaL, Ext. Opii, and 
 Camphor, and prescribed quiet and emollients. On the 17th 
 the patient was missing. 
 
 CHAPTER LAST. 
 
 STATEMENT OF THE PUBLISHER. 
 
 ON the 18th of June, Mr. Wilkie Collins left a roll of manu 
 script with us for publication, without title or direction, 
 since which time he has not been heard from. In spite of 
 the care of the proof-readers, and valuable literary assistance, 
 
26o HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 
 
 it is feared that the continuity of the story has been de 
 stroyed by some accidental misplacing of chapters daring its 
 progress. How and what chapters are so misplaced, the 
 publisher leaves to an indulgent public to discover. 
 
 HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 
 
 BY CH-S R-DE. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Dodds were dead. For twenty years they had slept 
 under the green graves of Kittery churchyard. The 
 townfolk still spoke of them kindly. The keeper of the 
 alehouse, where David had smoked his pipe, regretted him 
 regularly, and Mistress Kitty, Mrs. Dodd's maid, whose trim 
 figure always looked well in her mistress's gowns, was incon 
 solable. The Hardins were in America. Raby was aristo 
 cratically gouty ; Mrs. Raby, religious. Briefly, then, we 
 have disposed of 
 
 1. Mr. and Mrs. Dodd (dead). 
 
 2. Mr. and Mrs. Hardin (translated). 
 
 3. Raby, baron et femme. (Yet I don't know about the 
 former he came of a long-lived family, and the gout is an 
 uncertain disease.) 
 
 "We have active at the present writing (place aux 
 dames] 
 
 1 . Lady Caroline Coventry, niece of Sir Frederick. 
 
 2. Faraday Huxley Little, son of Henry and Grace Little, 
 deceased. 
 
 Sequilur to the above, A HERO AND HEROINE. 
 
HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 261 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON the death of his parents, Faraday Little was taken to 
 Raby Hall. In accepting his guardianship, Mr. Raby 
 struggled stoutly against two prejudices : Faraday was 
 plain-looking and sceptical. 
 
 " Handsome is as handsome does, sweetheart," pleaded 
 Jael, interceding for the orphan with arms that were still 
 beautiful. " Dear knows, it is not his fault if he does not 
 look like his father," she added with a great gulp. Jael 
 was a woman, and vindicated her womanhood by never 
 entirely forgiving a former rival. 
 
 "It's not that alone, madam," screamed Kaby, "but, 
 d m it, the little rascal's a scientist, an atheist, a radical, 
 a scoffer ! Disbelieves in the Bible, ma'am ; is full of this 
 Darwinian stuff about natural selection and descent. Descent, 
 forsooth ! In my day, madam, gentlemen were content to 
 trace their ancestors back to gentlemen, and not to 
 monkeys ! " 
 
 " Dear heart, the boy is clever," urged Jael. 
 
 " Clever ! " roared Raby ; " what does a gentleman want 
 with cleverness ? " 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 You]sra Little was clever. At seven he had constructed a 
 telescope; at nine, a flying-machine. At ten he saved a, 
 valuable life. 
 
 Norwood Park was the adjacent estate, a lordly domain 
 dotted with red deer and black trunks, but scrupulously 
 kept with gravelled roads as hard and blue as steel. There 
 Little was strolling one summer morning, meditating on a 
 new top with concealed springs. At a little distance before 
 him he saw the flutter of lace and ribbons. A young lady, 
 
262 HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 
 
 a very young lady, say of seven summers, tricked out in 
 the crying abominations of the present fashion, stood beside 
 a low bush. Her nursery -maid was not present, possibly 
 owing to the fact that John the footman was also absent. 
 
 Suddenly Little came towards her. " Excuse me, but do 
 you know what those berries are ? " He was pointing to the 
 low bush filled with dark clusters of shining suspiciously 
 shining fruit. 
 
 "Certainly; they are blueberries." 
 
 " Pardon me ; you are mistaken. They belong to quite 
 another family." 
 
 Miss Impudence drew herself up to her full height (exactly 
 three feet nine and a half inches), and, curling an eighth of 
 an inch of scarlet lip, said scornfully, " Your family, 
 perhaps." 
 
 Faraday Little smiled in the superiority of boyhood over 
 girlhood. 
 
 " I allude to the classification. That plant is the bella 
 donna, or deadly nightshade. Its alkaloid is a narcotic 
 poison." 
 
 Sauciness turned pale. " I have just eaten some ! " 
 And began to whimper. " O dear, what shall I do 1 " Then 
 did it, i. e. wrung her small fingers and cried. 
 
 "Pardon me one moment." Little passed his arm around 
 her neck, and with his thumb opened widely the patrician- 
 veined lids of her sweet blue eyes. " Thank Heaven, there 
 is yet no dilation of the pupil ; it is not too late ! " He cast 
 a rapid glance around. The nozzle and about three feet of 
 garden hose lay near him. 
 
 " Open your mouth, quick ! " 
 
 It was a pretty, kissable mouth. But young Little meant 
 business. He put the nozzle down her pink throat as far as 
 it would go. 
 
 " Now, don't move." 
 
 He wrapped his handkerchief around a hoop-stick. Then 
 
HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 263 
 
 lie inserted both in the other end of the stiff hose. It fitted 
 snugly. He shoved it in and then drew it back. 
 
 Nature abhors a vacuum. The young patrician was as 
 amenable to this law as the child of the lowest peasant. 
 
 She succumbed. It was all over in a minute. Then she 
 burst into a small fury. 
 
 " You nasty, bad ugly boy." 
 
 Young Little winced, but smiled. 
 
 " Stimulants," he whispered to the frightened nursery 
 maid who approached-; "good evening." He was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE breach between young Little and Mr. Raby was slowly 
 widening. Little found objectionable features in the Hall. 
 
 " This black oak ceiling and wainscoating is not as healthful 
 as plaster ; besides it absorbs the light. The bedroom ceiling- 
 is too low j the Elizabethan architects knew nothing of 
 ventilation. The colour of that oak panelling which you 
 admire is due to an excess of carbon and the exuvia from 
 the pores of your skin " 
 
 u Leave the house," bellowed Raby, " before the roof falls 
 on your sacrilegious head ! " 
 
 As Little left the house, Lady Caroline and a handsome 
 boy of about Little's age entered. Lady Caroline recoiled, 
 and then blushed. Little glared ; he instinctively felt the: 
 presence of a rival. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LITTLE worked hard. He studied night and day. In five 
 years he became a lecturer, then a professor. 
 
 He soared as high as the clouds, he dipped as low as the 
 cellars of the London poor. He analyzed the London fog, 
 and found it two parts smoke, one disease, one unmentionable 
 
264 HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 
 
 abominations. He published a pamphlet, which was violently 
 attacked. Then he knew he had done something. 
 
 But he had not forgotten Caroline. He was walking one 
 day in the Zoological Gardens and he came upon a pretty 
 picture, flesh and blood too. 
 
 Lady Caroline feeding buns to the bears ! An exquisite 
 thrill passed through his veins. She turned her sweet face 
 and their eyes met. They recollected their first meeting 
 seven years before, but it was his turn to be shy and timid. 
 "Wonderful power of age and sex ! She met him with perfect 
 self-possession. 
 
 " Well meant, but indigestible I fear "(lie alluded to the 
 buns). 
 
 "A clever person like yourself can easily correct that" 
 (she, the slyboots, was thinking of something else). 
 
 In a few moments they were chatting gayly. Little eagerly 
 descanted upon the different animals ; she listened with 
 delicious interest. An hour glided delightfully away. 
 
 After this sunshine, clouds. 
 
 To them suddenly entered Mr. Raby and a handsome 
 young man. The gentlemen bowed stiffly and looked vicious, 
 as they felt. The lady of this quartette smiled amiably, as 
 she did not feel. 
 
 " Looking at your ancestors, I suppose," said Mr. Raby, 
 pointing to the monkeys ; "we will not disturb you. Come." 
 And he led Caroline away. 
 
 Little was heart-sick. He dared not follow them. But an 
 hour later he saw something which filled his heart with bliss 
 unspeakable. 
 
 Lady Caroline, with a divine smile on her face, feeding the 
 monkeys ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ENCOURAGED by love, Little worked hard upon his new 
 Hy ing-machine. His labours were lightened by talking of the 
 
^HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 
 
 "Little tied the dog to the handle of the parasol and launched them both into space. 
 The next moment they were slowly, but tranquilly, sailing to the earth." 
 
HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 265 
 
 beloved one with her French maid Therese, whom he had 
 discreetly bribed. Mademoiselle Therese was venal, like 
 all her class, but in this instance I fear she was not bribed 
 by British gold. Strange as it may seem to the British 
 mind, it was British genius, British eloquence, British 
 thought, that brought her to the feet of this young savan. 
 
 " I believe," said Lady Caroline, one day, interrupting her 
 maid in a glowing eulogium upon the skill of " M. Leetell," 
 "I believe you are in love with this Professor." A quick 
 flush crossed the olive cheek of Therese, which Lady Caroline 
 afterward remembered. 
 
 The eventful clay of trial came. The public were gathered, 
 impatient and scornful as the pig-headed public are apt to be. 
 In the open area a long cylindrical balloon, in shape like 
 a Bologna sausage, swayed above the machine, from which, 
 like some enormous bird caught in a net, it tried to free 
 itself. A heavy rope held it fast to the ground. 
 
 Little was waiting for the ballast, when his eye caught 
 Lady Caroline's among the spectators. The glance was 
 appealing. In a moment he was at her side. 
 
 " I should like so much to get into the machine," said the 
 arch-hypocrite, demurely. 
 
 " Are you engaged to marry young Raby," said Little, 
 bluntly. 
 
 " As you please," she said with a courtesy j "do I take this 
 as a refusal?" 
 
 Little was a gentleman. He lifted her and her lapdoginto 
 the car. 
 
 " How nice ! it won't go off?" 
 
 " No, the rope is strong, and the ballast is not yet in." 
 
 A report like a pistol, a cry from the spectators, a thousand 
 hands stretched to grasp the parted rope, and the balloon 
 darted upward. 
 
 Only one hand of that thousand caught the rope, Little's ! 
 But in the same instant the horror-stricken spectators saw 
 
265 HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 
 
 him whirled from his feet and borne upward, still clinging to 
 the rope, into space. 
 
 CHAPTER VII.* 
 
 LADY CAROLINE fainted. The cold watery nose of her dog 
 on her cheek brought her to herself. She dared not look over 
 the edge of the car ; she dared not look up to the bellying 
 monster above her, bearing her to death. She threw herself 
 on the bottom of the car, and embraced the only living thing 
 spared her, the poodle. Then she cried. Then a clear voice 
 came apparently out of the circumambient air : 
 
 " May I trouble you to look at the barometer 1 ? " 
 
 She put her head over the car. Little was hanging at the 
 end of a long rope. She put her head back again. 
 
 In another moment he saw her perplexed, blushing face 
 over the edge, blissful sight. 
 
 " O, please don't think of coming up ! Stay there, do !" 
 
 Little stayed. Of course she could make nothing out of 
 the barometer, and said so. Little smiled. 
 
 " Will you kindly send it down to me ' 
 
 But she ha,d no string or cord. Finally she said, " Wait a 
 moment." 
 
 Little waited. This time her face did not appear. The 
 barometer came slowly down at the end of a stay-lace. 
 
 The barometer showed a frightful elevation. Little looked 
 up at the valve and said nothing. Presently he heard a sigh. 
 Then a sob. Then, rather sharply, 
 
 " Why don't you do something ?" 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 LITTLE came up the rope hand over hand. Lady Caroline 
 
 * The right of dramatization of this and succeeding chapters is 
 reserved by the writer. 
 
HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 267 
 
 crouched in the farther side of the car. Fido, the poodle, 
 whined. " Poor thing," said Lady Caroline, " it's hungry." 
 
 " Do you wish to save the dog % " said Little. 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Give me your parasol." 
 
 She handed Little a good-sized affair of lace and silk and 
 whalebone. (None of your " sun-shades.") Little exa 
 mined its ribs carefully. 
 
 " Give me the dog." 
 
 Lady Caroline hurriedly slipped a note under the dog's 
 collar, arid passed over her pet. 
 
 Little tied the dog to the handle of the parasol and 
 launched them both into space. The next moment they 
 were slowly, but tranquilly, sailing to the earth. 
 
 "A parasol and a parachute are distinct, but not dif 
 ferent. Be not alarmed, he will get his dinner at some 
 farm-house." 
 
 " Where are we now 1" 
 
 " That opaque spot you see is London fog. Those twin- 
 clouds are North and South America. Jerusalem and 
 Madagascar are those specks to the right." 
 
 Lady Caroline moved nearer; she was becoming inte 
 rested. Then she recalled herself and said freezingly, 
 " How are we going to descend ? " 
 
 " By opening the valve." 
 
 " Why don't you open it then ? " 
 
 " BECAUSE THE VALVE-STRING is BROKEN ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LADY CAROLINE fainted. When she revived it was dark. 
 They were apparently cleaving their way through a solid 
 block of black marble. She moaned and shuddered. 
 
 " I wish we had a light." 
 
 " I have no lucifers," said Little. " I observe, however, 
 
268 HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 
 
 that you wear a necklace of amber. Amber under certain 
 conditions becomes highly electrical. Permit me." 
 
 He took the amber necklace and rubbed it briskly. Then 
 he asked her to present her knuckle to the gem. A bright 
 spark was the result. This- was repeated for some hours. 
 The light was not brilliant, but it was enough for the 
 purposes of propriety, and satisfied the delicately minded 
 girl- 
 
 Suddenly there was a tearing, hissing noise and a smell of 
 gas. Little looked up and turned pale. The balloon, at 
 what I shall call the pointed end of the Bologna sausage, 
 was evidently bursting from increased pressure. The gas 
 was escaping, and already they were beginning to descend. 
 Little was resigned, but firm. 
 
 " If the silk gives way, then we are lost. Unfortunately 
 I have no rope nor material for binding it." 
 
 The woman's instinct had arrived at the same conclusion 
 sooner than the man's reason. But she was hesitating over 
 a detail. 
 
 " Will you go down the rope for a moment "? " she said, 
 with a sweet smile. 
 
 Little went down. Presently she called to him. She 
 held something in her hand, a wonderful invention of the 
 seventeenth century, improved and perfected in this : a 
 pyramid of sixteen circular hoops of light yet strong steel, 
 attached to each other by cloth bands. 
 
 With a cry of joy Little seized them, climbed to the 
 balloon, and fitted the elastic hoops over its conical end. 
 Then he returned to the car. 
 
 We are saved." 
 
 Lady Caroline, blushing, gathered her slim but antique 
 drapery against the other end of the car. 
 
HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 269 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THEY were slowly descending. Presently Lady Caroline 
 distinguished the outlines of Raby Hall. " I think I will 
 get out here," she said. 
 
 Little anchored the balloon and prepared to follow her. 
 
 "Not so, my friend," she said, with an arch smile. 
 " We must not be seen together. People might talk. Fare 
 well." 
 
 Little sprang again into the balloon and sped away to 
 America. He came down in California, oddly enough in. 
 front of Hardin's door, at Butch Flat. Hardin was just 
 examining a specimen of ore. 
 
 " You are a scientist ; you can tell me if that is worth 
 anything?" he said, handing it to Little. 
 
 Little held it to the light. " It contains ninety per cent, 
 of silver. " 
 
 Hardin embraced him. " Can I do anything for you, and 
 why are you here ? " 
 
 Little told his story. Hardin asked to see the rope. 
 Then he examined it carefully. 
 
 " Ah, this was cut, not broken ! " 
 
 " With a knife 1" asked Little. 
 
 " No. Observe both sides are equally indented. It was 
 done with a scissors ! " 
 
 " Just Heaven !" gasped Little. " Therese !" 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LITTLE returned to London. Passing through London one 
 day he met a dog-fancier. "Buy a nice poodle, sir 1 ?'' 
 
 Something in the animal attracted his attention. "Eido!" 
 he gasped. 
 
 The dog yelped. 
 
 Little bought him. On taking off his collar a piece of 
 
270 HANDSOME IS AS HANDSOME DOES. 
 
 paper rustled to the floor. He knew the handwriting and 
 kissed it. It ran : 
 
 " To THE HON. AUGUSTUS RABY : I cannot marry you. 
 If I marry any one" (sly puss) "it will be the man who has 
 twice saved my life, Professor Little. 
 
 " CAROLINE COVENTRY.'* 
 
 And she did. 
 
SKETCHES. 
 
MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 
 
 "\ yl 7"E 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 j 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 colour 
 of his eyes?" 
 
 " Black," responded the passenger. 
 
 "Ah," said Mr. Thompson, referring to some mental 
 memoranda, " Char-les' eyes was blue." 
 
 He then walked away. Perhaps it was from this unsym 
 pathetic mode of inquiry ; perhaps it was from that Western 
 predilection to take a humorous view of any principle or 
 sentiment persistently brought before them, that Mr. Thomp 
 son's quest was the subject of some satire among the passen 
 gers. A gratuitous advertisement of the missing Charles, 
 addressed to " Jailers and Guardians," circulated privately 
 among them ; everybody remembered to have met Charles 
 under distressing circumstances. Yet it is but due to my 
 countrymen to state that when it was known that Thomp 
 son 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 
 
 T 
 
274 MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 
 
 heart, or imperil a possible pecuniary advantage of the 
 satirist. Indeed, Mr. Bracey Tibbets' jocular proposition 
 to form a joint-stock company to "prospect" for the missing 
 youth, received at one time quite serious entertainment. 
 
 Perhaps to superficial criticism Mr. Thompson's nature 
 was not picturesque nor lovable. His history, as imparted 
 at dinner one day by himself, was practical even in its sin 
 gularity. 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 epidemic. 
 " Enter ye the narrer gate. Parse me the beans." 
 
 Perhaps this practical equality upheld him in his appa 
 rently hopeless search. He had no clew to the whereabouts 
 of his runaway son indeed, 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 succeeded 
 was one of the few things he did not tell. There are, I be 
 lieve, two versions of the story. One, that Mr. Thompson, 
 visiting a hospital, discovered his son by reason of a peculiar 
 hymn, 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 Rev. Mr. Gushington, on his return from his Cali 
 fornia 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 searching for his 
 son among the living, and had taken to the examination of 
 cemeteries, and a careful inspection 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 
 
MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 27$ 
 
 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 mortuary inscriptions audibly to 
 himself. The frequency of scriptural quotation pleased him r 
 and he was fond of corroborating them by a pocket Bible. 
 
 " That's from Psalms," he said, one clay, 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 1" 
 
 "Thompson be d d," said the grave-digger, with great 
 directness. 
 
 " "Which, if he hadn't religion, I think he is," responded 
 the old man, as he clambered out of the grave. 
 
 It was, perhaps, on this occasion that Mr. Thompson 
 stayed later than usual. As he turned his face towards 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 something 
 
 o 
 
 else, quite as indistinct and malevolent, leaped upon him 
 with an oath, a presented pistol, and a demand for money. 
 fBut 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 grasp 
 ing the captured pistol, the other clutching at arm's length 
 the throat of a figure, surly, youthful, and savage. 
 
 " Young man," said Mr. Thompson, setting his thin lijw 
 together, " what might be your name ! " 
 
 i 2. 
 
276 MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 
 
 " Thompson ! " 
 
 The old man's hand slid from the throat to the arm of 
 his prisoner, without relaxing its firmness. 
 
 i - 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 morn 
 ing 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 man 
 ners to justify it. Grave, reticent, and handsome, devoted 
 to his newly found parent, he assumed the emoluments and 
 responsibilities 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 pro 
 phesy 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 respected. 
 
 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 ; perhaps and it is the more probable 
 he had little love for the son he had regained. The obe 
 dience 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 hisreligious duty required of him, 
 and yet the act seemed to lack saiictification. In this per 
 plexity he read again the parable of the Prodigal Son 
 which he had long 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 sacra 
 ment between himself and his son ; and so, a year after the 
 appearance of Charles, he set about giving him a party. 
 
MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 277 
 
 "Invite everybody, Char-les," he said, dryly; "everybody 
 who knows that I brought you out of the wine-husks oi 
 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 reconstruct, from the grave features of Charles,, 
 the little boy which he but dimly remembered in the past,, 
 and of which 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 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 his house, and, 
 from the array of San Francisco maidenhood, 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 "Robinsons 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 situation, but further impelled 
 by the bright eyes of the Jones girls, conducted himself so 
 remarkably as to attract the serious regard of Mr. Charles 
 Thompson, who approached him, saying quietly : " You look 
 ill, Mr. Tibbets ; let me conduct you to your carriage. Re 
 sist, you hound, and I'll 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 
 
2;3 MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 
 
 by Mr. Tibbits, who afterwards regretted the sudden 
 illness which kept him from witnessing a certain amusing 
 incident, which the fastest Miss Jones characterized as the 
 " richest part of the blow-out/' and which I hasten to record : 
 
 It was at supper. It w^as evident that Mr. Thompson had 
 overlooked much lawlessness in the conduct of the younger 
 people, in his abstract contemplation of some impending 
 vent. 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 deliberation, " 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 Thompson, 
 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 
 Ms 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 
 toward him. 
 
 "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, O Christian friends a man of wrath and bitter 
 ness " (" Amen," from the eldest Miss Smith) " but, praise 
 be to God, I've fled Ihe wrath to corne. It's five years ago 
 since I got the peace that passeth understanding. Have 
 you got it, friends 1 " (A general sub chorus of " No, no," 
 from the girls, and " Pass the word for it," from Midship- 
 
MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 279 
 
 man 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. Thompson, " 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 my 
 self 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 verandah, lately filled by 
 gaping servants, and now the scene of some vague tumult. 
 As the noise continued, a man, shabbily dressed, and evi 
 dently in liquor, broke through the opposing guardians, 
 and staggered into the room. The transition from the fog 
 and darkness without to the glare and heat within, evidently 
 dazzled and stupefied 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. Sud 
 denly, his wandering glance fell upon the pale face of Charles 
 Thompson ; and with a gleani of childlike recognition, and 
 a weak, falsetto laugh, he darted forward, caught at the 
 table, upset the glasses, and literally fell upon the prodigal's 
 breast. 
 
 " Sha'ly ! yo' d d ol' scoun'rel, hoo rar ye ! " 
 
 " Hush ! sit down ! hush ! " said Charles Thompson, 
 hurriedly endeavouring to extricate himself from the em 
 brace of his unexpected guest. 
 
 " Look at'rn ! " continued the stranger, unheeding the 
 admonition, but suddenly holding the unfortunate Charles 
 at arms' length, in loving and undisguised admiration of his 
 
2 8o MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 
 
 festive appearance. " Look at'm ! Ain't lie nasty 1 Slia'Is, 
 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 1*' 
 
 " Simmer down, ole man ! Sha'ls, who's th' ol' bloat 1 
 Eh?" 
 
 " Hush, man ; here, take this ! " With nervous 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 
 circlirng 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 011 Charles. 
 
 " Nothing but stop for God's sake. Wait till to 
 morrow, but not to-night. Do not I implore 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 V he 
 whispered, hoarsely, " is this man T 
 
 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 tliis- 
 man ?" 
 
 Only two persons heard the answer that came faintly from 
 the lips of Charles Thompson : 
 
 " YOUR SON." 
 
MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. 281 
 
 When the day broke over the bleak sandhills, the guests 
 had departed from Mr. Thompson's banquet-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, entreating 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 dis 
 solute 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. O, sir, if I was 
 hungry, homeless, and reckless when I would have robbed 
 you of your gold, I was heart-sick, helpless, and 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-bye. You will not take my hand % Well, well. Good 
 bye." 
 
 He turned to go. But when he had reached the door 
 
282 MELONS. 
 
 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 for ever. 
 
 MELONS. 
 
 A S I do not suppose the most gentle of readers will believe 
 that anybody's sponsors in baptism ever wilfully as 
 sumed the responsibility of such a name, I may as well state 
 that I have reason to infer that Melons was simply the nick 
 name 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 imaginative mind might have suggested that succulent 
 vegetable. That his parents, recognising 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 McGinnis's Court. He dawned upon me as 
 Melons. His proximity was indicated by shrill, youthful 
 voices, as "Ah, Melons!" or playfully, "Hi, Melons!" or 
 authoritatively, " You, Melons ! " 
 
MELONS. 283 
 
 McGinnis's Court was a democratic expression of some 
 obstinate and radical property-holder. Occupying a limited 
 space between two fashionable thoroughfares, it refused to 
 conform to circumstances, but sturdily paraded its unkempt 
 glories, and frequently asserted itself in ungrammatical 
 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 predisposed to somnambulism, it would have broken 
 out under such, favourable 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 individual 
 with a pea-coat, a stubby pipe, and bristling beard. He was 
 gazing intently at the Court, resting on a heavy cane, some 
 what in the way that heroes dramatically visit the scenes of 
 their boyhood. As there was little of architectural beauty 
 in the Court, I came to the conclusion that it was McGiniiis 
 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. 
 
 Beyond Melons, of whom all this is purely introductory, 
 thera 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. 
 
284 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, com 
 pletely equipped him formed his every-clay suit. How, 
 with this lavish superfluity of clothing, he managed to per 
 form 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 out-houses. 
 Melons knew the exact height of every fence in the vicinity, 
 its facilities for scaling, and the possibility of seizure on the 
 other side. His more peaceful and quieter amusements con 
 sisted in dragging a disused boiler by a large string, with 
 hideous outcries, to imaginary fires. 
 
 Melons was not gregarious in his habits. A few youths 
 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 un 
 hallowed 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 dis 
 repute with his aristocratic neighbours. 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 fascinating interest to them. Admiring 
 glances were cast at Melons from nursery windows. Baby 
 
MELONS, 285 
 
 fingers 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 conventionalities of parentage, and 
 physically as well as mentally exalted above them. One 
 afternoon an unusual commotion prevailed in the vicinity of 
 McGinnis's Court. Looking from my window, 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 position, 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 
 succour him, he became the sworn ally of -Melons, and I 
 regret to say, incited by the same audacious boy, " chaffed " 
 his own flesh and blood below him. He was eventually taken, 
 though of course Melons escaped. But Tommy was re 
 stricted to the window after that, and the companionship was 
 limited to "Hi, Melons !" and "You Tommy!" and Melons, 
 to all practical purposes, lost him for ever. I looked after 
 ward to see some signs of sorrow on Melons' part, but in 
 vain ; he buried his grief, if he had any, somewhere in his 
 one voluminous garment. 
 
 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 
 
286 MELONS. 
 
 locked myself in my room at a certain hour each day, after 
 coming from niy office. I then carefully drew out my 
 portfolio and read what I had written the day before. This 
 would suggest some alteration, and I would carefully re-write 
 it. During this operation I would turn to consult a book 
 of reference, which invariably proved extremely interesting 
 and attractive. It would generally suggest 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 exhausted 
 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 " Hello, 
 Mister ! " and " Ah, Melons ! " a vagabond 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 
 window) until dinner was announced, and I found a more 
 practical void required my attention. An unlooked-for 
 incident drew us in closer relation. 
 
 A sea-faring friend just from a tropical voyage had pre 
 sented 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 odours of ship 
 and shore which they diffused throughout my room, there 
 was a lingering 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 
 
MELONS. 287 
 
 eating a banana. There was nothing remarkable in that, 
 but as I neared McGinnis's Court I presently met another 
 small boy, also eating a banana. A third small boy en 
 gaged 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 circumstance and 
 the sickening sense of loss that overcame me on witnessing 
 it. I reached my room and found the bunch of bananas 
 were gone. 
 
 There was but one who knew of their existence, but one 
 who frequented my window, but one capable 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 indiscreetly 
 liberal; Melons now a fugitive on some neighbouring 
 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 mistaking that hoary head, which now represented 
 to me only aged iniquity. It was Melons, that venerable, 
 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 trowsers, gazed with some interest 
 at the additional width they thus acquired. Then he whistled. 
 The singular conflicting conditions of John Brown's body 
 and soul were at that time beginning to attract the attention 
 
2 SS MELONS. 
 
 of youth, and Melons' 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, hanging with 
 his back to the fence and his arms twisted round the palings 
 " a cirkis over yonder !" indicating the locality with his 
 foot " with hosses, and hossback riders. They is a man wot 
 rides six hosses to onct six hosses 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' eye, and he began to tremble and 
 visibly shrink in his capacious garment. Some other desperate 
 means conversion with Melons was always a desperate 
 means must be resorted to. He recommenced more art 
 fully : 
 
 " Do you know Carrots V 9 
 
 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. Wears 
 a dirk knife in his boots, and 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 proposition regarding 
 Carrots, even if I were inclined to accept it as credible infor 
 mation, 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 
 
MELONS. 289 
 
 discuss. The act is complete. Your present conduct shows 
 the animofurandi to have been equally clear." 
 
 By the time I had finished this exordium, Melons had 
 disappeared, as I fully expected. 
 
 He never re-appeared. The remorse that I have experienced 
 for the part I had taken in what I fear may have resulted in. 
 his utter and complete extermination, 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 re-appear at some 
 future clay 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 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 sometimes thought that 
 he was providentially and mysteriously offered to fill the void 
 I have before alluded to. In that hope I have written 
 pages. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 
 
 T 
 
 HE latch on the garden gate of the Folinsbee Ranch 
 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 con 
 sidered a sufficient time had elapsed since the clicking of the- 
 latch for more positive disclosure, I do not know ; but after 
 a few moments' hesitation he quietly laid aside his pipe and 
 
 u 
 
-290 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 
 
 walked slowly down the winding path toward the gate. A_t 
 the Ceanothus hedge he stopped and listened. 
 
 There was not much to hear. The hat was saying to the 
 ribbons that it was a fine night, and remarking 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 
 liad ; it recalled some lovely nights in the South in Alabama 
 ('' in the South in Ahlabahm " 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 con 
 ceive what the hat could be thinking about. At this point 
 there was a pause, of which Mr. Folinsbee 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 afterwards 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 Starbottle, with certain uncom 
 plimentary epithets, and that Miss Jo retaliated sharply. 
 " Her father's blood before her father's face boiled up acd 
 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, unpreten 
 tious, yet superior to its neighbours, and bearing some evi 
 dences of taste and refinement in the vines that clambered 
 -oxer its porch, in its French windows, and the white muslin 
 
THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 291 
 
 curtains that kept out the fierce California sun by day, and 
 were now touched with silver 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 tmfilial warmth. Howbeit, when 
 the figure had disappeared he stepped out briskly into the 
 moonlight of the high road. Here he took off his distinguish 
 ing 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 cheekbones 
 were prominent, and the black eyes sunken in their orbits. 
 Straight black hair fell slantwise off a high but narrow fore 
 head, and swept part of a hollow cheek. A long black mus 
 tache followed the perpendicular curves of his mouth. It 
 was on the whole a serious, 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 hare said 
 that, if it would only last through the ceremony, she would 
 have married its possessor on the spot. " I once told him 
 so," added that shameless young woman ; " but the man 
 instantly fell into a settled melancholy, and hasn't smiled 
 since." 
 
 A half-mile below the Folinsbee Ranch 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 settle 
 ment, 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 harlequin 
 
 u 2 
 
292 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 
 
 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 moment had here caught and crystallized tlic 
 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 j 
 in the female, a lady who may be briefly described as ono 
 possessing absolutely no claim to an introduction to the 
 polite reader. To hurry over equally unpleasant details, 
 both were evidently under the influence of liquor. 
 
 From the excited conversation that ensued, Culpepper 
 gathered that some insult had been put upon the lady at a 
 public ball which she had attended that evening ; that the 
 Colonel, her escort, had failed to resent it with the sangui 
 nary completeness 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 
 tinpicturesque hysterics. There was a fine moral lesson, not 
 only in this grotesque performance of her sex which cannot 
 afford to be grotesque, but in the ludicrous concern with 
 which it inspired the two men. Culpepper, to whom women 
 "was more or less angelic, was pained and sympathetic ; the 
 
THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 293 
 
 Colonel, to whom she was more or less improper, was ex 
 ceedingly terrified and embarrassed. Howbeifc the storm 
 was soon over, and after Mistress Dolores had returned a 
 little dagger to its sheath (her garter), she quietly took her 
 self out of Madrono HolloAv, and happily out of these pages 
 for ever. 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 rumours 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 Inde 
 pendence Hotel, and that failing to do this both were ex 
 pelled. 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 comparative 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 1 " 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 re 
 port. As, at that sincere epoch, expressions like the above 
 were usually followed by prompt action, a fracas was con 
 fidently looked for. 
 
 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 
 favourite, also exercised some restraint upon the curious and 
 impertinent. But Culpepper's face wore a look of anxiety 
 
294 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 
 
 quite at variance with his usual grave repose. " The 
 Don don't seeni to take the old man's set-back kindly," 
 observed the sympathizing blacksmith. "PYaps he was 
 sweet on Dolores himself," suggested the sceptical ex 
 pressman. 
 
 It was a bright morning, a week after this occurrence, 
 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 have been awkward but that it was charmingly 
 employed, 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 towards 
 the settlement. Small wonder that a passing teamster drove 
 his six mules into the wayside ditch and imperilled his load, 
 to keep the dust from her spotless garments ; small wonder 
 that the " Lightning Express " withheld 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 fellow-man, gazed after her with breathless admiration. 
 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 simple and tasteful raiment added much to the physical 
 charm of, if it did not actually suggest a sentiment to, her 
 presence. It is said that Euchredeck 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 favourable criticism 
 of that most fastidious man the late Emperor, said that she 
 was stunning, but a big discount on what she was at Ma 
 drono Hollow. 
 
 It was still early morning, but the sun, with California 
 extravagance, had already begun to beat hotly on the little 
 
THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 29$ 
 
 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, em 
 boldened by his success, he insisted upon accompanying her r 
 and, becoming slobberingly demonstrative, threatened her 
 spotless skirt with his dusty paws, when she drove him front 
 her with some slight acerbity, and a stone which haply fell 
 within fifty feet of its destined mark. Having thus proved 
 her ability to defend herself, with characteristic inconsistency 
 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 woman 
 hood. 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, vanish 
 ing at last into the bosky depths below. The sun was very 
 hot. She must be very far from home. Why should she.- 
 not rest awhile under the shade of a madrono 1 
 
 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 
 immaculate shade never was known to harbour grub or 
 insect. 
 
 She looked up at the rosy arms interlocked and arched 
 above her head. She looked down at the delicate ferns and 
 
296 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 
 
 cryptogams at lier feet. Something glittered at the root 
 of the tree. She picked it up ; it was a bracelet. She 
 examined it carefully 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 beheld at a little distance 
 Culpepper Starbottle. 
 
 He was standing where he had halted, with instinctive 
 delicacy, on first discovering her. Indeed, he had even 
 deliberated whether he ought not to go away without dis 
 turbing her. But some fascination held him to the spot. 
 Wonderful power of humanity ! Far beyond jutted an 
 outlying spur of the Sierra, vast, compact, and silent. 
 Scarcely a hundred yards away a league-long chasm dropped 
 its sheer walls of granite a thousand feet. On every side 
 rose up the serried ranks of pine trees, in whose close-set 
 files centuries 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 yellow dress. 
 
 Although Miss Jo had confidently expected to meet 
 Culpepper somewhere in her ramble, now that he came upon 
 her suddenly, she felt disappointed 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 before 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 predicate as the exact preliminaries of a declara 
 tion of love. 
 
 What did Culpepper say 1 Nothing, I fear, that will add 
 anything to the wisdom of the reader ; nothing, I fear, that 
 
THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 297 
 
 Miss Jo had not heard substantially from other lips before. 
 But there was a certain conviction, fire-speed, and fury in 
 the manner that was deliciously novel to the young lady. 
 It was certainly something to be courted in the nineteenth 
 century with all the passion and extravagance of the six 
 teenth ; it was something to hear, amid the slang of a 
 frontier society, the language 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 certain point Miss Jo 
 dropped her glove, and that in recovering it Culpepper pos 
 sessed himself, first of 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 demonstration 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 
 composed and monotonous beverages of a frontier garrison. 
 Nor was she so much pre-occupied, 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 1 " 
 
 "I hate him!" 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 
 
298 THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 
 
 melted Miss Jo. She held out her hand quickly, and said, 
 with even more than her usual effrontery, " Don't let that 
 man get you into any trouble. Take care of yourself, 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 in '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. 
 
 "Jack Folinsbee." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Why, the son of that dashed nigger- worshipping, psalm- 
 singing Puritan Yankee. What's the matter, now ! Look 
 yar, Culp, you ain't goin' back on your blood, ar'ye 1 You 
 ain't goin' back on your word 1 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 Foliiisbee, and 
 the challenge was accepted. The cause allege;! was the 
 expelling of Culpepper's uncle from the floor of the Assembly 
 Ball by the order of Foliiisbee. This much M:idroiio Hollow 
 knew and could swear to ; but there were other strange 
 rumours afloat, of which the blacksmith was an able ex 
 pounder. "You see, gentlemen," he said to the crowd 
 gathering round his anvil, " I ain't got 110 theory of this 
 affair, I only give a few facts as have come to my knowledge. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 299 
 
 Culpepper and Jack meets quite accidentally 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 demonstrates 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 1 ?' Culpepper says, 'I do not/ quite 
 cool like and easy. Jack says, ' You gave it to my sister.' 
 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 eurVs thing, gentlemen," continued the blacksmith, 
 dropping suddenly into the abstract, and leaning meditatively 
 011 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 little game, and the room full, and nobody 
 gets hit ! That's what gets me." 
 
 " Never mind, Thompson," chimed in Bill Masters, "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, gentlemen, 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 
 Madroiio Hollow. The morning was bright and clear ; the 
 
3oo THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 
 
 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 designated ground a little opening in the madrono 
 grove was occupied by Culpepper Starbottle, Colonel Star- 
 bottle, his second, and the surgeon. The Colonel was exalted 
 and excited, albeit in a 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 011 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, taking a 
 preliminary draught, offered it to the others. " Cocktails, 
 sir," he explained with dignified precision. "A gentleman, 
 sir, should never go out without 'em. Keeps off the morning 
 chill. I remember 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 reminis 
 cences, and a rapidly driven buggy, containing Jack Folins- 
 bee, Calhouii Bungs tarter, his second, and Bill Masters drew 
 up on the ground. Jack Folinsbee leaped out gaily. " I 
 had the j oiliest 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. Bungstarter, 
 " we had better proceed to business. I believe it is under 
 stood that no apology will be offered or accepted. We may 
 as well settle preliminaries at once, or I fear we shall be 
 interrupted. There is a rumour in town that the Vigilance 
 Committee are seeking our friends the Starbottles, and I 
 
THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW. 301 
 
 bolieve, as their fellow-countryman, I have the honour to be 
 included in their warrant." 
 
 At this probability of interruption, that gravity which 
 had hitherto been wanting fell upon the group. The pre 
 liminaries 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 popping of two 
 champagne corks broke the stillness. 
 
 Culpepper had fired in the air. Colonal Starbottle 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 simul 
 taneous 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. Bungstarter was properly 
 shocked at their conduct. " Really, gentlemen, if Mr. Cul 
 pepper Starbottle declines another shot, I do not see how we 
 can proceed." 
 
 But the Colonel's blood was up, and Jack Folinsbee was 
 equally implacable. A. hurried consultation ensued, which 
 ended by Colonel Starbottle taking his nephew's place as 
 principal, Bill Masters acting as second, vice Mr. Bung- 
 starter, who declined 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 
 
302 A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 
 
 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 surgeon returned with some 
 stimulants. 
 
 " There, that will do, Mr. Starbottle, thank you. Now 
 my advice is to get away from here while you can. I'll 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 been shot unto 
 death at the first fire. 
 
 A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 
 
 I" HAD been stage-ridden and bewildered all clay, and when 
 we swept down with the darkness into the Arcadian 
 hamlet of " Wingdam," I resolved to go no further, 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, newspapers 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 
 
A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 303 
 
 knowledge of travel crushed all us other passengers to en 
 vious 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 footman. I then turned to 
 ward the Wingdam Temperance Hotel. 
 
 It may have been the weather, or it may have been the 
 pie, but T was not impressed favourably with the house. 
 Perhaps it was the name extending 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 any 
 thing to intoxicate or enthrall the senses. It was designed 
 with an eye to artistic dreariness. It was so much too 
 large for the settlement, that it appeared to be a very slight 
 improvement on out-doors. It was unpleasantly new. There 
 was the forest flavour 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 application of tobacco 
 in various forms. A few immediately ranged themselves 
 around the fire-place, with their legs over each other's chairs, 
 and in that position silently resigned themselves to indi 
 gestion. 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 
 
304 A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 
 
 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 remembrance 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 imagined a 
 different denouement from the play. Ingomar had taken 
 Parthenia back to the mountains, and kept a hotel for the 
 benefit of the Alemaimi, who resorted there in large num 
 bers. Poor Parthenia was pretty well fagged out, and did all 
 the work without " help." She had two "young barbarians," 
 a boy and a girl. She was faded but still good looking. 
 
 I sat and talked with Ingomar, who seemed perfectly at 
 home and told me several stories of the Alemanni, all 
 bearing a strong flavour of the wilderness, and being per 
 fectly in keeping with the house. 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 embroidered 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 candour which is per 
 fectly justifiable in a barbarian, but which a Greek might 
 feel inclined 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 flavoured with all the dinners 
 of the past year. Then she would not have been obliged to 
 
A NIGHT A T W2NGDAM. 
 
 A baud invtrmlrd ihroneh the oivning as quick as lightning she uailcd 
 
 that liaud with her scissors." 
 
A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 305 
 
 wait on the table with her liair lialf clown. Then the two 
 children would not have hung about her skirts with dirty 
 fingers, palpably dragging her 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 I believed 
 I'd go to bed. Preceded by that redoubtable barbarian and 
 a flaring talJow 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 convenience 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 cracks 
 on the other. The wind, which always swept over Wing- 
 dam 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 Ingo 
 mar 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 ceremony, crawled tinder the "bar-skin," 
 and tried to compose myself to sleep. 
 
 But I was staringly wide awake. I heard the wind sweep 
 clown, 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- 
 skiii." I felt like Robinson 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 myseK There had been a fire 
 
5o6 A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 
 
 down, in the big room. Perhaps it was still burning. I 
 opened the door and groped my way along a passage, vocal 
 with the snores of the Alemanni and the whistling of the 
 night wind ; I partly fell down-stairs, and at last entering 
 the big room, saw the tire still burning. I drew a chair 
 toward it, poked it with my foot, and was astonished to see, 
 by the up-springing flash, that Parthenia was sitting there 
 also, holding a faded-looking baby. 
 
 I asked her why she was sitting up 1 
 
 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 1 " 
 
 " 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 ? " 
 
 " Oh ! bringing in the wood, and looking after the traders* 
 things." 
 
 " How long had she been married 1" 
 
 " About nine years. She had lost a little girl and boy. 
 Three children living. He was from Illinois ; she from 
 Boston. Had an education (Boston Female High School 
 Geometry, Algebra, a little Latin and Greek). Mother arid 
 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 
 
A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 307 
 
 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 ? " 
 
 " Oh, 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, weaned and limp looking baby 
 wearily on the other arm dirty, drabbled and forlorn, with 
 the fire-light 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 barbarian's kindness. 
 Emboldened by my sympathy, she told me how she had 
 given up, little by little, what she imagined to be the weak 
 ness of her early education, until she found that she acquired 
 but little strength in her new experience. How, translated 
 to a back-woods 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 instincts, and partly from other circum 
 stances, 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 happened 
 that after they had passed Sweetwater, she was walking 
 beside the waggon one night, and looking at the western 
 
 x 2 
 
3o8 A NIGHT AT WING DAM. 
 
 sky, and she heard a little voice say " mother." How she 
 looked into the waggon and saw that little Willie was sleep 
 ing comfortably, and did not wish to wake him. How that 
 in a few moments more she heard the same voice saying, 
 "mother." How she came back to the waggon 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 him, praying to God for his recovery. Ho\v, 
 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 waggon 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 insult and 
 outrage in the great courage and strength of her husband 1 " 
 
 " Oh 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. Ingomar was 
 hospitable, and drank with everybody, for the sake of 
 popularity and business, and Ingomar 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 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, 
 
A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 309 
 
 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 somebody ; 
 but how on one day a stranger called here, and as she was 
 handing him his coffee, she saw a queer triangular scar on 
 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 clat 
 tering of hoofs, and rattling of wheels. The mail had arrived. 
 Parthenia ran with the faded baby to awaken Ingomar, and 
 almost simultaneously the gallant expressman stood again 
 before me, addressing me by my Christian name, and inviting 
 me to drink out of a mysterious black bottle. The horses 
 were speedily watered, and the business of the gallant ex 
 pressman concluded, and bidding Parthenia good-bye, I got 
 on the stage, and immediately fell asleep, and dreamt of 
 calling on Parthenia and Ingomar, and being treated with 
 pie to an unlimited extent, until I woke up the next morn 
 ing 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 concerning " Two 
 souls," etc., without thinking of Wingdam and poor Par 
 thenia. 
 
310 BROWN OF CALA VERAS. 
 
 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 A SUBDUED tone of conversation, and the absence 01 
 cigar-smoke, and boot-heels, at the windows of the 
 Wiugdam stage-coach, made it evident that one of the inside 
 passengers was a woman. A disposition on the part of 
 loungers, at the stations, to congregate before the window, 
 and some concern in regard to the appearance of coats, hats, 
 and collars, further indicated that she was lovely. All of 
 which Mr. Jack Harnliii, on the box-seat, noted with the 
 smile of cynical philosophy. Not that he depreciated the 
 sex, but that he recognized therein a deceitful element, the 
 pursuit of which sometimes drew mankind away from the 
 equally uncertain blandishments of poker of which it may 
 be remarked that Mr. Hamlin was a professional exponent. 
 
 So that, when he placed his narrow boot on the wheel and 
 leaped down, he did not even glance at the window from 
 which a green veil was fluttering, but lounged up and down 
 with that listless and grave indifference of his class, which 
 was, perhaps, the next thing to good breeding. His closely 
 buttoned figure, and self-contained air, were in marked con 
 trast to the other passengers, and their feverish restlessness, 
 and boisterous emotion ; and even Bill Masters, a graduate 
 of Harvard, with his slovenly dress, his overflowing vitality, 
 his intense appreciation of lawlessness and barbarism, and his 
 mouth filled with crackers and cheese, I fear, cut but an un- 
 romantic figure beside this lonely calculator of chances, with 
 Ms pale Greek face, and Homeric gravity. 
 
 The driver called " all aboard," and Mr. Hamlin returned 
 to the coach. His foot was upon the wheel, and his face 
 raised to the level of the open window, when, at the same 
 moment, what appeared to him to be the finest eyes in the 
 
BRO WN OF CALA VERAS. 3 1 1 
 
 world, suddenly met his. He quietly dropped down again, 
 addressed a few words to one of the inside passengers, effected 
 an exchange of seats, and as quietly took his place inside. 
 Mr. Hamlin never allowed his philosophy to interfere with 
 decisive and prompt action. 
 
 I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some restraint upon 
 the other passengers particularly those who were making 
 themselves most agreeable to the lady. One of them leaned 
 forward, and apparently conveyed to her information re 
 garding Mr. Hamlin's profession, in a single epithet. 
 Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he recognized 
 in the informant a distinguished jurist, from whom, but a 
 few evenings before, he had won several thousand dollars, I 
 cannot say. His colourless face betrayed no sign ; his black 
 eyes, quietly observant, glanced indifferently past the legal 
 gentleman, and rested on the much more pleasing features of 
 his neighbour. An Indian, stoicism said to be an inheri 
 tance from his maternal ancestor stood him in ood service, 
 
 O } 
 
 until the rolling wheels rattled upon the river-gravel at 
 Scott's Ferry, and the stage drew up at the International 
 Hotel, for dinner. The legal gentleman and a Member of 
 Congress leaped out, and stood ready to assist the descending 
 goddess, while Colonel Starbottle, of Siskiyou, took charge 
 of her parasol and shawl. In this multiplicity of attention, 
 there was a momentary confusion and delay. Jack Hamlin 
 quietly opened the opposite door of the coach, took the lady's 
 hand with that decision and positiveness which a hesitating 
 and undecided sex know how to admire and in an instant 
 had dexterously and gracefully swung her to the ground, and 
 again lifted her to the platform. An audible chuckle on the 
 box, I fear, came from that other cynic, " Yuba Bill/' the 
 driver. " Look keerfully arter that baggage, Kernel," said 
 the expressman, with affected concern, as he looked after 
 Colonel Starbottle, gloomily bringing up the rear of the 
 triumphant procession to the waiting-room. 
 
312 J5RO WN OF CALA VERAS. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse was 
 already saddled, and awaiting him. Pie dashed over the 
 ford, up the gravelly lull, and out into the dusty perspective 
 of the Wlngdam Koad, like one leaving an unpleasant fancy 
 behind him. The inmates of dusty cabins by the road-side 
 shaded their eyes with their hands, and looked after him, 
 recognizing the man by his horse, and speculating what 
 " was up with Comanche Jack." Yet much of this interest 
 centred in the horse, in a community where the time made 
 by "French Pete's" mare, in his run from the Sheriff of 
 Calaveras, eclipsed all concern in the ultimate fate of that 
 worthy. 
 
 The sweating flanks of his gray at length recalled him to 
 himself. He checked his speed, and, turning into a by-road 
 sometimes used as a cut- off trotted leisurely along, the 
 reins hanging listlessly from his fingers. As he rode on, the 
 character of the landscape changed, and became more pastoral. 
 Openings in groves of pine and sycamore disclosed some rude 
 attempts at cultivation a flowering vine trailed over the 
 porch of one cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe 
 under the roses of another. A little farther on, Mr. Hamlin 
 came upon some bare-legged children wading in the willowy 
 creek, and so wrought upon them with a badinage peculiar 
 to himself that they were emboldened to climb up his horse's 
 legs and over his saddle, until he was fain to develop an 
 exaggerated ferocity of demeanour, and to escape leaving 
 behind some kisses and coin. And then, advancing deeper 
 into the woods, where all signs of habitation failed, he began 
 to sing uplifting a tenor so singulaily sweet, and shaded by 
 a pathos so subduing and tender, that I wot the robins and 
 linnets stopped to listen. Mr. Hamlin's voice was not 
 cultivated ; the subject of his song was some sentimental 
 lunacy, borrowed from the negro minstrels, but there was 
 some occult quality of tone and expression that thrilled 
 through all a spirit inexpressibly touching. Indeed, it was 
 
BRO WN OF CALA VERAS. 313 
 
 a wonderful sight to see this sentimental blackleg, with a 
 pack of cards in his pocket and a revolver at his back, send 
 ing his voice before him through the dim woods with a plaint 
 about his " Nelly's Grave," in a way that overflowed the 
 eyes of the listener. A sparrow-hawk, fresh from his sixth 
 victim, possibly recognizing in Mr. Hamlin a kindred spirit, 
 stared at him in surprise, and was fain to confess the 
 superiority of man. With a superior predatory capacity, lie 
 couldn't sing. 
 
 But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again on the 
 high-road, and at his former pace. Ditches and banks of 
 gravel, denuded hill-sides, stumps, and decayed trunks of 
 trees took the place of woodland and ravine, and indicated 
 his approach to civilization. Then a church-steeple came in 
 sight, and he knew that he had reached home. In a few 
 moments he was clattering down the single narrow street, 
 that lost itself in a chaotic ruin of races, ditches, and tailings 
 at the foot of the hill, and dismounted before the gilded 
 windows of the " Magnolia " saloon. Passing through the 
 long bar-room, he pushed open a green-baize door, entered a 
 dark passage, opened another door with a pass-key, and found 
 himself in a dimly lighted room, whose furniture, though 
 elegant and costly for the locality, showed signs of abuse. 
 The inlaid centre -table was overlaid with stained disks that 
 were not contemplated in the original design. The em 
 broidered arm-chairs were discoloured, and the green velvet 
 lounge on which Mr. Hamlin threw himself, was soiled at the 
 foot with the red soil of Wingclam. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay still, look 
 ing at a highly-coloured painting above him, representing a 
 young creature of opulent charms. It occurred to him then, 
 for the first time, that he had never seen exactly that kind of 
 a woman, and that, if he should, he would not, probably, fall 
 in love with her. Perhaps he was thinking of another style 
 of beauty. But just then some one knocked at the door. 
 
314 BRO WN OF CALA VERAS. 
 
 Without rising, lie pulled a cord that apparently shot back a 
 bolt ; for the door swung open, and a man entered. 
 
 The new-comer was broad-shouldered and robust a 
 vigour not borne out in the face, which, though handsome, 
 was singularly weak, and disfigured by dissipation. He 
 appeared to be also under the influence of liquor, for 
 he started on seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, "I thought 
 Kate was here;" stammered, and seemed confused and em 
 barrassed. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had before worn on 
 the Wingdam coach, and sat up, quite refreshed, and ready 
 for business. 
 
 " You didn't come up on the stage," continued the new 
 comer, " did you ?" 
 
 " No," replied Hamlin ; " I left it at Scott's Ferry. It 
 isn't due for half an hour yet. But how's luck, Brown ?" 
 
 " D bad," said Brown, his face suddenly assuming an 
 
 expression of weak despair : " I'm cleaned out again. Jack," 
 he continued, in a whining tone, that formed a pitiable con 
 trast to his bulky figure, " can't you help me with a hundred 
 till to-morrow's clean-up ? You see I've got to send money 
 home to the old woman, and you've won twenty times that 
 amount from me." 
 
 The conclusion was. perhaps, not entirely logical, but Jack 
 overlooked it, and handed the sum to his visitor. " The old- 
 woman business is about played out, Brown," he added, by 
 way of commentary ; " why don't you say you want to buck 
 agin' faro 1 You know you ain't married !" 
 
 " Fact, sir," said Brown, with a sudden gravity, as if the 
 mere contact of the gold with the palm of his hand had 
 imparted some dignity to his frame. " I've got a wife a 
 
 d good one, too, if I do say it in the States. It's three 
 
 year since I've seen her, and a year since I've writ to her. 
 When things is about straight, and we get down to the lead, 
 I'm going to send for her." 
 
BRO W N OF CALA VERAS. 3 1 5 
 
 " And Kate ?" queried Mr. Hamlin, with his previous 
 smile. 
 
 Mr. Brown, of Calaveras, essayed an archness of glance, 
 to cover his confusion, which his weak face and whisky- 
 muddled intellect but poorly carried out, and said : 
 
 " D it, Jack, a man must have a little liberty, you 
 
 know. But come, what do you say to a little game 1 Give 
 us a show to double this hundred." 
 
 Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous friend. Per 
 haps he knew that the man was predestined to lose the money, 
 and preferred that it should flow back into his own coffers,' 
 rather than any other. He nodded his head, and drew his 
 chair towards the table. At the same moment, there came 
 a rap upon the door. 
 
 " It's Kate," said Mr. Brown. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt, and the door opened. 
 But for the first time in his life he staggered to his feet, 
 utterly unnerved and abashed, and for the first time in his 
 life, the hot blood crimsoned his colourless cheeks to his fore 
 head. For before him stood the lady he had lifted from the 
 Wingdam coach, whom Brown dropping his cards with an 
 hysterical laugh. greeted as 
 
 " My old woman, by thunder !" 
 
 They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears, and reproaches 
 of her husband. saw her, in 1857, at Marysville, and dis 
 believed the story. And the Wingdam Chronicle, of the 
 next week, under the head of "Touching Eeunion," said : 
 " One of those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiar to 
 California life, occurred, last week, in our city. The wife of 
 one of Wingdam's eminent pioneers, tired of the effete civili 
 zation of the East, and its inhospitable climate, resolved to 
 join her noble husband, upon these golden shores. Without 
 informing him of her intention, she undertook the long jour 
 ney, and arrived last week. The joy of the husband may be 
 easier imagined than described. The meeting is said to have 
 
3 1 6 BRO WN OF CALA VERAS. 
 
 been indescribably affecting. We trust lier example may be 
 followed." 
 
 Whether owing to Mrs. Brown's influence, or to some 
 more successful speculations, Mr. Brown's financial fortune, 
 from that day, steadily improved. He bought out his part 
 ners in the " Nip and Tuck " lead, with money said to have 
 been won at poker, a week or two after his wife's arrival, 
 but which rumour, adopting Mrs. Brown's theory that Brown 
 had foresworn the gaming-table, alleged to have been fur 
 nished by Mr. Jack Hamlin. Pie built and furnished the 
 " Wingdam House," which pretty Mrs. Brown's great popu 
 larity kept overflowing with guests. He was elected to the 
 Assembly, and gave largess to churches. A street in Wing- 
 dani was named in his honour. 
 
 Yet, it was noted that in proportion as he waxed wealthy 
 and fortunate, he grew pale, thin, and anxious. As his wife's 
 popularity increased, he became fretful and impatient. The 
 most uxorious of husbands he was absurdly jealous. If he 
 did not interfere with his wife's social liberty, it was because 
 it was maliciously whispered that his first and only 
 attempt was met by an outburst from Mrs. Brown that 
 terrified him into silence. Much of this kind of gossip came 
 from those of her own sex whom she had supplanted in the 
 chivalrous attentions of Wingdam : which, like most popular 
 chivalry, was devoted to an admiration of power, whether of 
 masculine force or feminine beauty. It should be remem 
 bered, too, in her extenuation, that, since her arrival, she had 
 been the unconscious priestess of a mythological worship, 
 perhaps not more ennobling to her womanhood than that 
 which distinguished an older Greek democracy. I think 
 that Brown was dimly conscious of this. But his only con 
 fidant was Jack Hamlin, whose infelix reputation naturally 
 precluded any open intimacy with the family, and whose 
 visits were infrequent. 
 
BROIVN OF CALAVRRAS. 317 
 
 It was midsummer, and a moonlight night ; and Mrs. 
 Brown, very rosy, large-eyed, and pretty, sat upon the 
 piazza, enjoying the fresh incense of the mountain breeze, and 
 it is to be feared, another incense, which was not so fresh, 
 nor quite as innocent. Beside her sat Colonel Starbottle and 
 Judge Boompointer, and a later addition to her court, in the 
 shape of a foreign tourist. She was in good spirits. 
 
 "What do you see down the road?" inquired the gallant 
 Colonel, who had been conscious for the last few minutes, 
 that Mrs. Brown's attention was diverted. 
 
 " Dust," said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. " Only Sister 
 Anne's ' flock of sheep.'" 
 
 The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not extend 
 farther back than last week's paper, took a more practical 
 view. "It ain't sheep," he continued; "it's a horseman. 
 Judge, ain't that Jack Hamlin's gray ?" 
 
 But the Judge didn't know; and, as Mrs. Brown sug 
 gested, the air was growing too cold for further investiga 
 tions, they retired to the parlour. 
 
 Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he generally retired 
 after dinner. Perhaps it was to show his contempt for his 
 wife's companions ; perhaps, like other weak natures, he 
 found pleasure in the exercise of absolute power over inferior 
 animals. He had a certain gratification in the training of a 
 chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress as pleased him, 
 which he couldn't do with Mrs. Brown. It was here that he 
 recognized a certain gray horse which had just come in, and, 
 looking a little farther on, found his rider. Brown's greet 
 ing was cordial and hearty ; Mr. Hamlin's somewhat re 
 strained. But at Brown's urgent request, he followed him 
 up the back-stairs, to a narrow corridor, and thence to a 
 small room looking out upon the stable-yard. It was plainly 
 furnished with a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a rack for 
 guns and whips. 
 
 " This here's my home, Jack," said Brown with a sigh, as 
 
3 i 8 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 lie threw himself upon the bed, and motioned his companion 
 to a chair. " Her room's t'other end of the hall. It's mor'n 
 six months since we've lived together, or met, except at 
 meals. It's mighty rough papers on the head of the house 
 ain't it?" he said with a forced laugh. "But I'm glad 
 
 to see ye, Jack, d glad," and he reached from the bed, 
 
 and again shook the unresponsive hand of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 " I brought ye up here, for I didn't want to talk in the 
 stable ; though, for the matter of that, it's all round town. 
 Don't strike a light. We can talk here in the moonshine. 
 Put up your feet on that winder, and sit here beside me. 
 Thar's whisky in that jug." 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the information. 
 Bro wn, of Calaveras, turned his face to the wall, and continued: 
 
 " If I didn't love the woman, Jack, I wouldn't mind. But 
 it's loving her, and seeing her, day after day, goin' on at this 
 rate, and no one to put down the brake : that's what gets 
 me ! But I'm glad to see ye, Jack, d glad." 
 
 In the darkness, he grouped about until he had found and 
 wrung his companion's hand again. He would have detained 
 it, bub Jack slipt it into the buttoned breast of his coat, and 
 asked, listlessly, " How long has this been going on 1 " 
 
 " Ever since she came here ; ever since the day she 
 walked into the Magnolia. I was a fool then ; Jack, I'm a 
 fool now ; but I didn't know how much I loved her till 
 then. And she hasn't been the same woman sence. 
 
 " But that ain't all, Jack ; and it's what I wanted to see 
 you about, and I'm glad you've come. It ain't that she 
 doesn't love me any more ; it ain't that she fools with every 
 chap that comes along, for, perhaps, I staked her love and 
 lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia ; and, per 
 haps, fooliu' is natural to some women, and there ain't no 
 great harm done, 'cept to the fools. But, Jack, I think 
 I think she loves somebody else. Don't move, Jack ; don't 
 move ; if your pistol hurts ye ; take it off. 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 319 
 
 " It's been more'n six months now that she's seemed 
 unhappy and lonesome, and kinder nervous and scared like. 
 -And, sometimes, I've ketched her lookin' at me sort of timid 
 and pitying. And she writes to somebody. And, for the 
 last week, she's been gathering her own things trinkets, 
 and furbelows, and jew'lry and, Jack, I think, she's goin* 
 off. I could stand all but that. To have her steal away like 
 
 a thief " He put his face downwards to the pillow, 
 
 and, for a few moments, there was no sound but the ticking 
 of a clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and 
 moved to the open window. The moon no longer shone in 
 the room, and the bed and its occupnnt were in shadow. 
 " What shall I do, Jack 1 " said the voice from the darkness. 
 
 The answer came promptly and clearly from the window- 
 side : " Spot the man, and kill him on sight." 
 
 " But, Jack." 
 
 " He's took the risk ! " 
 
 " But will that bring her back ? " 
 
 Jack did not reply, but moved from the window towards 
 the door. 
 
 " Don't go yet, Jack ; light the candle, and sit by the 
 table. It's a comfort to see ye, if nothin' else." 
 
 Jack hesitated, and then complied. He drew a pack of 
 cards from his pocket and shuffled them, glancing at the 
 bed. But Brown's face was turned to the wall. When Mr. 
 Hamlin had shuffled the cards, he cut them, and dealt one 
 card on the opposite side of the table and towards the bed, 
 and another on his side of the table, for himself. The first 
 was a deuce ; his own card, a king. He then shuffled and 
 cut again. This time " dummy " had a queen, and himself a 
 four-spot. Jack brightened up for the third deal. It 
 brought his adversary a deuce, and himself a king again. 
 " Two out of three," said Jack, audibly. 
 
 " What's that, Jack 1 " said Brown. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
320 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 Tlien Jack tried Lis hand with dice ; but he always threw 
 sixes, and his imaginary opponent aces. The force of habit 
 is sometimes confusing. 
 
 Meanwhile, some magnetic influence in Mr. Hatnlin's 
 presence, or the anodyne of liquor, or both, brought surcease 
 of sorrow, and Brown slept. Mr. Hamlin moved his chair 
 to the window, and looked out on the town of Wingdam, 
 now sleeping peacefully its harsh outlines softened and 
 subdued, its glaring colours mellowed and sobered in the 
 moonlight that flowed over all. In the hush he could hear 
 the gurgling of water in the ditches, and the sighing of the 
 pines beyond the hill. Then he looked up at the firmament, 
 and, as he did so, a star shot across the twinkling field. 
 Presently another, and then another. The phenomenon 
 suggested to Mr. Hamlin a fresh augury. If, in another 
 fifteen minutes, another star should fall He sat there, watch 
 in hand, for twice that time, but the phenomenon was not 
 repeated. 
 
 The clock struck two, and Brown still slept. Mr. 
 Hamlin approached the table, and took from his pocket 
 a letter, which he read by the flickering candle-light. It 
 contained only a single line, written in pencil, in a woman's 
 hand : 
 
 " Be at the corral, with the buggy, at three." 
 
 The sleeper moved uneasily, and then awoke. " Are you 
 there, Jack ? " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Don't go yet. I dreamed, just now, Jack dreamed of 
 old times. I thought that Sue and me was being married 
 agin, and that the parson, Jack, was who do you think ! 
 you!" 
 
 The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the bed the 
 paper still in his hand. 
 
 " It a good sign, ain't it 1 " queried Brown. 
 
 " I reckon. Say old man hadn't you better get up." 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU. 
 
 "The two 
 Both loved that wild foreign Ermu. ' 
 
 Where's that specimen pin that I gaily md wm 
 In raffle, and gave unto you, Fortescue '(" 
 
BRO WN OF CALA VERAS. 321 
 
 The " old man," thus affectionately appealed to, rose, with 
 the assistance of Hamlin's outstretched hand. 
 
 " Smoke ? " 
 
 Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar. 
 
 Light 1 " 
 
 Jack had twisted the letter into a spiral, lit it, and held 
 it for his companion. He continued to hold it until, it was 
 consumed, and dropped the fragment a fiery star from 
 the open window. He watched it as it fell, and then returned 
 to his friend. 
 
 " Old man," he said, placing his hands upon Brown's 
 shoulders, "in ten minutes I'll be on the road, and gone 
 like that spark. "We won't see each other agin but, before 
 I go, take a fool's advice : sell out all you've got, take your 
 wife with you, and quit the country. It ain't no place for 
 you, nor her. Tell her she must go , make her go, if she 
 won't. Don't whine because you can't be a saint, and she 
 ain't an angel. Be a man and treat her like a woman. 
 Don't be a d fool. Good-bye." 
 
 He tore himself from Brown's grasp, and leaped down the 
 stairs like a deer. At the stable-door he collared the half- 
 sleeping hostler and backed him against the wall. " Saddle 
 my horse in two minutes or I'll " The ellipsis was 
 frightfully suggestive. 
 
 " The misses said you was to have the buggy," stammered 
 the man. 
 
 "D n the buggy ! " 
 
 The horse was saddled as fast as the nervous hands of the 
 astounded hostler could manipulate buckle and strap. 
 
 " Is any thing up, Mr. Hamlin 1 ?" said the man, who, 
 like all his class, admired the elan of his fiery patron, and 
 was really concerned in his welfare. 
 
 " Stand aside ! " 
 
 The man fell back. With an oath, a bound, and clatter, 
 Jack was into the road. In another moment, to the mail's 
 
 Y 
 
322 JOHN JENKINS. 
 
 half-awakened eyes, he was but a moving cloud of dust in 
 the distance, toward which a star just loosed from its 
 brethren was trailing a stream of fire. 
 
 But, early that morning, the dwellers by the Wingdam 
 turnpike, miles away, heard a voice, pure as a sky-lark's, 
 singing afield. They who were asleep, turned over on their 
 rude couches to dream of youth, and love, and olden days. 
 Hard-faced men and anxious gold-seekers, already at work, 
 ceased their labours and leaned upon their picks, to listen to 
 a romantic vagabond ambling away against the rosy sunrise. 
 
 JOHN JENKINS; 
 OR, THE SMOKER REFORMED. 
 
 BY T. S. A-TH-R. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 cigar a day ! " said Judge Boompointer. " One 
 cigar a day ! " repeated John Jenkins, as with 
 trepidation he dropped his half-consumed cigar under his 
 work-bench. 
 
 " One cigar a day is three cents a day," remarked Judge 
 Boompointer, gravely, " and do you know, sir, what one 
 cigar a day, or three cents a day, amounts to in the course 
 of four years ? " 
 
 John Jenkins, in his boyhood, had attended the village 
 school, and possessed considerable arithmetical ability. 
 Taking up a shingle which lay upon his work-bench, and 
 producing a piece of chalk, with a feeling of conscious pride 
 he made an exhaustive calculation : 
 
 " Exactly forty-three dollars and eighty cents/' he replied, 
 
JOHN JENKINS. 323 
 
 wiping the perspiration from his heated brow, while his face 
 flushed with honest enthusiasm. 
 
 " Well, sir, if you saved three cents a day, instead of 
 wasting it, you would now be the possessor of a new suit of 
 clothes, an illustrated Family Bible, a pew in the church, 
 a complete set of Patent Office Beports, a hymn-book, and a 
 paid subscription to Arthur's Home Magazine, which could 
 be purchased for exactly forty-three dollars and eighty cents 
 and," added the Judge, with increasing sternness, "if you 
 calculate leap-year, which you seem to have strangely 
 omitted you have three cents more, sir; three cents more! 
 What would that buy you, sir ? " 
 
 " A cigar," suggested John Jenkins ; but colouring again 
 deeply he hid his face. 
 
 " No, sir," said the Judge, with a sweet smile of benevo 
 lence stealing over his stern features ; " properly invested, it 
 would buy you that which passeth all price. Dropped into 
 the missionary box, who can tell what heathen, now idly and 
 joyously wantoning in nakedness and sin, might be brought 
 to a sense of his miserable condition, and made, through 
 that three cents, to feel the torments of the wicked 1 " 
 
 With these words the Judge retired, leaving John 
 Jenkins buried in profound thought. " Three cents a day," 
 he muttered. " In forty years I might be worth four 
 hundred and thirty-eight dollars and ten cents and then I 
 might marry Mary. Ah, Mary 1 " The young carpenter 
 sighed, and drawing a twenty-five cent daguerreotype from 
 his vest pocket, gazed long and fervidly upon the features o{ 
 a young girl in book muslin and a coral necklace. Then, 
 with a resolute expression, he carefully locked the door of his 
 workshop and departed. 
 
 Alas ! his good resolutions were too late. We trifle with 
 the tide of fortune which too often nips us in the bud and 
 casts the dark shadow of misfortune over the bright lexicon 
 of youth ? That night the half-consumed fragment of John 
 
 T 2 
 
324 JOHN JENKINS. 
 
 Jenkins' cigar set fire to his workshop and turned it up, 
 together with all his tools and materials. There was no 
 insurance. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE DOWNWARD PATH. 
 
 " THEN you still persist in marrying John Jenkins 1 " 
 queried Judge Boompointer, as he playfully, with paternal 
 familiarity, lifted the golden curls of the village belle, Mary 
 Jones. 
 
 " I do," replied the fair young girl, in a low voice, that 
 resembled rock candy in its saccharine firmness ; " I do. 
 He has promised to reform. Since he lost all his property 
 by fire " 
 
 " The result of his pernicious habit, though he illogically 
 persists in charging it to me," interrupted the Judge. 
 
 "Since then, continued the young girl, "he has endea 
 voured to break himself of the habit. He tells me that he 
 has substituted the stalks of the Indian ratan, the outer part 
 of a leguminous plant called the smoking-bean, and the 
 fragmentary and unconsumed remainder of cigars which 
 occur at rare and uncertain intervals along the road, which, 
 as he informs me, though deficient in quality and strength, 
 are comparatively inexpensive." And, blushing, at her own 
 eloquence, the young girl hid her curls on the Judge's 
 arm. 
 
 " Poor thing," muttered Judge Boompointer. " Dare I 
 tell her all 1 Yet I must." 
 
 " I shall cling to him," continued the young girl, rising 
 with her theme, " as the young vine clings to some hoary 
 ruin. Nay, nay, chide me not, Judge Boompointer. I will 
 marry John Jenkins ! " 
 
 The Judge was evidently affected. Seating himself at the 
 
JOHN JENKINS. 325 
 
 table, he wrote a few lines hurriedly upon a piece of paper, 
 which he folded and placed in the fingers of the destined 
 bride of John Jenkins. 
 
 " Mary Jones," said the Judge, with impressive earnestness, 
 "take this trifle as a wedding gift from one who respects 
 your fidelity and truthfulness. At the altar let it be a 
 reminder of me." And covering his face hastily with a 
 handkerchief, the stern and iron-willed man left the room. 
 As the door closed, Mary unfolded the paper. It was an 
 order on the corner grocery for three yards of flannel, a paper 
 of needles, four pounds of soap, one pound of starch, and 
 two boxes of matches ! 
 
 " Noble and thoughtful man ! " was all Mary Jones could 
 exclaim, as she hid her face in her hands and burst into a 
 
 flood of tears. 
 
 # * * 
 
 The bells of Cloverdale are ringing merrily. It is a 
 wedding. " How beautiful they look ! " is the exclamation 
 that passes from lip to lip, as Mary Jones, leaning timidly 
 on the arm of John Jenkins, enters the church. But the 
 bride is agitated, and the bridegroom betrays a feverish 
 nervousness. As they stand in the vestibule, John Jenkins 
 fumbles earnestly in his vest pocket. Can it be the ring he 
 is anxious about 1 No. He draws a small brown substance 
 from his pocket, and biting off a piece, hastily replaces the 
 fragment and gazes furtively around. Sure no one saw him 1 
 Alas ! the eyes of two of that wedding party saw the fatal 
 act. Judge Boompointer shook his head sternly. Mary 
 Jones sighed and breathed a silent prayer. Her husband 
 chewed 1 
 
 CHAPTER III AND LAST. 
 
 "WHAT ! more bread ] " said John Jenkins, gruffly. " You're 
 always asking for money for bread. D nation ! Do you 
 
526 JOHN JENKINS. 
 
 want to ruin me by your extravagance *? " and as he uttered 
 these words he drew from his pocket a bottle of whisky, a 
 pipe, and a paper of tobacco. Emptying the first at a 
 draught, he threw the empty bottle at the head of his eldest 
 boy, a youth of twelve summers. The missile struck the 
 child full in the temple, and stretched him a lifeless corpse. 
 Mrs. Jenkins, whom the reader will hardly recognise as the 
 once gay and beautiful Mary Jones, raised the dead body of 
 her son in her arms, and, carefully placing the unfortunate 
 youth beside the pump in the back yard, returned with sad 
 dened step to the house. At another time, and in brighter 
 days, she might have wept at the occurrence. She was past 
 tears now. 
 
 " Father, your conduct is reprehensible ! " said little Har 
 rison Jenkins, the youngest boy. " Where do you expect 
 to go when you die ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said John Jenkins, fiercely ; " this comes of 
 .giving children a liberal education ; this is the result of 
 ^Sabbath schools. Down, viper 1 " 
 
 A tumbler thrown from the same parental fist laid out 
 the youthful Harrison cold. The four other children had, 
 in the meantime, gathered round the table with anxious 
 expectancy. With a chuckle, the now changed and brutal 
 John Jenkins produced four pipes, and, filling them with 
 tobacco, handed one to each of his offspring and bade them 
 .smoke. " It's better than bread ? " laughed the wretch 
 Iioarsely. 
 
 Mary Jenkins, though of a patient nature, felt it her duty 
 now to speak. " I have borne much, John Jenkins," she 
 said. " But I prefer that the children should not smoke. 
 It is an unclean habit, and soils their clothes. I ask this as 
 a special favour ! " 
 
 John Jenkins hesitated the pangs of remorse began to 
 seize him. 
 
 <' Promise rne this, John ! " urged Mary upon her knees. 
 
THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 327 
 
 " I promise !" reluctantly answered John. 
 
 " And you will put the money "in a savings bank 1 " 
 
 " I will," repeated her husband ; " and Ptt give up 
 smoking, too." 
 
 " 'Tis well, John Jenkins ! " said Judge Boompointer, 
 appearing suddenly from behind the door, where he had 
 been concealed during this interview. "Nobly said, my 
 man. Cheer up ! I will see that the children are decently 
 buried." The husband and wife fell into each other's arms. 
 And Judge Boompointer, gazing upon the affecting spectacle, 
 burst into tears. 
 
 From that day John Jenkins was an altered man. 
 
 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 composing. For the 
 editor was also printer of the " Record ; " and although that 
 remarkable journal was reputed to exert a power felt through 
 all Calaveras and a greater part of Tuolumne County, strict 
 economy was one of the conditions of its beneficent 
 existence. 
 
 Thus pre-occupied, 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 
 
328 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 
 
 of his mysterious contributor. A hare limped slowly away, 
 a green-and-gold lizard paused upon a pine stump, the wood 
 peckers 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 maintain a 
 significant silence, and the lizard to be conscience-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 direction, 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-known citizen of Angelo, and a subscriber 
 to the " Record," 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 divided his black brows from his stubby hair, and, 
 with an explanatory wave of his hand toward his reluctant 
 companion, said, "A homed poet, and the cussedest fool you 
 ever seed ! " 
 
 Accepting the editor's smile as a recognition of the intro 
 duction, Mr. McCorkle panted and went on : "Didn't want 
 to come ! ' Mister Editor don't want to see me, Morg/ sez 
 he. 'Milt,' sez I, l he do; a honied poet like you and a 
 gifted genius like he oughter come together sociable ! ' And 
 I fetched him. Ah, will yer?" The horn poet had, after 
 
THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 329 
 
 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. " 'Tain't 
 no use stampeding. Yer ye are and yer ye stays. For yer 
 a horned 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 rnoist and shy, and not unlike the animal to 
 which Mr. McCorkle had compared him. It was the face 
 that the editor had seen at th'e window. 
 
 " Knowed him for fower year, since he war a boy," con 
 tinued 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 
 fast ready ? ' and he up and answers back quite peart and 
 chipper, ' The breakfast it is ready, and the birds is singing 
 free, and it's risin' in the dawnin' light is happiness to me ! ' 
 When a man," said Mr. McCorkle, dropping his voice with 
 deep solemnity, " 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 horned poet." 
 
 There was an awkward pause. Mr. McCorkle beamed 
 patronizingly on his protege. The born poet looked as if he 
 were meditating another flight, not a metaphorical one. 
 The editor asked if he could do any thing for them. 
 
 "In course you can," responded Mr. McCorkle, "that's 
 jest it. Milt, where's that poetry 1 " 
 
 The editor's countenance fell as the poet produced from 
 his pocket a roll of manuscript. He, however, took it 
 mechanically and glanced over it. It was evidently a dupli 
 cate of the former mysterious contribution. 
 
 The editor then spoke briefly but earnestly. I regret 
 
330 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 
 
 that I cannot recall his exact words, but it appeared that 
 never before, in the history of the " Record," had the 
 pressure been so great upon its columns. Matters of para 
 mount importance, deeply affecting the material progress of 
 Sierra, questions touching the absolute integrity of Calaveras 
 and Tuolumne as social communities, were even now waiting 
 expression. Weeks, nay, months, must elapse before that 
 pressure would be removed, and the " Record" could grapple 
 with any but the sternest 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," responded 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 spontaneous like, in course you pays. Thet's why 
 Mister Editor never printed your poetry.' :> 
 
 " What name shall I put to it 1 " 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 won 
 dered if he had a sister. 
 
 "Milton; is that all?" 
 
 " Thet's his furst name," explained Mr. McCorkle. 
 
 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, 
 
THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 331 
 
 McCorkle with simple gravity. " Well, put down his hull 
 name, Milton Chubbuck." 
 
 The editor made a note of the fact. " I'll set it up now," 
 he said. This was also a hint that the interview was ended. 
 The poet and the patron, arm in arm, drew towards the 
 door. " In next week's paper," said the editor smilingly, in 
 answer to the child-like 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 straightway 
 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 com 
 posing-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 un 
 fortunate, for as the day wore on and the level rays of the 
 sun began 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 bom poet of Sierra 
 Mat sat and watched him, as waiting its decree. 
 
 The effect of the poem on Sierra Flat was remarkable 
 and unprecedented. The absolute vileness 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 in 
 stantly into popularity. For many months Calaveras had 
 languished for a sensation ; since the last vigilance com 
 mittee nothing had transpired to dispel the listless ennui 
 
332 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 
 
 begotten of stagnant business and grooving civilization. In 
 more prosperous moments the office of the "Record" would 
 have been simply glutted and the editor deported ; at pre 
 sent the paper was in such demand that the edition was 
 speedily exhausted. In brief, the poem of Mr. Milton 
 Chubbuck came like a special providence to Sierra Plat. 
 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 addi 
 tion of a local chorus, and danced as an unhallowed rhythmic 
 dance by the Pyrrhic phalanx of One Horse Gulch, known 
 as " The Festive Stags of Calaveras." Some unhappy ambi 
 guities of expression 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 reputa 
 tion, From the seclusion of McCorkle's cabin and the 
 obscurity of culinary labours, he was hailed forth into the 
 glowing sunshine of Fame. The name of Chubbuck was 
 written in letters of chalk on unpaiiited 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 tip of illustra 
 tions from circus and melodeoii posters, representing the 
 genius of Calaveras in brief skirts on a flying steed in the 
 act of crowning the poet Chubbuck, was visible at Keeler's 
 Ferry. The poet himself was overborne with invitations to 
 drink, and extravagant congratulations. The meeting be 
 tween Colonel Starbottle of Siskyion and Chubbuck, as 
 previously arranged by our " Boston," late of Roaring 
 Camp, is said to have been indescribably affecting. The 
 Colonel embraced him unsteadily. " I could not return to 
 my constituents at Siskyion, sir, if this hand which has 
 
THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 333 
 
 grasped that of the gifted Prentice and the lamented Poe, 
 should not have been honoured by the touch of the god-like 
 Chubbuck. Gentlemen, American literature is looking up. 
 Thank you, I will take sugar in mine." ItVas " Boston" 
 who indited letters of congratulations from H. W. Long 
 fellow, Tennyson, and Browning to Mr. Chubbuck, depo 
 sited 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 
 popularity of his protege, and became alternately supercilious 
 or patronizing toward the dwellers of Sierra Flat ; while the 
 poet, with hair carefully oiled and curled, and bedecked with 
 cheap jewellery and flaunting neck-handkerchief, paraded 
 himself before the single hotel. As may be imagined, this 
 new disclosure of weakness afforded intense satisfaction to 
 Sierra Flat, gave another lease of popularity to the poet, and 
 suggested another idea to the facetious "Boston." 
 
 At that time a young lady, popularly and professionally 
 known as the " California Pet," was performing to enthusi 
 astic audiences in the interior. Her specialty lay in the 
 personation of youthful masculine character ; as a gamin of 
 tho street she was irresistible, as a negro-dancer she carried 
 the honest miner's heart by storm. A saucy, pretty bru 
 nette, 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 delighted 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 " Cali 
 fornia Pet." It was not long before he received a note from 
 her, in "Boston's" most popular and approved female hand, 
 
334 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 
 
 acknowledging his admiration. It was not long before 
 " Boston " was called upon to indite a suitable reply. At 
 last, in furtherance of his facetious design, it became neces 
 sary for " Boston " to call upon the young actress herself and 
 secure her personal participation. To her he unfolded a 
 plan, the successful carrying out of which he felt would se 
 cure his fame to posterity as a practical humourist. The 
 " California Pet's " black eyes sparkled approvingly and 
 mischievously. She only stipulated that she should see the 
 man first, a concession 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. 
 
 It must not be supposed that during this interval of popu 
 larity Mr. Chubbuck had been unmindful of his poetic 
 qualities. A certain portion of each day he was absent 
 from town, " a communin' 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-coloured berries of the Marzanita. 
 These and his company he generally brought to the editor's 
 office, late in the afternoon, often to that enterprising 
 journalist's infinite weariness. Quiet and uncommunicative, 
 he would sit there patiently watching him at his work until 
 the hour for closing the office arrived, when he would as 
 quietly depart. There was something so humble and unob 
 trusive 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 ad 
 monishing his visitor of his idle folly ; but his glance falling 
 upon the oiled hair and the gorgeous necktie, he invariably 
 though t better of it. T he case was evidently hopeless. 
 
THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 335 
 
 The interview between Mr. Chubbuck and the " Cali 
 fornia Pet " took place in a private room of the Union 
 Hotel; propriety being respected by the presence of that 
 arch-humourist " Boston." To this gentleman we are in 
 debted for the only true account of the meeting. However 
 reticent Mr. Chubbuck might have been in the presence of 
 his own sex, towards the fairer portion of humanity he was, 
 like most poets, exceedingly voluble. Accustomed as the 
 " California Pet " had been to excessive compliment, she was 
 fairly embarrassed by the extravagant praises of her visitor. 
 Her personation of boy characters, her dancing of the 
 " Champion Jig," were particularly dwelt upon with fervid 
 but unmistakable admiration. At last, recovering her au 
 dacity 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 delighted 
 " Boston," in his subsequent account of the interview. 
 " But do you believe the d d fool actually asked her to take 
 hini with her? wanted to engage in the company." 
 
 The plan, as briefly unfolded by *' Boston," was to prevail 
 upon Mr. Chubbuck to make his appearance 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 rise and 
 deliver a volley of unsavory articles (previously provided by 
 the originator of the scheme) ; then a select few were to rush 
 on the stage, seize the poet, arid, after marching him in 
 triumphal procession through town, were to deposit him 
 beyond 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. 
 
336 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 
 
 The eventful night came, and with it an audience that 
 packed the long narrow room with one dense mass of human 
 beings. The " California Pet " never had been so joyous, 
 so reckless, so fascinating 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 manuscript in his hand. 
 
 His face was deadly pale. Either there was some sugges 
 tion of his fate in the faces of his audience, or some mysteri 
 ous 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 discomfited humourist 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 moment before, uttered the 
 characteristic speech : " Wot are you goin' to hit a man fur, 
 when he's down, s-a-a-y V 9 
 
 The look, the draw], the action, the readiness, and above 
 all the downright courage of the little woman, had its effect. 
 A roar of sympathetic applause followed the act. " Cut and 
 run while you can," she whispered hurriedly over her one 
 shoulder, 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 curtain." 
 
 There was a slight movement of opposition in the audi 
 ence, but among them rose the burly shoulders of Yuba Bill, 
 the tall, erect figure of Henry York, of Sandy Bar, and the 
 
THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. . 337 
 
 colourless, determined face of John Oakhurst. The curtain 
 came down. 
 
 Behind it knelt the " California Pet " beside the prostrate 
 poet. " Bring me some water. Run for a doctor. Stop ! ! 
 CLEAR OUT, ALL OF YOU !" 
 
 She had unloosed the gaudy cravat and opened 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 questions 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 morning so also had the 
 " California Pet," Manuela ; and the poet of Sierra Elat. 
 
 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 character themselves, still had 
 faith in the stainless honour of their favourite 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 worth 
 less 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 in 
 herent moral depravity, but was an insult to the community. 
 Colonel Starbottle saw in it only another instance of the 
 extreme frailty of the sex ; he had known similar cases ; and 
 remembered distinctly, sir, how a well-known Philadelphia 
 heiress, one of the finest women that ever rode in her 
 kerridge, that, gad, sir ! had thrown over a Southern member 
 of Congress to consort with a d d nigger. The Colonel had 
 
S33 THE POET OF SIERRA FLAT. 
 
 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 unin- 
 telligible and inaudible to the bystanders. 
 
 A few days after the disappearance of Mr. Chubbuck, 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 humourists, 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. 
 
 " 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'll 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 whar 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 2" 
 
 The editor distinctly did. 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 339 
 
 "I picked this same party up in St. Jo., takin' a fancy to 
 his face, and kinder calklating he'd rurm'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 cor 
 rection in the columns of your valooable paper." 
 
 "What correction?" asked the editor. 
 
 " I said, ef you remember my words, as how he was a 
 borned poet." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " From statements in this yer letter it seems as how I war 
 wrong." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " He war a woman." 
 
 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 (THE 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 fashion, she had adoped. 
 
 " Bob " Walker had taken her from the breast of her dead 
 mother at a time when the sincere volunteer soldiery of the 
 California frontier were impressed with the belief that exter 
 mination was the manifest destiny of the Indian race. 
 
 He had with difficulty restrained the noble zeal of his 
 compatriots long enough to convince them that the exemp 
 tion of one Indian baby would not invalidate this theory. 
 
 And lie took her to his home a pastoral clearing on the 
 banks of the Salmon River where she was cared for after a 
 frontier fashion. 
 
 2 2 
 
340 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 Before she was nine years old, she had exhausted the scant 
 kindliness of the thin, overworked Mrs. Walker. 
 
 As a play-fellow of the young Walkers she was unreliable; 
 as a nurse for the baby she was inefficient. 
 
 She lost the former in the trackless depths of a redwood 
 forest ; she basely abandoned the latter in an extemporized 
 cradle, hanging 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. 
 
 M. Walker more than once regretted his indiscreet 
 humanity, but she presently relieved him of responsibility, 
 and possibly of blood-guiltiness, by disappearing entirely. 
 
 When she re-appeared, 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 instruct her charge. 
 
 But the Princess proved an unsatisfactory pupil to even so 
 liberal a teacher. 
 
 She accepted the alphabet with great good-humour, 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 tattooed 
 the faces of her younger companions with blue ink. 
 
 Religious instruction she received as good-humouredly, 
 and learned to pronounce the name of the Deity with a 
 cheerful familiarity that shocked her preceptress. 
 
 Nor could her reverence be reached through analogy ; she 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 341 
 
 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 dis 
 covery that she had collected twenty-five of these volumes, 
 and had hidden them behind the woodpile, that her con 
 nection with the First Baptist Church of Logport ceased. 
 
 She would occasionally abandon these civilized and 
 Christian privileges, and disappear from her home, return 
 ing after several days of absence with an odour 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, accord 
 ing 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 devia 
 tion from the Caucasian standard. 
 
 It was not wine nor amber-coloured ; 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-humour that beamed from 
 her small berry-like eyes and shone in her white teeth, would 
 have 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 contempla 
 tion. 
 
 I think I have already shown enough to indicate the 
 incongruity of her existence with even the low standard 01 
 civilization that obtained at Logport in the year 1860. 
 
342 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 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 Logport 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 de 
 manded. 
 
 Soft-hearted Mrs. Brown endeavoured 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 hanging on the handle of the door 
 of the First Baptist Church. 
 
 It was the Parthian arrow of the flying Princess. 
 
 Prom that day Logport knew her 110 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 headland at the entrance of the harbour and 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 343 
 
 the light-house disappeared, then the willow fringe that 
 marked the line of Salmon River 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 reinforcements 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 over-head, of unseen brent, the 
 nearer call of invisible plover, the lap and wash of un dis 
 tinguishable 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 intervals stirred the thick air. 
 
 Hard by the shore of the bay, and half hidden by a drift 
 ing 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 drift-wood 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 ot 
 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 imperceptible, and only the windows of the 
 
344 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 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 heavily 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 
 habitual. 
 
 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 
 consciousness of his companion. 
 
 At such times the Princess from her nest by the fire fol 
 lowed 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 watchfulness 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, gather 
 ing 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, wandering moodily over the lonely 
 sands, had fallen upon the half-starved woman lying in the 
 little hollow where she had crawled to die. 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 345 
 
 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 somewhat 
 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, sud 
 denly appeared at the door demanding admittance, the occu 
 pants 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 chining mass of the black hair that covered her small 
 head j from her pretty shoulders dropped a fur cloak, only 
 restrained by a cord and tassel in her small gloved hand. 
 Around her full throat was a double necklace of large white 
 beads, that by some cunning feminine trick relieved with its 
 infantile suggestion 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. Whan a dis 
 tressingly unpleasant night ! Is this your usual climate 1" 
 
346 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 Half graciously, half absently over-looking the still em 
 barrassed silence of the group, she went on, 
 
 " We started from the fort over three hours aero, three 
 
 O " 
 
 hours ago, wasn't it, Barker?" (the erect Barker touched 
 his cap,) "to go to Captain Emmon'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 didn't wander to until we mistook your light for 
 the lighthouse and pulled up here. No, no, pray keep your 
 seat, do ! Really 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 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 trodden 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 statement, she put to her eyes 
 a dainty double eye-glass that dangled from her neck. 
 
 " It's a shocking thing to be near-sighted, isn't, it 1 " 
 
 If the shamefaced uneasy man to whom this remark was 
 addressed could have found words to utter the thoughts that 
 even in his confusion struggled 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 apparently 
 forgotten him, and was examining the Princess through her 
 glass. 
 
 " And what is your name, child 1" 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 347 
 
 The Princess, beautified by the eyes and eye-glass, showed 
 all her white teeth at once, and softly scratched her leg. 
 
 "Bob." 
 
 " Bob 1 What a singular name !" 
 
 Miss Portfire's host hastened to explain the origin of the 
 Princess's title. 
 
 ''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 forgotten habit. 
 
 "Grey 1 ? ah, let me see. Yes, certainly. You are Mr. 
 Grey the recluse, the hermit, the philosopher, and all that 
 sort of thing. Why, certainly ; Dr. Jones, our surgeon, has 
 told me all about you. Dear me, how interesting a ren 
 contre ! Lived all alone here for seven was it seven years ? 
 yes, I remember now. Existed quite au natural, one 
 might say. How odd ! Not that I know anything 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 thoughtfully 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 unfor 
 tunate man had justified his life for the last seven years, some 
 how they suddenly became trivial and terribly ridiculous 
 before this simple but practical question. 
 
 " Well, you shall tell me all about it after you 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 
 assist." 
 
^48 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 Barker came forward. 
 
 Glad to escape the scrutiny of his guest, the hermit gave 
 a few rapid directions to the Princess in her native tongue, 
 $nd 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 looking-glass ! " 
 
 She took a book from the swinging shelf and resumed her 
 seat by the fire as the Princess re-entered with fresh fuel. 
 
 But while kneeling 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? An 
 swer quickly. Don't look round for Mm. Speak for your 
 self. Would you ? Hush ; never mind now." 
 
 The hermit re-entered, and the Princess, blinking, re 
 treated into the shadow of the whale-boat shed, from which 
 she did not emerge even when the homely repast of cold 
 7enison, ship-biscuit, and tea was served. 
 
 Miss Portfire noticed her absence. 
 
 " 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. 
 1 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. 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 349 
 
 Barker stood behind her, and the hermit leaned against 
 the fireplace. 
 
 Miss Portfire's appetite did not come up to her protesta 
 tions. 
 
 For the first time in seven years it occured to the hermit 
 that his ordinary victual might be improved. " He stammered 
 out something to that effect. 
 
 " I have eaten better, and worse," said Miss Portfire, 
 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 composedly. After a 
 pause she continued : " You remember after the second Bull 
 Run But, dear me ! I beg your pardon ; of course, you 
 know nothing about the war and all that sort of thing, and 
 don't care." 
 
 She put up her eyeglass 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 narrator, but 
 he was constrained to beg her to continue in such phrases 
 as his unfamiliar lips could command. 
 
 So that little by little Miss Portfire yielded up incident 
 and personal observation of 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 endurance, and of sacrifice. With the same assumption 
 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 suspicious, she 
 
350 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 sang the great American Iliad in a way that stirre. 
 depths of her solitary auditor to its massive foundations. 
 
 Then she stopped and asked quietly, 
 
 " Where is Bob 1 " 
 
 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 Portfire showed 
 some anxiety. 
 
 " Go," she said to Barker, " and find her. She must be 
 found ; stay, give me your overcoat, I'll 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. 
 
 Reaching 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. Gome." 
 
 The Princess chuckled, and suffered herself to be lifted 
 up. 
 
 A few moments later and they re-entered the hut, hand 
 in hand. 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 351 
 
 With the first red streaks of dawn the next day the erecfc 
 Barker touched his cap at the door of the hut. 
 
 Beside him stood the hermit, also just 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's 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-bye. 
 
 She handed him a card, which he took mechanically. 
 
 " Good bye." 
 
 The sail was hoisted, and the boat shoved off. As the 
 fresh morning breeze caught the white canvas 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 ascending sun, it 
 seemed for a moment uplifted in its glory. 
 
 Miss Portfire kept her word. 
 
 If thoughtful care and intelligent kindness could regenerate 
 the 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 
 
352 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 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 personal 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 before her, 
 which she could not read. 
 
 She was a favourite with the officers at the fort, from the 
 Major, 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 restraint put upon her was the limitation of her 
 liberty to the enclosure of the fort and parade j 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 Portfire's 
 invitation. 
 
 But after the departure of the Princess he spent less of 
 of his time in the hut, and was more frequently seen in the 
 distant marshes of Eel River and on the upland hills. 
 
 A feverish restlessness, quite opposed to his usual phlegm, 
 led him into singular freaks strangely inconsistent with his 
 usual habits and reputation. 
 
 The purser of the occasional steamer which stopped at 
 
LAIXE. 
 
 With a very sweet mouth and a 
 retrousse nose" 
 
 the birthday .>tm of that 
 rol]ywogln ri ht." 
 
 "- gone with a flavour of hydrogen gas was Uia Auuie De Luiuc.' 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 353- 
 
 Logport with tlie 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 j and a few days afterward the 
 fishermen on the bay were surprised to see what, on nearer 
 approach, proved to be a rude imitation of the national nag 
 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 absorbed in. 
 the blurred pages of an old newspaper. 
 
 Presently he arose, and, refolding it an operation of 
 great care and delicacy in its tattered condition 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 national 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 
 
 A A 
 
354 THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
 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 you 1 ?" he screamed, as he reached wildly for his 
 rifle. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 His hold relaxed, and he staggered back against the wall. 
 
 The Princess began to whimper. 
 
 Between 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 Reservation; 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 disappearance 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 broken ; you'll ruin the mess in glass-ware, 
 at this rate!" 
 
THE PRINCESS BOB AND HER FRIENDS. 355 
 
 " Have you heard anything more of the Princess, papa 1" 
 
 " 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 settle 
 ment 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 Artillery 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 garrison. 
 
 The new sentry, Private Grey, had challenged 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 limply without intelligence or reproach. 
 
 rt Georgy ! " she whispered. 
 
 "Bob!" 
 
 " All's same now. Me get plenty well soon. Me make 
 no more fuss. Me go to Reservation." 
 
 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 foundations of the world for the wisest as well 
 as the meanest of His creatures. 
 
 AA2 
 
356 A BOYS* D0( 
 
 A BOYS' DOG 
 
 A g I lift my eyes from the paper, I observe a dog lying 
 f^. on the steps of the opposite house. 
 
 His attitude might induce passers-by and casual observers 
 to believe him. to belong to the people 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 lend 
 ing 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 vaga 
 bondage expressed in this epithet, which may not be gene 
 rally understood. 
 
 Only those who are familiar -with the roving nature and 
 predatory instincts of boys in large cities will appreciate its 
 strength. It is the lowest step in the social scale to which a 
 respectable canine can descend. 
 
 A blind main'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 com 
 munity, obedient to the beck and call of the smallest imp in 
 the neighbourhood, attached to and serving not the indivi 
 dual 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 recrea 
 tions he is a full participant. 
 
 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 peculiar phase 
 
A BOYS' DOG. 357 
 
 of human misery, the life of a Boys' dog is still more infe 
 licitous. 
 
 He is associated in all schemes of wrong-doing, and, unless 
 he be a clog of experience, is always the scape-goat. 
 
 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 clocked 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 outside sympathies ; and 
 once a Boys' dog, he cannot change his condition. 
 
 He is not unfrequently sold into slavery by his inhuman 
 companions. 
 
 I remember once to have been accosted on my own door 
 steps by a couple of precocious youths who offered to sell me 
 a clog which they were then leading by a rope. 
 
 The price was extremely moderate, being, if I remember 
 rightly, bat 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 com 
 panions at the first opportunity. 
 
 This I afterwards learned he did, on the occasion of a 
 
353 A BOYS' DOG. 
 
 kind-hearted but unsophisticated neighbour buying him ; 
 and a few days ago I saw him exposed for sale by those two 
 Arcadians, in another neighbourhood, 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 unenviable 
 situation, and why do they not dissolve the partnership when 
 it becomes unpleasant 1 
 
 I will confess that I have been often puzzled by this 
 questioD. 
 
 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 versa, 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 innocence astray in beguiling 
 children to play truant, and thus revenges his own degrada 
 tion on the boy nature generally. 
 
 It is in this relation, and in regard to certain unhallowed 
 practices I have detected him in, that I deem it proper to 
 expose to parents and guardians the danger to which their 
 offspring are exposed by the Boys' dog. 
 
 The Boys' dog lays his plans artfully. He begins 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 endeavour 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 } 
 
A SOYS' DOG. 
 
 359 
 
 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 unhappy infant find it difficult to resist the 
 effect which this glimpse of the area of freedom produces, 
 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 veiy small, turns 
 up eventually at the station-house as a lost child. 
 
 Whenever I meet a stray boy in the street looking utterly 
 bewildered and astonished, I generally find a Boys' dog 
 lurking on the corner. 
 
 When I read the advertisements of lost children, I always 
 add mentally 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 remote 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 
 gunning excursion by pretending to be a sporting dog, in 
 which quality he was knowingly deficient. 
 
 Unscrupulous, 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 them at the very moment they 
 most needed his assistance. 
 
 I have seen him rob small school-boys of their dinners by 
 
3$o HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 pretending to knock them down by accident ; and have seen 
 larger boys in turn disposses 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 vagabond. 
 
 I could find it in my heart to pity him, as he lies there 
 through the long summer afternoon, enjoying brief intervals 
 of tranquillity and rest which he surreptitiously snatches 
 irom a stranger's doorstep. 
 
 For a shrill whistle is heard in the streets, the boys arc 
 Doming 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 for ever 
 Boys' dog. 
 
 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 SIMPSON'S BAR. 
 
 T T had been raining in the valley of the Sacramento. Tho 
 North Fork had overflowed its banks and Rattlesnake 
 Creek was impassable. 
 
 The few boulders that had marked the Summer ford at 
 Simpson's Crossing were obliterated by a vast sheet of water 
 stretching to the foothills. The up stage was stopped -at 
 Granger's ; the last mail had been abandoned in the tules, 
 the rider swimming for his life. 
 
 " An area," remarked the Sierra Avalanche with pensive 
 local pride, "as large as the State of Massachusetts is now 
 under water." 
 
 Nor was the weather any better in the foothills. 
 
 The mud lay deep on the mountain road ; waggons that 
 neither physical force nor moral objurgation could move 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 361 
 
 from tlio evil ways into which they had fallen, incumbered 
 the track, and the way to Simpson's Bar was indicated by 
 broken- down teams and hard-swearing. 
 
 And farther on, cut-off and inaccessible, rained upon and 
 bedraggled, smitten by high winds and threatened by high 
 water, Simpson's Bar, on the eve of Christmas-day, 1862, 
 clung like a swallow's nest to the rocky entablature and 
 splintered capitals of Table Mountain, and shook in the 
 blast. 
 
 As night shut down on the settlement, a few lights 
 gleamed through the mist from the windows of cabins on. 
 either side of the highway now crossed and gullied by 
 lawless streams and swept by marauding winds. 
 
 Happily most of the population were gathered at 
 Thorn pson's store, clustered around a red-hot stove, at which 
 they silently spat in some accepted sense of social commu 
 nion that perhaps rendered conversation unnecessary. 
 
 Indeed, most methods of diversion had long since been 
 exhausted on. Simpson's Bar ; high water had suspended the 
 regular occupations on gulch and on river, and a consequent 
 lack of money and whisky had taken the zest from most 
 illegitimate recreation. 
 
 Even Mr. Harnlin was fain to leave the Bar with fifty 
 dollars in his pocket the only amount actually realized of 
 the large sums won by him in the successful exercise of his 
 arduous profession. 
 
 " Ef I was asked," he remarked somewhat later " ef I 
 was asked to pint out a purty little village where a retired 
 sport as didn't care for money could exercise hisself frequent 
 and lively, I'd say Simpson's Bar; but for a young man 
 with a large family depending on his exertions, it don't 
 pay." 
 
 As Mr. Hamlin's family consisted mainly of female adults, 
 this remark is quoted rather to show the breadth of his 
 humour than the exact extent of his responsibilities. 
 
362 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 Howbeit, the unconscious objects of this satire sat that 
 evening in the listless apathy begotten of idleness and lack 
 of excitement. 
 
 Even the sudden splashing of hoofs before the door did 
 not arouse them. 
 
 Dick Bulleii alone paused in the act of scraping out his 
 pipe, and lifted his head, but no other one of the group in 
 dicated any interest in, or recognition of, the man who 
 entered. 
 
 It was a figure familiar enough to the company, and 
 known in Simpson's Bar as " The Old Man." 
 
 A man of perhaps fifty years ; grizzled and scant of hair, 
 but still fresh and youthful of complexion. A face full of 
 ready, but not very powerful sympathy, with a chameleon- 
 like aptitude for taking on the shade and colour of conti 
 guous moods and feelings. 
 
 He had evidently just left some hilarious companions, 
 and did not at first notice the gravity of the group, but 
 clapped the shoulder of the nearest man jocularly, and threw 
 himself into a vacant chair. 
 
 " Jest heard the best thing out, boys ! Ye know Smiley, 
 over yar Jim Smiley funniest man in the Bar 1 Well, 
 Jim was jest telling the richest yarn about " 
 
 " Smiley's a fool," interrupted a gloomy voice. 
 
 " A particular skunk," added another, in sepulchral 
 
 accents. 
 
 A silence followed these positive statements. 
 The Old Man glanced quickly around the group. Then 
 his face slowly changed. 
 
 " That's so," he said, reflectively after a pause, " certainly 
 a sort of a skunk and suthin of a fool. In course.' 
 
 He was silent for a moment, as in painful contemplation 
 of the unsavoriness and folly of the unpopular Smiley. 
 
 " Dismal weather, ain't it ? " he added, now fully em 
 barked on the current of prevailing sentiment. " Mighty 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 363 
 
 rough papers on the boys, and no show for money this sea 
 son. And to-morrow's Christmas." 
 
 There was a movement among the men at this announce 
 ment-, but whether of satisfaction or disgust was not plain. 
 
 " Yes," continued the Old Man in the lugubrious tone he 
 had within the last few moments unconsciously adopted 
 "yes, Christmas, and to-night's Christmas-eve. Ye see, 
 boys, I kinder thought that is, I sorter had an idee, jest 
 passm like you know that may be ye'd all like to come 
 over to my house to-night and have a sort of tear round. 
 But I suppose, now, you wouldn't 1 Don't feel like it, may 
 be 1 " he added, with anxious sympathy, peering into the 
 faces of his companions. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," responded Tom Flynn, with some 
 cheerfulness. " P'r'aps we may. But how about your wife, 
 Old Man 1 What does she say to it ? " 
 
 The Old Man hesitated. 
 
 His conjugal experience had not been a happy one, and 
 the fact was known to Simpson's Bar. 
 
 His first wife, a delicate, pretty little woman, had suffered 
 keenly and secretly from the jealous suspicions of her hus 
 band, until one day he invited the whole Bar to his house to 
 expose her infidelity. 
 
 On arriving, the party found the shy, petite creature 
 quietly engaged in her household duties, and retired abashed 
 and discomfited. 
 
 But the sensitive woman did not easily recover from the 
 shock of this extraordinary outrage. 
 
 It was with difficulty she regained her equanimity suffi 
 ciently to release her lover from the closet in which he was 
 concealed, and escape with him. 
 
 She left a boy of three years to comfort her bereaved hus 
 band. 
 
 The Old Man's present wife had been his cook. She was 
 large, loyal, and aggressive. 
 
364 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 Before he could reply, Joe Dimmick suggested with great 
 directness that it was the " Old Man's house," and that, 
 invoking the Divine Power, if the case were his own, he 
 would invite who he pleased, even if in so doing he impe 
 rilled his salvation. The Powers of Evil, he further re 
 marked, should contend against him vainly. 
 
 All this delivered with a terseness and vigour lost in this 
 necessary translation. 
 
 " In course. Certainly. Thet's it," said the Old Man 
 with a sympathetic frown. " Tliar's no trouble about thet. 
 It's my own house, built every stick on it myself. Don't 
 you be afeared o' her, boys. She may cut up a trifle rough 
 ez wimmin do but she'll come round." 
 
 Secretly the Old Man trusted to the exaltation of liquor 
 and the power of a courageous example to sustain him in. 
 such an emergency. 
 
 As yet, Dick Bullen, the oracle and leader of Simpson's 
 Bar, had not spoken. He now took his pipe from his lips. 
 
 " Old Man, how's that yer Johnny gettin' on 1 Seems to 
 me he didn't look so penrt the last time I seed him on the 
 bluff heavin' rocks at Chinamen. Didn't seem to take much 
 interest in it. Thar was a gang of 'em by yar yesterday 
 drownded out up the river and I kinder thought o' 
 Johnny, and how he'd miss 'em ! May be now, we'd be in 
 the way ef he was sick ? " 
 
 The father, evidently touched not only by this pathetic 
 picture of Johnny's deprivation, but by the considerate 
 delicacy of the speaker, hastened to assure him that Johnny 
 was better, and that a "little fun might 'liven him up." 
 
 "Whereupon Dick arose, shook himself, and saying, "I'm 
 ready. Lead the way, Old Man : here goes," himself led 
 the way with a leap, a characteristic howl, and darted out 
 into the night. 
 
 As he passed through the outer room he caught up a 
 blazing brand from the hearth. 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 365 
 
 The action was repeated by the rest of the party, closely 
 following and elbowing each other, and before the astonished 
 proprietor of Thompson's grocery was aware of the intention 
 of his guests, the room was deserted. 
 
 The night was pitchy dark. In the first gust of wind 
 their temporary torches were extinguished, and only the red 
 brands dancing and flitting in the gloom like drunken will- 
 o'-the-wisps indicated their whereabouts. 
 
 Their way led up Pine Tree Canon, at the head of which 
 a broad, low bark- thatched cabin burrowed in the mountain 
 side. 
 
 It was the home of the Old Man, and the entrance to the 
 tunnel in which he worked, when he worked at all. 
 
 Here the crowd paused for a moment, out of delicate 
 deference to their host, who came up panting in the rear. 
 
 " P'r'aps ye'd better hold on a second out yer, whilst I go 
 in and see thet things is all right," said the Old Man, with an 
 indifference he was far from feeling. 
 
 The suggestion was graciously accepted, the door opened 
 and closed on the host, and the crowd, leaning their backs 
 against the wall, and cowering under the eaves, waited and 
 listened. 
 
 For a few moments there was no sound but the dripping 
 of water from the eaves, and the stir and rustle of wrestling 
 boughs above them. 
 
 Then the men became uneasy, and whispered suggestion 
 and suspicion passed from the one to the other. 
 
 " Reckon she's caved in his head the first lick ! " 
 
 "Decoyed him inter the tunnel, and barred him up, 
 likely." 
 
 " Got him down, and sittin' on him." 
 
 " Prob'ly biling suthing to heave on us ; stand clear the 
 door, boys ! " 
 
 For just then the latch clicked, the door slowly opened, 
 and a voice said 
 
3 66 HO IV SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 il Come in out o' the wet." 
 
 The voice was neither that of the Old Man nor of his wife. 
 It was the voice of a small boy, its weak treble broken by 
 that preternatural hoarseness which only vagabondage and 
 the habit of premature self-assertion can give. 
 
 It was the face of a small boy that looked up at theirs a 
 face that might have been pretty and even refined, but that 
 it was darkened by evil knowledge from within, and dirt 
 and hard experience from without. 
 
 He had a blanket around his shoulders, and had evidently 
 just risen from his bed. 
 
 " Come in," he repeated, and don't make no noise. The 
 Old Man's in there talking to mar," he continued, pointing 
 to an adjacent room which seemed to be a kitchen, from 
 which the Old Man's voice came in deprecating accents. 
 
 " Let me be," he added, querulously to Dick Bullen, who 
 had caught him up, blanket and all, and was affecting to toss 
 him into the fire ; " let go o' me, you d d old fool, d'ye 
 hear?" 
 
 Thus adjured, Dick Bullen lowered Johnny to the ground 
 with a smothered laugh, while the men, entering quietly, 
 ranged themselves around a long table of rough boards which 
 occupied the centre of the room. 
 
 Johnny then gravely proceeded to a cupboard, and brought 
 out several articles which he deposited on the table. 
 
 " Thar's whisky and crackers, and red herons and cheese." 
 He took a bite of the latter on his way to the table. "And 
 sugar." He scooped up a mouthful en route with a small 
 and very dirty hand. " And terbacker. Thar's dried appils 
 too on the shelf, but I don't admire 'em. Appils is swellin'. 
 Thar," he concluded ; " now wade in, and don't be afeared. 
 I don't mind the old woman. She don't b'long to me. Slong." 
 
 He had stepped to the threshold of a small room, scarcely 
 larger than a closet, partitioned off from the main apartment, 
 and holding in its dim recess a small bed. 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 367 
 
 He stood there a moment looking at the company, his bare 
 feet peeping from the blanket, and nodded. 
 
 " Hello, Johnny! You ain't goin* to turn in agin, are ye f 
 said Dick. 
 
 " Yes, I are," responded Johnny, decidedly. 
 
 "Why, wot's up, old fellow ?" 
 
 " I'm sick." 
 
 " How sick V> 
 
 "I've got a fevier. And childblains. And roomatiz," 
 returned Johnny, and vanished within. After a moment's 
 pause, he added in the dark, apparently from under the bed 
 clothes" And biles !" 
 
 There was an embarrassing silence. The men 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 Thomp 
 son'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. 
 Didn't hev no more sabe than to come round yar with sick 
 ness in the house and no provision. Thet's what I said : 
 1 Bullen,' sez I, ' it's crazy drunk you are, or a fool/ sez I, 
 < to think o' such a thing.' ' Staples/ I sez, l be you a man, 
 Staples, and 'spect to raise h 11 under my roof and invalids 
 lyin' round V 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 cannot 
 say, but a } ack door was suddenly slammed with great vio 
 lence. 
 
 A moment later and the Old Man reappeared, haply un- 
 
368 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 conscious 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, with jaunty in 
 difference, 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 inquisitive reader will accept the statement 
 that the conversation was characterized by the same intel 
 lectual exaltation, the same cautious reverence, the samo 
 fastidious delicacy, the same rhetorical precision, and the 
 same logical and coherent discourse somewhat later in the 
 evening, which distinguish similar gatherings of the masculine 
 sex in more civilized localities, and under more favourable 
 auspices. 
 
 No glasses were broken in the absence of any ; no liquor 
 was uselessly spilt on floor or table in the scarcity of that 
 article. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when the festivities were inter 
 rupted. 
 
 " Hush," said Dick Bullen, 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 whisky from the table and shook 
 it. It was empty. 
 
 Dick Bullen put down his tin cup with an embarrassed 
 laugh. So did the others. 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 369 
 
 The 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'll be back ;" and vanished in 
 the closet with an old flannel shirt and the whisky. 
 
 The door closed but imperfectly, and the following dialogue 
 was distinctly audible. 
 
 " Now, sonny, whar does she ache worst T 
 
 " Sometimes over yar and sometimes under JQYJ but it's 
 most powerful from yer to yer. Rub 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 T 
 
 *' Yes, sonny. How does she feel now ]" 
 
 ''Better. Eub a little furder down. Wot's Chrismiss, 
 anyway ? Wot's it all about ]" 
 
 " O, it's a day." 
 
 This exhaustive definition was apparently satisfactory, 
 for there was a silent interval of rubbing. Presently Johnny 
 again : 
 
 " Mar sez that everywhere else but yer everybody gives 
 things to everybody Chrismiss, and then she just 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 to chillern 
 boys like me. Put's 'em in their butes ! 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, 
 didn't she, jest to aggrewate me and you 1 ? Don't rub thar 
 Why, dad r 
 
 In the great quiet that seemed to have fallen upon the 
 house the sigh of the near pines and the drip of leaves with 
 out was very distinct, 
 
 B B 
 
370 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 Johnny'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 P 
 
 The Old Man partly opened the door and peered through. 
 
 His guests were sitting there sociably enough, and there 
 were a few silver coins in 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, &c., &c. 
 
 "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 T' 
 
 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 in 
 terest, " I've heard o' him before. Thar, that'll 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 blanket, and grasping his father's sleeve, again com 
 posed himself to rest. 
 
 For some moments the Old Man waited patiently. 
 
 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. 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 371 
 
 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 unsteadily towards 
 him. 
 
 " Whar's the boys ?" said the Old Man. 
 
 " Gone up the caiion on a little pasear. They're coming- 
 back for me in a miiiit. I'm waitin' round for 'em. What 
 are you starin' at, Old Man," 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 iip his coat and laughed. 
 
 " Liquor ain't so plenty as that, Old Man. Now don't 
 you git up," he continued as the Old Man made a movement 
 to release his sleeve from Johnny's hand. " Don't you mind 
 manners. Sit jist 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 unconsciously grasped his sleeve. He could have 
 easily disengaged it ; it was small, weak, and emaciated. 
 But perhaps because it was small, weak, and emaciated, he- 
 changed his mind, and drawing his chair closer to the bed, 
 rested his head upon it. In this defenceless attitude tlio 
 potency of his earlier 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, confronted his*. 
 companions, 
 
 " Are you ready?" said Staples. 
 
 3 B 2 
 
.372 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 " Ready ! " said Dick ; " what's the time T 
 
 " Past twelve," was the reply ; " can you make it 1 it's 
 nigh on fifty miles, the round trip hither and yon." 
 
 "I reckon," returned Dick, shortly. "Whar's the 
 mare T 
 
 " Bill and Jack's holdin' her at the crossin'." 
 
 " 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 lie 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. 
 
 Beside him, on a narrow wooden bedstead, lay Johnny, 
 muffled tightly in a blanket that hid all save a strip of fore 
 head 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, rekindling the hearth, and lit 
 up the room with a shameless 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. 
 
 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 mac/villas of -a Mexican 
 
SIMPSON 'S BAR. 373. 
 
 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 colour, 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 sprmglcss- 
 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'll 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 ^yas gone. 
 * "t * * * 
 
 Sing, O Muse, the ride of Richard Bullen ! Sing, O Muse,, 
 of chivalrous men ! the sacred quest, the doughty deeds, the 
 battery of low churls, the fearsome 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 swag 
 gering, ragged rider, and I must fain follow him, in prose,, 
 afoot ! 
 
 It was one o'clock ; and yet he had only gained Rattle 
 snake Hill. For in that time Jovita had rehearsed 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 j and 
 
374 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 tvvice 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 
 lull. 
 
 Here the artful Richard pretended to hold her in with 
 ostentatious objurgation and well-feigned cries of alarm. 
 
 It is unnecessary 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 Ear. 
 
 Enough that in another moment, as it seemed to Dick, 
 she was splashing ou the overflowed banks 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 Rattlesnake Creek to Red Mountain 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 
 superior 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- 
 spvinging grasses flew from beneath her rattling hoofs. 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 375 
 
 She began to smell unpleasantly, once or twice she 
 toughed 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 flag-staff, arid a 
 straggling line of black objects. 
 
 Dick jingled his spurs and swung hisriata, 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 hostler, 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 gambling- 
 houses ; but, avoiding these, they stopped before several 
 closed shops, and by persistent tapping and judicious outcry 
 roused the proprietors from their beds, and made them unbar 
 the doors of their magazines and expose their wares. 
 
 Sometimes they were met by curses, but oftener by interest 
 and some concern in their needs, and the interview was in 
 variably concluded by a drink. 
 
 It was three o'clock before this pleasantry was given over, 
 and with a small water-proof bag of india-rubber strapped on 
 his shoulders, Dick returned to the hotel. 
 
 But here he was waylaid by Beauty Beauty opulent in 
 
376 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 charms, affluent in 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 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 nag- 
 staff 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 Rattlesnake Creek. 
 
 Another 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 un 
 seated 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 appari 
 tion with an oath. 
 
 Dick felt the mare tremble, quiver, and apparently sink 
 under him. 
 
 He knew what it meant, and was prepared. 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 377 
 
 " Stand aside, Jack Simpson, I know you, you d d thief. 
 Let me pass, or " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence. 
 
 Jo vita rose straight in the air with a terrific bound, throw 
 ing the figure from her bit with a single shake of her vicious 
 head, and charged her deadly malevolence down on the im 
 pediment before her. 
 
 An oath, a pistol-shot, horse and highwayman rolled over 
 in the road, and the next moment Jovita was a hundred 
 yards away. 
 
 But the good right arm of her rider, shattered by a bullet, 
 dropped helplessly at his side. 
 
 Without slackening 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 mounting again dashed on towards 
 Rattlesnake Creek. 
 
 But now Jo vita's breath came broken by gasps, Dick 
 reeled in his saddle, and brighter and brighter grew the sky. 
 
 Eide, Richard ; run, Jovita ; linger, O day ! 
 
 For the last few rods there was a roaring in his ears. 
 
 Was it exhaustion from loss of blood, or what 1 
 
 He was dazed and giddy as he swept down the hill, and 
 did not recognize his surroundings. 
 
 Had he taken the wrong road, or was this Rattlesnake 
 Creek ? 
 
 It was. 
 
378 HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO 
 
 But the brawling creek he had swum a few hours before 
 had risen, more than doubled its volume, and now rolled a 
 swift and resistless river between him and Battlesnake 
 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. 
 I n 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 widely, 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, amid uprooted trees and 
 whirling driftwood. 
 
 The Old Man started and awoke. 
 
 The fire on the hearth was dead, the candle in the outer 
 room flickering iu 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 door-post. 
 
 "Dick]" 
 
 " Hush ! Is he awake yet % " 
 
 " No, but Dick ? " 
 
 " Dry up, you old fool ! Get me some whisky quick ! 
 
 The Old Man flew and returned with an empty bottle ! 
 
 Dick would have sworn, but his strength was not equal to 
 the occasion. 
 
SIMPSON'S BAR. 379 
 
 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 j another, I fear, was irre 
 trievably ruined by water ; and on the other, ah me ! there 
 was a cruel spot. 
 
 " It don't look like much, that's a fact," said 'Dick rue 
 fully ..." 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 hold me, Old Man." 
 
 The Old Man caught at his sinking figure. 
 
 " Tell him," said Dick, with a weak little laugh" tell 
 him Sandy Glaus 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. 
 
SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF 
 
 SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF MASTER 
 CHARLES SUMMERTON. 
 
 A T exactly half-past nine o'clock on tlie morning of 
 * ^ Saturday, August 26th, 18G5, Master Charles Sum- 
 inerton, aged live 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, amusing himself by going through that 
 popular youthful exercise known as " turning the crab," a 
 feat in which he was singularly proficient. 
 
 At a court of inquiry summarily held in the back parlour 
 at 10.15, Bridget, cook, deposed to have detected him at 
 twenty minutes past nine, in the felonious abstraction of 
 sugar from the pantry, which, by the same token, had she 
 known what was a-comiii', she'd have never previnted. 
 
 Patsey, a shrill-voiced youth from a neighbouring alley, 
 testified to having 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 received with some caution by 
 the female portion of the court, and with downright scorn 
 and contumely 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 exception, any attempt to wrest from 
 him a statement of his whereabouts during that period. 
 
 That exception has been myself. 
 
MASTER CHARLES SUMMERTON. 381 
 
 lie lias related to me the following in the strictest con 
 fidence : 
 
 His intention on leaving the door steps of his dwelling, 
 was to proceed without delay to Van Pieman'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 shire, over which a pair of trousers, uncommonly 
 wide in comparison to their length, were buttoned, striped 
 balnioral 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 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 pictorially 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 Summerton 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 platform. 
 
382 SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF 
 
 From this point a hiatus of several hours' duration occurs 
 in Master 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 refusing to give any 
 explanation of his conduct, he was finally ejected, much to 
 his relief, on a street corner. 
 
 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 from Patsey was the correct thing 
 in such emergencies, and possessed peculiarly exasperating 
 properties. 
 
 We now approach a thrilling part of the narrative, 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 removed the sugar 
 which still adhered to the joints of the staves, and conveyed 
 it to their mouths. 
 
 Finding a cask not yet pre-empted, 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 retreating 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. 
 
MASTER CPIARLES SUMMERTON. 383 
 
 He was a prisoner, but as yet undiscovered. 
 
 Being satisfied in his mind that hanging was the systematic 
 and legalized penalty for the outrage he had committed, he 
 kept down manfully the cry that rose to his lips. 
 
 In a few moments he felt the cask again lifted by a 
 powerful hand, which appeared above him at the edge of his 
 prison, and which he concluded belonged to the ferocious 
 giant Blunderbore, whose features and limbs he had frequently 
 met in coloured pictures. 
 
 Before he could recover from his astonishment, 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. 
 
 Rolled 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 had reached the corner of Front 
 Street. 
 
 Another blank succeeds in this veracious history. 
 
 He cannot remember how or when he found himself in 
 front of the circus tent. 
 
 He has an indistinct recollection of having passed through 
 
384 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 a long street of stores which were all closed, and which 
 made him fear that it was Sunday, and that he had spent a 
 miserable night in the sugar cask. 
 
 But he remembtrs 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 canvas. 
 
 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 unrecognised and undefined, of 
 the female equestrians, whose dresses could only be equalled 
 in magnificence to the frocks of his sister'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 remembers 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 distinctly 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. 
 
 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 "D EFORE 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 day-break. 
 
THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS. 
 
 AH* 
 
 " A most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. 
 Brown." 
 
 1 And the subsequent proceeding* 
 interested him no more." 
 
 1 Abner Dean raised a point of order when" ' Skull of mammoth caved the her d 
 
 of Thompson in." 
 
 A chunk of old red sandstone took him " The break up of our Society upon the 
 
 in the abdomen." Stanislow." 
 
THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 At that time the attention of their nearest neighbonr had 5 
 been attracted by the sounds of altercations and two con 
 secutive pistol-shots. 
 
 Running 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 choppe wood me no fightee," was his serene- 
 response to all anxious queries. 
 
 " But what did they say, John 1 " 
 
 John did not " sabe" 
 
 Col. Starbottle deftly ran over the various popular epithets- 
 which a generous public sentiment might accept as reasonable 
 provocation for an assault. But John did not recognizs 
 them. 
 
 " And this yer's the cattle," said the Colonel, with some- 
 severity, " that some thinks ought'er be allowed to testify 
 agin' 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 virtues that these men r . 
 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 near- 
 cabin. 
 
 The rude table was arranged as if for breakfast ; the pan.- 
 
336 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 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 Col. Starbottle's eye albeit, somewhat blood-shot and 
 rheumy was more intent on practical details. 
 
 On examination, a bullet-hole was found in the door 
 post, and another, nearly opposite, in the casing of the 
 window. 
 
 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 Colonel, 
 taking position ; "not rnor'n three feet apart, and missed!" 
 
 There was a fine touch of pathos in the falling inflection 
 of the Colonel's voice, which was not without effect. 
 
 A delicate perception of wasted opportunity thrilled his 
 auditors. 
 
 But the Bar was destined to experience a greater dis 
 appointment. 
 
 The two antagonists had not met since the quarrel, and it 
 was vaguely rumoured that on the occasion of second meet 
 ing, 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 waggon at the cross-road was suddenly crowded 
 with people, who seemed to have sprung from the earth. 
 
THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 387 
 
 There was much running and confusion on the hill-side. 
 On the mountain-road, Mr. Jack Hamlin had reined up 
 his horse, and was standing upright on the seat of his 
 
 And the two objects of this absorbing attention approached 
 each other. 
 
 " York's got the sun," " Scott'll line him on that 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 Starbottle felt it, and, in a moment of sublime 
 pre-occupatioii, 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, unheeding 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 ho 
 affected to be supported into the " Magnolia." 
 
 With what further expression he might have indicated his 
 feelings it was impossible to say, for at that moment Scot fa 
 joined the group. 
 
 "Did you speak to me 1 ?" he asked of the Colonel, drop 
 ping his hand, as if with accidental familiarity, on that 
 gentleman's shoulder. 
 
 The Colonel, recognizing some occult quality in the touch, 
 and some unknown quantity in the glance of his questioner, 
 contented himself by replying 
 
 " ]N"o, sir," with dignity. 
 
 c c 2 
 
3CS THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 A few rods away, York's conduct was as characteristic 
 and peculiar. 
 
 "You had a mighty fine chance why didn't you plump 
 him ?" said Jack Hamliii, 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 be 
 tween 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 be 
 tween York and Scott could not be settled after the usual 
 local methods, it gave no further concern thereto. 
 
 But presently it was rumoured that the " Amity Claim " 
 was in litigation, and that its possession would be expen 
 sively disputed 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 proceeding 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 
 confidences of the inhabitants. 
 
 The results of this unhallowed intimacy were many sub 
 poenas ; and, indeed, when the " Amity Claim " came to 
 trial, all of Sandy Bar that was not in compulsory attend 
 ance at the county seat came there from curiosity. 
 
 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 
 
THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 389 
 
 was one of no ordinary significance, involving the inherent 
 rights of that untiring industry which had developed the 
 Pactolian resources of this golden land" and, in the home 
 lier 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 appealed. 
 
 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 life-long 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 disappointed. 
 
 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 Gentlemen of the 
 Old School " there's some lovely creature at the bottom of 
 this." 
 
 The gallant Colonel then proceeded to illustrate his tneory, 
 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 recent 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 refine 
 ments rare in that crude civilization both York and Scott 
 were frequent visitors. 
 
 Yet into this charming retreat York strode one evening a 
 
390 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 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 1 ?" she afterward related 
 to an intimate friend, "the other creature, after glowering at 
 me for a moment, got upon its 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 rancour characterized all 
 their actions. 
 
 "When York purchased 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 
 resulted in the driving off of York's Mongolian labourers ; it 
 was York who built the waggon-road and established the 
 express which rendered Scott's mules and pack-trains obso 
 lete ; it was Scott who called into life the Vigilance Com 
 mittee which expatriated York's friend, Jack Hamlin ; it 
 was York who created the Sandy Ear Herald, which charac 
 terized the act as "a lawless outrage," and Scott as a "Border 
 Ruffian ;" it was Scott, at the head of twenty masked men, 
 who, one moonlight night, threw the offending " forms ?> 
 into the yellow river, and scattered the types in the dusty 
 road. 
 
 These proceedings were received in the distant and more 
 
THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 391 
 
 civilized outlying towns as vague indications of progress and 
 vitality. 
 
 I have before me a copy of the Poverty Flat Pioneer, foi 
 the week ending August 12, 1856, in which the editor, 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 noticeable is the ' Sunny South 
 Saloon/ erected by Captain Mat. Scott, nearly opposite the 
 church. Captain Scott has spared no expense in the furnish 
 ing of this saloon, which promises to be one of the most 
 agreeable places of resort in old Tuolunme. He has recently 
 imported two new, first-class billiard-tables, with cork 
 cushions. Our old friend, ' Mountain Jimmy,' will dispense 
 liquors at the bar. We refer our readers to the advertise 
 ment in another column. Visitors to Sandy Bar cannot 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 dols. for the detection of the parties who hauled away 
 the steps of the new Presbyterian Church, C Street, Sandy 
 Bar, during Divine service on Sabbath evening last. Captain 
 Scott adds another hundred for the capture of the miscreants 
 who broke the magnificent plate-glass windows of the new 
 saloon on the following evening. There is some talk of 
 reorganizing the old Vigilance Committee at Sandy Bar." 
 
 When, for many months of cloudless weather, the hard, 
 unwinking sun of Sandy Bar had regularly gone down on the 
 unpacified wrath of these men, there was some talk of 
 mediation. 
 
392 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 In particular, the pastor of the church to which I have 
 just referred a sincere, fearless, but perhaps not fully- 
 /ealightened man seized gladly upon the occasion of 
 York's liberality to attempt to re-unite the former 
 partners. 
 
 He preached an earnest sermon on the abstract sinfulness 
 of discord and rancour. 
 
 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 impulses, and perfectly logical motives, of preter 
 natural simplicity, of child-like faith, and grown-up respon 
 sibilities. 
 
 As, unfortunately, the people who actually attended Mr. 
 .Daws' church were mainly very human, somewhat artful, 
 more self-excusing than self- accusing, rather good-natured, 
 <and decidedly weak, they quietly shed that portion of the 
 sermon which referred to themselves, and accepting 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 
 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 determination which had 
 -won for him the respect of men who were too apt to regard 
 piety as synonymous with effeminacy, he attacked Scott in 
 liis own house. 
 
 What he said has not been recorded, but it is to be feared 
 *hat it was part of his sermon. 
 
 When he had concluded, Scott looked at him, not un- 
 Idndly over the glasses of his bar, and said, less irreverently 
 the words might convey : 
 
 " Young man, I rather like your style ; but when you 
 
THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 393 
 
 know York and me as well as you do God Almighty, it'll 
 be time to talk/' 
 
 And so tlie feud progressed : and so, as in more illustrious 
 examples, the private and personal enmity of two repre 
 sentative men led gradually to the evolution of some crude, 
 half-expressed principle 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. 
 
 For some weeks past, the voters of Sandy Bar and the 
 adjacent camps had been called upon, in large type, to 
 " RALLY ! " 
 
 In vain the great pines at the cross-roads whose trunks 
 were compelled to bear this and other legends moaned arid 
 protested from their windy watch-towers. 
 
 But one day, with fife and drum, and naming 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 principle, 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 j and when York rose to speak, he was greeted 
 with cheers. 
 
394 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 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 ex 
 posure. 
 
 The crowd cheered, yelled, and were delighted ; but when 
 this astounding philippic was concluded, there was a unani 
 mous call for " Scott ! " 
 
 Colonel Starbottle would have resisted this manifest 
 impropriety, but in vain. 
 
 Partly from a crude sense of justice, partly from a meaner 
 craving for excitement, the assemblage was inflexible ; and 
 Scott was dragged, pushed, and pulled upon the platform. 
 
 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 unexpected Hector arose from the 
 ditch, York's myrmidons trembled. 
 
 " There's nought, gentlemen," said Scott, leaning forward 
 on the railing " there's nought as that man hez said as 
 isn't true. I was run outer Cairo ; I did belong to the 
 Regulators ; I did desert from the army ; I did leave a wife 
 in Kansas. But thar's one thing he didn't charge me with, 
 and, may be, he's forgotten. For three years, gentlemen, I 
 was that man's pardner " 
 
THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 395 
 
 Whether 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 atmos 
 phere isolated the old antagonists. 
 
 With, little change in the green wood, gray rock, and 
 yellow river, but with much shifting of human landmarks, 
 and new faces 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 return to Sandy Bar," said Miss Folins- 
 bee, the " Lily of Poverty Flat," on meeting York in Paris 
 " for Sandy Bar is no more. They call it .Riverside now ; 
 and the new town is built higher up on the river bank. By 
 the bye, '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. O, I 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 verandah of the Union Hotel at Sandy Bar. 
 
 Among its passengers was one, apparently a stranger, in 
 the local distinction 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, proceeded to array himself 
 in a pair of white -duck trousers, a white-duck overshirt, and 
 a, straw hat. 
 
 When his toilette was completed, he tied a red bandanna 
 
396 . THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR 
 
 handkerchief in a loop, and threw it loosely over his 
 shoulder?. 
 
 The transformation was complete : 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 below 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, clinging 
 to the tree tops and drifting up the mountain side, until it 
 was caught among those rocky altars, arid 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 bathing 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 approached, 
 as if it were put there for that purpose. 
 
 He had not yet dared to look in a certain direction. 
 
THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 397 
 
 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 chimney, 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 gesticulation ; 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, holding the 
 convulsed frame of his former partner on his knee, and 
 wiping the foam from his inarticulate lips. 
 
 Gradually the tremor became less frequent, and then 
 ceased ; and the strong rnan lay unconscious in his arms. 
 
 For some moments York held him quietly thus, looking in 
 his face. Afar, the stroke of a woodman's axe a mere 
 phantom of sound was all that broke the stillness. 
 
 High up the mountain, a wheeling hawk hung breath 
 lessly above them. 
 
 And then came voices, and two men joined them. 
 
 "A. fight 1" 
 
 No, a fit ; and would they help him bring the sick man to 
 the hotel 1 
 
 And there, for a week, the stricken partner lay, uncon- 
 
398 THE ILIAD OF SANDY BAR. 
 
 scions 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 whisky." 
 
 York replied by taking both of his hands, boyishly work 
 ing them backward and forward, as his elbow rested on the 
 bed, with a pleasant smile. 
 
 "And you've been abroad. How did you like Paris V 
 
 " 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.' 1 
 
 " 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, 
 
THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 399 
 
 " Old man, thar was too much saleratus in that bread." 
 
 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. 
 
 THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 
 
 ' I ^HEY who have read the life of Audabon need not be 
 told that, of all the neglected sons of science, there 
 are none to whom recognition comes so tardily, or from 
 whom popular interest is as long withheld, as the 
 Naturalist. 
 
 Whether his practical Pantheism takes him out of the 
 plane of human sympathy ; whether there is a secret and 
 divine compensation for this human forgetfulness in the 
 fascination of his study, or the acquisition of special know 
 ledge ; or whether a certain heroism is always found in 
 combination with this taste, we cannot say. 
 
 The world only knows that, out of a life of exile, and 
 often of danger, out of self-imposed wanderings and myste 
 rious labour, he at last lays at its feet a technical catalogue 
 and a sheaf of special pictures, more or less monotonous in 
 subject, which only a very small portion of its people are 
 able to appreciate, and a still smaller part able to purchase 
 and possess. 
 
 So it is apt to comfort itself with the belief that to him 
 the birds sing more sweetly, even if he has not that occult 
 knowledge of their speech which was one of the gifts of the 
 Arabian magician ; that to him the flowers are fairer, the 
 skies bluer, and Nature more opulent and open-handed. 
 
400 THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 
 
 For which opinion he does not seem to care ; and yet, 
 somehow or other, a life which the material world is apt to 
 view suspiciously, as a shiftless blending of vagabondage and 
 monomania, has a better chance of getting into history than 
 one that leaves behind a palpable monument. 
 
 That some such life as this was lost in the death of 
 Andrew J. Grayson it is the object of the following memoir 
 to show. 
 
 The exact quality and importance of his work, and his 
 claim to a position among the few ornithologists of the 
 American continent, will, of course, rest upon another 
 memorial, in the shape of a " History of the Birds of 
 Northern Mexico," yet to be published the sketches and 
 materials for which are now in the city of San Francisco. 
 
 Pending this, it is proposed to tell the story of a some 
 what eventful life ; of a taste formed and indulged under 
 great disadvantages of circumstances and education ; and of 
 a purpose which the allurements and material pre-occupation, 
 of Californian life could not shake. 
 
 The difficulties which beset Audubon and Wilson in the 
 "West in the early, bustling, pioneer days of the Republic 
 the contact with hard, unsympathizing practicalness, and the 
 pecuniary test of all labour were, of course, intensified in 
 Mr. Grayson's California experience. 
 
 His inquisitive rambles and explorations seemed almost an 
 insult to a people to whom " prospecting " had but a 
 pecuniary significance. 
 
 His scrutiny of the delicate shades and tints of his 
 feathered friends, seemed little less than lunacy to the 
 miner who had but one idea of " the colour." 
 
 And yet it was, perhaps, this unsuccessful quality as a 
 pioneer which has given Mr. Grayson a prominence above 
 those who saffered equal hardship in a baser pursuit ; which 
 lifted such men as Audubon and Wilson above the Boones, 
 and which gives to Coulter, Nuttall, Drummond, and David 
 
THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 401 
 
 Douglass an honourable pre-eminence over other pioneers, 
 which is not entirely based upon their priority of arrival. 
 
 Andrew J. Grayson was born August 20th, 1819, in 
 Louisiana. His childhood was spent on the banks of the 
 Ouachita River. 
 
 This river, one of the most lovely and picturesque streams 
 of that gloomy region, divides the pine hills on its western 
 bank from the swamps which stretch for a hundred miles to 
 the east, even beyond the great Mississippi. 
 
 It was a region sparsely inhabited, save by wild 
 animals. 
 
 Bayous, stagnant lakes, cypress swamps, with impenetrable 
 forests of canebreaks and swamp-oaks between, were its main 
 features. 
 
 It was the home of the alligator, the musquito, and 
 malaria. 
 
 A narrow strip of arable land (above high- water 'mark) 
 bordered the banks of the Ouachita, which was mainly used 
 for the production of cotton. 
 
 There were but few habitations in the locality. 
 
 His father's plantation was surrounded by an endless 
 forest on either side of the river, which was gradually cleared 
 by the few settlers who straggled in from time to time. 
 
 There was but little society, and no schools or churches. 
 
 The entire occupation of the people was the cultivation of 
 cotton, which then commanded a high price. 
 
 With no congenial companions around him, the youthful 
 Grayson spent most of his time in the woods with his gun, 
 or on the banks of the river with his fishing-rod. 
 
 His health being impaired by frequent attacks of chills 
 and fever, his parents gave him an invalid's privilege to take 
 such recreation as he pleased. 
 
 At length an Irish school-master arrived in " the settle 
 ment." 
 
 D D 
 
402 THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST 
 
 A school-house was built of logs, and he was duly installed 
 with a school of about twenty pupils. 
 
 The school prospered for about six months, when the 
 school-master became so frequently drunk as to insure his 
 dismissal. 
 
 In a short time his place was supplied by another with 
 the like failing, and whose administration was equally 
 short. 
 
 Sometimes the school was without a school-master for 
 months : intervals which Mr. Grayson unconsciously profited 
 by, in studying the habits and characteristics of the birds 
 and beasts that swarmed this prolific region. 
 
 Something of the spirit of the naturalist accompanied him 
 even in these boyish rambles. 
 
 It was said that he never took pleasure in shooting birds, 
 although he carried his gun, and often shot game ; yet the 
 main pleasure was being alone in the forests wilds, with the 
 birds for his companions. 
 
 At last, another Irish instructor, by the name of Tobin, 
 caused a great change in young Grayson's mode of life. 
 
 The new teacher was a very disagreeable man, and he was 
 to board (according to the custom of country school-masters), 
 at the house of Mr. Grayson's father. 
 
 Many a reprimand did Grayson receive, even in the 
 presence of his father, from the new teacher, for hunting 
 birds' nests, or fishing on Sunday. 
 
 Tobin continued his school for a year, and it was during 
 this time that Mr. Grayson made his first attempts at 
 drawing ; stealing sly moments when his teacher was taking 
 his noonday nap in his arm-chair. 
 
 His drawings were mainly birds, foliage, flowers, etc. ; 
 and he had, as he and the other boys thought, a very pretty 
 picture of a beautiful little wood-duck (Aix sponsa). 
 
 But he was engaged one day upon what he considered his 
 best picture a river scene when Tobin awoke, and seeing 
 
THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 405 
 
 two boys looking over Grayson's shoulder, watching the 
 progress of the picture, he slyly came up, and caught him in, 
 the act. 
 
 Grayson hurriedly put the picture in his desk. 
 
 But it was too late : his teacher had seen it and ordered' 
 him not only to produce that, but to bring out the entire 
 contents of his desk for his inspection. 
 
 He refused to obey, and the order was enforced by a 
 severe blow on the side of the head. 
 
 Scarcely knowing what he did, in a moment of frenzy he 
 picked up his slate, and breaking it over the old man's head, 
 took to his heels and ran. 
 
 When Mr. Tobin came home in the evening, he caused 
 young Grayson to be called into the presence of his father, 
 when he exhibited all his poor pictures in derision. 
 
 "Look at these," said he; "that is the way your son 
 spends his time at school. I can do nothing with him j 
 you must find for him another school." 
 
 His father scanned the pictures, and threw them into the 
 fire, giving his son a severe scolding for this manifest waste 
 of opportunity. 
 
 The fracas with old Tobin was the cause of his father's 
 sending him at once to the College of St. Mary, Missouri. 
 
 But he was prohibited from taking drawing lessons. 
 
 A year after Mr. Grayson's return from college his father 
 died, and the estate was divided among the numerous 
 heirs. 
 
 Disposing of his portion, Grayson commenced business on 
 his own account. 
 
 Opening a country store in a very rough and very new- 
 town, on the pine-hill side of the river, he invested all his 
 inheritance in this establishment ; and at the end of two 
 years, the only store in the small town of Columbia was- 
 closed and defunct. 
 
 It was the old, old story. 
 
 D D 2 
 
404 THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 
 
 Mr. Grayson had no business tact whatever, or any love 
 for trade. 
 
 Most of the time the store was left to the care of the 
 clerk, while the young proprietor wandered about in the 
 woods with his gun. 
 
 But if he had the characteristic ill-luck of such natures in 
 his business speculations, he certainly had also the equally 
 characteristic good fortune in matrimony which is the 
 poetical compensation of unpractical men. 
 
 The lady to whom at this time he joined his destiny, was, 
 in after years, his devoted companion and untiring help 
 mate in his ornithological studies. 
 
 To her he briefly outlined his future plans, which involved 
 a trip to California then a terra, incognita to most of the 
 world, and more especially to the denizens of the Ouachita. 
 
 But Mr. Grayson, while in St. Louis, had learned a great 
 deal of this remote region from the trappers of the American 
 Fur Company the Choteaus and Minards, some of whom 
 were old school-mates. 
 
 They gave such glowing descriptions of California and 
 Oregon ; of its fine climate and abundance of game, that 
 Mr. Grayson's spirits were filled with a desire to go there. 
 
 He longed for new objects of study in Nature's great field, 
 yet unexplored. 
 
 The zoology of his native country was familiar to him, as 
 well as its botany. 
 
 Few knew the forest better. 
 
 In 1844, he and his wife left St. Louis for California and 
 Oregon. 
 
 Of that eventful trip Mrs. Grayson wrote as follows : 
 
 " By some, Mr. Grayson was looked upon as crazy and 
 heartless, for attempting such a dangerous adventure with a 
 a young wife and child. A wife, too, who had been unused 
 to the hardships such a trip would devolve upon her ; but I 
 xv *s as full of romantic adventure as my husband, and could 
 
THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 405 
 
 not be persuaded from accompanying him, and I must say 
 here, that the trip across the Plains was one of the most 
 happy episodes in my life. There were some warm friends 
 in St. Louis that encouraged Mr. Grayson in his great under 
 taking. We, of course, could not cross the Plains alone ; we 
 must get up a company of sufficient strength to be able to 
 defend ourselves against the Indians, and to assist each other 
 generally. Messrs. Kembly and Field, proprietors and 
 editors of the St. Louis fieveille, and Mr. George Curry, 
 one of the co-editors, who has since been Governor of 
 Oregon, were his warmest advocates. The expedition was 
 gotten up, and the rendezvous made at Independence, 
 Missouri. There was a sufficient company of hardy Western 
 farmers, with their families and waggons, collected, and 
 waiting for the time to start. At length, about the first 
 of April, we started on our long journey to the Pacific 
 shores. 
 
 " We were for six months constantly travelling before we 
 reached the Sierra Nevada. In the meantime, my husband 
 was often miles from the train, hunting, and exploring the 
 wild region through which we passed, every step of which, 
 he said, gave him that pleasure which suited his taste. Pew 
 birds escaped his observation, and he kept a list of all the 
 new ones he saw, which I, as well as his fellow-travellers, 
 considered as time ill-spent. But when we reached the 
 forests of the Sierra Nevada, his enthusiasm knew no 
 bounds." 
 
 They arrived in October, 1846. 
 
 Mr. Grayson immediately left his family in Sonoma, and 
 volunteered his services in defence of California. 
 
 In a short time, he was honoured with a commission from 
 Commodore Stockton. 
 
 He organized a company of mounted riflemen and con 
 tinued in service until the final treaty was made. 
 
 He was thrice honoured as bearer of dispatches once 
 
406 THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 
 
 from Commodore Shubrick to Captain Merrin ; once from 
 Captain Merrin to Captain Mursden, and once from Merrin 
 to Shubrick all of which he performed expeditiously and 
 with success, and received ample reward and thanks. 
 
 Throughout the following gold decade, his life was but the 
 average experience of the Pioneer. 
 
 He made and lost fortunes ; paid the usual visit to his 
 home, and, with the usual feverish restlessness, returned to 
 California. 
 
 Thus far, he had done nothing to justify even this brief 
 review of a story then so common, and now forgotten. 
 
 But his scientific tastes, it seemed, were not wholly put 
 aside j his passion for Nature only slumbered. 
 
 Those who are curious to know the genesis of any great 
 work of Art or Science may find some interest in the follow 
 ing simple incidents, which seemed to consecrate Mr. Gray- 
 son to his subsequent labour : 
 
 " While he was absent 011 a surveying expedition to the 
 Tulare Plains," writes his devoted wife, " I visited the Mer 
 cantile Library with some friends, to see Audubon's * Birds 
 of America,' for the first time. As soon as I saw them, my 
 first thought was of my husband. When he returned, we 
 went together to look at them again. It was easy to see 
 that Mr. Graysoii was delighted. He spent nearly a whole 
 day in examining one single copy. He had never seen any 
 thing like it before, and it seemed like a dream, in which all 
 the little feathered friends of his youth passed in review 
 before him. The familiar haunts of his boyhood came back 
 to him : and he thought, too, of his own poor first essays at 
 drawing. ' Why was I not permitted to learn, that I might 
 make such a work?' he sadly asked. Prom that eventful 
 day, his life seemed to find its proper channel. He resolved 
 to create such a work, and call it the ' Birds of the Pacific 
 Slope,' if it took him the balance of his life to do it. He 
 knew alreadv all the birds of California. But how was he 
 
THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 407 
 
 to transfer them to paper, ' life-looking ? ' < I will learn to 
 draw and paint/ said he. ' I know, when I was a boy, I 
 had this passion knocked out of me by an old country school 
 master. There is no one now to prevent me, and I will 
 learn to draw and colour equal to the great Audubon, before 
 I stop. If I never complete the giant work, I shall, at 
 least, leave a sign that such a person once existed.'" 
 
 Mr. Gray son's first attempt to perfect himself in drawing 
 was encouraging. 
 
 He was persuaded to allow some of these sketches to be 
 exhibited at the State Fair, held in Sacramento, in 1855. 
 
 They were acknowledged as works of merit, and received 
 the first prize of a silver cup. 
 
 None were more surprised than the artist himself. 
 
 He knew so well his subject that he could not well make 
 an untruthful picture. 
 
 But his drawings, however well they may have pleased the 
 careless observer, were far from reaching his idea of the per 
 fection that was his aim. 
 
 In three years he had painted and described nearly all the 
 birds of California. 
 
 Some of the new species were illustrated in Hutchings* 
 Magazine, and have since been referred to by scientific 
 journals and Academies of Natural Science. 
 
 Not content with being a self-taught draughtsman, he also 
 learned the art of preparing and preserving specimens many 
 of which were sent to the Smithsonian Institute. 
 
 In 1857 Gray son and his wife sailed for Tehuantepec a 
 new field for his ornithological pursuits. 
 
 It was his intention to make that point the most southern 
 of his researches, and to follow his work up so as to include 
 the birds of Western Mexico. 
 
 But the vessel a small schooner was driven ashore at 
 Yentosa, and became a total wreck. Cargo and luggage 
 were lost. 
 
4o8 THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 
 
 Mr. Grayson saved nothing but his gun and ammunition. 
 
 All his drawings, drawing-paper, colours, &c., were reduced 
 to a pulp. 
 
 Left in a strange land, without money or friends, their 
 situation was embarrassing. 
 
 Fortunately, however, the proprietors of the land the ter 
 minus of the Tehuantepec road wished the ground surveyed, 
 and a large city laid out. 
 
 Mr. Grayson gladly accepted this office, and was soon 
 placed in funds. 
 
 From want of materials, he could not go on with his orni 
 thological sketches ; but he made collections and notes for 
 future drawings and descriptions, and, before he left Tehnan- 
 tepec, had a fine collection, and many of them transferred to 
 paper. 
 
 On again arriving in San Francisco, he was compelled to 
 make a pecuniary sacrifice of his collections to a naturalist. 
 
 They were carried to New York. Some of them, it 
 appears, found there way to the Smithsonian Institute, as in 
 their annual reports are found references to " Mr. Grayson's 
 collection from Tehuantepec." 
 
 Soon after his return, he made a trip down the coast of 
 Mexico, in company with his friend Hutchings, of Yosemite 
 celebrity. 
 
 They spent several months in exploring the coast below 
 San Bias in a small canoe. 
 
 The lateness of the season, and an inclement climate 
 brought on an attack of the coast fever, which prevented his 
 accomplishing much in the way of collecting specimens. 
 
 But it decided Mr. Grayson's intention to settle in 
 Mazatlan with his family, making that city his head-quarters 
 for future explorations of Western Mexico, whenever time 
 could be spared from his business, and opportunities offered. 
 
 Here he remained nearly ten years until the day of his 
 death constantly engaged in making explorations by sea 
 
THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 409 
 
 and land, over mountains and swamps, islands and deserts, 
 and often stricken down with malarious fevers, caught in 
 these perilous undertakings. 
 
 His home occupation was the transferring of his birds, 
 while yet fresh, to the pages of his portfolio, and enlarging 
 his notes of their habits. 
 
 The Boston Academy of Natural History, in connection 
 with the Smithsonian Institute, furnished him with funds to 
 explore the Sierra Madre.* 
 
 But he could not enter upon the expedition until after the 
 rainy season, which he did not live to see. 
 
 While the French were at Mazatlan, he made a trip to 
 the capital of Mexico, and laid his work before the Emperor 
 and Empress. 
 
 It was highly approved, and a contract was entered into 
 between him and the Academy of Science. 
 
 Not only were they to publish the work which was to 
 hare been done in Europe but he was to be furnished with 
 the means to complete it. 
 
 The contract was published in the Imperial organ. 
 
 After the fall of the Empire the Academy refused to 
 acknowledge any contract made under the Imperial regime. 
 
 In 1867 he visited the Island of Socorro, marked on the 
 chart as Rerillagido, latitude 18?- 35' north, longitude 111 
 west. 
 
 He wrote in his journal : 
 
 "There seems to be some fatality in my attempts to 
 explore this island. On my former visit, two years ago, the 
 supply of water was short, but we had a superabundance of 
 provisions. I was compelled to return without accomplishing 
 much. This time our vessel was a total wreck and our 
 provisions were short. After the ninth day a vessel hove in. 
 
 * After his death returned to Professor Henry, of the Smitlisoniaa 
 Institute. 
 
410 THE STORY OF AN ORNITHOLOGIST. 
 
 sight. By firing the grass we attracted attention. With 
 great difficulty we passed the breakers. We were compelled 
 to leave everything. I begged the captain to send off for a 
 few things I prized the most, particularly the boxes oi 
 specimens ; but when they returned, nothing could be 
 brought off but two boxes. Thus the expedition was 
 suddenly brought to a close. It was my intention, had we 
 not been shipwrecked, to have spent a much longer time in 
 examining this, as well as the adjacent islands ; but diis 
 aliter visum. 
 
 " Captain Abbott treated us with genuine hospitality ; 
 and as it would be out of his way to take us to Mazatlan, I 
 told him to put us on the Tres Marias Islands. In three 
 days we reached the Marias, where we remained four days. 
 I made daily excursions in the woods for birds, but found 
 nothing new but what I had collected on a former visit to 
 this locality." 
 
 On the 20th of April, 1869, as a guest on the United 
 States steamer Mohongo, he left Mazatlan for a professional 
 tour to the Isabel Islands, a group of rocks between the 
 Tres Marias and San Bias, frequented by myriads of sea- 
 fowl. 
 
 It was here that he contracted the coast fever. He was 
 ill but three months and a half. During his whole illness he 
 . was constantly absorbed with his studies. 
 
 He seemed to have a premonition that he would not 
 recover, and calmly arranged his affairs. 
 
 He died on the night of the 17th of August. His last 
 words to his wife were, " What a beautiful picture ! " 
 
 A word more, to close this brief record of one of the 
 few Pioneers of California who have tried to build unto 
 themselves some better monument than the mere material 
 memorials of acres of wood and stone. 
 
 To be able to give one's name to a bird, or a flower, may 
 seem to many but a small ambition ; and yet, materially 
 
ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY. 411 
 
 considered, it is quite as likely to be perpetuated, as to give 
 it to a street or town, and is much more likely to define the 
 tastes and individuality of the giver. 
 
 And, in looking over the remarkable collection of this 
 self-taught Ornithologist remarkable as well for its accuracy 
 and detail, as for its mute record of nobly devoted labour 
 and scientific skill it is not too much to believe that the 
 Association of California Pioneers will gladly take upon 
 themselves the honour and responsibility of giving to the 
 world, under their own auspices, a contribution to Science 
 which reflects so much lustre upon the name of Pioneer. 
 
 ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY. 
 
 HPHE subject of this article is at present leaning against a 
 tree directly opposite to my window. 
 
 He wears his cap with the wrong side before, 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. 
 
412 ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY. 
 
 The vulgar little boy is more remarkable for his obtrusive 
 familiarity. 
 
 It is my experience of his pre-clisposition to this quality 
 which has induced me to write this article. 
 
 My acquaintance with him began in a moment of weak 
 ness. 
 
 I have an unfortunate predilection to cultivate originality 
 in people, even when accompanied by objectionable cha 
 racter. 
 
 But, as I lack the firmness and skilfulness which usually 
 accompanies this taste in ethers, and enables 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 repeating 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 present 
 position, personal un cleanliness, 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. 
 
 Something 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. 
 
 He haunts me in the streets and by-ways. 
 
ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY. 413 
 
 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 
 iny check with the air of a young footpad. 
 
 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 com 
 mentary 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 1 
 
 Any other boy would content himself with simply knock 
 ing 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 injury inflicted, and in the 
 
414 ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY. 
 
 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 overpowered 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 affectionate 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 
 pronoun ciation, 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 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 ray present dignified position, seize my 
 hat, open the front door, and try a stronger method. 
 
WAITING FOR THE SHIP. 415 
 
 WAITING FOR THE SHIP. 
 3EtfI. 
 
 A BOUT an hour's ride from the Plaza there is a high 
 bluff with the ocean breaking uninterruptedly along 
 its rocky beach. 
 
 There are several 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 drift-wood. 
 
 With its few green cabbages and turnip-tops, each garden 
 looks something like an aquarium with the water turned off. 
 
 In fact you would not be surprised to meet a merman 
 digging among the potatoes, or a mermaid milking a sea 
 cow hard by. 
 
 Near this place formerly arose a great semaphoric tele 
 graph, 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, had 
 amassed sufficient by diligent labour 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, 
 
4i 6 WAITING FOR THE SHIP. 
 
 The rough, patient face, with soft lines overlying its hard 
 features, which had become a daily apparition at the ship 
 ping 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 couldn't tell ; it would depend on circum 
 stances. 
 
 " Would it be a year 1" 
 
 " 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. 
 
 Still the ship came not. 
 
 Stately clippers swept into the Gate, and merchantmen 
 went by with colours 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-defined 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. 
 
WAITING FOR THE SHIP. 4:7 
 
 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 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 Sunday, 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 slits cut 
 from different journals of old marine memoranda and his 
 face was turned towards the distant sea. 
 
4I 8 LOTHAW. 
 
 LOTH AW; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN 
 IN SEARCH OF A RELIGION. 
 
 BY MR. BENJAMINS. 
 
 [" What causes young people lo ' come out,' but the noble ambition 
 of matrimony? What sends them trooping to watering-places 1 What 
 keeps thfin dancing till five o'clock in the morning through a whole 
 mortal season ? What causes them to labour at pianoforte sonatas, and 
 to learn four songs from a fashionable master at a guinea a lesson, and 
 lo play the harp if they have handsome arms and neat elbows, and to 
 wear Lincoln Green toxophilite hats and feathers, but that they may 
 bring down some ' desirable' young man with those killing bows and 
 arrows of theirs V 1 THACKERAY.] 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T REMEMBER him a little boy," said the Duchess. 
 " His mother was a dear friend of mine : you know, 
 she was one of my bridesmaids." 
 
LOTH AW. 419 
 
 "And you have never seen him since, mamma 1 ?" asked 
 the oldest married daughter, who did not look a day older 
 than her mother. 
 
 " Never ; he was an orphan shortly after. I have often 
 reproached myself, but it is so difficult to see boys." 
 
 This simple yet first-class conversation existed in the 
 morning-room of Plusham, where the mistress of the palatial 
 mansion sat involved in the sacred privacy of a circle of her 
 married daughters. 
 
 One dexterously applied golden knitting-needles to the 
 fabrication of a purse of floss silk of the rarest texture, which 
 none who knew the almost fabulous wealth of the Duke 
 would believe was ever destined to hold in its silken meshes 
 a less sum than 1,000,000 sterling; another adorned a 
 slipper exclusively with seed pearls ; a third emblazoned a 
 page with rare pigments and the finest quality of gold-leaf. 
 
 Beautiful forms leaned over frames glowing with em 
 broidery, and beautiful frames leaned over forms inlaid with 
 mother-of-pearl. 
 
 Others, more remote, occasionally burst into melody as 
 they tried the passages of a new and exclusive air given to 
 them in MS. by some titled and devoted friend, for the 
 private use of the aristocracy alone, and absolutely prohibited 
 for publication. 
 
 The Duchess, herself the superlative of beauty, wealth, 
 and position, was married to the highest noble in the Three 
 Kingdoms. 
 
 Those who talked about such ^natters said that their pro 
 geny were exactly like their parents a pecularity of the 
 aristocratic and wealthy. 
 
 They all looked like brothers and sisters, except their 
 parents, who, such was their purity of blood, the perfection 
 of their manners, and the opulence of their condition, might 
 have been taken for their own children's elder son and 
 daughter. 
 
 E E2 
 
420 LOTHA W. 
 
 The daughters, with one exception, were all married to 
 the highest nobles in the land. 
 
 That exception was the Lady Coriander, who there being 
 no vacancy above a marquis and a rental of 1,000,000 
 waited. 
 
 Gathered around the refined and sacred circle of their 
 breakfast-table, with their glittering coronets, which, in filial 
 respect to their father's Tory instinct and their mother's 
 Ritualistic tastes, they always wore on their regal brows, the 
 effect was dazzling as it was refined. 
 
 It was this peculiarity and their strong family resemblance 
 which led their brother-in-law, the good-humoured St. Addle- 
 gourd, to say that, " 'Pon my soul, you know, the whole 
 precious mob looked like a ghastly pack of court cards 
 don't you know 1 ?" 
 
 St. Addlegourd was a radical. 
 
 Having a rent-roll of 15,000,000., and belonging to one 
 of the oldest families in Britain, he could afford to be. 
 
 ''Mamma, I've just dropped a pearl," said the Lady Cori 
 ander, bending over the Persian hearth-rug. 
 
 " From your lips, sweet friend," said Lothaw, who came 
 of age and entered the room at the same moment. 
 
 "No, from my work. It was a very valuable pearl, 
 marnmaj papa gave Isaacs and Sons 50,000 for the two." 
 
 "Ah, indeed," said the Duchess, languidly rising; "let us 
 go to luncheon." 
 
 "But your Grace," interposed Lothaw, who was still quite 
 young, and had dropped on all-fours on the carpet in search 
 of the missing gem, " consider the value " 
 
 " Dear friend," interposed the Duchess, with infinite tact, 
 gently lifting him by the tails of his dress-coat, " I am wait 
 ing for your arm." 
 
LOTHAW. 42 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LOTHAW was immensely rich. 
 
 The possessor of seventeen castles, fifteen villas, nine 
 shooting-boxes, and seven town houses, he had other estates 
 of which he had not even heard. 
 
 Everybody at Pltisham played croquet, and none badly. 
 
 Next to their purity of blood and great wealth, the family 
 were famous for this accomplishment. 
 
 Yet Lothaw soon tired of the game, and after seriously 
 damaging his aristocratically large foot in an attempt to 
 "tight croquet" the Lady Aniseed's ball, he limped away 
 to join the Duchess. 
 
 " I'm going to the hennery," she said. 
 
 " Let me go with you. I dearly love fowls 
 
 * * # * -x 
 
 broiled," he added, thoughtfully. 
 
 " The Duke gave Lady Montairy some large Cochins the 
 other day," continued the Duchess, changing the subject with 
 delicate tact. 
 
 " Lady Montairy, 
 Quite contrairy, 
 How do your Cochins grow ?" 
 
 sang Lothaw gaily. 
 
 The Duchess looked shocked. After a prolonged silence 
 Lothaw abruptly and gravely said 
 
 " If you please, ma'am, when I come into my property, I 
 should like to build some improved dwellings for the poor, 
 and marry Lady Coriander." 
 
 " You amaze me, dear friend, and yet both your aspira 
 tions are noble and eminently proper," said the Duchess ; 
 " Coriander is but a child and yet," she added, looking 
 graciously upon her companion, " for the matter of that, so 
 
422 LOTHAW. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. PUTNEY PADWICK'S was Lothaw's first grand dinner 
 party. 
 
 Yet, by carefully watching the others, he managed to 
 acquit himself creditably, and avoided drinking out of the 
 finger-bowl by first secretly testing its contents with a 
 spoon. 
 
 The conversation was peculiar and singularly interesting. 
 
 " Then you think that monogamy is simply a question of 
 the thermometer T said Mrs. Putney Padwick to her com 
 panion. 
 
 " I certainly think that polygamy should be limited by 
 isothermal lines," replied Lothaw. 
 
 " I should say it was a matter of latitude," observed a loud, 
 talkative man opposite. 
 
 He was an Oxford Professor, with a taste for satire, and 
 had made himself very obnoxious to the company, during 
 dinner, by speaking disparagingly of a former well-known 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer, a great statesman, and 
 brilliant novelist, whom he feared and hated. 
 
 Suddenly there was a sensation in the room : among the 
 females it absolutely amounted to a nervous thrill. 
 
 His Eminence, the Cardinal, was announced. 
 
 He entered with great suavity of manner, and, after 
 shaking hands with everybody, asking after their relatives, 
 and chucking the more delicate females under the chin with 
 a high-bred grace peculiar to his profession, he sat down, 
 saying 
 
 " And how do we all find ourselves this evening, my 
 dears f in several different languages, which he spoke 
 fluently. 
 
 Lothaw's heart was touched. 
 
 His deeply religious convictions were impressed. 
 
LOTHAW. 423 
 
 He instantly went up to this gifted being, confessed, and 
 received absolution. 
 
 u To-morrow," lie said to himself, " I will partake of the 
 Communion, and endow the Church with my vast estates. 
 For the present I'll let the improved cottages go." 
 
 CHAPTER IV* 
 
 As Lothaw turned to leave the Cardinal, he was struck by 
 a beautiful face. 
 
 It was that of a matron, slim, but shapely as an Ionic 
 column. 
 
 Her face was Grecian, with Corinthian temples ; Hellenic 
 eyes, that looked from jutting eyebrows like dormer-win 
 dows in an Attic forehead, completed her perfect Athenian 
 outline. 
 
 She wore a black frock-coat tightly buttoned over her 
 bloomer trousers, and a standing collar. 
 
 " Your Lordship is struck by that face," said a social 
 parasite. 
 
 "I am; who is she?" 
 
 " Her name is Mary Ann. She is married to an American, 
 and has lately invented a new religion." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Lothaw eagerly, with difficulty restraining 
 himself from rushing toward her. 
 
 " Yes ; shall I introduce you V 
 
 Lothaw thought of Lady Coriander's High Church pro 
 clivities, of the Cardinal, and hesitated. 
 
 " No, I thank you, not now." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LOTHAW was maturing. 
 
 He had attended two woman's rights conventions, three 
 
424 LOTH AW. 
 
 Fenian meetings, had dined at "White's, and had danced 
 vis-a-vis to a prince of the blood, and eaten off of gold plates 
 at Crecy House. 
 
 His stables were near Oxford, and occupied more ground 
 than the University. 
 
 He was driving over there one day, when he perceived 
 some rustics and menials endeavouring to stop a pair of 
 runaway horses attached to a carriage in which a lady and 
 gentleman were seated. 
 
 Calmly awaiting the termination of the accident, with 
 high-bred courtesy Lothaw forbore to interfere until the 
 carriage was overturned, the occupants thrown out, and the 
 runaways secured by the servants, when he advanced and 
 offered the lady the exclusive use of his Oxford stables. 
 
 Turning upon him a face whose perfect Hellenic details 
 he remembered, she slowly dragged a gentleman from under 
 the wheels into the light and presented him with lady-like 
 dignity as her husband, Major-General Gamperdown, an 
 American. 
 
 " Ah," said Lothaw, carelessly, " I believe I have some 
 land there. If I mistake not, my agent, Mr. Putney Pad- 
 wick, lately purchased the State of Illinois I think you 
 call it." 
 
 " Exactly. As a former resident of the city of Chicago,* 
 let nie introduce myself as your tenant." 
 
 Lothaw bowed graciously to the gentleman, who, except 
 that he seemed better dressed than most Englishmen, showed 
 no other signs of inferiority and plebeian extraction . 
 
 " We have met before," said Lothaw to the lady as she 
 leaned on his arm, while they visited his stables, the Uni 
 versity, and other places of interest in Oxford. " Pray tell 
 me, what is this new religion of yours ?" 
 
 * Chicago, the most important town in the State of Illinois, remark 
 able for its sudden rise and commercial importance. ED. 
 
LOTH Am 
 
 Gathered around the refined and sacred circle of their breakfast table with their 
 glittering coronets." 
 
LOTHAW. 425 
 
 " It is "Woman Suffrage, Free Love, Mutual Affinity, and 
 Communism. Embrace it and me." 
 
 Lothaw did not know exactly what to do. 
 
 She however soothed and sustained his agitated frame, 
 and sealed with an embrace his speechless form. 
 
 The General approached and coughed slightly with gen 
 tlemanly tact. 
 
 " My husband will be too happy to talk with yon further 
 on this subject," she said with quiet dignity, as she regained 
 the General's side. 
 
 " Gome with us to Oneida.* Brook Farmt is a thing of 
 the past." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 As Lothaw drove toward his country-seat, the " The Mural 
 Enclosure," he observed a crowd, apparently of the working 
 class, gathered around a singular looking man in the pictu 
 resque garb of an Ethiopian serenader. 
 
 " What does he say 1 " inquired Lothaw of his driver. 
 
 The man touched his hat respectfully, and said, u My 
 Mary Ann." 
 
 "'My Mary Ana!'" 
 
 Lothaw's heart beat rapidly. 
 
 Who was this mysterious foreigner 1 
 
 * Oncida, a Communistic colony in Central New York State, founded 
 by Father Noyes. Readers can learn all about it in Hepworth Uixon's 
 " New America ;" or they can consult Father Noyes' own work on 
 " American Communities." Very recently it was reported in London 
 circles that Mr. Oliphant, late of our diplomatic service, had joined an 
 American Socialist colony, but his reappearance in Piccadilly gives a 
 denial to the rumour. Ed. 
 
 * Brook Farm, a school of American Socialists, founded about thirty 
 years since, and to which Nathaniel Hawthorne and other distinguished 
 individuals belonged. The colony was settled at a farm, a short dis 
 tance from Boston, and was under the patronage of Emerson and 
 Margaret Fuller, who, however, declined to become members. 
 
426 LOTHAW. 
 
 He had heard from Lady Coriander of a certain Popish 
 plot ; but could he connect Mr. Camperdown with it ] 
 
 The spectacle of two hundred men-at-arms who advanced 
 to meet him at the gates of the Mural Enclosure drove all 
 else from the still youthful and impressible mind of Lothaw. 
 Immediately behind them, on the steps of the baronial halls, 
 were ranged his retainers, led by the chief cook and bottle- 
 washer, and head crumb-remover. 
 
 On either side were two companies of laundry -maids, pre 
 ceded by the chief crimper and fluter, supporting a long- 
 Ancestral Line, on which depended the family linen, and 
 under which the youthful lord of the manor passed into the 
 halls of his fathers. 
 
 Twenty-four scullions carried the massive gold and silver 
 plate of the family on their shoulders, and deposited it at 
 the feet of their master. 
 
 The spoons were then solemnly counted by the steward, 
 and the ceremony was ended. 
 
 Lothaw sighed. 
 
 He sought out the gorgeously gilded "Taj," or sacred 
 mausoleum erected to his grandfather in the second story 
 front room, and wept over the man he did not know. 
 
 He wandered alone in his magnificent park, and then, 
 throwing himself on a grassy bank, pondered on the Great 
 First Cause, and the necessity of religion. 
 
 " I will send Mary Ann a handsome present," said Lothaw, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "EACH of these pearls, my Lord, is worth fifty thousand 
 guineas," said Mr. Emanuel Amethyst, the fashionable 
 jeweller, as he lightly lifted a large shovelful from a conve 
 nient bin behind his counter. 
 
 "Indeed," said Lothaw, carelessly, "I should prefer to see 
 some expensive ones." 
 
LOTH AW. 427 
 
 "Some number sixes, I suppose," said Mr. Emanuel Ame 
 thyst, taking a couple from the apex of a small pyramid that 
 lay piled on the shelf. "These are about the size of the 
 Duchess of Billingsgate's, but they are in finer condition. 
 The fact is, her Grace permits her two children, the Marquis 
 of Smithfield and the Duke of St. Giles two sweet pretty 
 boys, my Lord to use them as marbles in their games. 
 Pearls require some attention, and I go down there regularly 
 twice a week to clean them. Perhaps your Lordship would 
 like some ropes of pearls 1 " 
 
 "About half a cable's length," said Lothaw, shortly. 
 "And send them to my lodgings." 
 
 Mr. Emanuel Amethyst became thoughtful. 
 
 "I am afraid I have not the exact number that is - 
 excuse me one moment. I will run over to the Tower and 
 borrow a few from the Crown jewels." 
 
 And before Lothaw could prevent him, he seized his hat 
 and left Lothaw alone. 
 
 His position certainly was embarrassing. 
 
 He could not move without stepping on costly gems 
 which had rolled from the counter the rarest diamonds lay 
 scattered on the shelves ; untold fortunes in priceless 
 emeralds lay within his grasp. 
 
 Although such was the aristocratic purity of his blood 
 and the strength of his religious convictions that he pro 
 bably would not have pocketed a single diamond, still he 
 could not help thinking that he might be accused of taking 
 some. 
 
 " You can search me, if you like," he said, when Mr. 
 Emanuel Amethyst returned ; but I assure you, upon the 
 honour of a gentleman, that I have taken nothing." 
 
 "Enough, my Lord," said Mr. Emanuel Amethyst, with a 
 low bow, a we never search the aristocracy." 
 
428 LOTHA W. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 As Lothaw left Mr. Emanuel Amethyst's, he ran against 
 General Camperdown. 
 
 " How is Mary Ann ? " he asked, hurriedly. 
 
 " I regret to state that she is dying," said the General, 
 with a grave voice, as he removed his cigar from his lips 
 and lifted his hat to Lothaw. 
 
 " Dying ! " said Lothaw, incredulously. 
 
 " Alas, too true ! " replied the General. 
 
 " The engagements of a long lecturing season, exposure in 
 travelling by railway during the winter, and the imperfect 
 nourishment afforded by the refreshments along the road, 
 have told on her delicate frame. But she wants to see you 
 before she dies. Here is the key of my lodging. I will 
 finish my cigar out here." 
 
 Lothaw hardly recognised those wasted Hellenic outlines 
 as he entered the dimly lighted room of the dying woman, 
 
 She was already a classic ruin, as wrecked and yet as 
 perfect as the Parthenon. 
 
 He grasped her hand silently. 
 
 " Open-air speaking twice a week, and saleratus* bread in 
 the rural districts, have brought me to this," she said feebly ; 
 "but it is well. The cause progresses. The tyrant man 
 succumbs." 
 
 Lothaw could only press her hand. 
 
 " Promise me one thing. Don't whatever you do 
 become a Catholic.'' 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " The Church does not recognise divorce. And now 
 
 * Saleratus, a preparation of soda used instead of yeast in making 
 "bread and pastry. A few minutes before the repast is ready the bread 
 is made and clapped into the oven. It is generally served up hot, and 
 lience, perhaps, has helped to spread dyspepsia in the United States 
 more than any other characteristic of American cookery. ED. 
 
LOTHAW. 429 
 
 embrace me. I would prefer at tins supreme moment to 
 introduce myself to the next world through the medium of 
 the best society is this. Good-bye. When I am dead be 
 good enough to inform my husband of the fact." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LOTHAW spent the next six months on an Aryan island, in 
 an Aryan climate, and with an Aryan race. 
 
 " This is an Aryan landscape," said his host, " and that is- 
 a Mary Ann statue." 
 
 It was, in fact, a full-length figure in marble of Mrs. 
 General Camperdown ! 
 
 " If you please, I should like to become a Pa^an," said 
 Lothaw, one day, after listening to an impassioned discourse 
 on Greek art from the lips of his host. 
 
 But that night, on consulting a well-known spiritual 
 medium, Lothaw received a message from the late Mrs. 
 General Camperdown, advising him to return to England. 
 
 Two days later he presented himself at Plusham. 
 
 " The young ladies are in the garden," said the Duchess. 
 u Don't you want to go and pick a rose 1 " she added, with 
 a gracious smile, and the nearest approach to a wink that 
 was consistent with her patrician bearing and aquiline nose. 
 
 Lothaw went, and presently returned with the blushing- 
 Coriander upon his arm. 
 
 " Bless you, my children," said the Duchess. Then, 
 turning to Lothaw, she said, " You have simply fulfilled and 
 accepted your inevitable destiny. It was morally impossible 
 for you to marry out of this family. 
 
 " For the present, the Church of England is safe." 
 
POEMS 
 
THAT HEATHEN CHINEE. 
 
 These humorous verses come to us from California, where there are 
 a great many Chinese emigrants. The Americans on the Pacific Slope 
 are not remarkable for any particular dulncss or want of smartness, but 
 occasionally the Oriental is more than a match for them. His ancient 
 tricks are a novelty to the New World. 
 
 Euchre, the favourite American gambling game of cards here alluded 
 to, is a variation of the old French game ecarte. 
 
 The Bill N"yc spoken of is a slanting allusion to James Nye, a United 
 States official of eminence, whose private taste for card pastimes is well 
 known in his own country. 
 
THAT HEATHEN CHINEE. 
 TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870. 
 
 1 imiCH I wish to remark 
 And my language is plain 
 That for ways that are dark 
 
 And for tricks that are vain, 
 The heathen Chinee is peculiar, 
 Which the same I would rise to explain. 
 
 Ah Sin was his name ; 
 
 And I shall not deny 
 In regard to the same 
 
 What that name might imply, 
 But his smile it was pensive and child -like, 
 
 As I frequently remarked to Bill Nye. 
 
 It was August the third ; 
 
 And quite soft was the skies ; 
 Which it might be inferred 
 
 That Ah Sin was likewise ; 
 Yet he played it that day upon William 
 
 And me in a way I despise. 
 
 Which we had a small game, 
 
 And Ah Sin took a hand : 
 It was Euchre. The same 
 
 He did not understand ; 
 But he smiled as he sat by the table, 
 
 With the smile that was child-like and bland. 
 
 F p 
 
THAT HEATHEN CHINEE. 
 
 Yet the cards they were stocked 
 
 In a way that I grieve, 
 And my feelings were shocked 
 
 At the state of Nye's sleeve : 
 "Which was stuffed full of aces and bo\ver,3, 
 
 And the same with intent to deceive. 
 
 But the hands that were played 
 
 By that heathen Chinee, 
 And the points that he made 
 
 "Were quite frightful to see 
 Till at last he put down a right bower, 
 
 Which the same Nye had dealt unto me. 
 
 Then I looked up at Nye, 
 
 And he gazed upon me j 
 And he rose with a sigh 
 
 And said, "Can this be? 
 We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour r> 
 
 And he went for that heathen Chinee. 
 
 In the scene that ensued 
 
 I did not take a hand, 
 But the floor it was strewed 
 
 Like the leaves on the strand 
 With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, 
 
 In the game " he did not understand." 
 
 In his sleeves which were long, 
 
 He had twenty-four jacks 
 Which was coming it strong, 
 
 Yet I state but the facts ; 
 And we found on his nails, which were taper, 
 
 What is frequent in tapers that's wax. 
 
TRUTHFUL JAMES. 435 
 
 "Which is why I remark, 
 
 And my language is plain, 
 That for ways that are dark, 
 
 Aud for tricks that are vain, 
 The heathen Chinee is peculiar 
 
 Which the same I am free to maintain. 
 
 FURTHER LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL 
 JAMES. . 
 
 NYE'S FORD, STANISLAUS. 
 1870. 
 
 TAO I sleep 1 do I dream ? 
 -7 Do I wonder and doubt ? 
 Are things what they seem, 
 
 Or is visions about 1 
 Is our civilization a failure ? 
 
 Or is the Caucasian played out '? 
 
 Which expressions are strong : 
 
 Yet would feebly imply 
 Some account of a wrong 
 
 Not to call it a lie 
 As was worked off on William, my pardncr ? 
 
 Which his name it was W. Nye. 
 
 He came down to the "Ford 
 
 On the very same day 
 Of that Lottery, drawed 
 
 By those sharps at the Bay ; 
 And he says to me, " Truthful, how goes it :' 
 
 I replied, " It is far, far from gay 
 
436 TRUTHFUL JAMES. 
 
 " For the camp has gone wild 
 
 On this Lottery game, 
 And has even beguiled 
 
 ' Injin Dick,' by the same." 
 Which said Nye to me, " Injins is pizen 
 
 Do you know what his number is, James ]" 
 
 I replied, " 7, 2, 
 
 9, 8, 4, is his hand." 
 When he started and drew 
 
 Out a list, which he scanned ; 
 Then he softly 'went for his revolver, 
 
 With language I cannot command. 
 
 Then I said, " William Nye !" 
 
 But he turned up to me, 
 And the look in his eye 
 
 Was quite painful to see. 
 And he says : " You mistake ; this poor Injin 
 
 I protects from such sharps as you be !" 
 
 J! was shocked and withdrew \ 
 
 But I grieve to relate, 
 When he next met my view 
 
 Injin Dick was his mate ; 
 And the two around town was a-lyiiig 
 
 In a frightfully dissolute state. 
 
 Which the war dance they had 
 
 Round a tree at the Bend, 
 Was a sight that was sad ; 
 
 And it seemed that the end 
 Would not justify the proceedings, 
 
 As I quiet remarked to a friend. 
 
THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS. 437 
 
 For that Injin he fled 
 
 The next day to his band ; 
 And we found William spread 
 
 Very loose on the strand, 
 With a peaceful-like smile on his feature, 
 
 And a dollar greenback in his hand. 
 
 Which the same when rolled out, 
 
 We observed with surprise, 
 What that Injin, no doubt, 
 
 Had believed was the prize 
 Them figures in red in the corner, 
 
 Which the number of note specifies. 
 
 Was it guile, or a dream 1 
 
 Is it Nye that I doubt ] 
 Are things what they seem, 
 
 Or is visions about 1 
 Is our civilization a failure] 
 
 Or is the Caucasian played out 1 
 
 THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS. 
 
 T PxESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful 
 
 James ; 
 
 I am riot up to small deceit, or any sinful games ; 
 And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row 
 That broke up our society upon the Stanislow. 
 
 But first I would remark, that it is not a proper plan 
 For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man, 
 And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim, 
 To lay for that same member for to " put a head " on hinx. 
 
438 THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS. 
 
 Now nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see 
 Than the first six months' proceedings of that same society, 
 Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones 
 That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones. 
 
 Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there, 
 From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare ; 
 And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of the 
 
 rules, 
 Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his 
 
 lost mules. 
 
 Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was at 
 
 fault. 
 
 It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault : 
 He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown, 
 And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town. 
 
 Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent 
 To say another is an ass, at least, to all intent ; 
 Nor should the individual who happens to be meant 
 Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent. 
 
 Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order when 
 A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen, 
 And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the 
 
 floor, 
 And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more. 
 
 For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage 
 
 In a warfare with the remnants of a palaeozoic age ; 
 
 And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a 
 sin, 
 
 Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thomp 
 son in. 
 
"JIM? 439 
 
 And this is all I have to say of these improper games, 
 
 For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful 
 
 James ; 
 And I've told in simple language what I know about the 
 
 row 
 That broke up our society upon the Stanisiow. 
 
 "JIM." 
 
 AY there ! P'r'aps 
 Some on you chaps 
 Might know Jim Wild ? 
 Well, n o offence : 
 Thar ain't no sense 
 In gittiri' riled ! 
 
 Jim was my chum 
 
 Up on the Bar : 
 That's why I come 
 
 Down from up yar 3 
 Lookin' for Jim. 
 Thank ye, sir ! You 
 Ain't of that crew, 
 
 Blest if you are ! 
 
 Money ] Not much : 
 That ain't my kind : 
 
 I ain't no such. 
 
 Rum 1 I don't mind, 
 
 Seein' it's you. 
 
 "Well, this yer Jitn, 
 Did you know him 1 
 
440 "JIM" 
 
 Jess 'bout your size ; 
 
 Same kind of eyes 1 
 
 Well, that is strange : 
 Why, it's two year 
 Since he came here, 
 
 Sick, for a change. 
 
 Well, here's to us : 
 
 Eh? 
 The h you say 
 
 Dead ? 
 That little cuss ? 
 
 What makes you star,- 
 You over thar ? 
 Can't a man drop 
 's glass in yer shop 
 But you must rar' 1 
 It wouldn't take 
 
 D much to break 
 
 You and your bar. 
 
 Dead ! 
 
 Poor little Jim ! 
 Why, thar was me, 
 Jones, and Bob Lee, 
 Harry and Ben, 
 No-account- men : 
 Then to take him ! 
 
 Well, thar Good-bye,- 
 No more, sir, I 
 
 Eh? 
 
 What's that you say ? 
 Why, dern it ! sho ! 
 No ? Yes ! By Jo ! 
 
CHIQUITA. 441 
 
 Sold! 
 
 Sold ! Why, you limb, 
 You ornery, 
 
 Derned old 
 Long-legged Jim ! 
 
 CHIQUITA. 
 
 O EAUTIFUL ! Sir, you may say so. Thar isn't her 
 
 match in the county. 
 
 Is thar, old gal, Chiquita, my darling, my beauty 1 
 Feel of that neck, sir, tliar's velvet ! Whoa ! Steady, 
 
 ah, will you, you vixen ! 
 Whoa ! I say. Jack, trot her out ; let the gentleman look 
 
 at her paces. 
 
 Morgan ! She ain't nothiii' else, and I've got the papers to 
 
 prove it. 
 Sired by Chippewa Chief, and twelve hundred dollars won't 
 
 buy her. 
 Briggs of Tuolumne owned her. Did you know Briggs of 
 
 Tuolumne 1 
 Busted hisself in White Pine, and blew out his brains down 
 
 in 'Frisco 1 
 
 Hedn'fc no savey hed Briggs. Thar, Jack ! that'll do, 
 
 quit that foolin' ! 
 Notlrin' to what she kin do, when she's got her work cut out 
 
 before her. 
 Hosses is bosses, you know, and likewise, too, jockeys is 
 
 jockeys ; 
 And 'tain't ev'ry man as can ride as knows what a hoss has 
 
 got iu him. 
 
442 CHIQUITA. 
 
 Know the old ford on the Fork, that nearly got Flanigan's 
 
 leaders ? 
 Nasty in daylight, you bet, and a mighty rough ford in low 
 
 water ! 
 Well, it ain't six weeks ago that me and the Jedge and his 
 
 nevey 
 Struck for that ford in the night, in the rain, and the water 
 
 all around us ; 
 
 Up to our flanks in the gulch, and Eattlesnake Creek just a 
 
 bilin', 
 
 Not a plank left in the clam, and nary a bridge on the river. 
 I had the grey, and the Jedge had his roan, and his nevey, 
 
 Chiquita ; 
 And after, us trundled the rocks just loosed from the top of 
 
 the canon. 
 
 Lickity, lickity, switch, we came to the ford, and Chiquita 
 Buckled right down to her work, and afore I could yell to 
 
 her rider, 
 Took water jest at the ford, and there was the Jedge and me 
 
 standing, 
 And twelve hundred dollars of hoss-flesh afloat, and a driftin' 
 
 to thunder ! 
 
 Would ye b'lieve it ? that night that hoss, that ar' filly, 
 Chiquita, 
 
 Walked herself into her stall, and stood there, all quiet and 
 dripping : 
 
 Clean as a beaver or rat, with nary a buckle of harness, 
 
 Just as she swam the Fork, that hoss, that ar' filly, Chi 
 quita. 
 
 That's what T call a hoss ! and What did you say ? O, the 
 
 nevey ] 
 Drownded, I reckon, leastways, he never kem back to deny 
 
 it. 
 
DOW'S FLAT. 443 
 
 Ye see the derned fool had no seat, ye couldn't have made 
 
 him a rider ; 
 
 And then, ye know, boys will be boys, and hosses well, 
 
 hosses is hosses ! 
 
 DOW'S FLAT. 
 1856. 
 
 pvOW'S FLAT. That's its name. 
 -"-^ And I reckon that you 
 Are a stranger ? The same ? 
 
 Well, I thought it was true, 
 
 For tliar isn't a man on the river as can't spot the place at 
 first view. 
 
 It was called after Dow, 
 
 Which the same was an ass, 
 And as to the how 
 
 Thet the thing kem to pass, 
 
 Jest tie up your hoss to that buckeye, and sit ye down here 
 in the grass : 
 
 You see this yer Dow 
 
 Hed the worst kind of luck ; 
 He slipped up somehow 
 
 On each thing tliet he struck. 
 
 Why, ef he'd a straddled that fence-rail the derned thing 'ed 
 get up and buck. 
 
 He mined on the bar 
 
 Till he couldn't pay rates ; 
 He was smashed by a car 
 
 When he tunnelled with Bates ; 
 
 And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and five 
 kids from the States. 
 
444 DOW'S FLAT. 
 
 It was rough, mighty rough; 
 But the boys they stood by, 
 And they brought him the stuff 
 
 For a house, on the sly ; 
 
 And the old woman, well, she did washing, and took on 
 when no one was nigh. 
 
 But this yer luck of Dow's 
 
 Was so powerful mean 
 That the spring near his house 
 Dried right up on the green ; 
 
 And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop to 
 be seen. 
 
 Then the bar petered out, 
 
 And the boys wouldn't stay ; 
 And the chills* got about, 
 And his wife fell away : 
 
 But Dow, in his well, kept a peggin' in his usual ridikilous 
 way. 
 
 One day, it was June, 
 And a year ago, jest, 
 This Dow kem at noon 
 
 To his work like the rest, 
 
 With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a derringerf hid 
 in his breast. 
 
 He goes to the well, 
 
 And he stands on the brink, 
 And stops for a spell 
 
 Jest to listen and think : 
 
 For the sun in his eyes, (jest like this sir !) you see, kinder 
 made the cuss blink. 
 
 * Fever and ague. 
 
 t A derringer, revolver. 
 
DO WS FLAT. 445 
 
 His two ragged gals 
 
 In the gulch were at play, 
 And a gownd that was Sal's 
 Kinder flapped on a bay : 
 
 Not much for a man to be leavin', but his all, as I've hecr'J 
 the folks say. 
 
 And That's a peart hoss 
 
 Thet you've got, ain't it now ? 
 "What might be her cost 1 
 
 Eh 1 Oh ! Well, then, Dow- 
 Let's see, well, that forty- foot grave wasn't his sir, that day 
 anyhow. 
 
 For a blow of his pick 
 
 Sorter caved in the side, 
 And he looked and turned sick, 
 
 Then he trembled and cried. 
 For you see the dern cuss had struck "Water T- 
 
 Beg your parding, young man, there you lied ! 
 
 It was gold, in the quartz, 
 
 Arid it ran all alike ; 
 And I reckon five oughts 
 
 Was the worth of that strike ; 
 
 And that house with the coopilow's his'n, which the same 
 isn't bad for a Pike. 
 
 . Thet's why it's Dow's Flat ; 
 
 And the thing of it is 
 That he kinder got that 
 
 Through sheer contrairiness : 
 
 For 'twas water the denied cuss was seekin', and his luck 
 made him certain to miss. 
 
446 IN THE TUNNEL. 
 
 Thet's so. Thar's your way 
 
 To the left of yon tree ; 
 But a look h'yur, say 1 
 
 Won't you come up to tea 1 
 
 No 1 ? Well, then the next time you're passin'; and ask 
 after Dow, and thet's me. 
 
 IN THE TUNNEL. 
 
 TAIDN'T know Flynn, 
 ^"^ Fiynn, of Virginia, 
 Long as he's been 'yar 1 
 Look'ee here, stranger, 
 Whar hev you been ? 
 
 Here in this tunnel 
 He was my pardner, 
 
 That same Tom Flynn, 
 Working together, 
 In wind and weather, 
 
 Day out and in. 
 
 Didn't know Flynn ! 
 Well, that is queer \ 
 
 Why, it's a sin 
 
 To think of Tom Flynn, 
 Tom with his cheer, 
 To<n without fear, 
 
 Stranger, look 'yar ! 
 
 Thar in the drift, 
 
 Back to the wall, 
 He held the timbers 
 
 Beady to fall ; 
 
CICELY:^ 447 
 
 Then in the darkness 
 I heard him call : 
 
 " Run for your life, Jake ! 
 Pain for your wife's sake ! 
 Don't wait for me." 
 
 And that was all 
 Heard in the din, 
 Heard of Tom Flynn, 
 ."Flynn of Virginia. 
 
 That's all about 
 
 Flynn of Virginia. 
 That lets me out. 
 
 Here in the damp, 
 Out of the sun, 
 
 That 'ar derned lamp 
 Makes my eyes run. 
 Well, there, I'm done ! 
 
 But, sir, when you'll 
 Hear the next fool 
 
 Asking of Flynn, 
 Flynn of Virginia, 
 
 Just you chip in, 
 Say you knew Flynn ; 
 Say that you've been 'yar. 
 
 "CICELY." 
 
 ALKALI STATION. 
 
 says you're a poet j maybe; I ain't much on 
 rhyme : 
 I reckon you'd give me a hundred, and beat me every time. 
 
448 "CICELY." 
 
 Poetry ! that's the way some chaps puts up an idee, 
 But I takes mine "straight without sugar," and that's what's 
 the matter with me. 
 
 Poetry ! just look round you, alkali, rock, and sage ; 
 Sage-brush, rock, and alkali ; ain't it a pretty page ! 
 Sun in the east at mornin', sun in the west at night, 
 And the shadow of this 'yer station the on'y thing moves in 
 sight. 
 
 Poetry ! "Well now Polly ! Polly run to your mam ; 
 Run right away, my pooty ! By by ! Ain't she a lamb 1 
 Poetry ! that reminds me o' suthin' right in that suit : 
 Jest shet that door thar, will yer 1 for Cicely's ears is cute. 
 
 Ye noticed Polly, the baby ? A month afore she was born, 
 Cicely my old woman was moody-like and forlorn ; 
 Out of her head and crazy, and talked of flowers and trees ; 
 Family man yourself, sir 1 Well, you know what a woman 
 be's. 
 
 Narvous she was, and restless, said that she " couldn't 
 
 stay." . 
 
 Stay, and the nearest woman seventeen miles away. 
 But I fixed it up with the doctor, and he said he would be 
 
 on hand, 
 And I kinder stuck by the shanty, and fenced in that bit o' 
 
 land. 
 
 One night, the tenth of October, T woke with a chill and 
 
 fright, 
 For the door it was standing open, and Cicely warn't in 
 
 sight, 
 But a note was pinned on the blanket, which it said that she 
 
 " couldn't stay/' 
 But had gone to visit her neighbour, seventeen miles away 
 
"CICELY." 449 
 
 When and how she stampeded, I didn't wait for to see. 
 For out in the road, next minit, I started as wild as she : 
 Running first this way and that way, like a hound that is 
 
 off the scent, 
 For there warn't no track in the darkness to tell me the way 
 
 she went. 
 
 IVe had some mighty mean moments afore 1 kem to this 
 
 spot, 
 
 Lost on the plains in '50, drowned almost, and shot ; 
 But out on this alkali desert, a hunting a crazy wife, 
 Was ra'ly as on-satis-factory as anything in my life. 
 
 " Cicely ! Cicely ! Cicely !" I called, and I held my breath, 
 And " Cicely !" came from the canyon, and all was as stilS 
 
 as death. 
 
 And ' : Cicely ! Cicely ! Cicely !" came from the rocks below. 
 And jest but a whisper of " Cicely !" down from them peaks 
 
 of snow. 
 
 I ain't what you call religious, but I jest looked ttp to the? 
 
 sky, 
 And this 'yer's to. what I'm coming, and maybe ye think I 
 
 lie: 
 
 But up away to the east'ard, yaller and big and far, 
 I saw of a suddent rising the singlerist kind of star. 
 
 Big and yaller and dancing, it seemed to beckon to me r 
 Yaller and big and dancing, such as you never see : 
 Big and yaller and dancing, I never saw such a star, 
 And I thought of them sharps in the Bible, and I went for 
 it then and thar. 
 
 Over the brush and bowlders I stumbled and pushed ahead r 
 Keeping the star afore me, I went wharever it led. 
 
 G G 
 
450 PENELOPE. 
 
 It might hev been for an hour, when suddent and peart and 
 
 nigh, 
 Oat of the yearth afore me thar riz up a baby s cry. 
 
 Listen! thar's the same music; but her lungs they are 
 
 stronger noAv 
 Than the day I packed her and her mother, I'm denied if 
 
 I jest know how. 
 But the doctor kem the next minit, and the joke o' the 
 
 whole thing is 
 That Cis never knew what happened from that very night to 
 
 this ! 
 
 But Cicely says you're a poet, and maybe you might, some 
 
 day, 
 Jest sling her a rhyme 'bout a baby that was born in a curious 
 
 way. 
 And see what he says ; and, old fellow, when you speak of 
 
 the star, don't tell 
 As how 'twas the doctor's lantern, for maybe 'twoii'fc sound 
 
 so well. 
 
 PENELOPE. 
 
 SIMPSON'S BAR, 1858. 
 
 OO you've kem 'yer agen, 
 
 And one answer won't do ; 
 Well, of all the derned men 
 That I've struck, it is you. 
 
 O Sal ! 'yer's that denied fool from Simpson's cavortin' round 
 'yer in the dew. 
 
 Kem in, ef you will. 
 
 Thar, quit ! Take a cheer 
 
PENELOPE. 451 
 
 ISTot that ; you can't fill 
 
 Them theer cushings this year, 
 
 For that cheer was my old man's, Joe Simpson, and they 
 don't make such men about 'yeu. 
 
 He was tall, was my Jack, 
 
 And as strong as a tree. 
 Thar's his gun on the rack, 
 
 Just you heft it, and see. 
 And you come a courtin' his widder. Lor*d ! where can that 
 
 crittur, Sal, be! 
 
 You'd fill my .Tack's place ? 
 
 And a man of your size, 
 With no baird to his face, 
 
 Nor a snap to his eyes, 
 And nary Sho ! thar ! I was foolin', I was, Joe, for sar- 
 
 tain, don't rise. 
 
 Sit down. Law ! why, sho ! 
 
 I'm as weak as a gal, 
 Sal ! Don't you go, Joe, 
 
 Or I'll faint, sure, I shall. 
 
 Sit down, anywheer, where you like, Joe, in that cheer, if 
 you choose, Lord, where's Sal ! 
 
 a 2 
 
452 JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 
 
 POEMS FROM 1860 TO 1868. 
 
 JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 
 
 T T AYE you heard the story that gossips tell 
 
 " Of Burns of Gettysburg 1 No ! Ah, well 
 
 Brief is the glory that hero earns, 
 
 Briefer the story of poor John Burns : 
 
 He was the fellow who won renown, 
 
 The only man who didn't back down 
 
 When the rebels rode through his native town 
 
 But held his own in the fight next day, 
 
 "When all his townsfolk ran away. 
 
 That was in July, sixty-three, 
 
 The very day that General Lee, 
 
 Flower of Southern chivalry, 
 
 Baffled and beaten, backward reeled 
 
 From a stubborn Meade and a barren CcL.1. 
 
 I might tell how, but the day before, 
 
 John Burns stood at his cottage door, 
 
 Looking down the village street, 
 
 "Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine, 
 
 He heard the low of his gathered kine, 
 
 And felt their breath with incense sweet ; 
 
 Or I might say, when the sunset buniucl 
 
 The old farm gable, he thought it turned 
 
 The milk that fell, in a babbling flood 
 
 Into the milk-pail, red as blood ! 
 
 Or how he fancied the hum of bees 
 
 Were bullets buzzing among the trees. 
 
 But all such fanciful thoughts as these 
 
JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 453 
 
 "Were strange to a practical man like Burns, 
 
 Who minded only his own concerns, 
 
 Troubled no more by fancies fine 
 
 Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kino,- 
 
 Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, 
 
 Slow to argue, but quick to act. 
 
 That was the reason, as some folk say, 
 
 He fought so well on that terrible day. 
 
 And it was terrible. On the right 
 
 Raged for hours the heady fight, 
 
 Thundered the battery's double bass, 
 
 Difficult music for men to face ; 
 
 While on the left where now the graves 
 
 Undulate like the living waves 
 
 That all that day unceasing swept 
 
 Up to the pits the rebels kept 
 
 Round shot ploughed the upland glades, 
 
 Sown with bullets, reaped with blades ; 
 
 Shattered fences here and there 
 
 Tossed their splinters in the air ; 
 
 The very trees were stripped and bare ; 
 
 The barns that once held yellow grain 
 
 Were heaped with harvests of the slain ; 
 
 The cattle bellowed on the plain, 
 
 The turkeys screamed with might and main, 
 
 And brooding barn-fowl left their rest 
 
 With strange shells bursting in each nest. 
 
 Just where the tide of battle turns, 
 Erect and lonely stood old John Burns. 
 How do you think the man was dressed 1 
 He wore an ancient long buff vest, 
 Yellow as saffron, but his best ; 
 And, buttoned over his manly breast, 
 
454 JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 
 
 Was a bright blue coat, with a rolling collar, 
 And large gilt buttons, size of a dollar, 
 With tails that the country-folk called " swaller." 
 He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat, 
 White as the locks on which it sat. 
 Never had such a sight been seen 
 For forty years on the village green, 
 Since old John Burns was a country beau, 
 And went to the " quiltings " long ago. 
 
 Close at his elbows all that clay, 
 
 "Veterans of the Peninsula, 
 
 Sunburnt and bearded, charged away ; 
 
 And striplings, downy of lip and chin, 
 
 Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in, - 
 
 Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore, 
 
 Then at the rifle his right hand bore ; 
 
 And hailed him, from out their youthful lore. 
 
 With scraps of a slangy repertoire : 
 
 " How are you, White Hat ! " " Put her through !" 
 
 " Your head's level," and " Bully for you ! " 
 
 Called him " Daddy," begged he'd disclose 
 
 The name of the tailor who made his clothes, 
 
 And what was the value he set on those ; 
 
 While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, 
 
 Stood there picking the rebels off, 
 
 With his long brown rifle, and bell-crown hat, 
 
 And the swallow-tails they were laughing at. 
 
 'Twas but a moment, for that respect 
 Which clothes all courage their voices checked ; 
 And something the wildest could understand 
 Spake in the old man's strong right hand ; 
 And his corded throat, and the lurking frown 
 Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown ; 
 
THE TALE OF A PONY. 455 
 
 Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe 
 Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, 
 In the antique vestments and long white hair, 
 The Past of the Nation in battle there ; 
 And some of the soldiers since declare 
 That the gleam of his old white hat afar, 
 Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, 
 That day was their oriflamme of war. 
 
 So raged the battle. You know the rest : 
 How the rebels, beaten and backward pressed, 
 Broke at the final charge, and ran. 
 At which John Burns a practical man 
 Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, 
 And then went back to his bees and cows. 
 
 That is the story of old John Burns ; 
 This is the moral the reader learns : 
 In fighting the battle, the question's whether 
 You'll show a hat that's white, or a feather ! 
 
 THE TALE OF A PONY. 
 
 "VTA ME of my heroine, simply " Rose ;" 
 
 Surname, tolerable only in prose ; 
 Habitat, Paris, that is where 
 She resided for change of air 
 JEtat. xx ; complexion fair, 
 Rich, good-looking, and debonnaire, 
 Smarter than Jersey-lightning There! 
 That's her photograph, done with care. 
 
456 THE TALE OF A PONY. 
 
 In Paris, whatever they do besides, 
 EVERY LADY IN FULL DRESS RIDES ! 
 Moire antiques you never meet 
 Sweeping the filth of a dirty street ; 
 But every woman's claim to ton 
 
 Depends upon 
 
 The team she drives, whether phaeton, 
 Landau, or britzka. Hence, it's plain 
 That .Rose, who was of her toilet vain, 
 Should have a team that ought to be 
 JEqual to any in all Paris. 
 
 * ( Bring forth the horse ! " The commissaire 
 
 Bowed, and brought Miss Rose a pair 
 
 Leading an equipage rich and rare : 
 
 *' Why doth that lovely lady stare 1 " 
 
 Why 1 The tail of the off grey mare 
 
 Is bobbed, by all that's good and fair ! 
 
 Like the shaving-brushes that soldiers wear. 
 
 Scarcely showing as much back-hair 
 
 As Tarn O'Shanter's " Meg," and there 
 
 Lord knows she'd little enough to spare. 
 
 That stare and frown the Frenchman knew, 
 
 !>ut did, as well-bred Frenchmen do ; 
 
 Raised his shoulders above his crown, 
 
 Joined his thumbs, with the fingers down, 
 
 And said, "Ah Heaven !" then, "Mademoiselle, 
 
 Delay one minute and all is well ! " 
 
 He went ; returned ; by what good chance 
 
 These things are managed so well in France 
 
 I cannot say, but he made the sale, 
 
 And the bob-tailed mare had a flowing tail. 
 
 All that is false in this world below 
 ^Betrays itself in a love of show ; 
 
THE TALE OP A PONY. 
 
 " So j ou are bnck from your navels, 
 old lellow ! " 
 
 1 la our civilization a failure, or is the Caucasian played out ?' 
 
THE TALE OF A PONY. 457 
 
 Indignant Nature hides her lash 
 
 In the purple-black of a dyed mustache j 
 
 The shallowest fop will trip in French, 
 
 The would-be critic will misquote Trench ; 
 
 In short, you're always sure to detect 
 
 A sham in the things folks most affect ; 
 
 Bean-pods are noisiest when dry, 
 
 And you always wink with your weakest eyo j 
 
 And that's the reason the old grey mare 
 
 For ever had her tail in the air, 
 
 With flourishes beyond compare, 
 
 Though every whisk 
 
 Incurred the risk 
 
 Of leaving that sensitive region bare, 
 She did somethings that you couldn't, but feel 
 She wouldn't have done had her tail been real. 
 
 Champs Elysees : Time, past five ; 
 There go the carriages, look alive ! 
 Everything that man can drive, 
 Or his inventive skill contrive, 
 Yankee buggy or English " chay ;" 
 Dog-cart, droschky, and smart coupe, 
 A desobligeante quite bulky 
 (French idea of a Yankee sulky] ; 
 Band in the distance, playing a march, 
 Footmen standing stiff as starch ; 
 Savons, lorettes, deputies, Arch- 
 Bishops, and there together range 
 /S'cms-lieutenants and ce^-gardes (stran :c 
 Way these soldier- chaps makes change), 
 Mixed with black-eyed Polish dames, 
 With unpronounceable awful names ; 
 Laces tremble, and ribbons flout, 
 
458 THE TALE OF A PONY. 
 
 Coachmen wrangle and gendarmes shout, 
 
 Bless us ! what is the row about ] 
 
 Ah? here comes Rosey's nsw turn-out ! 
 
 Smart ! You bet your life 'twas that ! 
 
 Nifty ! (short for magnificat) 
 
 Mulberry panels, heraldic spread, 
 
 Ebony wheels picked out with red, 
 
 And two grey mares that were thoroughbred \ 
 
 No wonder that every dandy's head 
 
 Was turned by the turn-out, and 'twas said 
 
 That Casko whisky (friend of the Czar), 
 
 A very good whip (as Russians are), 
 
 Was tied to Rosey's triumphal car, 
 
 Entranced, the reader will understand, 
 
 By " ribbons " that graced her head and hand. 
 
 Alas ! the hour you think would crown 
 Your highest wishes should let you down ! 
 Or Fate should turn, by your own mischance, 
 ' Your victor's car to an ambulance \ 
 Prom cloudless heavens her lightnings glance 
 (And these things happen, even in France) ; 
 And so Miss Rose, as she trotted by, 
 The cynosure of every eye, 
 Saw to her horror the off mare shy, 
 Flourish her tail so exceeding high 
 That, disregarding the closest tie, 
 And without giving a reason why, 
 She flung that tail so free and frisky 
 Off in the face of Caskowhisky ! 
 
 Excuses, blushes, smiles : in fine, 
 End of the pony's tail, and mine ! 
 
THE MIRACLE OF PADRE JUNIPERO. 459 
 
 THE MIRACLE OF PADRE JUNIPERO. 
 
 nPHIS is the tale that the Chronicle 
 * Tells of the wonderful miracle 
 Wrought by the pious Padre Serro, 
 The very reverend Junipero. 
 
 The Heathen stood on his ancient mound, 
 
 Looking over the desert bound 
 
 Into the distant, hazy south, 
 
 Over the dusty and broad champaign 
 
 Where, with many a gaping mouth, 
 
 And fissure cracked by the fervid drouth, 
 
 For seven months had the wasted plain 
 
 Known no moisture of dew or rain. 
 
 The wells were empty and choked with sand ; 
 
 The rivers had perished from the land ; 
 
 Only the sea fogs, to and fro, 
 
 Slipped like ghosts of the streams below. 
 
 Deep in its bed lay the river's bones, 
 
 Bleaching in pebbles and milk-white stones, 
 
 And tracked o'er the desert faint and for, 
 
 Its ribs shone bright on each sandy bar. 
 
 Thus they stood as the sun went down 
 
 Over the foot-hills bare and brown ; 
 
 Thus they looked to the South, wherefrom 
 
 The pale-faced medicine-man should come. 
 
 Not in anger, or in strife, 
 
 But to bring so ran the tale 
 
 The welcome springs of eternal life, 
 
 The living waters that should not fail. 
 
 Said one, " He will come like Manitou, 
 Unseen, unheard, in the falling dew." 
 
^60 THE MIRACLE OF PADRE JUNIPERO. 
 
 Said another, ' He will come full soon 
 Out of tlie round-faced watery moon." 
 And another said, " He is here ! " and lo, 
 Faltering, staggering, feeble and slow, 
 Out from the desert's blinding heat 
 The Padre dropped at the heathen's feet. 
 They stood and gazed for a little space 
 Down on his pallid and careworn face, 
 And a smile of scorn went round the band 
 As they touched alternate with foot and hand 
 This mortal waif, that the outer space 
 Of dim mysterious sky and sand 
 ' Flung with so little of Christian grace 
 Down on their barren, sterile strand. 
 
 Said one to him : " It seems thy god 
 
 Is a very pitiful kind of god 
 
 He could not shield thine aching eyes 
 
 From the blowing desert sands that rise, 
 
 Nor turn aside from thy old grey head 
 
 The glittering blade that is brandished 
 
 By the sun he set in the heavens high ; 
 
 He could not moisten thy lips when dry ; 
 
 The desert fire is in thy brain ; 
 
 Thy limbs are racked with the fever-pain : 
 
 If this be the grace he showeth thee 
 
 Who art his servant, what may we, 
 
 Strange to his ways and his commands, 
 
 Seek at his unforgiving hands ? " 
 
 " Drink but this cup," said the Padre straight, 
 
 " And thou shalt know whose mercy bore 
 
 These aching limbs to your heathen door, 
 
 And purged my soul of its gross estate. 
 
 Drink in His name, and thou shalt see 
 
 The hidden depths of this mystery. 
 
AN ARCTIC VISION. 461 
 
 Drink ! " and he held the cup. One blow 
 
 From the heathen dashed to the ground below 
 
 The sacred cup that the Padre bore ; 
 
 And the thirsty soil drank the precious store 
 
 Of sacramental and holy wine, 
 
 That emblem and consecrated sign 
 
 And blessed symbol of blood divine. 
 
 Then, says the legend (and they who doubt 
 
 The same as heretics be accurst), 
 
 From the dry and feverish soil leaped out 
 
 A living fountain ; a well-spring burst 
 
 Over the dusty and broad champaign, 
 
 Over the sandy and sterile plain, 
 
 Till the granite ribs and the milk-white s'.oncs- 
 
 That lay in the valley the scattered boucs 
 
 Moved in the river and lived again ! 
 
 Such was the wonderful miracle 
 Wrought by the cup of wine that fell 
 From the hands of the pious Padre SCLTO, 
 The very reverend Junipero. 
 
 AN ARCTIC VISION. 
 
 "\ ~\ 7HERE the short-legged Esquimaux 
 
 * * Waddle in the ice and snow, 
 And the playful polar bear 
 Nips the hunter unaware ; 
 Where by day they track the ermine 
 And by night another vermin, 
 Segment of the frigid zone, 
 Where the temperature alone 
 
462 AN ARCTIC VISION. 
 
 Warms on St. Ellas' cone : 
 
 Polar dock, where Nature slips 
 From the ways her icy ships ; 
 Land of fox and deer and sable, 
 Shore end of our western cable, 
 Let the news that flying goes 
 Thrill through all your Arctic floes, 
 And reverberate the boast 
 From the cliffs of Beechey's coast, 
 Till the tidings, circling round 
 Every bay of Norton Sound, 
 Throw the vocal tide-wave back 
 To the isles of Kodiac. 
 Let the stately polar bears 
 Waltz around the pole in pairs, 
 And the walrus, in his glee, 
 Bare his tusk of ivory ; 
 While the bold sea unicorn 
 Calmly takes an extra horn ; 
 All ye polar skies, reveal your 
 Very rarest of parhelia ; 
 Trip it, all ye merry dancers, 
 In the airiest of lancers ; 
 Slide, ye solemn glaciers, slide, 
 One inch farther to the tide, 
 Nor in rash precipitation 
 Upset Tyndall's calculation. 
 Know you not what fate awaits you, 
 Or to whom the future mates you 1 
 All ye icebergs make salaam, 
 You belong to Uncle Sam ! 
 
 On the spot where Eugene Sue 
 Led his wretched Wandering Jew, 
 
AN ARCTIC VISION 
 
 Stands a form whose features strike 
 Russ and Esquimaux alike. 
 He it is whom Skalds of old 
 In their Runic rhymes foretold ; 
 Lean of flank and lank of jav, 
 See the real Northern Thor ! 
 See the awful Yankee leering 
 Just across the Straits of Belnin j 
 On the drifted snow, too plain, 
 Sinks his fresh tobacco stain 
 Just beside the deep inden- 
 Tation of his Number 10. 
 
 Leaning on his icy hammer 
 
 Stands the hero of this drama. 
 
 And above the wild duck's c'amour, 
 
 In his own peculiar grammar, 
 
 "With its linguistic disguises, 
 
 Lo, the Arctic prologue rises : 
 
 Wa'll, I reckon 'tain't so bad, 
 
 Seem' ez 'tsvas all they had ; 
 
 True the Springs are rather late 
 
 And early falls predominate ; 
 
 But the ice crop's pretty sure. 
 
 And the air is kind o' pure ; 
 
 'Tain't so very mean a trade, 
 
 "When the land is all surveyed 
 
 There's a right smart chance for fur-chase 
 
 All along this recent purchase, 
 
 And, unless the stories fail, 
 
 Every fish from cod to whale ; 
 
 Rocks, too \ mebbe quartz ; let's see, 
 
 'Twould be strange if there should be, 
 
 Seems I've heerd such stories told ; 
 
 A.h ! why, bless us, yes, it's gold ! " 
 
464 TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL. 
 
 While the blows are falling thick 
 From his California!! pick, 
 You may recognise the Thor 
 Of the vision that I saw, 
 Freed from legendary glamour, 
 See the real magician's hammer. 
 
 TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL 
 91 Geological mttrfliS. 
 
 " Q* PEAK, man, less recent ! Fragmentary fussil 1 
 
 ^~^ Primal pioneer of pliocene formation, 
 
 Hid in lowest drifts below the earliest stratum 
 
 Of volcanic tufa ! 
 
 " Older than the beasts, the oldest Palaeotheriura j 
 Older than the trees, the oldest Cryptogam! ; 
 Older than the hills, those infantile eruptions 
 Of earth's epidermis ! 
 
 " Eo Mio Plio whatsoe'er the ( cene ' was 
 That those vacant sockets filled with awe and wonder, 
 Whether shores Devonian or Silurian beaches, 
 Tell us thy strange story ! 
 
 " Or has the professor slightly antedated 
 By some thousand years thy advent on this planet, 
 Giving thee an air that's somewhat better fitted 
 For cold-blooded creatures 1 
 
 11 Wert thou true spectator of that mighty forest 
 When above thy head the stately Sigillaria 
 Reared its columned trunks in that remote and distant 
 Carboniferous epoch 1 
 
TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL. 465 
 
 " Tell us of that scene, the dim and watery woodland 
 Songless, silent, hushed, with never bird or insect 
 Veiled with spreading fronds and screened with tall club- 
 inosses, 
 
 Lycopodiacea, 
 
 " When beside thee walked the solemn Plesiosaurus, 
 And around thee crept the festive Ichthyosaurus, 
 While from time to time above thee flew and circled 
 Cheerful Pterodactyls, 
 
 " Tell us of thy food, those half-marine refections, 
 Crinoids on the shell and Brachipods au naturel, 
 Cuttle-fish to which the pieuvre of Victor Hugo 
 Seems a periwinkle. 
 
 " Speak, thou awful vestige of the Earth's creation, 
 Solitary fragment of remains organic ! 
 Tell the wondrous secret of thy past existence, 
 Speak ! thou oldest primate !" 
 
 Even as I gazed, a thrill of the maxilla, 
 And a lateral movement of the condyloid process, 
 "With post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastication, 
 Ground the teeth together. 
 
 And, from that imperfect dental exhibition, 
 Stained with expressed juices of the weed Nicotian, 
 Came these hollow accents, blent with softer murmurs 
 Of expectoration ; 
 
 " Which my name is Bowers, and my crust was busted 
 Falling down a shaft in Calaveras County, 
 But I'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces 
 Home to old Missouri ! " 
 
 ^ s 
 
466 THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU. 
 
 SAY, have you seen at the Willows so green, 
 So charming and rurally true, 
 A singular bird, with a manner absurd, 
 Which they call the Australian Enieu f t 
 
 Have you 
 Ever seen this Australian Emeu ? 
 
 It trots all around with its head on the ground, 
 
 Or erects it quite out of your view ; 
 And the ladies all cry, when its figure they spy, 
 
 0, what a sweet pretty Emeu ! 
 Oh! do 
 
 Just look at that lovely Emeu ! 
 
 One day to this spot, when the weather was hot, 
 
 Came Matilda Hortense Fortescue ; 
 And beside her there came a youth of high name, 
 
 Augustus Florell Montague : 
 
 The two 
 
 Both loved that wild, foreign Emeu. 
 
 With two loaves of bread then they fed it, instead 
 
 Of the flesh of the white cockatoo, 
 Which once was its food in that wild neighbourhood 
 
 Where ranges the sweet Kangaroo ; 
 , That too 
 
 Is game for the famous Emeu ! 
 
 Old saws and gimlets but its appetite whets 
 Like the world famous bark of Peru ; 
 
 There's nothing so hard that the bird will discard, 
 And nothing its taste will eschew, 
 That you 
 Can give that long-legged Emeu ! 
 
THE AGED STRANGER. 46? 
 
 The time slipped away in this innocent play, 
 
 When up jumped the bold Montague : 
 " Where's that specimen pin that I gaily did wia 
 
 In raffle, and gave unto you, 
 
 Fortescue ? " 
 
 No word spoke the guilty Emeu ! 
 
 " Quick ! tell me his name whom thou gavest that 
 Ere these hands in thy blood I imbrue ! " 
 
 " Nay, clearest," she cried, as she clung to his side, 
 " I'm innocent as that Emeu ! " 
 
 " Adieu !" 
 He replied, " Miss M. H. Fortescue ! " 
 
 Down she dropped at his feet, all as white as a sheet> 
 
 As wildly he fled from her view ; 
 He thought 'twas her sin, for he knew not the pin- 
 
 Had been gobbled up by the Emeu ; 
 All through 
 
 The voracity of that Emeu ! 
 
 THE AGED STRANGER. 
 
 3ta Encftent of tfje 22Rar.* 
 
 " T WAS with Grant" the stranger said ; 
 
 * Said the farmer, " Say no more, 
 But rest thee here at my cottage porch, 
 
 For thy feet are weary and sore." 
 
 * The following curious " Incident of the War," by Mr. Bret Haf tc%. 
 was first published in 1863 in a California paper, and is now having a 
 second run through the American press. Its representation of the 
 patriotic farmer's incorrigible eagerness to anticipate the "ae.ec 
 
 H H 2 
 
K$B THE AGED STRANGER. 
 
 " I was with Grant " the stranger said ; 
 
 Said the farmer, " Nay, no more, 
 I prithee sit at my frugal board, 
 
 And eat of my humble store. 
 
 " How fares my boy, my soldier boy 
 
 Of the old Ninth Army Corps 1 
 I warrant he bore him gallantly 
 
 In the smoke and the battle's roar ! " 
 
 " I know him not," said the aged man, 
 
 " And, as I remarked before, 
 I was with Grant " " Nay, nay, I know," 
 
 Said the farmer, " say no more j 
 
 <" He fell in battle, I see, alas ! 
 
 Thou'dst smooth these tidings o'er, 
 JNay : speak the truth, whatever it be, 
 
 Though it rend my bosom's core. 
 
 " How fell he, with his face to the foe, 
 
 Upholding the flag he bore ? 
 O, say not that my boy disgraced 
 
 The uniform that he wore ! " 
 
 '" I cannot tell," said the aged man, 
 " And should have remarked before, 
 
 TThat I was with Grant, in Illinois, 
 Some three years before the war." 
 
 Then the farmer spake him never a word, 
 
 Eut beat with his fist full sore 
 That aged man, who had worked for Grant 
 
 Some three years before the war. 
 
 "stranger's " fancied tidings from the battlefield where his son is engaged, 
 and of the stranger's repeated attempts to complete his sentence, has a 
 ludicrousness of suggestion admirably climaxed by the dramatic reaction 
 of the last stanza. 
 
"HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?" 
 
 "HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY 
 
 the picket-guarded lane, 
 Rolled the comfort-laden wain, 
 
 Cheered by shouts that shook the plain, 
 Soldier-like and merry ; 
 
 Phrases such as camps may teach 
 
 Sabre-cuts of Saxon speech, 
 
 Such as " Bully !" " Them's the peach ! " 
 "Wade in, Sanitary!" 
 
 Right and left the caissons drew, 
 As the car went lumbering through, 
 Quick succeeding in review 
 
 Squadrons military ; 
 Sunburnt men with beards like frieze, 
 Smooth-faced boys, and cries like these, 
 " U. S. San. Com." " That's the cheese ! 
 
 " Pass in, Sanitary " 
 
 In such cheer it struggled on 
 Till the battle front was won, 
 Then the car, its journey done, 
 
 Lo ! was stationary ; 
 And where bullets whistling fly, 
 Came the sadder fainter cry, 
 " Help us, brothers, ere we die, 
 
 Save us, Sanitary ! " 
 
 Such the work. The phantom flies, 
 Wrapped in battle clouds that rise , 
 But the brave whose dying eyes, 
 Veiled and visionary, 
 
THE REVEILLE. 
 
 See the jasper gates swung wide, 
 See the parted throng outside 
 Hears the voice to those who ride, 
 "Pass in, Sanitary !" 
 
 THE REVEILLE. 
 
 T T ARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, 
 
 And of armed men the hum ; 
 Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered 
 Round the quick alarming drum, 
 Saying, "Come, 
 Freemen, come ! 
 -Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. 
 
 M Let me of my heart take counsel : 
 
 War is not of life the sum j 
 "Who shall stay and reap the harvest 
 When the autumn days shall come 1 " 
 But the drum 
 Echoed, Come ! 
 
 Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn-sound 
 ing drum. 
 
 *' But when won the coming battle, 
 
 What of profit springs therefrom 1 
 What if conquest, subjugation, 
 Even greater ills become ? " 
 But the drum 
 Answered, " Come ! 
 
 You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee-answer 
 ing drum. 
 
OUR PRIVILEGE. 471 
 
 " What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder, 
 
 Whistling shot and bursting bomb, 
 When my brothers fall around me, 
 
 Should my heart grow cold and numb 1 " 
 But the drum 
 Answered, " Come ! 
 Better there in death united, than in life a recreant, coine !" 
 
 Thus they answered, hoping, fearing, 
 Some in faith, and doubting some, 
 Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, 
 Said, " My chosen people, come ! " 
 Then the drum, 
 Lo ! was dumb, 
 
 For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, 
 " Lord, we come ! " 
 
 OUR PRIVILEGE. 
 
 TVT OT ours, where battle smoke upcurls, 
 
 And battle dews lie wet, 
 To meet the charge that treason hurls 
 By sword and bayonet. 
 
 Not ours to guide the fatal scythe 
 
 The fleshless reaper wields ; 
 The harvest moon looks calmly down 
 
 Upon our peaceful fields. 
 
 The long grass dimples on the hill, 
 
 The pines sing by the sea, 
 And Plenty, from her golden horn, 
 
 Is pouring far and free. 
 
472 RELIEVING GUARD. 
 
 O brothers by the farther sea, 
 Think still our faith is warm ; 
 
 The same bright flag above us waves 
 That swathed our baby form. 
 
 The same red blood that dyes your fields 
 Here throbs in patriot pride ; 
 
 The blood that flowed when Lander fell, 
 And Baker's crimson tide. 
 
 And thus apart our hearts keep time 
 
 With every pulse ye feel, 
 And Mercy's ringing gold shall chime 
 With Valour's clashing steel. 
 
 RELIEVING GUARD. 
 
 T. S. K. OEIIT MARCH 4, 1864. 
 
 the Relief. " What, Sentry, ho ! 
 
 ^^ How passed the night through thy long waldng 1 " 
 " Cold, cheerless, dark, as may beffb 
 The hour before the dawn is breaking." 
 
 " No sight ? no sound T' " No ; nothing save 
 The plover from the marshes calling, 
 And in yon Western sky, about 
 An hour ago, a Star was falling." 
 
 " A star 1 There's nothing strange in that.'* 
 " No, nothing ; but, above the thicket, 
 Somehow it seemed to me that God 
 Somewhere had just relieved a picket." 
 
A GEOLOGICAL MADRIGAL. 473 
 
 PARODIES. 
 
 :-o- : 
 A GEOLOGICAL MADRIGAL. 
 
 AFTER HERRICK. 
 
 T HAVE found out a gift for my fair ; 
 * I know where the fossils abound, 
 Where the footprints of Aves declare 
 
 The birds that once walked on the ground 
 O, come, and in technical speech 
 
 We'll walk this Devonian shore, 
 Or on some Silurian beach 
 
 We'll wander, my love, evermore. 
 
 I will show thee the sinuous track 
 
 By the slow-moving annelid made, 
 Or the Trilobite that, farther back, 
 
 In the old Potsdam sandstone was laid. 
 Thou shalt see, in his Jurassic tomb, 
 
 The Plesiosaurus embalmed ; 
 In his Oolitic prime and his bloom, 
 
 Iguanodon safe and unharmed ! 
 
 You wished I remember it well, 
 
 And I loved you the more for that wish 
 For a perfect cystedian shell 
 
 And a whole holocephalic fish. 
 And O, if Earth's strata contains 
 
 In its lowest Silurian drift, 
 Or Palseozoic remains 
 
 The same, 'tis your lover's free gift ! 
 
474 THE WILLOWS. 
 
 Then come, love, and never say nay, 
 
 But calm all your maidenly fears, 
 We'll note, love, in one summer's day 
 
 The record oi millions of years ; 
 And though the Darwinian plan 
 
 Your sensitive feelings may shock, 
 "We'll find the beginning of man, 
 
 Our fossil ancestors in rock ! 
 
 THE WILLOWS. 
 
 AFTER EDGAR A. POE. 
 
 / HPHE skies they were ashen and sober, 
 
 The streets they were dirty and drear: 
 It was night in the month of October, 
 
 Of my most immemorial year ; 
 Like the skies I was perfectly sober, 
 
 As I stopped at the mansion of Shear, 
 At the ilightingale, perfectly sober, 
 
 And the willowy woodland, down here. 
 
 Here, once in an alley Titanic 
 
 Of Ten-pins, I roamed with my soul, 
 
 Of Ten-pins, with Mary, my soul ; 
 They were days when my heart was volcanic, 
 
 And impelled me to frequently roll, 
 
 And made me resistlessly roll, 
 Till my ten-strikes created a panic 
 
 In the realms of the Boreal pole. 
 Till my ten-strikes created a panic 
 
 With the monkey atop of his pole. 
 
THE WILLOWS. 475 
 
 I repeat, I was perfectly sober, 
 
 But my thoughts they were palsied and sear, 
 
 My thoughts were decidedly queer ; 
 For I knew not the month was October, 
 
 And T marked not the night of the year; 
 I forgot that sweet morceau of Auber 
 
 That the band oft performed down here, 
 And I mixed the sweet music of Auber 
 
 With the Nightingale's music by Shear. 
 
 And now as the night was senescent, 
 And star-dials pointed to morn, 
 And car-drivers hinted of morn, 
 
 At the end of the path a liquescent 
 And bibulous lustre was born ; 
 
 'Twas made by the bar-keeper present, 
 Who mixed a duplicate horn ; 
 
 His two hands describing a crescent 
 Distinct with a duplicate horn. 
 
 And I said, " This looks perfectly regal, 
 For it's warm, and I know I feel dry, 
 I am confident that I feel dry ; 
 
 We have come past the emeu and eagle, 
 And watched the gay monkey on high j 
 
 Let us drink to the emeu and eagle, 
 To the swan and the monkey on high 
 To the eagle and monkey on high ; 
 
 For this bar-keeper will not inveigle, 
 Bully boy with the vitreous eye ; 
 
 He surely would never inveigle, 
 
 Sweet youth with the crystalline eye." 
 
476 THE WILLOWS. 
 
 But Mary, uplifting her finger, 
 
 Said, "Sadly this bar I mistrust, 
 I fear that this bar does not trust. 
 
 O hasten ! O let us not linger ! 
 O fly, let us fly, ere we must ! " 
 
 In terror she cried, letting sink her 
 Parasol till it trailed in the dust, 
 
 In agony sobbed, letting sink her 
 Parasol till it trailed in the dust, 
 
 Till it sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 
 
 Then I pacified Mary and kissed her, 
 And tempted her into the room, 
 And conquered her scruples and gloom ; 
 
 And we passed to the end of the vista, 
 
 But were stopped by the warning of doom,- 
 By some words that were warning of doom. 
 
 And I said, " What is written, sweet sister, 
 At the opposite end of the room. 
 
 She sobbed, as she answered, " All liquors 
 Must be paid for ere leaving the room." 
 
 Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 
 As the streets were deserted and drear, 
 For my pockets were empty and drear ; 
 
 And I cried, " It was surely October, 
 On this very night of last year, 
 That I journeyed I journeyed down here,- 
 That I brought a fair maiden down here, 
 On this night of all nights in the year. 
 Ah ! to me that inscription is clear ; 
 
 Well I know now, I'm perfectly sober, 
 Why no longer they credit me here, 
 
 Well I know now that music of Auber, 
 And this Nightingale, kept by one Shear. 
 
NORTH BE A CH. 477 
 
 NORTH BEACH. 
 
 AFTER SPENSER. 
 
 T O ! where the castle of bold Pfeiffer throws 
 *r-? Its sullen shadow on the rolling tide, 
 .tfo more the home where joy and wealth repose, 
 But now where wassailers in cells abide ; 
 See yon long quay that stretches far and wide, 
 Well known to citizens as wharf of Meiggs ; 
 There each sweet Sabbath walks in maiden pride 
 The pensive Margaret, and brave Pat, whose legs 
 Encased in broadcloth oft keep time with Peg's. 
 
 Here cometh oft the tender nursery-maid, 
 While in her ear her love his tale doth pour ; 
 Meantime her infant doth her charge evade, 
 And rambleth sagely on the sandy shore, 
 Till the sly sea-crab, low in ambush laid, 
 Seizeth his leg and biteth him full sore. 
 Ah me ! what sounds the shuddering echoes bore, 
 When his small treble mixed with Ocean's roar. 
 
 Hard by there stands an ancient hostelrie, 
 
 And at its side a garden, where the bear, 
 
 The stealthy catamount, and coon agree 
 
 To work deceit on all who gather there ; 
 
 And when Augusta that unconscious fair 
 
 With nuts and apples plieth Bruin free, 
 
 Lo ! the green parrot claweth her back hair, 
 
 And the gray monkey grabbeth fruits that she 
 
 On her gay bonnet wears, and laugheth loud in glee ! 
 
478 1HE LOST TAILS OF MILETUS. 
 
 THE LOST TAILS OF MILETUS. 
 
 TT IGH on the Thracian hills, half hid in the billows of 
 
 "* * clover, 
 
 Thyme, and the asphodel blooms, and lulled by Pactolian 
 
 streamlet, 
 
 She of Miletus lay, and beside her an aged satyr 
 Scratched his ear with his hoof, and playfully mumbled his 
 
 chestnuts. 
 
 Vainly the Msenid and the Bassarid gambolled about her, 
 
 The free-eyed Bacchante sang, and Pan the renowned, the 
 accomplished 
 
 Executed his difficult solo. In vain were their gambols 
 and dances : 
 
 High o'er the Thracian hills rose the voice of the shep 
 herdess wailing. 
 
 "Ai! for the fleecy flocks, the meek-nosed, the passionless 
 
 faces ; 
 
 Ai ! for the tallow-scented, the straight-tailed, the high- 
 stepping ; 
 Ai ! for the timid glance, which is that which the rustic, 
 
 sagacious, 
 Applies to him who loves but may not declare his passion ! " 
 
 Her then Zeus answered slow : " O daughter of song and 
 
 sorrow, 
 
 Hapless tender of sheep, arise from thy long lamentation ! 
 Since thou canst not trust fate, nor behave as becomes a 
 
 Greek maiden, 
 Look and behold thy sheep." And lo ! they returned to 
 
 her tailless ! 
 
SAN FRANCISCO. 479 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 FROM THE SEA. 
 
 ERENE, indifferent of Fate, 
 
 Thou sittest at the Western Gate ; 
 
 Upon thy heights so lately won 
 Still slant the banners of the sun ; 
 
 Thou seest the white seas strike their tents, 
 "Warder of two Continents ! 
 
 And scornful of the peace that flies 
 Thy angry winds and sullen skies, 
 
 Thou drawest all things, small or great, 
 To thee, beside the Western Gate. 
 ***** 
 
 O lion's whelp, that hidest fast 
 
 In jungle growth of spire and mast, 
 
 J know thy cunning and thy greed, 
 Thy hard high lust and wilful deed, 
 
 And all thy glory loves to tall 
 Of spacious gifts material. 
 
 Droj> down, O fleecy fog, and hide 
 Her sceptic sneer, and all her pride ! 
 
 Wrap her, O Fog, in gown and hood 
 Of her Franciscan Brotherhood. 
 
 Hide me her faults, her sin and blame ; 
 With thy grey mantle cloak her shame ! 
 
480 THE ANGELUS. 
 
 So shall she, cowled, sit and pray 
 Till morning bears her sins away. 
 
 Then rise, fleecy Fog, and raise 
 The glory of her coming days ; 
 
 Be as the cloud that flecks the seas 
 Above her smoky argosies. 
 
 "When forms familiar shall give place 
 To stranger speech and newer face ; 
 
 When all her throes and anxious fears 
 Lie hushed in the repose of years ; 
 
 When Art shall raise and Culture lift 
 The sensual joys and meaner thrift, 
 
 And all fulfilled the vision, we 
 
 Who watch and wait shall never see, 
 
 Who, in the morning of her race, 
 Toiled fair or meanly in our place, 
 
 But, yielding to the common lot, 
 Lie unrecorded and forgot. 
 
 THE ANGELUS. 
 
 HEARD AT THE MISSION DOLORES, 1 868. 
 
 T)ELLS of the Past, whose long- forgotten music 
 
 Still fills the wide expanse, 
 Tingeing the sober twilight of the Present 
 With colour of romance : 
 
THE ANGELUS. 481 
 
 I hear your call, and see the sun descending 
 
 On rock and wave and sand, 
 As down the coast the Mission voices blending 
 
 Girdle the heathen land. 
 
 Within the circle of your incantation 
 
 No blight nor mildew falls ; 
 Nor fierce unrest, nor lust, nor low ambition 
 
 Passes those airy walls. 
 
 Borne on the swell of your long waves receding, 
 
 I touch the farther Past, 
 I see the dying glow of Spanish glory, 
 
 The sunset dream and last ! 
 
 Before me rise the dome-shaped Mission towers, 
 
 The white Presidio ; 
 The swart commander in his leathern jerkin, 
 
 The priest in stole of snow. 
 
 Once more I see Portala's cross uplifting 
 
 Above the setting sun ; 
 And past the headland, northward, slowly drifting 
 
 The freighted galleon. 
 
 O solemn bells ! whose consecrated masses 
 
 Eecall the faith of old, 
 O tinkling bells ! that lulled with twilight music 
 
 The spiritual fold ! 
 
 Your voices break and falter in the darkness, 
 
 Break, falter, and are still ; 
 And veiled and mystic, like the Host descending, 
 
 The sun sinks from the hill ! 
 
 I i 
 
THE MOUNTAIN HEARTS-EASE. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN HEARTS-EASE. 
 
 T) Y scattered rocks and turbid waters shifting, 
 *-* By furrowed glade and dell, 
 To feverish men thy calm, sweet face uplifting, 
 Thou stayest them to tell 
 
 The delicate thought, that cannot find expression, 
 
 For ruder speech too fair, 
 That, like thy petals, trembles in possession, 
 
 And scatters on the air. 
 
 The miner pauses in his rugged labour, 
 
 And, leaning on his spade, 
 Laughingly calls unto his comrade -neighbour 
 
 To see thy charms displayed ; 
 
 But in his eyes a mist unwonted rises, 
 
 And for a moment clear, 
 Some sweet home face his foolish thought surprises 
 
 And passes in a tear, 
 
 Some boyish vision of his Eastern village, 
 
 Of uneventful toil, 
 Where golden harvests followed quiet tillage 
 
 Above a peaceful soil : 
 
 One moment only, for the pick, uplifting, 
 
 Through root and fibre cleaves, 
 And on the muddy current slowly drifting 
 
 Are swept thy bruised leaves. 
 
 And yet, O poet, in thy homely fashion, 
 
 Thy work thou dost fulfil, 
 For on the turbid current of his passion 
 
 Thy face is shining still i 
 
GRIZZLY. 483 
 
 GRIZZLY. 
 
 /COWARD, of heroic size, 
 ^^ In whose lazy muscles lies 
 Strength we fear and yet despise ; 
 Savage, whose relentless tusks 
 Are content with acorn husks ; 
 Robber, whose exploits ne'er soared 
 O'er the bee's or squirrel's hoard ; 
 Whiskered chin, and feeble nose, 
 Claws of steel on baby toes, 
 Here, in solitude and shade, 
 Shambling, shuffling, plantigrade, 
 Be thy courses undismayed ! 
 
 Here, where Nature makes thy bed, 
 Let thy rude, half human tread 
 
 Point to hidden Indian springs, 
 Lost in ferns and fragrant grasses, 
 
 Hovered o'er by timid wings, 
 Where the wood-duck lightly passes, 
 Where the wild bee holds her sweets, 
 Epicurean retreats, 
 Fit for thee, and better than 
 Fearful spoils of dangerous man. 
 
 In thy fat-jowled deviltry 
 Friar Tuck shall live in thee ; 
 Thou mayst levy tithe and dole ; 
 
 Thou shall spread the woodland cheer, 
 From the pilgrim taking toll ; 
 
 Match thy cunning with his fear ; 
 Eat, and drink, and have thy fill ; 
 Yet remain an outlaw still ! 
 
 i i 2 
 
4SJ> MADRONO. 
 
 MADRONO. 
 
 /CAPTAIN of the "Western wood, 
 ^ Thou that apest Robin Hood ! 
 Green above thy scarlet hose, 
 How thy velvet mantle shows ; 
 Never tree like thee arrayed, 
 O thou gallant of the glade ! 
 
 "When the fervid August sun 
 Scorches all it looks upon, 
 And the balsam of the pine 
 Drips from stem to needle fine, 
 Round thy compact shade arranged, 
 Not a leaf of thee is changed ! 
 
 "When the yellow autumn sun 
 Saddens all it looks upon, 
 Spreads its sackcloth 011 the hills. 
 Strews its ashes in the rills, 
 Thou thy scarlet hose dost doff, 
 And in limbs of purest buff 
 Challengest the sombre glade 
 For a sylvan masquerade. 
 
 Where, O where, shall he begin 
 Who would paint thee, Harlequin ? 
 Witli thy waxen burnished leaf, 
 With thy branches' red relief, 
 With thy poly-tinted fruit, 
 In thy spring or autumn suit, 
 Where begin, and O, where end, 
 Thou whose charms all art transcend ? 
 
TO A SEABIRD. 485 
 
 COYOTE.* 
 
 T3LOWN out of the prairie in twilight and dew, 
 "^ Half bold and half timid, yet lazy all through 
 Loth ever to leave, and yet fearful to stay, 
 He limps in the clearing, an outcast in grey. 
 
 A shade on the stubble, a. ghost by the wall, 
 Now leaping, now limping, now risking a fall, 
 Lop-eared and large-jointed, but ever alway 
 A thoroughly vagabond outcast in grey. 
 
 Here, Carlo, old fellow, he's one of your kind, 
 Go, seek him, and bring him in out of the wind. 
 What ! snarling, my Carlo ! So even dogs may 
 Deny their own kin in the outcast in grey. 
 
 Well, take what you will, though it be on the sly, 
 Marauding, or begging, I shall not ask why ; 
 But will call it a dole, just to help on his way 
 A four-footed friar in orders of grey I 
 
 TO A SEABIRD. 
 
 SANTA CRUZ, 1869. 
 
 AUNTEBING hither on listless wings, 
 
 Careless vagabond of tho sea, 
 Little thou heedest the surf that sings, 
 The bar that thunders, the shale that rings, 
 Give me to keep thy company. 
 
 * The pvairie-wolf (Mexican, coyote). This animal lives in cracks 
 and crevices made in the prairies and plains by the intense summer 
 heat. 
 
486 HER LETTER. 
 
 Little thou hast, old friend, that's new, 
 
 Storms and wrecks are old things to thee ; 
 
 Sick am I of these changes, too ; 
 
 Little to care for, little to rue, 
 I on the shore, and thou on the sea. 
 
 All of thy wanderings, far and near, 
 
 Bring thee at last to shore and me ; 
 All of my joumeyings end them here, 
 This our tether must be our cheer, 
 I on the shore,- and thou on the sea. 
 
 Lazily rocking on ocean's breast, 
 
 Something in common, old friend, have we 
 
 Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest, 
 
 I to the waters look for rest, 
 
 I 011 the shore, and thou on the sea. 
 
 HER LETTER. 
 
 T 'M sitting alone by the fire, 
 
 Dressed just as I came from the dance. 
 In a robe even you would admire. 
 
 It cost a cool thousand in France ; 
 I'm be-diamonded out of all reason, 
 
 My hair is done up in * cue ; 
 In short, sir, "the belle rf the season" 
 
 Is wasting an hour on you. 
 
 A dozen engagements I've broken ; 
 
 I left in the midst of a set ; 
 Likewise a proposal, half spoken, 
 
 That waits on the stairs for me yet. 
 
HER LETTER. 487 
 
 They say he'll be rich, when he grows up, 
 
 And then he adores me indeed. 
 And you, sir, are turning your nose up, 
 
 Three thousand miles off, as you read. 
 
 "And how do I like my position 1 " 
 
 " And what do I think of New York 1 " 
 "And now, in my higher ambition, 
 
 With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk 1 " 
 " And isn't it nice to have riches, 
 
 And diamonds and silks, and all that 1 " 
 " And aren't it a change to the ditches 
 
 And tunnels of Poverty Flat ? " 
 
 Well, yes, if you saw us out driving 
 
 Each day in the park, four-in-hand, 
 If you saw poor dear mamma contriving 
 
 To look supernaturally grand, 
 If you saw papa's picture, as taken 
 
 By Brady, and tinted at that, 
 You'd never suspect he sold bacon 
 
 And flour at Poverty Flat. 
 
 And yet, just this moment, when sitting 
 
 In the glare of the grand chandelier, 
 In the bustle and glitter befitting 
 
 The " finest soiree of the year," 
 In the mists of a gaze de Chamber?/, 
 
 And the hum of the smallest of talk, 
 Somehow, Joe, I thought of the " Ferry," 
 
 And the dance that we had on " The Fork." 
 
 Of Harrison's barn, with its muster 
 Of flags festooned over the wall ; 
 Of the candles that shed their soft lustre 
 And tallow on head-dress and shawl ; 
 
HER LETTER. 
 
 Of the steps that we took to one fiddle ; 
 
 Of the dress of my queer vis-a-vis ; 
 And how I once went down the middle 
 
 With the man that shot Sandy McGee ; 
 
 Of the moon that was quietly sleeping 
 
 On the hill, when the time came to go ; 
 Or the few baby peaks that were peeping 
 
 From under their bedclothes of snow ; 
 Of that ride, that to me was the rarest ; 
 
 Of the something you said at the gate : 
 Ah, Joe, then I wasn't an heiress 
 
 To " the best-paying lead'" in the State." 
 
 Well, well, it's all past ; yet it's funny 
 
 To think, as I stood in the glare 
 Of fashion and beauty and money, 
 
 That I should be thinking, right there, 
 Of some one who breasted high water, 
 
 And swam the North Fork, and all that, 
 Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter, 
 
 The Lily of Poverty Flat. 
 
 But goodness ! what nonsense I'm writing ! 
 
 (Mamma says my taste still is low,) 
 Instead of my triumphs reciting. 
 
 I'm spooning on Joseph, heigh-ho ! 
 And I'm to be " finished" by travel. 
 
 Whatever's the meaning of that, 
 O, why did papa strike pay gravel 
 
 In drifting on Poverty Flat ? 
 
 * Pronounced lecd. Western expression for mine or digging. 
 ' Flat ; ' is the common term for any low alluvial land. 
 
///? LETTER. 
 
 " wasting an hour on you.'' 
 
 " I am sitting alone by the fire. ' 
 
 " Something you said at the gate." 
 
DICKENS IN CAMP. 489 
 
 Good night, here's the end of my paper ; 
 
 Good night, if the longitude please, 
 For maybe, while wasting my taper, 
 
 Touar sun's climbing over the trees. 
 But know, if you haven't got riches, 
 
 And are poor, clearest Joe, and all that, 
 That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches, 
 
 And you've struck it, on Poverty Flat. 
 
 DICKENS IN CAMP. 
 
 A BO YE the pines the moon was slowly drifting, 
 ** The river sang below ; 
 The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting 
 Their minarets of snow : 
 
 The roaring camp-fire, with rude humour, painted 
 
 The ruddy tints of health 
 On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted 
 
 In the fierce race for wealth ; 
 
 Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure 
 
 A hoarded volume drew, 
 And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure 
 
 To hear the tale anew ; 
 
 And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, 
 
 And as the fire-light fell, 
 He read aloud the book wherein the Master 
 
 Had writ of " Little Nell." 
 
490 
 
 DICKENS IN CAMP. 
 
 Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy for the reader 
 
 Was youngest of them all 
 But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar 
 
 A silence seemed- to fall ; 
 
 The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, 
 
 Listened in every spray, 
 
 While the whole camp, with "Nell" on English 
 meadows 
 
 Wandered and lost their way. 
 
 And so in mountain solitudes o'ertaken 
 
 As by some spell divine 
 Their cares dropped from them like the needles shaken 
 
 From out the gusty pine. 
 
 Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire ; 
 
 An'd he who wrought that spell 1 
 Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire, 
 
 Ye have one tale to tell ! 
 
 Lost is that camp ! but let its fragrant story 
 
 Blend with the breath that thrills 
 With hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory 
 
 That fills the Kentish hills. 
 
 And on that grave where English oak, and holly, 
 
 And laurel wreaths entwine, 
 Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly 
 
 This spray of Western pine ! 
 
 July, 1870. 
 
WHAT THE ENGINES SAID 49I 
 
 WHAT THE ENGINES SAID. 
 OPENING OF THE PACIFIC RAILROAD. 
 
 VX7HAT was it the Engines said. 
 
 Pilots touching, head to head 
 Pacing on the single track, 
 Half a world behind each back? 
 This is what the Engines said, 
 Unreporfced and unread ! 
 
 "With a prefatory screech, 
 
 In a florin Western speech, 
 
 Said the Engine from the WEST : 
 
 " I am from Sierra's crest ; 
 
 And, if altitude's a test, 
 
 Why, I reckon, it's confessed, 
 
 That I've done my level best." 
 
 Said the Engine from the EAST : 
 " They who work best talk the least. 
 S'pose you whistle down your brakes ; 
 What you've done is no great shakes, 
 Pretty fair, but let our meeting 
 Be a different kind of greeting. 
 Let these folks with champagne stuffing, 
 Not their engines, do the puffing. 
 
 " Listen ! Where Atlantic beats 
 Shores of snow and. summer heats ; 
 Where the Indian autumn skies 
 Paint the woods with wampum dyes, 
 I have chased the flying sun, 
 Seeing all he looked upon, 
 
492 WHAT THE ENGINES SAW. 
 
 Blessing all that lie has blest, 
 Nursing in my iron breast 
 All his vivifying heat, 
 All his clouds about my crest ; 
 And before ray flying feet 
 Every shadow must retreat." 
 
 Said the Western Engine, " Phew ! " 
 And a long low whistle blew. 
 "Come now, really that's the oddest 
 Talk for one so very modest, 
 You brag of your East ! You do ? 
 Why, / bring the East to you ! 
 All the Orient, all Cathay, 
 Find through me the shortest way, 
 And the sun you follow here 
 Rises in my hemisphere. 
 Really, if one must be rude, 
 Length, my friend, ain't longitude." 
 
 Said the Union, " Don't reflect, or 
 I'll run over some Director." 
 Said the Central, " I'm Pacific, 
 But, when riled, I'm quite terrific. 
 Yet to-day we shall not quarrel, 
 Just to show these folks this moral, 
 How two Engines in their vision 
 Once have met without collision." 
 That is what the Engines said, 
 Unreported and unread ; 
 Spoken slightly through the nose, 
 With a whistle at the close. 
 
" THE RETURN OF BELISARIUS." 493 
 
 "THE RETURN OF BELISARIUS." 
 
 MUD FLAT, 1860. 
 
 you're back from your travels, old fello\v, 
 
 And you left but a twelvemonth ago ; 
 You've hobnobbed with Louis Napoleon, 
 
 Eugenie, and kissed the Pope's toe. 
 By Jove, it is perfectly stunning, 
 
 Astounding, and all that, you know ; 
 Yes, things are about as you left them 
 In Mud Flat a twelvemonth ago. 
 
 The boys ! They're all right, Oh ! Dick Ashley, 
 
 He's buried somewhere in the snow j 
 He was lost on the Summit last winter, 
 
 And Bob has a hard row to hoe. 
 You knew that he's got the consumption ? 
 
 You didn't ! Well, come, that's a go ; 
 I certainly wrote you at Baden, 
 
 Dear me ! that was six months ago. 
 
 I got all your outlandish letters, 
 
 All stamped by some foreign P.O. 
 I handed myself to Miss Mary 
 
 That sketch of a famous chateau. 
 Tom Saunders is living at 'Frisco, 
 
 They say that he cuts quite a show. 
 You didn't meet Euchre-deck Billy 
 
 Anywhere on your road to Cairo 1 
 
 So you thought of the rusty old cabin, 
 
 The pines, and the valley below ; 
 And heard the North Fork of the Yuba, 
 
 As you stood on the banks of the Po % 
 
494 " TWENTY YEARS?' 
 
 'Twas just like your romance, old fellow 
 But now there is standing a row 
 
 Of stores ou the sight of the cabin 
 That you lived in a twelvemonth ago. 
 
 But it's jolly to see you, old fellow, 
 
 To think it's a twelvemonth ago ! 
 And you have seen Louis Napoleon, 
 
 And look like a Johnny Crapaud. 
 Come in. You will surely see Mary, 
 
 You know we are married. What, no 
 O, ay. I forgot there was something 
 
 Between you a twelvemonth ago. 
 
 "TWENTY YEARS." 
 
 T)EG your pardon, old fellow ! I think 
 
 I was dreaming just now, when you spoke. 
 The fact is, the musical clink 
 Of the ice on your wine-goblet's brink 
 A chord of my memory woke. 
 
 And I stood in the pastu re-field where 
 Twenty summers ago I had stood ; 
 And I heard in that sound, I declare, 
 The clinking of bells on. the air, 
 Of the cows coming home from the wood. 
 
 Then the apple-blooms shook on the hill ; 
 And the mullein-stalks tilted each lance ; 
 And the sun behind Rapalye's mill 
 "Was my uttermost West, and could thrill 
 Like some fanciful land of romance. 
 
"TWENTY YEARS" 495 
 
 Then my friend was a hero, and then 
 My girl was an angel. In. fine, 
 I drank buttermilk ; for at ten 
 Faith asks less to aid her, than when 
 At thirty we doubt over wine. 
 
 Ah well, it does seem that I must 
 
 Have been dreaming just now when you spoke, 
 
 Or lost, very like, in the dust 
 
 Of the years that slow fashioned the crust 
 
 On that bottle whose seal you last broke. 
 
 Twenty years was its age, did you say ? 
 Twenty years ? Ah, my friend, it is true ! 
 All the dreams that have flown since that day, 
 All the hopes in that time passed away, 
 Old friend, I've been drinking with you ! 
 
496 A GREYPORT LEGEND. 
 
 FATE. 
 
 " n^HE sky is clouded, the rocks are bare ; 
 
 The spray of the tempest is white in air 
 The winds are out with the waves at play, 
 And I shall not tempt the sea to-day. 
 
 " The trail is narrow, the wood is dim, 
 The panther clings to the arching limb ; 
 And the lion's whelps are abroad at play, 
 And I shall not join in the chase to-day." 
 
 But the ship sailed safely over the sea, 
 And the hunters came from the chase in glee, 
 And the town that was builded upon a rock 
 Was swallowed up in the earthquake shock. 
 
 EAST AND WEST POEMS 
 
 PART I. 
 
 A GREYPORT LEGEND. 
 
 1797. 
 
 HP HEY ran through the streets of the seaport town: 
 They peered from the decks of the ships that lay 
 The cold sea-fog that came whitening down 
 Was never as cold or white as they. 
 
A GREY PORT LEGEND. 497 
 
 " Ho, Starbuck and Pinckney and Tenterden ! 
 Run for your shallops, gather your men. 
 Scatter your boats on the lower bay." 
 
 Good cause for fear ! In the thick midday 
 The hulk that lay by the rotting pier, 
 Filled with the children in happy play, 
 Parted its moorings, and drifted clear, 
 
 Drifted clear beyond the reach or call, 
 
 Thirteen children they were in all, 
 All adrift in the lower bay ! 
 
 Said a hard-faced skipper, " God help us all ! 
 She will not float till the turning tide ! " 
 Said his wife, " My darling will hear my call, 
 Whether in sea or heaven she bide : " 
 
 And she lifted a quavering voice and high, 
 
 Wild and strange as a sea-bird's cry, 
 
 Till they shuddered and wondered at her side. 
 
 The fog drove down on each labouring crew, 
 Veiled each from each and the sky and shore : 
 There was not a sound but the breath they drew, 
 And the lap of water and creek of oar ; 
 
 And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh blown 
 O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone, 
 But not from the lips that had gone before. 
 
 They come no more. But they tell the tale, 
 That, when fogs are thick on the harbour reef, 
 The mackerel fishers shorten sail ; 
 .For the signal they know will bring relief : 
 
 For the voices of children, still at play 
 
 In a phantom hulk that drifts alway 
 
 Through channels whose waters never fail. 
 
498 A NEWPORT ROMANCE. 
 
 Ifc is but a foolish shipman's tale, 
 
 A theme for a poet's idle page ; 
 
 But still, when the mists of doubt prevail, 
 
 And we lie becalmed by the shores of Age, 
 We hear from the misty troubled shore 
 The voice of the children gone before, 
 Drawing the soul to its anchorage. 
 
 A NEWPORT ROMANCE. 
 
 ' I "HEY say that she died of a broken heart 
 
 (I tell the tale as 'twas told to me) 
 But her spirit lives, and her soul is part 
 Of this sad old house by the sea. 
 
 Her lover was fickle and fine and .French : 
 
 It was nearly a hundred years ago 
 When he sailed away from her arms poor wench- 
 
 With the Admiral Rochambeau. 
 
 I marvel much what periwigged phrase 
 Won the heart of this sentimental Quaker, 
 
 At what golden-laced speech of those modish clays 
 She listened the mischief take her ! 
 
 But she kept the posies of mignonette 
 
 That he gave ; and ever as their bloom failed 
 
 And faded (though with her tears still wet) 
 Her youth with their own exhaled. 
 
 Till one night, when the sea-fog wrapped a shroud 
 Round spar and spire and tarn and tree, 
 
 Her soul went up on that lifted cloud 
 From this sad old house by the sea.- 
 
A NEWPORT ROMANCE. 499 
 
 And ever since then, when the clock strikes two, 
 
 She walks unbidden from room to room, 
 And the air is filled that she passes through 
 
 "With a subtle, sad perfume. 
 
 The delicate odor of mignonette, 
 
 The ghost of a dead and gone bouquet, 
 Is all that tells of her story ; yet 
 
 Could she think of a sweeter way 1 
 
 I sit in the sad old house to-night, 
 
 Myself a ghost from a farther sea ; 
 And I trust that this Quaker woman might, 
 
 In courtesy, visit me, 
 
 For the laugh is fled from porch and Jawn, 
 And the bugle died from the fort on the hill, 
 
 And the twitter of girls on the stairs is gone, 
 And the grand piano is still. 
 
 Somewhere in the darkness a clock strikes two \ 
 And there is no sound in the sad old house, 
 
 But the long veranda dripping with dew, 
 And in the wainscot a mouse. 
 
 The light of my study-lamp streams out 
 From the library door, but has gone astray 
 
 In the depths of the darkened hall. Small doubt 
 But the quakeress knows the way. 
 
 "Was it the trick of a sense o'erwrought 
 "With outward watching and inward fret 1 
 
 But I swear that the air just now was fraught 
 "With the odor of mignonette ! 
 
 C K 2 
 
500 A NEWPORT ROMANCE. 
 
 I open the window, and seem almost 
 So still lies the ocean to hear the beat 
 
 Of its Great Gulf artery off the coast, 
 And to bask in its tropic heat. 
 
 In my neighbour's windows the gas-lights flare, 
 As the dancers swing in a waltz of Strauss ; 
 
 And I wonder now could I fit that air 
 To the song of this sad old house. 
 
 And no odor of mignonette there is 
 
 But the breath of morn on the dewy lawn ; 
 
 And mayhap from causes as slight as this 
 The quaint old legend is born. 
 
 But the soul of that subtle, sad perfume, 
 As the spiced embalmings, they say, outlast 
 
 The mummy laid in his rocky tomb, 
 Awakens my buried past. 
 
 And I think of the passion that shook my youtli, 
 Of its aimless loves and its idle pains, 
 
 And am thankful now for the certain truth 
 That only the sweet remains. 
 
 And I hear no rustle of stiff brocade, 
 And I see 110 face at my library door ; 
 
 For now that the ghosts of my heart are laid, 
 She is viewless for evermore. 
 
 But whether she came as a faint perfume, 
 Or whether a spirit in stole of white, 
 
 I feel, as I pass from the darkened room, 
 She has been with my soul to-night ! 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 501 
 
 THE HAWK'S NEST. 
 
 SIERRAS. 
 
 "\ X y"E checked our pace, the red road sharply rounding , 
 * * We heard the troubled flow 
 Of the dark olive depths of pines, resounding 
 A thousand feet below.. 
 
 Above the tumult of the canon lifted, 
 
 The gray hawk breathless hung ; 
 Or on the hill a winged shadow drifted 
 
 Where furze and thorn-bush clung ; 
 
 Or where half-way the mountain side was furrowed 
 
 With many a seam and scar ; 
 Or some abandoned tunnel dimly burrowed, 
 
 A mole-hill seen so far. 
 
 We looked in silence down across the distant 
 
 Unfathomable reach : 
 A silence broken by the guide's consistent 
 
 And realistic speech. 
 
 t 
 
 "Walker of Murphy's blew a hole through Peters 
 
 For telling him he lied ; 
 Then up and dusted out of South Hornitos 
 
 Across the Long Divide. 
 
 " We ran him out of Strong's, and up through Eden, 
 
 And 'cross the ford below ; 
 And up this canon (Peters' brother leadin'), 
 
 And me and Clark and Joe. 
 
5 02 THE HAWK'S NEST. 
 
 "He fou't us game : somehow, I disremember 
 
 Jest how the thing kem round ; 
 Some say 'twas wadding, some a scattered ember 
 
 From fires on the ground. 
 
 " But in one minute all the hill below him 
 
 Was just one sheet of flame ; 
 Guardin' the crest, Sam Clark and I called to him. 
 
 And, well, the dog was game ! 
 
 '' He made no sign : the fires of hell were round him, 
 
 ' The pit of hell below. 
 "We sat and waited, but never found him ; 
 And then we turned to go. 
 
 " And then you see that rock that's grown so bristly 
 
 With chaparral and tan 
 Suthin' crep' out : it might hev been a grizzly, 
 
 Tt might hev been a man ; 
 
 " Suthin' that howled, and gnashed its teeth, and shouted 
 
 In smoke and dust and flame ; 
 Suthin' that sprang into the depths about it, 
 
 Grizzly or man, but game ! 
 
 " That's all. Well, yes, it does look rather risky, 
 
 And kinder makes one queer 
 And dizzy looking down. A drop of whiskey 
 
 Ain't a bad thing right here ! " 
 
IN THE MISSION GARDEN 503 
 
 IN THE MISSION GARDEN. 
 
 1865. 
 
 FATHER FELIPE. 
 
 T SPEAK not the English well, but Pachita 
 
 She speak for me ; is it not so, my Pancha ? 
 Eh, little rogue? Come, salute me the stranger 
 Americano. 
 
 Sir, in my country we say, " Where the heart is, 
 There live the speech." Ah ! you not understand? So ! 
 Pardon an old man, what you call " ol fogy," 
 Padre Felipe ! 
 
 Old, Seiior, old ! just so old as the Mission. 
 You see that pear-tree ? How old yon think, Sefior 1 
 Fifteen year 1 Twenty 1 Ah, Senor, just Fifty 
 Gone since I plant him ! 
 
 You like the wine 1 It is some at the Mission, 
 Made from the grape of the year Eighteen Hundred ; 
 All the same time when the earthquake he come to 
 San Juan. Bautista. 
 
 But Pancha is twelve, and she is the rose-tree ; 
 And I am the olive, and this is the garden : 
 And Pancha we say ; but her name is Francisca, 
 Same like her mother. 
 
 Eh, you knew her ? ISTo 1- Ah ! it is a story ; 
 But I speak not, like Pachita, the English : 
 So ? If I try, yon will sit here beside me, 
 
 And shall not laugh, eh 1 
 
504 ^V THE MISSION GARDEN. 
 
 When the American come to the Mission, 
 Many arrive at the house of Francisca : 
 One, he was fine man, he buy the cattle 
 Of Jose Castro. 
 
 So ! he came much, and Francisca she saw him : 
 And it was Love, and a very dry season ; 
 And the pears bake on the tree, and the rain come, 
 But not Francisca ; 
 
 Xot for one year ; and one night I have walk much 
 Under the olive-tree, when comes Francisca : 
 Comes to me here, with her child, this Francisca, 
 Under the olive-tree. 
 
 Sir, it was sad ; . . . but I speak not the English ; 
 So ! ... she stay here, and she wait for her husband 
 He come no more, and she sleep on the hillside ; 
 There stands Pachita. 
 
 Ah ! there's the Angelus. Will you not enter 1 
 Or shall you walk in the garden with Paricha 1 
 Go, little rogue stt attend to the stranger. 
 Adios, Seilor. 
 
 PACHITA (briskly.} 
 
 So, he's been telling that yarn about mother ! 
 Bless you, he tells it to every stranger : 
 Folks about yer say the old man's my father ; 
 What's your opinion ? 
 
THE OLD MAJOR EXPLAINS. 505 
 
 THE OLD MAJOR EXPLAINS. 
 RE-UNION ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, I2TH MAY, 1871. 
 
 " ~\ \ 7ELL, you see, the fact" is, Colonel, I don't know as 
 
 I can come : 
 For the farm is not half planted, and there's work to do at 
 
 home; 
 
 And my leg is getting troublesome, it laid me up last fall, 
 And the doctors, they have cut and hacked, and never found 
 
 the ball. 
 
 " And then, for an old man like me, it's not exactly right, 
 This kind o' playing soldier with no enemy in sight. 
 The Union,' that was well enough way up to '66 ; 
 But this 'Re-Union,' maybe now it's mixed with politics? 
 
 " No ? Well, you understand it best ; but then, you see, 
 
 my lad, 
 I'm deacon now, and some might think that the example's 
 
 bad. 
 And week from next is Conference. . . . You said the 12th 
 
 of May ? 
 "Why, that's the day we broke their line at Spottsylvan-i-a ! 
 
 " Hot work ; eh, Colonel, wasn't it 1 Ye mind that narrow 
 
 front : 
 They called it the ' Death- Angle !' Well, well, my lad, we 
 
 won't 
 
 Fight that old battle over now : I only meant to say 
 I really can't engage to come upon the 12th of May. 
 
 " How's Thompson 1 What ! will he be there 1 Well, now 
 I want to know ! 
 
 The first man in the rebel works ! they called him ' Swear 
 ing Joe : J 
 
<;o6 " SE VENT Y-NINE" 
 
 A wild young fellow, sir, I fear the rascal was ; but then 
 Well, short of heaven, there wa'n't a place he dursn't lead 
 his men. 
 
 "And Dick, you say, is coming too. And Billy? ah! it's 
 
 true 
 
 We buried him at Gettysburg : I mind the spot : do you f f 
 A little field below the hill, it must be green this May ; 
 Perhaps that's why the fields about bring him to me to-day. 
 
 " Well, well, excuse me, Colonel ! but there are some things 
 
 that drop 
 The tail-board out one's feelings ; and the only way's to 
 
 stop. 
 So they want to see the old man ; ah, the rascals ! do they, 
 
 eh? 
 Well, I've business down in Boston about the 12th of May." 
 
 "SEVENTY-NINE." 
 MR. INTERVIEWER INTERVIEWED. 
 
 me next time when you see me, won't you, old 
 smarty ? 
 
 Oh, I mean you, old figger-head, just the same party ! 
 Take out your pensivil, d n you ; sharpen it, do ! 
 Any complaints to make ? Lot's of 'em one of 'em's you. 
 
 You ! who are you, anyhow, goin' round in that sneakin' 
 
 way ? 
 Never in jail before, was you, old blatherskite, say 1 
 
" SE VENTY-NINE." 507 
 
 Look at it ; don't it look pooty ? Oh, grin, and be d d to 
 
 you, do ! 
 But, if I had you this side o' that gratiii', I'd just make it 
 
 lively for you. 
 
 How did I get in here 1 Well, what 'ud you give to know 1 
 'Twasn't by sneakin' round where I hadn't no call to go : 
 'Twasn't by hangin' round a spyin' unfortnet men. 
 Grin ! but I'll stop your jaw if ever you do that agen. 
 
 Why don't you say suthin', blast you ? Speak your mind if 
 
 you dare. 
 
 Ain't I a bad lot, sonny ? Say it, and call it square. 
 Hain't got 110 tongue, hey, hev ye. O guard ! here's a 
 
 little swell, 
 A cussin' and swearin' and yellin', and bribin' me not to 
 
 tell. 
 
 There, I thought that 'ud fetch ye. And you want to know 
 my name 1 
 
 " Seventy-Nine " they call me ; but that is their little game : 
 
 For I'm werry highly connected, as a gent, sir, can under 
 stand ; 
 
 And my family hold their heads up with the very furst in 
 the land. 
 
 For 'twas all, sir, a put-up job on a pore young man like 
 
 me; 
 And the jury was bribed a puppos, aftdrst they couldn't 
 
 agree. 
 And I sed to the judge, sez I, Oh, grin! it's all right, my 
 
 son ! 
 But you're a werry lively young pup, and you ain't to be 
 
 played upon ! 
 
5o8 " SE VENTY-NINEr 
 
 "Wot's tliat you got tobacco? I'm cussed but I thought 
 
 'twas a tract. 
 Thank ye. A chap t'other day now, look'ee, this is a 
 
 fact, 
 
 Slings me a tract 011 the evils o' keepin' bad company, 
 As if all the saints was howliii' to stay here along 's we. 
 
 No : I hain't no complaints. Stop, yes ; do you see that 
 
 chap, 
 
 Him standin' over there, a hidin' his eyes in his cap ? 
 "Well, that man's stumick is weak, and he can't stand the 
 
 pris'n fare 
 For the coffee is just half beans, and the sugar ain't no 
 
 where. 
 
 Perhaps it's his bringin' up ; but he sickens day by day, 
 And he doesn't take no food, and I'm seem' him waste 
 
 away. 
 And it isn't the thing to see ; for, whatever he's been and 
 
 done, 
 Starvation isn't the plan as he's to be saved upon. 
 
 For he cannot rough it like me ; and he hasn't the stamps, 
 
 I guess, 
 
 To buy him his extry grub outside o' the pris'n mess. 
 And perhaps if a gent like you, with whom I've been sorter 
 
 free, 
 Would thank you ! But, say, look here ! Oh, blast it, 
 
 don't give it to ME ! 
 
 Don't you give it to me ; now, don't ye, don't ye, don't ! 
 You think it's a put-up job ; so I'll thank ye, sir, if you 
 won't. 
 
HIS ANSWER TO "HER LETTER!' 509 
 
 But hand him the stamps yourself: why, he isn't even 
 
 my pal ; 
 And if it's a comfort to you, why, I don't intend that he 
 
 shall. 
 
 HIS ANSWER TO HER LETTER/ 
 
 REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES. 
 
 "OEING asked by an intimate party, 
 
 Which the same I would term as a friend, 
 Which his health it were vain to call hearty, 
 
 Since the mind to deceit it might lend ; 
 For his arm it was broken quite recent, 
 
 And has something gone wrong with his lung, . 
 Which is why it is proper and decent 
 
 I should write what he runs off his tongue : 
 
 First, he says, Miss, he's read through your letter 
 
 To the end, and the end came too soon ; 
 That a slight illness kept him your debtor 
 
 (Which for weeks he was wild as a loon) ; 
 That his spirits are buoyant as yours is ; 
 
 That with you, Miss, he challenges Fato 
 (Which the language that invalid uses 
 
 At times it were vain to relate). 
 
 And he says that the mountains are fairer 
 
 For once being held in your thought ; 
 That each rock holds a wealth that is raver 
 
 Than ever by gold-seeker sought 
 (Which are words he would put in these pages, 
 
 By a party not given to guile : 
 Which the same not, at date, paying wages 
 
 Might produce in the sinful a smile). 
 
510 HIS ANSWER TO "HER LETTER? 
 
 He remembers the ball at the Eerry, 
 
 And the ride, and the gate, and the vow, 
 And the rose that you gave him, that very 
 
 Same rose he is treasuring now 
 (Which his blanket he's kicked on his trunk, Miss, 
 
 And insists on his legs being free ; 
 And his language to me from his bunk, Miss, 
 
 Is frequent, and painful and free) ; 
 
 He hopes you are wearing 110 willows, 
 
 But are happy and gay all the while ; 
 That he knows (which this dodging of pillows 
 
 Imparts but small ease to the style, 
 And the same you will pardon), he knows, Miss, 
 
 That, though parted by many a mile, 
 Yet were he lying under the snows, Miss, 
 
 They'd melt into tears at your smile. . 
 
 And you'll still think of him in your pleasures, 
 
 In your brief twilight dreams of the past ; 
 In this green-laurel spray that lie treasures, 
 
 It was plucked where your parting was last ; 
 In this specimen, but a small trifle, 
 
 It will do for a pin for your shawl 
 (Which the truth not to wickedly stifle 
 
 Was his last week's " clean up," and his all). 
 
 He's asleep, which the same might seem strange, Miss, 
 
 Were it not that I scorn to deny 
 That I raised his last dose, for a change, Miss, 
 
 In view that his fever was high ; 
 But he lies there quite peaceful and pensive. 
 
 And now, my respects, Miss, to you ; 
 Which my language, although comprehensive, 
 
 Might seem to be freedom, it's true. 
 
THE WONDERFUL SPRING OF SAN JOAQUIN. 511 
 
 Which I have a small favour to ask you, 
 
 As concerns a bull- pup, which the same, 
 If the duty would not overtask you, 
 
 You would please to procure for me, game ; 
 And send per express to the Flat, Miss, 
 
 Which they say York is famed for the breed, 
 Which though words of deceit may be that, Miss, 
 
 I'll trust to your taste, Miss, indeed. 
 
 P.S. Which, this same interfering 
 
 Into other folks' way I despise ; 
 Yet if it so be I was hearing 
 
 That it's just empty pockets as lies 
 Betwixt you and Joseph, it f oilers, 
 
 That, having no family claims, 
 Here's my pile ; v;hich it's six hundred dollars, 
 
 As is yours, with respects. 
 
 TRUTHFUL JAMES.* 
 
 THE WONDERFUL SPRING OF SAN 
 JOAQUIN. 
 
 /""YE all the fountains that poets sing, - 
 
 ^-^ Crystal, thermal, or mineral spring ; 
 
 Ponce de Leon's Fount of Youth ; 
 
 Wells with bottoms of doubtful truth ; 
 
 In short, of all the springs of Time 
 
 That ever were flowing in fact or rhyme, 
 
 That ever were tasted, felt, or seen, 
 
 There were none like the Spring of San Joaquin. 
 
 * Further Language from Truthful James will be found at p. 19 of 
 *' That Heathen Chinee, and other Poems," published by Mr. Hotten. 
 
512 THE WONDERFUL SPRING OF SAN JOAQUIN. 
 
 Anno Domini Eighteen-Seven, 
 
 Father Dominguez (now in heaveii 3 
 
 Obiit, Eighteen twenty-seven) 
 
 Pound the spring, and found it, too, 
 
 By his mule's miraculous cast of a shoe ; 
 
 For his beast a descendant of Balaam's ass 
 
 Stopped on the instant, and would not pass. 
 
 The ^adre thought the omen good, 
 
 And bent his lips to the trickling flood ; 
 
 Then as the chronicles declare, 
 
 On the honest faith of a true believer 
 
 His cheeks, though wasted, lank, and bare, 
 
 Filled like a withered russet-pear 
 
 In the vacuum of a glass receiver, 
 
 And the snows that seventy winters bring 
 
 Melted away in that magic spring. 
 
 Such, at least, was the wondrous news 
 The Padre brought into Santa Cruz. 
 The Church, of course, had its own views 
 Of who were worthiest to use 
 The magic spring ; but the prior claim 
 Fell to the aged, sick, and lame. 
 Far and wide the people came : 
 Some from the healthful Aptos creek 
 Hastened to bring their helpless sick ; 
 Even the fishers of rude Soquel 
 Suddenly found they were far from well ; 
 The brawny dwellers of San Lorenzo 
 Said, in fact, they had never been so : 
 And all were ailing, strange to say, 
 From Pescadero to Monterev. 
 
THE WONDERFUL SPRING OF SAN JOAQUIN. 513 
 
 Over the mountain they poured in 
 With leathern bottles, and bags of skin ; 
 Through the canons a motley throng 
 Trotted, hobbled, and limped along. 
 The fathers gazed at the moving scene 
 With pious joy and with souls serene ; 
 And then a result perhaps foreseen 
 They laid out the Mission of San Joaquin. 
 
 Not in the eyes of Faith alone 
 
 The good effects of the waters shone ; 
 
 But skins grew rosy, eyes waxed clear, 
 
 Of rough vacquero and muleteer ; 
 
 Angular forms were rounded out, 
 
 Limbs grew supple, and waists grew stout ; 
 
 And as for the girls, for miles about 
 
 They had no equal ! To this day 
 
 From Pescadero to Monterey, 
 
 You'll still find eyes in which are seen 
 
 The liquid graces of San Joaquin. 
 
 There is a limit to human bliss, 
 
 And the Mission of San Joaquin. had this ; 
 
 None went abroad to roam or stay, 
 
 But they fell sick in the queerest way, 
 
 A singular maladie du pays, 
 
 With gastric symptoms : so they spent 
 
 Their days in a sensuous content ; 
 
 Caring little for things unseen 
 
 Beyond their bowers of living green, 
 
 Beyond the mountains that lay between 
 
 The world and the Mission of San Joaquin, 
 
 Winter passed, and the summer came : 
 The trunks of madrono all aflame, 
 
5H THE WONDERFUL SPRING OFSANJOAQUIN. 
 
 Here and there through the underwood 
 Like pillars of fire starkly stood. 
 All of the breezy solitude 
 
 Was filled with the spicing of pine and bay 
 And resinous odours mixed and blended, 
 
 And dim and ghost-like far away 
 The smoke of the burning woods ascended. 
 Then of a sudden the mountains swam, 
 The rivers piled their floods in a dam, 
 The ridge above Los Gatos creek 
 
 Arched its spine in a feline fashion ; 
 The forests waltzed till they grew sick, 
 
 Arid Nature shook in a speechless passion ; 
 And, swallowed up in the earthquake's spleen, 
 The wonderful Spring of San Joaquiii 
 Vanished, and never more was seen ! 
 
 Two days passed : the Mission folk 
 
 Out of their rosy dream awoke. 
 
 Some of them looked a trifle white ; 
 
 But that, no doubt, was from earthquake fright, 
 
 Three days : there was sore distress, 
 
 Headache, nausea, giddiness. 
 
 Four days : faintings, tenderness 
 
 Of the mouth and fauces; and in less 
 
 Than one week, here the story closes ; 
 
 We won't continue the prognosis, 
 
 Enough that now no trace is seen 
 
 Of Spring or Mission of San Joaquiii. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 You see the point 1 Don't be too quick 
 To break bad habits : better stick, 
 Like the Mission folk, to your arsenic. 
 
ON A CONE OF THE BIG TREES. $15 
 
 ON A CONE OF THE BIG TREES. 
 
 Sequoia Gfgantca. 
 
 T) ROWN foundling of the "Western wood, 
 -*-^ Babe of primeval wildernesses ! 
 Long on my table thou hast stood 
 
 Encounters strange and rude caresses; 
 Perchance contented with thy lot, 
 
 Surroundings new and curious faces, 
 As though ten centuries were not 
 
 Imprisoned in thy shining cases I 
 
 Thou bring'st me back the halcyon days 
 
 Of grateful rest ; the week of leisure, 
 The journey lapped in autumn haze, 
 
 The sweet fatigue that seemed a pleasure, 
 The morning ride, the noonday halt, 
 
 The blazing slopes, the red dust rising, 
 And then the dim, brown, columned vault, 
 
 "With its cool, damp, sepulchral spicing. 
 
 Once more I see the rocking masts 
 
 That scrape the sky, their only tenant 
 The jay-bird that in frolic casts 
 
 From some high yard his broad blue pennant. 
 I see the Indian files that keep 
 
 Their places in the dusty heather, 
 Their red trunks standing ankle deep 
 
 In moccasins of rusty leather. 
 
 I see all this, and marvel much 
 
 That thou, sweet woodland waif, art able 
 
 To keep the company of such 
 
 As throng thy friend's the poet's table : 
 
 L L 2 
 
516 ON A CONE OF THE BIG TREES. 
 
 The latest spawn the press hath cast, 
 
 The " modern Pope's " " the later Byron V- 
 
 "Why e'en the best may not outlast 
 Thy poor relation, Sempervirens. 
 
 Thy sire saw the light that shone 
 
 On Mohammed's uplifted crescent, 
 On many a royal gilded throne 
 
 And deed forgotten in the present ; 
 He saw the age of sacred trees 
 
 And Druid groves and mystic larches ; 
 And saw from forest domes like these 
 
 The builder bring his Gothic arches. 
 
 And must tliou, foundling, still forego 
 
 Thy heritage and high ambition, 
 To lie full lowly and full low, 
 
 Adjusted to thy new condition ? 
 Not hidden in the drifted snows, 
 
 But under ink-drops idly spattered, 
 And leaves ephemeral as those 
 
 That on thy woodland tomb were scattered. 
 
 Yet lie thou there, O friend ! and speak 
 
 The moral of thy simple story : 
 Though life is all that thou dost seek, 
 
 And age alone thy crown of glory, 
 Not thine the only germs that fail 
 
 The purpose of their high creation, 
 If their poor tenements avail 
 
 Fo~ worldly show and ostentation. 
 
A SANITARY MESSAGE, 517 
 
 A SANITARY MESSAGE. 
 
 T AST night, above the whistling wind, 
 ^~* I heard the welcome rain, 
 A fusillade upon the roof, 
 
 A tattoo on the pane : 
 The key-hole piped ; the chimney-top 
 
 A warlike trumpet blew ; 
 Yet, mingling with these sounds of strife, 
 
 A softer voice stole through. 
 
 " Give thanks, brothers !" said the voice, 
 
 " That He who sent the rains 
 Hath spared your fields the scarlet dew 
 
 That drips from patriot veins : 
 I've seen the grass on Eastern graves 
 
 In brighter verdure rise ; 
 But, oh ! the rain that gave it life 
 
 Sprang first from human eyes. 
 
 " I come to wash away no stain 
 
 Upon your wasted lea ; 
 I raise no banners, save the ones 
 
 The forest wave to me : 
 Upon the mountain side, where Spring 
 
 Her farthest picket sets, 
 My reveille awakes a host 
 
 Of grassy bayonets. 
 
 " I visit every humble roof ; 
 
 I mingle with the low : 
 Only upon the highest peaks 
 
 My blessings fall in snow ; 
 
5 i8 THE COPPERHEAD. 
 
 Until, in tricklings of the stream 
 And clrainings of the lea, 
 
 My unspent bounty comes at last 
 To mingle with the sea." 
 
 And thus all night, above the wind, 
 
 I heard the welcome rain, 
 A fusillade upon the roof, 
 
 A tattoo on the pane : 
 The key-hole piped j the chimney-top 
 
 A warlike trumpet blew ; 
 But, mingling with the sounds of strife, 
 
 This hymn of peace stole through. 
 
 THE COPPERHEAD. 
 
 1864. 
 
 "IP HERE is peace in the swamp where the Copperhead 
 
 sleeps, 
 
 Where the waters are stagnant, the white vapour creeps, 
 "Where the musk of Magnolia hangs thick in the air, 
 And the lilies' phylacteries broaden in prayer ; 
 There is peace in the swamp, though the quiet is Death, 
 Though the mist is miasm, the Upas tree's breath, 
 Though no echo awakes to the cooing of cloves 
 There is peace : yes, the peace that the Copperhead loves ! 
 
 Go seek him : he coils in the ooze and the drip 
 Like a thong idly flung from the slave-driver's whip ; 
 But beware the false footstep, the stumble that brings 
 A deadlier lash than the overseer swings. 
 
ON A PEN OF T. S. KING. 519 
 
 Never arrow so true, never bullet so dread, 
 t As the straight steady stroke of that hammer-shaped head ; 
 ' Whether slave, or proud planter, who braves that dull crest, 
 .[ Woe to him who shall trouble the Copperhead's rest ! 
 
 Then why waste your labours, brave hearts and strong men, 
 In tracking a trail to the Copperhead's den 1 
 Lay your axe to the cypress, hew open the shade 
 To the free sky and sunshine Jehovah has made ; 
 Let the breeze of the North sweep the vapours away, 
 Till the stagnant lake ripples, the freed waters play ; 
 And then to your heel can you righteously doom 
 The Copperhead born of its shadow and gloom ! 
 
 ON A PEN OF THOMAS STARR KING. 
 
 nrHIS is the reed the dead musician dropped, 
 
 With tuneful magic in its sheath still hidden ; 
 The prompt allegro of its music stopped, 
 Its melodies unbidden. 
 
 But who shall finish the unfinished strain, 
 Or wake the instrument to awe and wonder, 
 
 And bid the slender barrel breathe again, 
 An organ-pipe of thunder ! 
 
 His pen ! what humbler memories cling about 
 
 Its golden curves ! what shapes and laughing graces 
 
 Slipped from its point, when his full heart went out 
 In smiles and courtly phrases ! 
 
520 LONE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 The truth, half jesting, half in earnest flung ; 
 
 The word of cheer, with recognition in it ; 
 The note of alms, whose golden speech outrung 
 
 The golden gift within it. 
 
 But all in vain, the enchanter's wand we wave : 
 To stroke of ours recalls his in agio vision : 
 
 The incantation that its power gave 
 Sleeps with the dead magician. 
 
 LONE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 CEMETERY, SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 'IP HIS is that hill of awe 
 
 That Persian Sindbacl saw,- 
 
 The mount magnetic ; 
 And on its seaward face, 
 Scattered along its base, 
 
 The wrecks prophetic. 
 
 Here come the argosies 
 Blown by each idle breeze, 
 
 To and fro shifting ; 
 Yet to the hill of Fate 
 All drawing, soon or late, - 
 
 Day by day drifting ; 
 
 Drifting forever here 
 Barks that for many a year 
 
 Braved wind and weather ; 
 Shallops but yesterday 
 Launched on yon shining bay. 
 
 Drawn all together. 
 
CALIFORNIA'S GREETING TO SEWARD. 521 
 
 This is the end of all : 
 Sun thyself by the wall, 
 
 O poorer Hindbad ! 
 Envy not Sindbad's fame : 
 Here come alike the same, 
 
 Hindbad and Sindbad. 
 
 CALIFORNIA'S GREETING TO SEWARD. 
 
 1869. 
 
 know him well : no need of praise 
 Or bonfire from the windy hill 
 To light to softer paths and ways 
 
 The world- worn man we honour still ; 
 
 No need to quote those truths he spoke 
 
 That burned through years of war and shame, 
 
 While History carves with surer stroke 
 Across our map his noon-day fame ; 
 
 No need to bid him show the scars 
 
 Of blows dealt by the Sceean gate, 
 Who lived to pass its shattered bars, 
 
 And see the foe capitulate ; 
 
 Who lived to turn his slower feet 
 Toward the western setting sun, 
 
 To see his harvest all complete, 
 
 His dream fulfilled, his duty done, 
 
THE TWO SHIPS. 
 
 The one flag streaming from the pole, 
 The one faith borne from sea to sea, . 
 
 For such a triumph, and such a goal, 
 Poor must our human greeting be. 
 
 Ah ! rather that the conscious land 
 In simpler ways salute the Man, 
 
 The tall pines bowing where they stand, 
 The bared head of El Capitan, 
 
 The tumult of the waterfalls, 
 
 Pohono's kerchief in the breeze, 
 The waving from the rocky walls, 
 
 The stir and rustle of the trees j 
 
 Till lapped in sunset skies of hope, 
 
 In sunset lands by sunset seas, 
 The Young World's Premier threads the slope 
 
 Of sunset years in calm and peace. 
 
 THE TWO SHIPS. 
 
 A S I stand by the cross on the lone mountain's crest, 
 
 Looking over the ultimate sea, 
 In the gloom of the mountain a ship lies at rest, 
 
 And one sails away from the lea : 
 One spreads its white wings on a far-reaching track, 
 
 With pennant and sheet flowing free ; 
 One hides in the shadow with sails laid aback, 
 The ship that is waiting for me ! 
 
THE GODDESS. 523 
 
 But lo, in the distance the clouds break away 
 
 The Gate's glowing portals I see ; 
 And I hear from the outgoing ship in the bay 
 
 The song of the sailors in glee : 
 So I think of the luminous footprints that bore 
 
 The comfort o'er dark Galilee, 
 And wait for the signal to go to the shore, 
 
 To the ship that is waiting for me. 
 
 THE GODDESS. 
 
 FOR THE SANITARY FAIR. 
 
 " "\X7HO comes 1 " The sentry's warning cry 
 
 Rings sharply on the evening air : 
 "Who comes ? The challenge : no reply, 
 Yet somethin motions there. 
 
 
 A woman, by those graceful folds ; 
 
 A soldier, by that martial tread : 
 " Advance three paces. Halt ! until 
 
 Thy name and rank be said." 
 
 " My name ? Her name, in ancient song, 
 "Who fearless from Olympus came : 
 
 Look on me ! Mortals know me best 
 In battle and in flame." 
 
 " Enough ! I know that clarion voice ; 
 
 T know that gleaming eye and helm ; 
 Those crimson lips, and in their dew 
 The best blood of the realm. 
 
524 THE GODDESS. 
 
 " The young, the brave, the good and wise, 
 Have fallen in thy curst embrace : 
 
 The juices of the grapes of wrath 
 Still stain thy guilty face. 
 
 " My brother lies in, yonder field, 
 Face downward to the quiet grass : 
 
 Go back ! he cannot see thee now ; 
 But here thou shalt not pass." 
 
 A crack upon the evening air, 
 A wakened echo from the hill : 
 
 The watch-dog on the distant shore 
 Gives mouth, and all is still. 
 
 The sentry with his brother lies 
 
 Pace downward on the quiet grass ; 
 
 And by him, in the pale moonshine, 
 A shadow seems to pass. 
 
 No lance or warlike shield it bears : 
 A helmet in its pitying hands 
 
 Brings water from the nearest brook, 
 To meet his last demands. 
 
 Can this be she of haughty mien, 
 
 The goddess of the sword and shield ? 
 
 Ah, yes ! The Grecian poet's myth 
 Sways still each battle-field. 
 
 For not alone that rugged war 
 
 Some grace or charm from beauty gains 
 
 But, when the goddess' work is done, 
 The woman's still remains. 
 
ADDRESS. 
 
 525 
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 OPENING OF THE CALIFORNIA THEATRE, SAN FRANCISCO. 
 JAN. 19, 1870. 
 
 T) KIEF words, -when actions wait, are well : 
 *-* The prompter's hand is on his bell ; 
 The coming heroes, lovers, kings, 
 Are idly lounging at the wings ; 
 Behind the curtain's mystic fold 
 The glowing future lies unrolled, 
 And yet, one moment for the Past ; 
 One retrospect, the first and last. 
 
 " The world's a stage," the master said 
 
 To-night a mightier truth is read : 
 
 Not in the shifting canvas screen 
 
 The flash of gas, or tinsel sheen ; 
 
 Not in the skill whose signal calls 
 
 Prom empty boards baronial halls ; i 
 
 But, fronting sea and curving bay, 
 
 Behold the players and the play. 
 
 Ah, friends ! beneath your real skies 
 The actor's short-lived triumph dies : 
 On that broad stage, of empire won 
 "Whose footlights were the setting sun, 
 Whose flats a distant background rose 
 In trackless peaks of endless snows ; 
 Here genius bows, and talent waits 
 To copy that but One creates 
 
 Your shifting scenes : the league of sand, 
 An avenue by ocean spanned; 
 
526 THE LOST GALLEON. 
 
 The narrow beach of straggling tents, 
 
 A mile of stately monuments ; 
 
 Your standard, lo ! a flag unfurled, 
 
 "Whose clinging folds clasp half the world, 
 
 This is your drama, built on facts, 
 
 With " twenty years between the acts." 
 
 One moment more : if here we raise 
 The oft-sung hymn of local praise, 
 Before the curtain facts must sway ; 
 Here waits the moral of your pla}^. 
 Glassed in the poet's thought, you view 
 What money can, yeb cannot do ; 
 The faith that soars, the deeds that shine, 
 Above the gold that builds the shrine. 
 
 And oh ! when others take our place, 
 And Earth's green curtain hides our face, 
 Ere on the stage, so silent now, 
 The last new hero makes his bow : 
 So may our deeds, recalled once more 
 In Memory's sweet but brief encore, 
 Down all the circling ages run, 
 "With the world's plaudit of " Well done ! " 
 
 THE LOST GALLEON. 
 
 TN sixteen hundred and forty-one, 
 
 The regular yearly galleon, 
 Laden with odorous gums and spice, 
 India cottons and India rice, 
 And the richest silks of far Cathay, 
 Was due at Acapulco Eay. 
 
THE LOST GALLEON 
 
 Due she was, and over-due, 
 Galleon, merchandise, and crew, 
 Creeping along through rain and shine, 
 Through the tropics, under the line. 
 The trains were waiting outside the walls, 
 
 The wives of sailors thronged the town, 
 The traders sat by their empty stalls, 
 
 And the viceroy himself came down j 
 The bells in the tower were all a-trip, 
 Te Deums were 011 each father's lip, 
 The limes were ripening in the sun 
 For the sick of the coming galleon. 
 
 All in vain. Weeks passed away, 
 
 And yet no galleon saw the bay : 
 
 India goods advanced in price ; 
 
 The governor missed his favourite spice ; 
 
 The senoritas mourned for sandal, 
 
 And the famous cottons of Coromaiidel ; 
 
 And some for an absent lover lost, 
 
 And one for a husband, Donna Julia, 
 Wife of the captain, tempest tossed, 
 
 In circumstances so peculiar : 
 Even the fathers, unawares, 
 Grumbled a little at their prayers ; 
 And all along the coast that year 
 Votive candles were scarce and dear. 
 
 Never a tear bedims the eye 
 
 That time and patience will not dry ; 
 
 Never a lip is curved with pain 
 
 That can't be kissed into smiles again : 
 
 And these same truths, as far as I know, 
 
 Obtained on the coast of Mexico 
 
528 THE LOST GALLEON. 
 
 More than two hundred years ago, 
 In sixteen hundred and fifty-one, 
 Ten years after the deed was done, 
 And folks had forgotten the galleon : 
 The divers plunged in the Gulf for pearls, 
 White as the teeth of the Indian girls ; 
 The traders sat by their full bazaars : 
 
 The mules with many a weary load, 
 And oxen, dragging their creaking cars, 
 
 Came and went on the mountain road., 
 
 Where was the galleon all this while : 
 
 Wrecked on some lonely coral isle 1 
 
 Burnt by the roving sea-marauders, 
 
 Or sailing north under secret orders ? 
 
 Had she found the A man. passage famed, 
 
 By lying Molclonado claimed, 
 
 And sailed through the sixty-fifth degree 
 
 Direct to the North Atlantic sea ? 
 
 Or had she found the " River of Kings," 
 
 Of which De Fonte told such strange things 
 
 In sixteen forty ? Never a sign, 
 
 East or West or under the line, 
 
 They saw of the missing galleon ; 
 Never a sail or plank or chip, 
 They found of the long-lost treasure-ship, 
 
 Or enough to build a tale upon. 
 But when she was lost, and where and how, 
 Are the facts we're coming to just now. 
 
 Take, if you please, the chart of that day 
 Published at Madrid, por el Rey ; 
 Look for a spot in the old South Sea, 
 The hundred and eightieth degree 
 
TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL. 
 
 peak, O man, less recent !" 
 " Fragmentary fossil J" 
 
 Sprak, tbou a- Ail vestfge of the earih'f 
 creation." 
 
 41 Which my name is Bowers, 
 And my crust was busted 
 
 Falling down a shaft in Calaveras 
 county. 
 
 But I'd take it kindly if you'd send 
 the pieces home to old Missouri !" 
 
THE LOST GALLEON. 529 
 
 Longitude, west of Madrid : there, 
 Under the equatorial glare, 
 Just where the East and West are one, 
 You'll find the missing galleon, 
 You'll find the " San Gregorio," yet 
 Biding the seas with sails all set, 
 Fresh as upon the very day 
 She sailed from Acapulco Bay. 
 
 How did she get there 1 What strange spell 
 
 Kept her two hundred years so well, 
 
 Free from decay and mortal taint ? 
 
 What 1 but the prayers of a patron saint ! 
 
 A hundred leagues from Manilla town, 
 
 The " San Gregorio's " helm came down ; 
 
 Round she went on her heel, and not 
 
 A cable's length from a galliot 
 
 That rocked on the waters, just abreast 
 
 Of the galleon's course, which was west-sou- west 
 
 Then said the galleon's comm andante, 
 General Pedro Sobriente 
 (That was his rank on land and main, 
 A regular custom of old Spain), 
 " My pilot is dead of scurvy : may 
 I ask the longitude, time, and day ? " 
 The first two given and compared ; 
 The third, the commandante stared ! 
 
 " The first of June 1 I make it second." 
 
 Said the stranger, " Then you've wrongly reckoned ; 
 
 I make it first : as you came this way, 
 
 You should have lost d'ye see a day ; 
 
 Lost a day, as plainly see, 
 
 On the hundred and eightieth degree." 
 
530 THE LOST GALLEON. 
 
 " Lost a day ? " " Yes : if not rude, 
 "When did yon make east longitude 1 " 
 " On the ninth of May, our patron's day." 
 <' On the ninth 1 you had no ninth of May / 
 Eighth and tenth was there ; but stay " 
 Too late ; for the galleon bore away. 
 
 Lost was the day they should have kept, 
 Lost unheeded and lost unwept ; 
 Lost in a way that made search vain, 
 Lost in a trackless and boundless main ; 
 Lost like the day of Job's awful curse, 
 In his third chapter, third and fourth verse ; 
 "Wrecked was their patron's only day, 
 "What would the holy fathers say 1 
 
 Said the Fray Antonio Estavan, 
 The galleon's chaplain, a learned man, 
 " Nothing is lost that you can regain : 
 And the way to look for a thing is plain 
 To go where you lost it, back again. 
 Back with your galleon till you see 
 The hundred and eightieth degree. 
 Wait till the rolling year goes round, 
 And there will the missing day be found j 
 For you'll find if computation's true 
 That sailing east will give to you 
 Not only one ninth of May, but two, 
 One for the good saint's present cheer, 
 And one for the day we lost last year.*' 
 
 Back to the spot sailed the galleon ; 
 "Where, for a twelve-month, oif and ou 
 The hundred and eightieth degree, 
 She rose and fell on a tropic sea : 
 
THE LOST GALLEON. 531 
 
 But lo ! when it came to the ninth of May, 
 All of a sudden becalmed she lay- 
 One degree from that fatal spot, 
 Without the power to move a knot ; 
 And of course the moment she lost her way, 
 Gone was her chance to save that day. 
 
 To cut a lengthening story short, 
 
 She never saved it. Made the sport 
 
 Of evil spirits and baffling wind, 
 
 She was always before or just behind, 
 
 One day too soon, or one day too late, 
 
 And the sun, meanwhile, would never wait : 
 
 She had two eighths, as she idly lay, 
 
 Two tenths, but never a ninth of May ; 
 
 And there she rides through two hundred years 
 
 Of dreary penance and anxious fears : 
 
 Yet through the grace of the saint she served, 
 
 Captain and crew are still preserved. 
 
 By a computation that still holds good, 
 Made by the Holy Brotherhood, 
 The " San Gregorio " will cross that line 
 In nineteen hundred and thirty-nine : 
 Just three hundred years to a day 
 Prom the time she lost the ninth of May. 
 And the folk in Acapulco town, 
 Over the waters, looking down, 
 Will see in the glow of the setting sun 
 The sails of the missing galleon, 
 And the royal standard of Philip Key; 
 The gleaming mast and glistening spar, 
 As she nears the surf of the outer bar. 
 A Te Deum sung on her crowded deck, 
 An odour of spice along the shore, 
 
 K K 2 
 
532 SECOND REVIEW OF GRAND ARMY. 
 
 A crash, a cry from a shattered wreck, 
 And the yearly galleon sails 110 more, 
 In or out of the olden bay ; 
 For the blessed patron has found his day. 
 
 Such is the legend. Hear this truth : 
 Over the trackless past, somewhere, 
 
 Lie the lost days of our tropic youth, 
 Only regained by faith and prayer, 
 
 Only recalled by prayer and plaint : 
 
 Each lost day has its patron saint ! 
 
 A SECOND REVIEW OF THE GRAND 
 ARMY. 
 
 T READ last night of the Grand Review 
 
 In Washington's chiefest avenue, 
 Two Hundred Thousand men in blue, 
 
 I think they said was the number, 
 Till I seemed to hear their trampling feet, 
 The bugle blast and the drum's quick beat, 
 The clatter of hoofs in the stony street, 
 The cheers of people who came to greet, 
 And the thousand details that to repeat 
 
 Would only my verse encumber, 
 Till I fell in a reverie, sad and sweet, 
 
 And then to a fitful slumber. 
 
 When, lo ! in a vision I seemed to stand 
 In the lonely Capitol. On each hand 
 Far stretched the portico, dim and grand 
 Its columns ranged like a martial band 
 
SECOND REVIEW OF GRAND ARMY. 533 
 
 Of sheeted spectres, whom some command 
 
 Had called to a last reviewing. 
 And the streets of the city were white and bare; 
 No footfall echoed across the square ; 
 But out of the misty midnight air 
 1 heard in the distance a trumpet blare, 
 And the wandering night-winds seemed to bear 
 
 The sound of a far tattooing. 
 
 Then I held my breath with fear and dread ; 
 For into the square, with a brazen tread, 
 There rode a figure whose stately head 
 
 Overlooked the review that morning, 
 That never bowed from its firm-set seat 
 When the living column passed its feet, 
 Yet now rode steadily up the street 
 
 To the phantom bugle's warning : 
 
 Till it reached the Capitol square, and wheeled, 
 And there in the moonlight stood revealed 
 A well-known form that in State and field 
 
 Had led our patriot sires ; 
 "Whose face was turned to the sleeping camp, 
 Afar through the river's fog and damp, 
 That showed no flicker, nor waning lamp, 
 
 Nor wasted bivouac fires. 
 
 And I saw a phantom army come, 
 With never a sound of fife or drum, 
 But keeping time to a throbbing hum 
 
 Of wailing and lamentation : 
 The martyred heroes of Malvern Hill, 
 Of Gettysburg and Chancellorsville, 
 The men whose wasted figures fill 
 
 The patriot graves of the nation. 
 
534 SECOND REVIEW OF GRAND ARMY. 
 
 And there came the nameless dead, the men 
 Who perished in fever swamp and fen, 
 The slowly-starved of the prison-pen ; 
 
 And, marching beside the others, 
 Came the dusky martyrs of Pillow's fight, 
 "With limbs enfranchised and bearing bright ; 
 I thought perhaps 'twas the pale moonlight 
 
 They looked as white as their brothers ! 
 
 And so all night marched the Nation's dead 
 With never a banner above them spread, 
 Nor a badge, nor a motto brandished ; 
 No mark save the bare uncovered head 
 
 Of the silent bronze Reviewer ; 
 With never an arch save the vaulted sky ', 
 With never a flower save those that lie 
 On the distant graves for love could buy 
 
 No gift that was purer or truer. 
 
 go all night long swept the strange array, 
 So all night long till the morning gray 
 I watched for one who had passed away, 
 
 With a reverent awe and wonder, 
 Till a blue cap waved in the length'ning line, 
 And I knew that one who was kin of mine 
 Had come ; and I spake and lo ! that sign 
 
 Awakened me from my slumber. 
 
THE STAGE-DRIVERS S10RY. 535 
 
 PART IL 
 
 BEFORE THE CURTAIN. 
 
 "DEHIND the footlights hangs the rusty baize, 
 
 A trifle shabby in the upturned blaze 
 Of flaring gas, and curious eyes that gaze. 
 
 The stage, methinks, perhaps is none too wide 
 
 And hardly fit for royal Richard's stride, 
 
 Or Falstaff's bulk, or Denmark's youthful pride. 
 
 Ah, well ! no passion walks its humble boards ; 
 O'er it no king nor valiant Hector lords : 
 'the simplest skill is all its space affords. 
 
 The song and jest, the dance and trifling play, 
 The local hit at follies of the day, 
 The trick to pass an idle hour away, 
 
 For these, no trumpets that announce the Moor, 
 Xo blast that makes the hero's welcome sure, 
 A single fiddle in the overture ! 
 
 THE STAGE-DRIVER'S STORY. 
 
 TT was the stage- driver's story, as he stood with his back 
 
 to the wheelers, 
 Quietly flecking his whip, and turning his quid of tobacco ; 
 
536 THE STAGE-DRIVER'S STORY. 
 
 While on the dusty road, and blent with the rays of the 
 
 moonlight, 
 We saw the long curl of his lash and the juice of tobacco 
 
 descending. 
 
 Danger! Sir, I believe you, indeed, I may say on that 
 
 subject, 
 You your existence might put to the hazard and turn of a 
 
 wager. 
 I have seen danger ? Oh, no ! not me, sir, indeed, I assure 
 
 you: 
 'Twas only the man with the dog that is sitting alone in yon 
 
 wagon. 
 
 It was the Geiger Grade, a mile and a half from the summit: 
 Black as your hat was the night, and never a star in the 
 
 heavens. 
 Thundering down the grade, the gravel and stones we sent 
 
 flying 
 Over the precipice side, a thousand feet plumb to the 
 
 bottom. 
 
 Half-way down the grade I felt, sir, a thrilling and creak 
 ing, 
 
 Then a lurch to one side, as we hung on the bank of the 
 canon ; 
 
 Then, looking up the road, I saw, in the distance behind 
 me, 
 
 The off hind wheel of the coach just loosed from, its axle, 
 and following. 
 
 One glance alone I gave, then gathered together my ribbons, 
 Shouted, and flung them, outspread, on the straining necks 
 of my cattle ; 
 
THE STAGE-DRIVERS STORY. 537 
 
 Screamed at the top of my voice, and lashed the air in my 
 
 frenzy, 
 While down the Geiger Grade, on three wheels, the vehicle 
 
 thundered. 
 
 Speed was our only chance, when again came the ominous 
 rattle : 
 
 Crack, and another wheel slipped away, and was lost in the 
 darkness. 
 
 Tivo only now were left ; yet such was our fearful momen 
 tum, 
 
 Upright, erect, and sustained on two wheels, the vehicle 
 thundered. 
 
 As some huge bowlder, unloosed from its rocky shelf on the 
 mountain, 
 
 Drives before it the hare and the timorous squirrel, far- 
 leaping, 
 
 So down the Geiger Grade rushed the Pioneer coach, and 
 before it 
 
 Leaped the wild horses, and shrieked in advance of the 
 danger impending. 
 
 But to be brief in my tale. Again, ere we came to tho 
 level, 
 
 Slipped from its axle a wheel ; so that, to be plain in my 
 statement, 
 
 A matter of twelve hundred yards or more, as the distance 
 may be, 
 
 We travelled upon one wheel, until we drove up to the sta 
 tion. 
 
 Then, sir, we sank in a heap ; but, picking myself from 
 
 the ruins, 
 I heard a noise up the grade ; and looking, I saw in the 
 
 distance 
 
538 ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE. 
 
 The three wheels following still, like moons on the horizon 
 
 whirling 
 Till, circling, they gracefully sank on the road at the side of 
 
 the station. 
 
 This is my story, sir ; a trifle, indeed, I assure you. 
 
 Much more, perchance, might be said ; but I hold him, of 
 
 all men, most lightly 
 Who swerves from the truth in his tale No, thank you 
 
 Well, since you are pressing, 
 Perhaps I don't care if I do : you may give me the same, 
 
 Jim, no sugar. 
 
 ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE. 
 "& Chemical 
 
 facts which serve to explain 
 
 ^-"' The physical charms of Miss Addie De Laine, 
 Who, as the common reports obtain, 
 Surpassed in complexion the lily and rose ; 
 With a very sweet mouth and a retrousse nose ; 
 A figure like Hebe's, or that which revolves 
 In a milliner's window, and partially solves 
 That question which mentor and moralist pains, 
 If grace may exist minus feeling or brains. 
 
 Of course the young lady had beaux by the score, 
 All that she wanted, what girl could ask more ? 
 Lovers that sighed, and lovers that swore, 
 Lovers that danced, and lovers that played, 
 Men of profession, of leisure, and trade ; 
 
ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE. 539 
 
 But one, who was destined to take the high part 
 Of holding that mythical treasure, her heart, 
 This lover the wonder and envy of town 
 Was a practising chemist, a fellow called Brown. 
 
 I might here remark that 'twas doubted by many, 
 In regard to the heart, if Miss Addie had any ; 
 But no one could look in that eloquent face, 
 With its exquisite outline, and features of grace, 
 And mark, through the transparent skin, how the tide 
 Ebbed and flowed at the impulse of passion or pride, 
 None could look, who believed in the blood's circulation 
 As argued by Harvey, but saw confirmation 
 That here, at least, Nature had triumphed o'er art, 
 And, as far as complexion went, she had a heart. 
 
 But this, par parenthesis. Brown was the man 
 
 Preferred of all others to carry her fan, 
 
 Hook her glove, drape her shawl, and do all that a belle 
 
 May demand of the lover she wants to treat well. 
 
 Folks wondered and stared that a fellow called Brown 
 
 Abstracted and solemn, in manner a clown, 
 
 111 dressed, with a lingering smell of the shop 
 
 Should appear as her escort at party or hop. 
 
 Some swore he had cooked up some villanous charm, 
 
 Or love philter, not in the regular Pharm- 
 
 Acopoeia, and thus, from pure malis prepense, 
 
 Had bewitched and bamboozled the young lady's sense; 
 
 Others thought, with more reason, the secret to lie 
 
 In a magical wash or indelible dye ; 
 
 While Society, with its censorious eye 
 
 And judgment impartial, stood ready to damn 
 
 What wasn't improper as being a sham. 
 
540 ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE. 
 
 For a fortnight the townfolk had all been agog 
 With a party, the finest the season had seen, 
 To be given in honour of Miss Polly wog, 
 
 Who was just coming out as a belle of sixteen. 
 The guests were invited : but one night before, 
 .A carriage drew iip at the modest back-door 
 Of Brown's lab'ratory ; and, full in. the glare 
 Of a big 1 purple bottle, some closely- veiled fair 
 Alighted and entered : to make matters plain, 
 Spite of veils and disguises, 'twas Addie De Lame. 
 
 As a bower for true love, twas hardly the one 
 That a lady would choose to be wooed in or won : 
 No odour of rose or sweet jessamine's sigh 
 Breath* d a fragrance to hallow their pledge of troth by, 
 Nor the balm that exhales from the odorous thyme ; 
 B'Jt the gaseous effusions of chloride of lime, 
 And salts, which your chemist delights to explain 
 As the base of the smell of the rose and the drain. 
 Think of this, O ye lovers of sweetness ! and know < 
 "What you smell, when you snuff up Lubin or Pinaud. 
 
 I pass by the greetings, the transports and bliss, 
 Whic h, of course, duly followed a meeting like this, 
 , And come down to business ; for such the intent 
 Of the lady who now o'er the crucible leant, 
 In the glow of a furnace of carbon and lime, 
 Like a fairy called up in the new pantomime ; 
 And give but her words as she coyly looked down, 
 In reply to the questioning glances of Brown : 
 " I am taking the drops, and am using the paste, 
 And the little white powders that had a sweet taste, 
 Which you told me would brighten the glance of my eye, 
 And the depilatory, and also the dye, 
 
ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE. 541 
 
 And I'm charmed with the trial and now my dear Brown, 
 
 I have one other favour, now, ducky, don't frown, 
 
 Only one, for a chemist and genius like you 
 
 But a trifle, and one you can easily do. 
 
 !Nbw listen : to-morrow, you know, is the night 
 
 Of the birthday soiree of that Pollywog fright ; 
 
 And I'm to be there, and the dress I shall wear 
 
 Is too lovely; but" "But what then, ma chere ?" 
 
 Said Brown, as the lady came to a full stop, 
 
 And glanced round the shelves of the little back shop. 
 
 " Well, I want I want something to fill out the skirt 
 
 To the proper dimensions, without being girt 
 
 In a stiff crinoline, or caged in a hoop 
 
 That shows through one's skirt like the bars of a coop ; 
 
 Something light, that a lady may waltz in, or polk, 
 
 With a freedom that none but you masculine folk 
 
 Ever know. For, however poor woman aspires, 
 
 She's always bound down to the earth by these wires. 
 
 Are you listening ? nonsense ! don't stare like a spoon, 
 
 Idiotic ; some light thing, and spacious, and soon 
 
 Something like well, in fact something like a balloon !" 
 
 Here she paused ; and here Brown, overcome by surprise, 
 
 Gave a doubting assent with still wondering eyes, 
 
 And the lady departed. But just at the door 
 
 Something happened, 'tis true, it had happened before 
 
 In this sanctum of science, a sibilant sound, 
 
 Like some element just from its trammels unbound, 
 
 Or two substances that their affinities found. 
 
 The night of the anxiously looked-for soiree 
 
 Had come, with its fair ones in gorgeous array ; 
 
 With the rattle of wheels, and the tinkle of bells, 
 
 And the " How do ye dos," and the " Hope you are wells;" 
 
 And the crush in the passage, and last lingering look 
 
 You give as you hang your best hat on the hook ; 
 
542 ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE. 
 
 The rush of hot air as the door opens wide ; 
 And your entry, that blending of self-possessed pride 
 And humility shown in your perfect-bred stare 
 At the folk, as if wondering how they got there ; 
 With other tricks worthy of Vanity Fair. 
 Meanwhile the safe topic, the heat of the room, 
 Already was losing its freshness and bloom ; 
 Young people were yawning, and wondering when 
 The dance would come off, and why didn't it then : 
 "When a vague expectation was thrilling the crowd, 
 Lo, the door swung its hinges with utterance proud ! 
 And Pompey announced, with a trumpet-like strain, 
 The entrance of Brown and Miss Addie De Laine. 
 
 She entered : but oh, how imperfect the verb 
 'To express to the senses her movement superb ! 
 To say that she " sailed in " more clearly might tell 
 Her grace in its buoyant and billowy swell. 
 Her robe was a vague circumambient space, 
 With shadowy boundaries made of point lace. 
 The rest was but guess-work, and well might defy 
 The power of critical feminine eye 
 To define or describe : 'twere as futile to try 
 The gossamer web of the cirrus to trace, 
 Floating far in the blue of a warm summer sky. 
 
 'Midst the humming of praises and the glances of beaux, 
 That greet our fair maiden wherever she goes, 
 Brown slipped like a shadow, grim, silent, and black, 
 With a look of anxiety, close in her track. 
 Once he whispered aside in her delicate ear, 
 A sentence of warning, it might be of fear : 
 " Don't stand in a draught, if you value your life." 
 (Nothing more, such advice might be given your wife 
 
ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE. 543 
 
 Or your sweetheart, in times of bronchitis and cough, 
 
 Without mystery, romance, or frivolous scoff,) 
 
 But hark to the music : the dance has began. 
 
 The closely draped windows wide open are flung; 
 
 The notes of the piccolo, joyous and light, 
 
 Like bubbles burst forth on the warm summer night. 
 
 Hound about go the dancers ; in circles they fly ; 
 
 Trip, trip, go their feet as their skirts eddy by ; 
 
 And swifter and lighter, but somewhat too plain, 
 
 "Whisks the fair clrcu involving Miss Addie De Laine. 
 
 Taglioni and Cerito well might have pined 
 
 For the vigour and ease that her movements combined ; 
 
 E'en Rigelboche never flung higher her robe 
 
 In the naughtiest city that's known on the globe. 
 
 'Twas amazing, 'twas scandalous : lost in surprise, 
 
 Some opened their mouths, and a few shut their eyes. 
 
 But hark ! At the moment Miss Addie De Laine, 
 
 Circling round at the outer edge of an ellipse, 
 Which brought her fair form to the window again, 
 
 From the arms of her partner incautiously slips ! 
 And a shriek fills the air, and the music is still, 
 
 And the crowd gather round where her partner forlorn 
 Still frenziedly points from the wide window-sill 
 
 Into space and the night ; for Miss Addie was gone ! 
 Gone like the bubble that bursts in the sun ; 
 Gone like the grain when the reaper is done ; 
 Gone like the dew on the fresh morning grass ; 
 Gone without parting farewell ; and alas ! 
 Gone off with a flavour of Hydrogen Gas. 
 
 When the weather is pleasant, you frequently meet 
 A white-headed man slowly pacing the street ; 
 
544 CALIFORNIA MADRIGAL. 
 
 His trembling hand shading his lack-lustre eye, 
 Half-blind with continually scanning the sky. 
 Humour points him as some astronomical sage, 
 Reperusing by day the celestial page ; 
 But the reader, sagacious, will recognize Brown, 
 Trying'vainly to conjure his lost sweetheart down, 
 And learn the stern moral this story must teach, 
 That Genius may lift its love out of its reach. 
 
 CALIFORNIA MADRIGAL. 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 
 
 come, my beloved ! from thy winter abode, 
 From thy home on the Yuba, thy ranch overflowed : 
 For the waters have fallen, the winter has fled, 
 And the river once more has returned to its bed. 
 
 Oh, mark how the spring in its beauty is near ! 
 How the fences and tules once more reappear ! 
 How soft lies the mud 011 the banks of yon slough 
 By the hole in the levee the waters broke through ! 
 
 All nature, dear Chloris, is blooming to greet 
 The glance of your eye, and the tread of your feet ; 
 For the trails are all open, the roads are all free, 
 And the highwayman's whistle is heard 011 the lea. 
 
 Again swings the lash on the high mountain trail, 
 And the pipe of the packer is scenting the gale ; 
 The oath and the jest ringing high o'er the plain, 
 Where the smut is not always confined to the grain. 
 
ST. THOMAS. 545 
 
 Once more glares the sunlight on awning and roof, 
 Once more the red clay's pulverized by the hoof, 
 Once more the dust powders the " outsides " with red, 
 Once more at the station the whiskey is spread. 
 
 Then fly with me, love, ere the summer's begun, 
 And the mercury mounts to one hundred and one ; 
 Ere the grass now so green shall be withered and sear, 
 In the spring that obtains but one month in the year. 
 
 ST. THOMAS. 
 
 a (H*eo graphical Surbco. 
 1868. 
 
 "V 7ERY fair and full of promise 
 
 * Lay the island of St. Thomas : 
 Ocean o'er its reefs and bars 
 Hid its elemental scars ; 
 Groves of cocoanut and guava 
 Grew above its fields of lava. 
 So the gem of the Antilles, 
 " Isles of Eden," where no ill is, 
 Like a great green turtle slumbered 
 On the sea that it encumbered. 
 Then said William Henry Seward, 
 As he cast his eye to leeward, 
 " Quite important to our commerce 
 Is this island of St. Thomas." 
 
 Said the Mountain ranges, " Thank'ee, 
 But we cannot stand the Yankee 
 O'er our scars and fissures poring, 
 In our very vitals boring, 
 
546 ST. THOMAS. 
 
 In our sacred caverns prying, 
 All our secret problems trying, 
 Digging, blasting, with dynamit 
 Mocking all our thunders ! Damn it ! 
 Other lands may be more civil, 
 Bust our lava crust if we will." 
 Said the Sea, its white teeth gnashing 
 Through its coral-reef lips flashing, 
 " Shall I let this scheming mortal 
 Shut with stone my shining portal, 
 Curb my tide, and check my play, 
 Fence with wharves my shining bay? 
 Rather let me be drawn out 
 In one awful water-spout ! " 
 
 Said the black-browed Hurricane, 
 Brooding down the Spanish main, 
 " Shall I see my forces, zounds ! 
 Measured by square inch and pounds 
 With detectives at my back 
 When I double on my track, 
 And my secret paths made clear, 
 Published o'er the hemisphere 
 To each gaping, prying crew 1 
 Shall I ? Blow me if I do ! " 
 
 So the Mountains shook and thundered 
 And the Hurricane came sweeping, 
 And the people stared arid wondered 
 As the Sea came on them leaping : 
 Each, according to his promise, 
 Made things lively at St. Thomas. 
 
 Till one morn, when Mr. Seward 
 Cast his 'weather eye to leeward, 
 
THE BALLAD OF MR. COOKE. 547 
 
 There was not an inch of dry land 
 Left to mark his recent island. 
 Not a flagstaff or a sentry, 
 Not a wharf or port of entry, 
 Only to cut matters shorter 
 Just a patch of muddy water 
 In the open ocean lying, 
 And a gull about it flying. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF MR COOKE. 
 of tf>e <2Cltff l^ousc, San JF'rancisco. 
 
 ~\ I ^HERE the sturdy ocean breeze 
 
 Drives the spray of roaring seas 
 That the Cliff-House balconies 
 
 Overlook : 
 
 There, in spite of rain that balked, 
 With his sandals duly chalked, 
 Once upon a tight-rope walked 
 
 Mr. Cooke. 
 
 But the jester's lightsome mien, 
 And his spangles and his sheen, 
 All had vanished, when the scene 
 He forsook ; 
 
 Yet in some delusive hope, 
 In some vague desire to cope, 
 One still came to view the rope 
 
 Walked by r 
 
548 THE BALLAD OF MR. COOKE. 
 
 Amid Beauty's bright array, 
 OD that strange eventful day, 
 Partly hidden from the spray, 
 
 In a nook, 
 
 Stood Florinda Yere de Vere, 
 Who, with -wind-dishevelled hair, 
 And a rapt, distracted air, 
 
 Gazed on Cooke. 
 
 Then she turned, and quickly cried 
 To her lover at her side, 
 While her form with love and pride 
 Wildly shook, 
 
 " Clifford Snook ! oh, hear me now ! 
 Here I break each plighted vow : 
 There's but one to whom I bow, 
 
 And that's Cookc ! " 
 
 Haughtily that young man spoke : 
 " I descend from noble folk. 
 ' Seven Oaks,' and then ' Se'nnoak,' 
 Lastly Siiook, 
 
 " Is the way my name I trace : 
 Shall a youth of noble race 
 In affairs of love give place 
 
 To a Cooke ? " 
 
 " Clifford Snook, I know thy claim 
 To that lineage and name, 
 And I think I've read the same 
 
 In Home Tooke ; 
 
THE BALLAD OF MR. COOKE. 549 
 
 " But I swear, by all divine, 
 Never, never to be thine, 
 Till thou canst upon yon line 
 
 Walk like Cooke." 
 
 Though to that gymnastic feat 
 He no closer might compete 
 Than to strike a balance-sheet 
 
 In a book ; 
 
 Yet thenceforward, from that day, 
 He his figure would display 
 In some wild athletic way, 
 
 After Cooke. 
 
 On some household eminence, 
 On a clothes-line or a fence, 
 Over ditches, drains, and thence 
 
 O'er a brook, 
 
 He, by high ambition led, 
 Ever walked and balanced ; 
 Till the people, wondering, said, 
 
 " How like Cooke ! 
 
 Step by step did he proceed, 
 Nerved by valour, not by greed. 
 And at last the crowning deed 
 
 Undertook. 
 
 Misty wa? the midnight air, 
 And the cliff was bleak arid bare, 
 When he came to do and dare 
 
 Just like Cooke. 
 
550 THE BALLAD OF MR. COOK&. 
 
 Through the darkness, o'er the flow, 
 Stretched the line where he should go 
 Straight across as flies the crow 
 
 Or the rook : 
 
 One wild glance around he cast ; 
 Then he faced the ocean blast, 
 And he strode the cable last 
 
 Touched by Cooke. 
 
 Vainly roared the angry seas ; 
 Vainly blew the ocean breeze ; 
 But, alas ! the walker's knees 
 
 Had a crook ; 
 
 And before he reached the reck 
 Did they both together knock, 
 And he stumbled with a shock 
 
 Unlike Cooke 
 
 Downward dropping in the dark, 
 Like an arrow to its mark, 
 Or a fish-pole when a shark 
 
 Bites the hook, 
 
 Dropped the pole he could not save, 
 Dropped the walker, and the wave 
 Swift ingulfed the rival brave 
 
 Of J. Cooke ! 
 
 Came a roar across the sea 
 Of sea-lions in their glee, 
 In a tongue remarkably 
 
 Like Chimiook ; 
 
THE LEGENDS OF THE RHINE. 551 
 
 And the maddened sea-gull seemed 
 
 Still to utter, as lie screamed, 
 
 " Perish thus the wretch who deemed 
 
 Himself Cooke ! * 
 
 But, on misty moonlit nights, 
 Comes a skeleton in tights, 
 "Walks once more the giddy heights 
 He mistook ; 
 
 And unseen to mortal eyes, 
 Purged of grosser earthly ties, 
 Now at last in spirit guise 
 
 Outdoes Cooke. 
 
 Still the sturdy ocean breeze 
 Sweeps the spray of roaring seas, 
 "Where the Cliff-House balconies 
 Overlook ; 
 
 And the maidens in their prime, 
 Reading of this mournful rhyme, 
 "Weep where, in the olden time, 
 
 Walked J. Cooke. 
 
 THE LEGENDS OF THE RHINE- 
 
 "D EETLING walls with ivy grown, 
 "^ Frown ing heights of mossy stone J 
 Turret, with its flaunting flag 
 Elung from battlemented crag ; 
 
552 THE LEGENDS OF THE RHINE. 
 
 Dungeon-keep and fortalice 
 Looking down a precipice 
 O'er the darkly glancing wave 
 By the Lurline-haunted cave ; 
 Bobber haunt and maiden bower, 
 Home of Love, and Crime, and Power, 
 That's the scenery, in fine, 
 Of the Legends of the Rhine. 
 
 One bold baron, double-dyed 
 Bigamist and parricide, 
 And, as most the stories run, 
 Partner of the Evil One ; 
 Injured innocence in white, 
 Pair but idiotic quite, 
 Wringing of her lily hands ; 
 Valour fresh from Paynim lands, 
 Abbot ruddy, hermit pale, 
 Minstrel fraught with many a tale,- 
 Are the actors that combine 
 In the Legends of the Rhine. 
 
 Bell-mouthed flagons round a board 
 Suits of armour, shield, and sword ; 
 Kerchief with its bloody stain ; 
 Ghosts of the untimely slain 
 Thunder-clap and clanking chain ; 
 Headsman's block and shining axe ; 
 Thumb-screws, crucifixes, racks ; 
 Midnight-tolling chapel bell, 
 Heard across the gloomy fell, 
 These, and other pleasant facts, 
 Are the properties that shine 
 In the Legends of the Rhine. 
 
MRS. JUDGE JENKINS. 553 
 
 Maledictions, whispered vows 
 Underneath the linden boughs ; 
 Murder, bigamy, and theft ; 
 Travellers of goods bereft ; 
 Rapine, pillage, arson, spoil, 
 Every thing but honest toil, 
 Are the deeds that best define 
 Every Legend of the Rhine. 
 
 That "Virtue always meets reward, 
 But quicker when it wears a sword ; 
 That Providence lias special care 
 Of gallant knight and lady fair ; 
 That villains, as a thing of course, 
 Are always haunted by remorse, 
 Is the moral, I opine, 
 Of the Legends of the Rhine. 
 
 MRS. JUDGE JENKINS. 
 
 BEING THE ONLY GENUINE SEQUEL TO " MAUD MULLER." 
 
 TV/TAU.D MULLER, all that summer day, 
 ^ A Raked the Meadow sweet with hay ; 
 
 Yet, looking down the distant lane, 
 She hoped the judge would come again. 
 
 But when he came, with smile and bow, 
 Mand only blushed, and stammered, "Ha-ow?" 
 
554 MRS. JUDGE JENKINS. 
 
 And spoke of her "pa," and wondered whether 
 He'd give consent they should wed together. 
 
 Old Muller burst in tears, and then 
 
 Begged that the judge would lend him " ten ; " 
 
 For trade was dull, and wages low, 
 
 And the " craps," this year, were somewhat slow. 
 
 And ere the languid summer died, 
 Sweet Maud became the judge's bride. 
 
 But, on the day that they were mated, 
 Maud's brother Bob was intoxicated ; 
 
 And Maud's relations, twelve in all, 
 Were very drunk at the judge's hull. 
 
 And when the summer came again, 
 The young bride bore him babies twain. 
 
 And the judge was blest, but thought it strange 
 That bearing children made such a change : 
 
 For Maud grew broad and red and stout ; 
 And the waist that his arm once clasped about 
 
 "Was more than he now could span. And he 
 Sighed as he pondered, ruefully, 
 
 How that which in Maud was native grace 
 In Mrs. Jenkins was out of place, 
 
 And thought of the tvuis, and wished that they 
 Looked less like man who raked the hay 
 
MRS. JUDGE JENKINS. 555 
 
 On Mailer's farm, and dreamed with pain 
 Of the day he wandered down the lane. 
 
 And, looking down that dreary track, 
 He half regretted that he came back. 
 
 For, had he waited, he might have wed 
 Some maiden fair and thoroughbred ; 
 
 For there be women fair as she, 
 Whose verbs and nouns do more agree. 
 
 Alas for maiden ! alas for judge ! 
 
 And the sentimental, that's one-half " fudge f 
 
 For Maud soon thought the judge a bore, 
 With all his learning and all his lore. 
 
 And the judge would have bartered Maud's fair face 
 For more refinement and social grace. 
 
 If, of all words of tongue and pen, 
 
 The saddest are, " It might have been," 
 
 More sad are these we daily see : 
 " It is, but hadn't ought to be." 
 
556 A VITOR. 
 
 AVITOR. 
 
 AN AERIAL RETROSPECT. 
 
 "I1THAT was it filled my youthful dreams, 
 
 Tn place of Greek or Latin themes, 
 Or beauty's wild, bewildering beams 1 
 
 Avitor 1 
 
 "What visions and celestial scenes 
 1 filled with aerial machines, 
 Montgolfier's and Mr. Green's ! 
 
 Avitor. 
 
 What fairy tales seemed things of course ! 
 The rock that brought Sindbad across, 
 The Calendar's own winged-horse ! 
 
 Avitor ! 
 
 How many things I took for facts, 
 Icarus and his conduct lax ! 
 And how he sealed his fate with wax ! 
 
 Avitor! 
 
 The first balloons I sought to sail, 
 Soap-bubbles, fair, but all too frail, 
 Or kites, but thereby hangs a tail. 
 
 Avitor. 
 
 What made me launch from attic tall 
 A kitten and a parasol. 
 And watch their bitter, frightful fall 1 
 
 Avitor ? 
 
A WHITE-PINE BALLAD. 557 
 
 What youthful dreams of high renown 
 Bade me innate the parson's gown, 
 That went not up, nor yet came down ? 
 
 Avitor? 
 
 My first ascent, I may not tell : 
 Enough to know that in that well 
 My first high aspirations fell, 
 
 Avitor ! 
 
 My other failures let me pass : 
 The dire explosions ; and, alas ! 
 The friends I choked with noxious gas, 
 
 Avitor. 
 
 For lo ! I see perfected rise 
 The vision of my boyish eyes, 
 The messenger of upper skies, 
 
 Avitor. 
 
 A WHITE-PINE BALLAD. 
 
 "D ECENTLY with Samuel Johnson this occasion I 
 
 - 1 - improved, 
 
 Whereby certain gents of affluence I hear were greatly 
 
 moved ; 
 
 But not all of Johnson's folly, although multiplied by nine, 
 Could compare with Milton Perkins, late an owner in White 
 
 Pine. 
 
 Johnson's folly to be candid was a wild desire to treat 
 Every able male white citizen he met upon the street ; 
 
558 A WHITE-PINE BALLAD. 
 
 And there being several thousand but this subject why 
 
 pursue ? 
 'Tis with Perkins, and not Johnson, that to-day we have 
 
 to do. 
 
 No : not wild promiscuous treating, not the wine-cup's ruby 
 
 flow, 
 
 But the female of his species brought the noble Perkins low. 
 'Twas a wild poetic fervor, and excess of sentiment, 
 That left the noble Perkins in a week without a cent. 
 
 " Milton Perkins," said the Siren, " not thy wealth do I 
 admire, 
 
 But the intellect that flashes from those eyes of opal fire ; 
 
 And methinks the name thou bearest surely cannot be mis 
 placed, 
 
 And, embrace me, Mister Perkins !" Milton Perkins her 
 embraced. 
 
 But I grieve to state, that even then, as she was wiping dry 
 
 The tear of sensibility in Milton Perkins' eye, 
 
 She prigged his diamond bosom-pin, and that her wipe of 
 
 lace 
 Did seem to have of chloroform a most suspicious trace. 
 
 Enough that Milton Perkins later in the night was found 
 "With his head in an ash-barrel, and his feet upon the 
 
 ground ; 
 And he murmured " Seraphina," and he kissed his hand, and 
 
 smiled 
 On a party who went through him, like an unresisting child. 
 
LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 559 
 
 MOKAL. 
 
 Now one word to Pogonippers, ere this subject I resign, 
 
 In this tale of Milton Perkins, late an owner in White 
 
 Pine, 
 You shall see that wealth and women are deceitful, just the 
 
 same ; 
 And the tear of sensibility has salted many a claim. 
 
 WHAT THE WOLF REALLY SAID TO 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 
 
 NDERING maiden, so puzzled and fair, 
 Why dost thou murmur and ponder and stare 1 
 "Why are my eyelids so open and wild 1 ?" 
 Only the better to see with, my child ! 
 Only the better and clearer to view 
 Cheeks that are rosy, and eyes that are blue. 
 
 Dost thou still wonder, and ask why these arms 
 Fill thy soft bosom with tender alarms, 
 Swaying so wickedly ? are they misplaced, 
 Clasping or shielding some delicate waste : 
 Hands whose coarse sinews may fill you with fear 
 Only the better protect you, my dear ! 
 
 Little Red Riding- Hood, when in the street, 
 Why do I press your small hand when we meet 1 
 Why, when you timidly offered your cheek, 
 Why did I sigh, and why didn't I speak? 
 Why, well : you see if the truth must appear 
 I'm not your grandmother, Riding-Hood, dear ! 
 
560 THE RITUALIST. 
 
 THE RITUALIST. 
 
 BY A COMMUNICANT OF " ST. JAMES'S." 
 
 T T E wore, I think, a chasuble, the day when first we met ; 
 - A stole and snowy alb likewise : I recollect it yet. 
 
 He called me " daughter," as he raised his jewelled hand to 
 bless ; 
 
 And then, in thrilling undertones, he asked, " Would I con 
 fess?" 
 
 mother, dear ! blame not your child, if then on bended 
 
 knees 
 
 1 dropped, and thought of Abelard, and also Eloise ; 
 
 Or when, beside the altar high, he bowed before the pyx, 
 I envied that seraphic kiss he gave the crucifix. 
 
 The cruel world may think it wrong, perhaps may deem me 
 weak, 
 
 And, speaking of that sainted man, may call his conduct 
 " cheek;" 
 
 And, like that wicked barrister whom Cousin Harry quotes, 
 
 May term his mixed chalice " grog," his vestments, "petti 
 coats." 
 
 But, whatsoe'er they do or say, I'll build a Christian's hope 
 On incense and on altar-lights, on chasuble and cope, 
 Let others prove by precedent, the faith that they profess : 
 " His can't be wrong " that's symbolized by such becoming 
 dress. 
 
A MORAL VINDICATOR. 561 
 
 A MORAL VINDICATOR. 
 
 TE Mr. Jones, Lycurgus B., 
 * Had one peculiar quality, 
 'Twas his severe advocacy 
 Of conjugal fidelity. 
 
 His views of heaven were very free, 
 His views of life were painfully 
 Ridiculous ; but fervently 
 He dwelt on marriage sanctity. 
 
 He frequently went 011 a spree ; 
 But in his wildest revelry, 
 On this especial subject he 
 Betrayed no ambiguity. 
 
 And though at times Lycurgus B. 
 Did lay his hands not lovingly 
 Upon his wife, the sanctity 
 Of wedlock was his guaranty. 
 
 But Mrs. Jones declined to see 
 Affairs in the same light as he, 
 And quietly got a decree 
 Divorcing her from that L. B. 
 
 And what did Jones, Lycurgus B., 
 With his known idiosyncrasy ? 
 He smiled, a bitter smile to see, 
 And drew the weapon of Bowie. 
 
 He did what Sickles did to Key, 
 What Cole on Hiscock wrought, did he ; 
 
 o 6 
 
SONGS WITHOUT SENSE. 
 
 In fact, on persons twenty- three 
 He proved the marriage sanctity. 
 
 The counsellor who took the fee, 
 The witnesses and referee, 
 The Judge who granted the decree, 
 Died in that wholesale butchery. 
 
 And then when Jones, Lycurgus B., 
 Had wiped the weapon of Bowie, 
 Twelve jurymen did instantly 
 Acquit and set Lycurgus free. 
 
 SONGS WITHOUT SENSE. FOR THE 
 PARLOUR AND PIANO. 
 
 I. THE PERSONIFIED SENTIMENTAL. 
 
 A FFECTION'S charm no longer gilds 
 ** The idol of the shrine , 
 But cold Oblivion seeks to fill 
 
 Regret's ambrosial wine. 
 Though Friendship's offering buried lies 
 
 'Neath cold Aversion's snow, 
 Regard and Faith will ever bloom 
 
 Perpetually below. 
 
 I see thee whirl in marble halls, 
 
 In Pleasure's giddy train ; 
 
 Remorse is never on that brow, 
 
 .Nor sorrow's mark of pain. 
 
SONGS WITHOUT SENSE. 563 
 
 Deceit has marked thee for her own ; 
 
 Inconstancy the same ; 
 And Ruin wildly sheds its gleam 
 
 Athwart thy path of shame. 
 
 II. THE HOMELY PATHETIC. 
 
 THE dews are heavy on my brow ; 
 
 My breath comes hard and low ; 
 Yet, mother, dear, grant one request 
 
 Before your boy must go. 
 Oh ! lift me ere my spirit sinks, 
 
 And ere my senses fail : 
 Place me once more, O mother dear ! 
 
 Astride the old fence-rail. 
 
 The old fence-rail, the old fence-rail ! 
 
 How oft these youthful legs, 
 With Alice' and Ben Bolt's, were hung 
 
 Across those wooden pegs. 
 'Twas there the nauseating smoke 
 
 Of my first pipe arose : 
 O mother, dear ! these agonies 
 
 Are far less keen than those. 
 
 I know where lies the hazel dell, 
 
 Where sin) pie .Nellie sleeps ; 
 I know the cot of Nettie Moore, 
 
 And where the willow weeps. 
 I know the brookside and the mill : 
 
 But all their pathos fails 
 Beside the days when once I sat 
 
 Astride the old fence-rails. 
 
 002 
 
564 CONCEPCION DE ARGUELLO. 
 
 III. SWISS AIR. 
 
 I'll a gay tra, la, la, 
 With my fal, lal, la, la, 
 And my bright 
 And my light 
 
 Tra, la, le. [Repeat.] 
 
 Then laugh, ha, ha, ha, 
 And ring, ting, ling, ling, 
 And sing fal, la, la, 
 
 La, la, le. [Repeat.] 
 
 CONCEPCION DE ARGUELLO. 
 
 PRESIDIO DE SAN FRANCISCO. 
 I800. 
 
 I. 
 
 OOKING seaward, o'er the sand hills stands the fortress, 
 ' old and quaint, 
 By ths San Francisco friars lifted to their patron saint, 
 
 Sponsor to that wondrous city, now apostate to the creed, 
 On whose youthful walls the Padre saw the angel's golden 
 reed ; 
 
 All its trophies long since scattered, all its blazon brushed 
 
 away, 
 And the flag that flies above it but a triumph of to-tlay. 
 
CONCEPCION DE ARGUELLO. 565 
 
 Never scar of siege or battle challenges the wandering eye 
 Never breach of warlike onset holds the curious passer-by ; 
 
 Only one sweet human fancy interweaves its threads of gold 
 With the plain and home-spun present, and a love that ne'er 
 grows old ; 
 
 Only one thing holds its crumbling walls above the meaner 
 
 dust, 
 Listen to the simple story of a woman's love and trust. 
 
 II. 
 
 Count Yon Resanoff, the Russian, envoy of the mighty 
 
 Czar, 
 Stood beside the deep embrasures where the brazen cannon 
 
 are. 
 
 He with grave provincial magnates long had held serene 
 
 debate 
 On the Treaty of Alliance and the high affairs of state ; 
 
 He, from grave provincial magnates, oft had turned to talk 
 
 apart 
 With the Cornandaiite's daughter, on the questions of the 
 
 heart, 
 
 Until points of gravest import yielded slowly, one by one, 
 And by Love was consummated what Diplomacy begun ; 
 
 Till beside the deep embrasures, where the brazen camion 
 
 are, 
 He received the two-fold contract for approval of the Czar ; 
 
566 CONCEPCION DE ARGUELLO. 
 
 Till beside the brazen cannon the betrothed bade adieu, 
 And, from sally port and gateway, North the Russian eagles 
 flew. 
 
 III. 
 
 Long beside the deep embrasures, where the brazen cannon 
 
 are, 
 Did they wait the promised bridegroom and the answer of 
 
 the Czar; 
 
 Day by day on wall and bastion beat the hollow empty 
 
 breeze, 
 Day by day the sunlight glittered on the vacant, smiling 
 
 seas ; 
 
 Week by week the near hills whitened in their dusty leather 
 
 cloaks, 
 Week by week the far hills darkened from the fringing plain 
 
 of oaks ; 
 
 Till the rains came, and far-breaking, on the fierce south- 
 wester tost, 
 
 Dashed the whole long coast with colour, and then vanished 
 and were lost. 
 
 So each year the seasons shifted ; wet and warm and drear 
 
 and dry ; 
 Half a year of clouds and flowers, half a year of dust and 
 
 sky. 
 
 Still it brought no ship nor message, brought no tidings ill 
 
 or meet 
 For the statesmanlike Commander, for the daughter fair and 
 
 sweet. 
 
CONCEPCION DE ARGUELLO. 567 
 
 Yet she heard the varying message, voiceless to all ears 
 
 beside : 
 
 t " lie will come," the flowers whispered ; " Come no more," 
 the dry hills sighed. 
 
 Still she found him -with the waters lifted by the morning 
 
 breeze, 
 Still she lost him with the folding of the great white-tented 
 
 seas ; 
 
 Until hollows chased the dimples from her cheeks of olive 
 
 brown, 
 And at times a swift, shy moisture dragged the long sweet 
 
 lashes down ; 
 
 Or the small mouth curved and quivered as for some denied 
 caress, 
 
 And the fair young brow was knitted in an infantine dis 
 tress. 
 
 Then the grim Commander, pacing where the brazen cannon 
 
 are, 
 
 Comforted the maid with proverbs, wisdom gathered from 
 afar ; 
 
 Bits of ancient observation by his fathers garnered, each 
 As a pebble worn and polished in the current of his speech : 
 
 <; ' Those who w^ait the coming rider travel twice as far as 
 
 he;' 
 1 Tired wench and coming butter never did in time agree. 
 
 " < He that getteth himself honey, though a clown, he shall 
 
 have flit-'S ; ' 
 In the end God grinds the miller;' 'In the dark the mole 
 
 has eyes.' 
 
568 CONCEPCION DE ARGUELLO. 
 
 " ' He whose father is Alcalde, of his trial hath no fear,' 
 And be sure the Count has reasons that will make his con 
 duct clear." 
 
 Then the voice sententious faltered, and the wisdom it would 
 
 teach 
 Lost itself in fondest trifles of his soft Castilian speech \ 
 
 And on "Concha," " Conchitita," and "Conchita" he would 
 
 dwell 
 With the fond reiteration which the Spaniard knows so 
 
 well. 
 
 So with proverbs and caresses, half in faith and half in 
 
 doubt, 
 Every day some hope was kindled, flickered, faded, and went 
 
 out. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yearly, down the hillside sweeping, came the stately caval 
 cade, 
 Bringing revel to vaquero, joy and comfort to each maid ; 
 
 Bringing days of formal visit, social feast and rustic sport ; 
 Of bull baiting on the plaza, of love making in the court. 
 
 Vainly then at Concha's lattice, vainly as the idle wind 
 Eose the thin high Spanish tenor that bespoke the youth 
 too kind ; 
 
 Vainly, leaning from their saddles, caballeros, bold and fleet, 
 Plucked for her the buried chicken from beneath their mus 
 tang's feet ; 
 
CONCEPCION DE ARGUE LLO. 569 
 
 So in vain the barren hillsides with their gay serapes blazed, 
 Blazed and vanished in the dust-cloud that their flying 
 hoofs had raised. 
 
 Then the drum called from the rampart, and once more with 
 
 patient mien 
 The Commander and his daughter each took up the dull 
 
 routine, 
 
 Each took up the petty duties of a life apart and lone, 
 
 Till the slow years wrought a music in its dreary monotone. 
 
 V 
 
 Forty years on wall and bastion swept the hollow idle 
 
 breeze, 
 Since the Russian eagle fluttered from the California seas. 
 
 Forty years on wall and bastion wrought its slow but sure 
 
 decay ; 
 And St. George's cross was lifted in the port of Monterey. 
 
 And the citadel was lighted, and the hall was gaily drest, 
 All to honour Sir George Simpson, famous traveller and 
 guest. 
 
 Far and near the people gathered to the costly banquet set, 
 And exchangee 1 congratulations with the English baronet ; 
 
 Till the formal speeches ended, and amidst the laugh and 
 
 wine 
 Some one spoke of Concha's lover, heedless of the warning 
 
 sign. 
 
570 HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. 
 
 Quickly then cried Sir George Simpson : " Speak no ill of 
 
 him, I pray, 
 He is dead. He died, poor fellow, forty years ago this day. 
 
 "Died while speeding home to Russia, falling from a frac 
 tious horse, 
 
 Left a sweetheart, too, they tell me. Married, I suppose, of 
 course ! 
 
 " Lives she yet?" A death-like silence fell on banquet, 
 
 guests and hall, 
 And a trembling figure rising fixed the awe-struck gaze of 
 
 all. 
 
 Two black eyes in darkened orbits gleamed beneath the nun's 
 
 white hood; 
 Black serge hid the wasted figure, bowed and stricken where 
 
 it stood. 
 
 "Lives she yet ?" Sir George repeated. All were hushed as 
 
 Concha drew 
 Closer yet her nun's attire. " Senor, pardon, she died too !" 
 
 HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. 
 
 CO she's here, your unknown Dulcinea the lady you met 
 
 on the train 
 
 And you really believe she would know you if you were to 
 meet her again V 
 
 " Of course," he replied ; "she would know me ; there nevei 
 
 was womankind yet 
 Forgot the effect she inspired. She excuses, but does not 
 
 forget." 
 
HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. 571 
 
 " Then you told her your love?" asked the elder ; the younger 
 
 looked up with a smile. 
 " I sat by her side half an hour what else was I doing the 
 
 while." 
 
 " What, sit by the side of a woman as fair as the sun in the 
 
 sky, 
 And look somewhere else lest the dazzle flash back from your 
 
 own to her eye ?" 
 
 " No, I hold that the speech of the tongue be as frank and 
 
 as bold as the look, 
 And I held up herself to herself that was more than she got 
 
 from her book." 
 
 "Young blood !" laughed the elder : no doubt you are 
 
 voicing the mode of To-Day : 
 But then we old fogies, at least, gave the lady some chance 
 
 for delay. 
 
 "There's my wife (you must know) we first met on the 
 
 journey from Florence to Rome : 
 It took me three weeks to discover who was she and where 
 
 was her home j 
 
 " Three more to be duly presented ; three more ere I saw 
 
 her again ; 
 And a year ere my romance began where yours ended that 
 
 day on the train." 
 
 " Oh, that was the style of the stage-coach ; we travel to-day 
 
 by express ; 
 Forty miles to the hour," he answered, " won't admit of 
 
 passion that's less." 
 
572 
 
 DOLLY VARDEN. 
 
 " But what if you make a mistake T quoth the elder. The 
 
 younger half sighed. 
 " "What, happens when signals are wrong ov switches 
 
 misplaced ?" he replied. 
 
 " Very well, I must bow to your wisdom," the elder returned, 
 
 " but admit 
 That your chances of winning this woman your boldness has 
 
 bettered no whit. 
 
 " Why, you do not, at best, know her name. And what if I 
 
 try your ideal 
 With something, if not quite so fair, at least more en regie 
 
 and real 1 
 
 "Let me find you a partner. Kay, come, I insist you 
 
 shall follow this way. 
 My dear, will yon not add your grace to entreat Mr. Rapid 
 
 to stay 1 
 
 " My wife, Mr. Rapid Eh, what ! Why, he's gone yet he 
 
 said he would come ; 
 How rude? I don't wonder, my dear, you are properly 
 
 crimson and dumb !' : 
 
 DOLLY VARDEN. 
 
 TPVEAII DOLLY ! who does not recall 
 The thrilling page that pictured all 
 Those charms that hold our sense in thrall 
 Just as the artist caught her 
 
DOLLY VARDEN. 573 
 
 As down that English lane she tripped, 
 In flowered chintz, hat sideways tipped, 
 Trim-bodiced, bright-eyed, roguish-lipped 
 The locksmith's, pretty daughter ? 
 
 Sweet fragment of the Master's art ! 
 O simple faith \ O rustic heart ! 
 O maid that hath no counterpart 
 
 In life's dry dog-eared pages ! 
 Where shall we find thy like ? Ah, stay ! 
 Methinks I saw her yesterday 
 In chintz that flowered, as one might say, 
 
 Perennial for ages. 
 
 Her father's modest cot was stone, 
 Five storeys high. In style and tone 
 Composite, and, I frankly own, 
 
 Within its walls revealing 
 Some certain novel, strange ideas: 
 A Gothic door with Roman piers, 
 And floors removed some thousand years 
 
 From their Pompeiian ceiling. 
 
 The small saloon where she received, 
 Was Louis Quatorze, and relieved 
 By Chinese cabinets, conceived 
 
 Grotesquely by the heathen : 
 The sofas were a classic sight 
 The Roman bench (sedilia height) ; 
 The chairs were French, in gold and white, 
 
 And one Elizabethan. 
 
 And she, the goddess of that shrine, 
 Two ringed fingers placed in mine 
 The stones were many carats fine, 
 And of the purest water. 
 
574 CHICAGO. 
 
 Then dropped a curtsey, far enough 
 To fairly fill her cretonne puff 
 And show the petticoat's rich stuff 
 That her fond parent bought her. 
 
 Her speech was simple as her dress 
 Not French the more, but English less. 
 She loved : yet sometimes I confess, 
 
 I scarce could comprehend her. 
 Her manners were quite far from shy- 
 There was a quiet in her eye 
 Appalling to the Hugh who'd try 
 
 With rudeness to offend her. 
 
 " But whence," I cried, " this masquerade $ 
 Some figure for to-night's charade 
 A Watteau shepherdess or maid T 
 
 She smiled and begged my pardon. 
 " Why, surely you must know the name 
 That woman, who was Shakspeare's flame, 
 Or Byron's well, it's all the same ; 
 
 Why, Lord, I'm Dolly Varden !" 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 OCTOBER 10, iS/I. 
 
 "DLACKENED and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone, 
 
 On the charred fragments of her shattered throne, 
 Lies she who stood but yesterday alone. 
 
 Queen of the West ! by some enchanter taught 
 
 To lift the glory of Aladdin's court, 
 
 Then lose the spell that all that wonder wrought. 
 
ATER THE ACCIDENT. 575 
 
 Like her own prairies some chance seed sown, 
 Like her own prairies in one brief day grown, 
 Like her own prairies in one fierce night mown. 
 
 She lifts her voice, and in her pleading call 
 We hear the cry of Macedon to Paul 
 The cry for help that makes her kin to all. 
 
 But haply with wan fingers may she feel 
 The silver cup hid in the proffered meal 
 The gifts her kinship and our loves reveal. 
 
 AFTER THE ACCIDENT. 
 
 MOUTH OF THE SHAFT. 
 
 "\ \ THAT I want is my hushand, 
 * And if you're a man, sir, 
 
 You'll give me an answer,- 
 Where is my Joe ? 
 
 Penrhyn, sir, Joe 
 
 Caernovanshire. 
 Six months ago 
 
 Since we came here 
 Eh ? Ah, you know ! 
 
 Well, I am quiet 
 
 And still. 
 But I must stand here, 
 
 And will ! 
 Please I'll be strong 
 
 If you'll just let me wait 
 
 Inside o* that gate 
 Till the news comes along. 
 
576 AFTER THE ACCIDENT. 
 
 " Negligence " 
 That was the cause ; 
 
 Butchery ! 
 Are there no laws 
 
 Laws to protect such as we V 
 
 Well, then ! 
 
 I won't raise my voice. 
 
 There men ! 
 
 I won't make no noise. 
 
 Only you just let me he. 
 
 Four, only four did he say 
 Saved ! and the other ones ? Eh ? 
 
 Why do they call ? 
 
 Why are they all 
 Looking and coming this way ? 
 
 What's that ? a message ? 
 
 I'll take it. 
 I know his wife, sir, 
 
 I'll break it. 
 
 "Foreman!" 
 
 Ay, ay ! 
 
 " Out by and by " 
 " Just saved his life." 
 " Say to his wife 
 
 Soon he'll be free," 
 Will I ? God bless you, 
 
 It's me ! 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 f F 2 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 PART L WEST. 
 
 sun was rising in the foot-hills. But for an hour the 
 black mass of Sierra eastward of Angel's hadbeen outlined 
 with fire, and the conventional morning had uome two hours 
 before with the down coach from Placerville. The dry, cold, 
 dewless California night still lingered in the long canons and 
 folded skirts of Table Mountain. Even on the mountain road 
 the air was still sharp, and that urgent necessity for something 
 to keep out the chill, which sent the bar-keeper sleepily among 
 his bottles and wine-glasses at the station, obtained all along 
 the road. 
 
 Perhaps it might be said that the first stir of life was in the 
 bar-rooms. A few birds twittered in the sycamores at the 
 roadside, but long before that glasses had clicked and bottles 
 gurgled in the saloon of the Mansion House. This was still lit 
 by a dissipated-looking hanging-lamp, which was evidently the 
 worse for having been up all night, and bore a singular resem 
 blance to a faded reveller of Angel's, who even then sputtered 
 and flickered in his socket in an arm-chair below it, a 
 resemblance so plain that when the first level sunbeam pierced 
 the widow-pane, the bar-keeper, moved by a sentiment of 
 consistency and compassion, put them both out together. 
 
 Then the sun came up haughtily. When it had passed the 
 eastern ridge it began, after its habit, to lord it over Angel's, 
 
580 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 sending the thermometer up twenty degrees in as many minutes, 
 driving the mules to the sparse shade of corrals and fences, 
 making the red dust incandescent, and renewing its old impe 
 rious aggression on the spiked bosses of the convex shield of 
 pines that defended Table Mountain. Thither by nine o'clock 
 all coolness had retreated, and the " outsides " of the up 
 stage plunged their hot faces in its aromatic shadows as 
 in water. 
 
 It was the custom of the driver of the Wingclam coach 
 to whip up his horses and enter Angel's at that remarkable pace 
 which the woodcuts in the hotel bar-room represented to credu 
 lous humanity as the usual rate of speed of that conveyance. 
 At such times the habitual expression of disdainful reticence 
 and lazy official severity which he wore on the box became 
 intensified as the loungers gathered about the vehicle, and only 
 the boldest ventured to address him. It was the Hon. Judge 
 Beeswinger, Member of Assembly, who to-day presumed, 
 perhaps rashly, on the strength of his official position. 
 
 "Any political news from below, Bill?" he asked, as 
 the latter slowly descended from his lofty perch, without, how 
 ever, any perceptible coming down of mien or manner. 
 
 " Not much," said Bill, with deliberate gravity. " The 
 President o' the United States hez n't bin hisself sens you 
 refoosed that seat in the Cabinet. The ginral feelin' in peril- 
 tical circles is one o' regret." 
 
 Irony, even of this outrageous quality, was too common in 
 Angel's to excite either a smile or a frown. Bill slowly en 
 tered the bar-room during a dry, dead silence, in which only 
 a faint spirit of emulation survived. 
 
 " Ye didn't bring up that agint o' Rothschild's this trip ? " 
 asked the bar-keeper, slowly, by way of vague contribution to 
 the prevailing tone of conversation. 
 
 " No," responded Bill, with thoughtful exactitude. " He 
 said he couldn't look inter that claim o' Johnson's without first 
 consultin' the Bank o' England." 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 581 
 
 The Mr. Johnson here alluded to being present as the faded 
 reveller the bar-keeper had lately put out, and as the alleged 
 claim notoriously possessed n* attractions whatever to capita 
 lists, expectation naturally looked to him for some response to 
 this evident challenge. He did so by simply stating that 
 he would " take sugar " in his, and by walking unsteadily 
 toward the bar, as if accepting a festive invitation. To the 
 credit of Bill, be it recorded that he did not attempt to correct 
 the mistake, but gravely touched glasses with him, and after 
 saying, " Here's another nail in your coffin," a cheerful sen 
 timent, to which " And all the hair off your head," was play 
 fully added by the others, he threw off his liquor with a 
 single dexterous movement of head and elbow, and stood 
 refreshed. 
 
 " Hello, old major !" said Bill, suddenly setting down his 
 glass. " Are you there ?" 
 
 It was a boy, who, becoming bashfully conscious that this 
 epithet was addressed to him, retreated sideways to the door 
 way, where he stood beating his hat against the door-post with 
 an assumption of indifference that his downcast but mirthful 
 dark eyes and reddening cheek scarcely bore out. Perhaps it 
 was owing to his size, perhaps it was to a certain cherubic 
 outline of face and figure, perhaps to a peculiar trustfulness of 
 expression, that he did not look half his age, which was really 
 fourteen. 
 
 Everybody in Angel's knew the boy. Either under the 
 venerable title bestowed by Bill, or as " Tom Islington," after 
 his adopted father, his was a familiar presence in the settle 
 ment, and the theme of much local criticism and comment. 
 His waywardness, indolence and unaccountable amiability a 
 quality at once suspicious and gratuitous in a pioneer commu 
 nity like Angel's had often been the subject of fierce discus 
 sion. A large and reputable majority believed him destined 
 for the gallows; a minority, not quite so reputable, enjoyed his 
 presence without troubling themselves much about his future; 
 
582 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 to one or two the evil predictions of the majority possessed 
 neither novelty nor terror. 
 
 " Anything for me, Bill ?" asked the boy, half mechani 
 cally, with the air of repeating some jocular formulary perfectly 
 understood hy Bill. 
 
 " Any thin' for you !" echoed Bill, with an overacted severity 
 equally well understood by Tommy, " anythin for you ? No ! 
 And it's my opinion there won't be anythiii' for you ez long ez 
 you hang around bar-rooms and spend your valooable time 
 with loafers and bummers. Git !" 
 
 The reproof was accompanied by a suitable exaggeration of 
 gesture (Bill had seized a decanter), before which the boy 
 retreated still good-humouredly. Bill followed him to the door. 
 " Dern my skin, if he hezn't gone off with that bummer 
 Johnson," he added, as he looked down the road. 
 
 " What's he expectin', Bill ? " asked the bar-keeper. 
 
 " A letter from his aunt. Reckon he'll hev to take it out 
 in expectin'. Likely they're glad to get shut o' him." 
 
 "He's leadin' a shiftless, idle life here," interposed the 
 Member of Assembly. 
 
 " Well," said Bill, who never allowed any one but himself 
 to abuse his protege, " seein' he ain't expectin' no offis from 
 the hands of an enlightened constitooency, it is' rayther a 
 shiftless life." After delivering this Parthian arrow with a 
 gratuitous twanging of the bow to indicate its offensive per 
 sonality, Bill winked at the bar-keeper, slowly resumed a pair 
 of immense, bulgy buckskin gloves, which gave his fingers the 
 appearance of being painfully sore and bandaged, strode to the 
 door without looking at anybody, called out, " All aboard," 
 with a perfunctory air of supreme indifference whether the 
 invitation was heeded, remounted his box, and drove stolidly 
 away. 
 
 Perhaps it was well that he did so, for the conversation at 
 once assumed a disrespectful attitude toward Tom and his 
 relatives. It was more than intimated that Tom's alleged 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 583 
 
 aunt was none other than Tom's real mother, while it was also 
 asserted that Tom's alleged uncle did not himself participate 
 in this intimate relationship to the boy to an extent which 
 the fastidious taste of Angel's deemed moral and necessary. 
 Popular opinion also believed that Islington, the adopted 
 father, who received a certain stipend ostensibly for the boy's 
 support, retained it as a reward for his reticence regarding 
 these facts. " He ain't ruinin' hisself by wastin' it on Tom," 
 said the bar-keeper, who possibly possessed positive knowledge 
 of much of Islington's disbursements. But at this point 
 exhausted nature languished among some of the debaters, 
 and he turned from the frivolity of conversation to his severer 
 professional duties. 
 
 It was also well that Bill's momentary attitude of didactic 
 propriety was not further excited by the subsequent conduct 
 of his protcye. For by this time Tom, half supporting the 
 unstable Johnson, who developed a tendency to occasionally 
 dash across the glaring road, but checked himself midway 
 each time, reached the corral which adjoined the Mansion 
 House. At its farther extremity was a pump and horse- 
 trough. Here, without a word being spoken, but evidently 
 in obedience to some habitual custom, Tom led his companion. 
 With the boy's assistance, Johnson removed his coat and 
 neckcloth, turned back the collar of his shirt, and gravely 
 placed his head beneath the pump-spout. With equal gravity 
 and deliberation, Tom took his place at the handle. For a 
 few moments only the splashing of water and regular strokes 
 of the pump broke the solemnly ludicrous silence. Then 
 theie was a pause, in which Johnson put his hands to his 
 dripping head, felt of it critically as if it belonged to some 
 body else, and raised his eyes to his companion- "That ought 
 to fetch it" said Tom, in answer to the look. " Ef it don't," 
 replied Johnson, doggedly, with an air of relieving himself 
 of all further responsibility in the matter, " it's got to, 
 thet's all ! " 
 
584 MRS. SKAGG&S HUSBANDS. 
 
 If " it " referred to some change in the physiognomy of 
 Johnson, " it " had probably been "fetched" by the process 
 just indicated. The head that went under the pump was 
 large, and clothed with bushy, uncertain-coloured hair ; the 
 face was flushed, puffy, and expressionless, the eyes injected 
 and full. The head that came out from under the pump was 
 of smaller size and different shape, the hair straight, dark, 
 and sleek, the face pale and hollow-cheeked, the eyes bright 
 and restless. In the haggard, nervous ascetic that rose from 
 the horse-trough there was very little trace of the Bacchus 
 that had bowed there a moment before. Familiar as Tom 
 must have been with the spectacle, he could not help looking 
 inquiringly at the trough, as if expecting to see some traces 
 of the previous Johnson in its shallow depths. 
 
 A narrow strip of willow, alder, and buckeye a mere 
 dusty, ravelled fringe of the green mantle that swept the high 
 shoulders of Table Mountain lapped the edge of the corral. 
 The silent pair were quick to avail themselves of even its 
 scant shelter from the overpowering sun. They had not 
 proceeded far, before Johnson, who was walking quite rapidly 
 in advance, suddenly brought himself up, and turned to his 
 companion with an interrogative " Eh 1 " 
 
 " I didn't speak," said Tommy, quietly. 
 
 " Who said you spoke ? " said Johnson, with a quick look 
 of cunning. " In course you didn't speak, and I didn't 
 speak, neither. Nobody spoke. Wot makes you think you 
 spoke ?" he continued, peering curiously into Tommy's 
 eyes. 
 
 The smile which habitually shone there quickly vanished 
 as the boy stepped quietly to his companion's side, and took 
 his arm without a word. 
 
 " In course you didn't speak, Tommy," said Johnson, 
 deprecatingly. " You ain't a boy to go for to play an ole 
 soaker like me. Thet's wot I like you for. Thet's what I 
 seed in you from the first. I sez, ' Thet 'ere boy ain't goin' 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 5*5 
 
 to play you, Johnson ! You can go your whole pile on him, 
 when you can't trust even a bar-keep.' Thet's what I said. 
 Eh?" 
 
 This time Tommy prudently took no notice of the inter 
 rogation, and Johnson went on : " Ef I was to ask you 
 another question, you wouldn't go to play me neither, 
 would you, Tommy ? " 
 
 " No," said the boy. 
 
 " Ef I was to ask you," continued Johnson, without 
 heeding the reply, but with a growing anxiety of eye and a 
 nervous twitching of his lips " ef I was to ask you, fur 
 instance, if that was a jackass rabbit thet jest passed, eh ? 
 you'd say it was or was not, ez the case may be. You 
 wouldn't play the ole man on thet ?" 
 
 " No," said Tommy, quietly ; " it -was a jackass rabbit." 
 
 " Ef I was to ask you," continued Johnson, " ef it wore, 
 say, fur instance, a green hat with yaller ribbons, you wouldn't 
 play me, and say it did, onless," he added, with intensified 
 cunning, " onless it did." 
 
 "No,"' said Tommy, " of course I wouldn't; but then, you 
 see, it did." 
 
 "It did?" 
 
 "It did!" repeated Tommy, stoutly; "a green hat with 
 yellow ribbons and and a red rosette." 
 
 " I didn't get to see the ros-ette," said Johnson, with slow 
 and conscientious deliberation, yet with an evident sense of 
 relief; "but that ain't sayin' it warn't there, you know. 
 Eh?" 
 
 Tommy glanced quietly at his companion. There were 
 great beads of perspiration on his ashen-grey forehead and on 
 the ends of his lank hair ; the hand which twitched spasmo 
 dically in his was cold and clammy ; the other, which was 
 free, had a vague, purposeless, jerky activity, as if attached 
 to some deranged mechanism. Without any apparent con 
 cern in these phenomena, Tommy halted, and, seating himself 
 
586 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 on a log, motioned his companion to a place beside him> 
 Johnson obeyed without a word. Slight as was the act, 
 perhaps no other incident of their singular companionship 
 indicated as completely the dominance of this careless, half- 
 effeminate, but self-possessed boy over tjiis doggedly self- 
 willed, abnormally excited man. 
 
 " It ain't the square thing," said Johnson, after a pause, 
 with a laugh that was neither mirthful nor musical, and 
 frightened away a lizard that had been regarding the pair 
 with breathless suspense; "it ain't the square thing for 
 jackass rabbits to wear hats, Tommy ; is it, eh ? 
 
 " Well," said Tommy, with unmoved composure, " some 
 times they do and sometimes they don't. Animals are mighty 
 queer." And here Tommy went off in an animated, but, I 
 regret to say, utterly untruthful and untrustworthy account of 
 the habits of California fauna, until he was interrupted by 
 Johnson* 
 
 " And snakes, eh, Tommy ? " said the man, with an 
 abstracted air, gazing intently on the ground before him. 
 
 " And snakes," said Tommy ; " but they don't bite at 
 least, not that kind you see. There ! don't move, Uncle 
 Ben, don't move ! they're gone now. And it's about time 
 you took your dose." 
 
 Johnson had hurriedly risen as if to leap upon the log, but 
 Tommy had as quickly caught his arm with one hand while 
 he drew a bottle from his pocket with the other. Johnson 
 paused, and eyed the bottle. " Ef you say so, my boy," he 
 faltered, as his fingers closed nervously around it; " say 'when, 
 then." He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long 
 draught, the boy regarding him critically. 
 
 " 4 When,' " said Tommy, suddenly. 
 
 Johnson started, flushed, and returned the bottle quickly. 
 But the colour that had risen to his cheek stayed there, his 
 eye grew less restless, and as they moved away again, the hand 
 that rested on Tommy's shoulder was steadier 
 
MRS. SKAGGS*S HUSBANDS. 587 
 
 Their way lay along the flank of Table Mountain a 
 wandering trail through a tangled solitude that might have 
 seemed virgin and unbroken but for a few oyster-cans, yeast- 
 powder tins, and empty bottles that had been apparently 
 stranded by the " first low wash " of pioneer waves. On the 
 ragged trunk of an enormous pine hung a few tufts of gray 
 hair caught from a passing grizzly, but in strange juxtaposi 
 tion at its foot lay an empty bottle of incomparable bitters, 
 the chef-d'oeuvre of a hygienic civilization, and blazoned with 
 the arms of an all-healing republic. The head of a rattle 
 snake peered from a case that had contained tobacco, which 
 was still brightly placarded with the high-coloured effigy of a 
 popular danseuse. And a little beyond this the soil was 
 broken and fissured, there was a confused mass of roughly- 
 hewn timber, a straggling line of sluicing, a heap of gravel 
 and dirt, a rude cabin, and the claim of Johnson. 
 
 Except for the rudest purposes of shelter from rain and 
 cold, Ihe cabin possessed but little advantage over the simple 
 savagery of surrounding nature. It had all the practical 
 directness of the habitation of gome animal, without iis 
 comfort or picturesque quality ; the very birds that haunted 
 it for food must have felt their own superiority as architects. 
 It was inconceivably dirty, even with its scant capacity for 
 accretion ; it was singularly stale, even in its newness and 
 freshness of material. Unspeakably dreary as it was in 
 shadow, the sunlight visited it in a blind, aching, purposeless 
 way, as if despairing of mellowing its outlines or of even 
 tanning it into colour. 
 
 The claim worked by Johnson in his intervals of sobriety 
 was represented by half-a-dozen rude openings in the moun 
 tain-side, with the heaped-up debris of rock and gravel before 
 the mouth of each. They gave very little evidence of en 
 gineering skill or constructive purpose, or indeed showed 
 anything but the vague, successively abandoned essays of 
 their projector. To-day they served another purpose, for 
 
5 83 MRS. SKAGGS>S HUSBANDS. 
 
 as the sun had heated the little cabin almost to the point 
 of combustion, cuiling up the long dry shingles, and starting 
 aromatic tears from the green pine beams, Tommy led 
 Johnson into one of the larger openings, and with a sense of 
 satisfaction threw himself panting upon its rocky floor. Here 
 and there the grateful dampness was condensed in quiet pools of 
 water, or in a monotonous and soothing drip from the rocks 
 above. "Without lay the staring sunlight, colourless, clarified, 
 intense. 
 
 For a few moments they lay resting on their elbows in 
 blissful contemplation of the heat they had escaped. " Wot 
 do you say," said Johnson, slowly, without looking at his 
 companion, but abstractedly addressing himself to the land 
 scape beyond, " wot do you say to tw r o straight games fur 
 one thousand dollars?" 
 
 " Make it five thousand," replied Tommy, reflectively, also 
 to the landscape, " and I'm in." 
 
 " Wot do I owe you now?" said Johnson, after a lengthened 
 silence. 
 
 " One hundred and seventy-five thousand two hundred and 
 fifty dollars," replied Tommy, with business-like gravity. 
 
 " Well," said Johnson, after a deliberation commensurate 
 with the magnitude of the transaction, " ef you win, call it a 
 hundred and eighty thousand, round. War's the keerds?" 
 
 They were in an old tin box in a crevice of a rock above 
 his head. They were greasy and worn with service. Johnson 
 dealt, albeit his right hand was still uncertain, hovering, 
 after dropping the cards, aimlessly about Tommy, and being 
 only recalled by a strong nervous effort. Yet, notwithstand 
 ing this incapacity for even honest manipulation, Mr. Johnson 
 covertly turned a knave from the bottom of the pack with 
 such shameless inefficiency and gratuitous unskilfulness, that 
 even Tommy was obliged to cough and look elseAvhere to hide 
 his embarrassment. Possibly for this reason the young gen 
 tleman was himself constrained, by way of correction, to add 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 589 
 
 a valuable card to his own hand, over and above the number 
 he legitimately held. 
 
 Nevertheless, the game was unexciting, and dragged listlessly. 
 Johnson won. He recorded the fact and the amount Avith a 
 stub of pencil and shaking fingers in wandering hieroglyphics 
 all over a pocket diary. Then there was a long pause, when 
 Johnson slowly drew something from his pocket, and held it 
 up before his companion. It was apparently a dull red 
 stone. 
 
 " Ef," said Johnson, slowly, with his old look of simple 
 cunning, ' ef you happened to pick up sich a rock ez that, 
 Tommy, what might you say it was ? " 
 
 " Don't know," said Tommy. 
 
 " Mightn't you say," continued Johnson, cautiously, " that 
 it was gold, or silver ?" 
 
 " Neither," said Tommy, promptly. 
 
 " Mightn't you say it was quicksilver ? Mightn't you say 
 that ef thar was a friend o' yourn ez knew war to go and 
 turn out ten ton of it a day, and every ton worth two thousand 
 dollars, that he had a soft thing, a very soft thing, allowin', 
 Tommy, that you used sich language, which you don't ?" 
 
 " But," said the boy, coming to the point with great direct 
 ness, " do you know where to get it ? have you struck it, 
 Uncle Ben ? " 
 
 Johnson looked carefully around. " I hev, Tommy. Listen. 
 I know whar thar's cartloads of it. But thar's only one other 
 specimen the mate to this yer thet's above ground, and 
 thet's in 'Frisco.* Thar's an agint comin' up in a day or two 
 to look into it. I sent for him. Eh ?" 
 
 His bright, restless eyes were concentrated on Tommy's face 
 now, but the boy showed neither surprise nor interest. Least 
 of all did he betray any recollection of Bill's ironical and 
 gratuitous corroboration of this part of the story. 
 
 * Colloquial for " San Francisco." 
 
590 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 " Nobody knows it," continued Johnson, in a nervous 
 whisper, " nobody knows it but you and the agint in 'Frisco 
 The boys workin' round yar passes by and sees the old man 
 grubbin away, and no signs o' colour, not even rotten quartz 
 the boys loafiin' round the Mansion House sees the old man 
 lyin' round free in bar-rooms, and they laughs and sez, 
 ' Played out/ and spects no thin'. Maybe ye think they 
 spects suthin now, eh?" queried Johnson, suddenly, with a 
 sharp look of suspicion. 
 
 Tommy looked up, shook his head, threw a stone at a 
 passing rabbit, but did not rreply. 
 
 " When I fust set eyes on you, Tommy," continued Johnson, 
 apparently reassured, " the fust day you kem and pumped for 
 me, an entire stranger, and hevin no call to do it, I sez, 
 * Johnson, Johnson,' sez I, ' yer's a boy you kin trust. Yer's 
 a boy that won't play you ; yer's a chap that's white and 
 square/ white and square, Tommy : them's the very words 
 I used." 
 
 He paused for a moment, and then went on in a confidential 
 whisper, "' You want capital, Johnson/ sez I, 'to develop your 
 resources, and you want a pardner. Capital you can send 
 for, but your pardner, Johnson, your pardner is right yer. 
 And his name, it is Tommy Islington.' Them's the very 
 words I used." 
 
 He stopped and chafed his clammv hands upon his knees. 
 " It's six months ago sens I made you my pardner. Thar ain't 
 a lick I've struck sens then, Tommy, thar ain't a han'ful o' 
 yearth I've washed, thar ain't a shovelful o' rock I've turned 
 over, but I tho't o' you. ' Share, and share alike/ sez I. 
 "When I wrote to my agint, I wrote ekal for my pardner, 
 Tommy Islington, he hevin no call to know ef the same 
 was man or boy." 
 
 He had moved nearer the boy, and would perbaps have 
 laid his hand caressingly upon him, but even in his manifest 
 affection there was a singular element of awed restraint and 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 591 
 
 even fear, a suggestion of something withheld even his 
 fullest confidences, a hopeless perception of some vague barrier 
 that never could be surmounted. He may have been at 
 times dimly conscious that, in the eyes which Tommy raised 
 to his, there was thorough intellectual appreciation, critical 
 good-humour, even feminine softness, but nothing more. 
 His nervousness somewhat heightened by his embarrassment, 
 he went on with an attempt at calmness which his twitching 
 white lips and unsteady fingers made pathetically grotesque. 
 " Thar's a bill o' sale in my bunk, made out accordin' to law, 
 of an ekal ondivided half of the claim, and the consideration 
 is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, gambling debts, 
 gambling debts from me to you, Tommy, you understand?" 
 nothing could exceed the intense cunning of his eye at 
 this moment, " and then thar's a will." 
 
 " A will?" said Tommy, in amused surprise. 
 
 Johnson looked frightened. 
 
 " Eh ?" he said, hurriedly, " wot will? Who said any thin' 
 'bout a will, Tommy?" 
 
 " Nobody," replied Tommy, with unblushing calm. 
 
 Johnson passed his hand over his cold forehead, wrung the 
 damp ends of his hair with his fingers, and went on: " Times 
 when I'm took bad ez I was to-day, the boys about yer sez you 
 sez, maybe, Tommy it's whiskey. It aint, Tommy. It's 
 pizen, quicksilver pizen. That's what's the matter with 
 me. I'm salviated ! Salviated with merkery. 
 
 " I've heerd o' it before," continued Johnson, appealing to 
 the boy, " and ez a boy o' permiskus reading, I reckon you 
 hev too. Them men as works in cinnabar sooner or later 
 gets salviated. It's bound to fetch ? em some time. Salviated 
 by merkery. 1 ' 
 
 " What are you goin to do for it V" asked Tommy. 
 
 " When the agint comes up, and I begins to realize on this 
 yer mine," said Johnson, contemplatively, " I goes to New 
 York. I sez to the barkeep' o' the hotel, ' Shew me the biggest 
 
 Q Q 
 
592 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 doctor here/ He shews me. I sez to him, 'Salviated by 
 merkery, a year's staiidin', how much?' He sez, 'Five 
 thousand dollars, and take two o' these pills at bedtime, and 
 an ekil number o' powders at meals, and come back in a 
 week.' And I goes back in a week, cured, and signs a 
 certifikit to that effect." 
 
 Encouraged by a look of interest in Tommy's eye, he 
 went on. 
 
 " So I gets cured. I goes to the barkeep', and I sez, 'Show 
 me the biggest, fashionblest house thet's for sale yer.' And 
 he sez, ' The biggest nat'rally belongs to' John Jacob Astor/ 
 And I sez, ' Show him,' and he shows him. And I sez, 
 ' Wot might you ask for this yer house ? ' And he looks at 
 me scornful, and sez, ' Go 'way, old man ; you must be sick/ 
 And I fetches him one over the left eye, and he apologizes, 
 and I gives him his own price for the house. I stocks that 
 house with mohogany furniture and pervisions, and thar we 
 lives, you and me, Tommy, you and me ! " 
 
 The sun no longer shone upon the hillside. The shadows 
 of the pines were beginning to creep over Johnson's claim, 
 and the air within the cavern was growing chill. In the 
 gathering darkness his eyes shone brightly as he went on : 
 " Then thar comes a day when we gives a big spread. We 
 invites govners, members o' Congress, gentlemen o' fashion, 
 and the And among 'em I invites a man as holds his 
 
 head very high, a man I once knew ; but he doesn't know I 
 knows him, and he doesn't remember me. And he comes 
 and he sits opposite me, and I watches him. And he's very 
 airy, this man, and very chipper, and he wipes his mouth 
 with a white handkercher, and he smiles, and he ketches my 
 eye. And he sez, ' A glass o' wine with you, Mr. Johnson;' 
 and he fills his glass and I fills mine, and we rises. And I 
 heaves that wine, glass and all, right into his damned grinnin* 
 face. And he jumps for me, for he is very game, this man, 
 very game, but some on 'em grabs him, and he sez, ' Who 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 593 
 
 foe you?' And I sez, Skaggs ! damn you, Skaggs! Look 
 at me ! Gimme back my wife and child, gimme back 
 the money you stole, gimme back the good name you 
 took away, gimme back the health you ruined, gimme 
 back the last twelve years ! Give 'em to me, damn you, 
 quick, before I cuts your heart out !' And naterally, 
 Tommy, he can't do it. And so I cuts his heart out, my 
 boy ; I cuts his heart out." 
 
 The purely animal fury of his eye suddenly changed again 
 to cunning. " You think they hangs me for it, Tommy, but 
 they don't. Not much, Tommy. I goes to the biggest 
 lawyer there, and I says to him, * Salviated by merkery you 
 hear me, salviated by merkery/ And he winks at me, 
 and he goes to the judge, and he sez, * This yer unfortnet 
 man isn't responsible, he's been salviated by merkery.' And 
 he brings witnesses ; you comes, Tommy, and you sez ez 
 how you've seen me took bad afore ; and the doctor, he 
 comes, and he sez as how he's seen me frightful ; and the 
 jury, without leavin' their seats, brings in a verdict o' justi 
 fiable insanity, salviated by merkery." 
 
 In the excitement of his climax he had risen to his feet, 
 but would have fallen had not Tommy caught him and led him 
 into the open air. In this sharper light there was an odd 
 change visible in his yellow-white face, a change which 
 caused Tommy to hurriedly support him, half leading, half 
 dragging him toward the little cabin. When they had 
 reached it, Tommy placed him on a rude " bunk," or shelf, 
 and stood for a moment in anxious contemplation of the 
 tremor- stricke man before him. Then he said rapidly: 
 " Listen, Uncle Ben. I'm goin' to town to town, you 
 understand for the doctor. You're not to get up or move 
 on any account until I return. Do you hear ? " Johnson 
 nodded violently. " I'll be back in two hours." In another 
 moment he was gone. 
 
 For an hour Johnson kept his word. Then he suddenly 
 
 Q Q 2 
 
594 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 sat up, and began to gaze fixedly at a corner of the cabin. 
 From gazing at it he began to smile, from smiling at it he 
 began to talk, from talking at it he began to scream, from 
 screaming he passed to cursing and sobbing wildly. Then he 
 lay quiet again. 
 
 He was so still that to merely human eyes he might have 
 seemed asleep or dead. But a squirrel, that, emboldened by 
 the stillness, had entered from the roof, stopped short upon a 
 beam above the bunk, for he saw that the man's foot was 
 slowly and cautiously moving toward the floor, and that the 
 man's eyes were as intent and watchful as his own. Pre 
 sently, still without a sound, both feet w r ere upon the floor. 
 And then the bunk creaked, and the squirrel whisked into 
 the eaves of the roof. When he peered forth again, every 
 thing was quiet, and the man was gone. 
 
 An hour later two muleteers on the Placerville Road passed 
 a man with dishevelled hair, glaring, bloodshot eyes, and 
 clothes torn with bramble and stained with the red dust of 
 the mountain. They pursued him, when he turned fiercely 
 on e foremost, wrested a pistol from his grasp, and broke 
 away. Later still, when the sun had dropped behind Payne's 
 Ridge, the underbrush on Deadwood Slope crackled with a 
 stealthy but continuous tread. It must have been an animal 
 whose dimly outlined bulk, in the gathering darkness, showed 
 here and there in vague but incessant motion; it could be 
 nothing but an animal whose utterance was at once so inco 
 herent, monotonous, and unremitting. Yet, when the sound 
 came nearer, and the chaparral was parted it seemed to be a 
 man, and that man Johnson. 
 
 Above the braying of phantasmal hounds that pressed him 
 hard and drove him on, with never rest or mercy ; above the 
 lashing of a spectral whip that curled about his limbs, sang in 
 his ears, and continually stung him forward ; above the out 
 cries of the unclean shapes that thronged about him ; he 
 could still distinguish one real sound the rush and sweep of 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 595 
 
 hurrying waters. The Stanislaus River ! A thousand feet 
 below him drove its yellowing current. Through all the 
 vacillations of his unseated mind he had clung to one idea 
 to reach the river, to lave in it, to swim it if need be, but to 
 put it for ever between him and the harrying shapes, to drown 
 for ever in its turbid depths the thronging spectres, to wash 
 away in its yellow flood all stains and colour of the past. 
 And now he was leaping from boulder to boulder, from black 
 ened stump to stump, from gnarled bush to bush, caught for 
 a moment and withheld by clinging vines, or plunging down 
 ward into dusty hollows, until, rolling, dropping, sliding, and 
 stumbling, he reached the river-bank, whereon he fell, rose, 
 staggered forward, and fell again with outstretched arms upon 
 a rock that breasted the swift current. And there he lay as 
 dead. 
 
 A few stars came out hesitatingly above Deadwood Slope. 
 A cold wind that had sprung up" with the going down of the 
 sun fanned them into momentary brightness, swept the heated 
 flanks of the mountain, and ruffled the river. Where the 
 fallen man lay there was a sharp curve in the stream, so that 
 in the gathering shadows the rushing water seemed to leap 
 out of the darkness and to vanish again. Decayed drift-wood, 
 trunks of trees, fragments of broken sluicing the wash and 
 waste of many a mile swept into sight a moment, and were 
 gone. All of decay, wreck, and foulness gathered in the long 
 circuit of mining-camp and settlement, all the dregs and 
 refuse of a crude and wanton civilization, reappeared for an 
 instant, and then were hurried away in the darkness and lost. 
 No wonder that as the wind ruffled the yellow waters the 
 waves seemed to lift their unclean hands towards the rock 
 whereon the fallen man lay, as if eager to snatch him from it. 
 too, and hurry him toward the sea. 
 
 It was very still. In the clear air a horn blown a mile 
 away was heard distinctly. The jingling of a spur and a 
 laugh on the highway over Payne's Ridge sounded dearly 
 
596 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 across the river. The rattling of harness and hoofs foretold 
 for many minutes the approach of the "Wingclam coach, that 
 at last, \vith flashing lights, passed within a few feet of the 
 rock. Then for an hour all again was quiet. Presently the 
 moon, round and full, lifted herself above the serried ridge 
 and looked down upon the river. At first the bared peak of 
 Deadwood Hill gleamed white and skull-like. Then the 
 shadow's of Payne's Ridge cast on the slope slowly sank away, 
 leaving the unshapely stumps, the dusty fissures, and clinging 
 outcrop of Deadwood Slope to stand out in black and silver. 
 Still stealing softly downward, the moonlight touched the 
 bank and the rock, and then glittered brightly on the river. 
 The rock was hare and the man was gone, but the river still 
 hurried swiftly to the sea. 
 
 "Is there anything for me]" asked Tommy Islington, as, a 
 week after, the stage drew "up at the Mansion House, and 
 Bill slowly entered the bar-room. 
 
 Bill did not reply, but, turning to a stranger who had 
 entered with him, indicated with a jerk of his finger the boy. 
 The stranger turned with an air half of business, half of 
 curiosity, and looked critically at Tommy. 
 
 " Is there anything for me ?" repeated Tommy, a little con 
 fused at the silence and scrutiny. 
 
 Bill walked deliberately to the bar, and, placing his back 
 against it, faced Tommy with a look of demure enjoyment. 
 
 *' Ef," he remarked, slowly, " ef a hundred thousand 
 dollars down and half a million in perspektive is enny thing, 
 Major, THERE is !" 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 597 
 
 PART II. EAST. 
 
 TT was characteristic of Angel's that the disappearance of 
 Johnson, and the fact that he had left his entire pro 
 perty to Tommy, thrilled the community but slightly in com 
 parison with the astounding discovery that he had anything 
 to leave. The finding of a cinnabar lode at Angel's absorbed 
 all collateral facts or subsequent details. Prospectors from 
 adjoining camps thronged the settlement ; the hillside for a 
 mile on either side of Johnson's claim was staked out and 
 pre-empted ; trade received a sudden stimulus ; and, in the 
 excited rhetoric of the " Weekly Record" " a new era had 
 broken upon Angel's." " On Thursday last," added that 
 paper, " over five hundred dollars was taken in over the bar 
 of the Mansion House." 
 
 Of the fate of Johnson there was little doubt. He had 
 been last seen lying on a boulder on the river-bank by outside 
 passengers of the Wingdam night coach, and when Finn of 
 Robinson's Ferry admitted to have fired three shots from a 
 revolver at a dark object struggling in the water near the 
 ferry, which he " suspicioned " to be a bear, the question 
 seemed to be settled. "Whatever might have been the falli 
 bility of his judgment, of the accuracy of his aim there could 
 be no doubt. The general belief that Johnson, after pos 
 sessing himself of the muleteer's pistol, could have run-a 
 muck, gave a certain retributive justice to this story, which 
 rendered it acceptable to the camp. 
 
 It was also characteristic of Angel's that no feeling of envy 
 or opposition to the good fortune of Tommy Wington pre 
 vailed there. That he was thoroughly cognisant, from the 
 first, of Johnson's discovery, that his attentions to him were 
 interested, calculating, and speculative, was, however, the 
 general belief of the majority, a belief that, singularly 
 enough, awakened the first feelings of genuine respect for 
 
598 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 Tommy ever shown by the camp. " He ain't no fool ; Yuba 
 Bill seed thet from the first," said the barkeeper. It was 
 Yuba Bill who applied for the guardianship of Tommy after 
 his accession to Johnson's claim, and on whose bonds the 
 richest men of Calaveras were represented. It was Yuba 
 Bill, also, when Tommy was sent East to finish his education, 
 accompanied him to San Francisco, and before parting with 
 his charge on the steamer's deck, drew him aside, and said, 
 " Ef at enny time you want enny money, Tommy, over and 
 'bove your 'lowance, you kin write; but ef you'll take my 
 advice," he added, with a sudden huskiness mitigating the 
 severity of his voice, " you'll forget every denied ole spavined, 
 string-halted bummer as you ever met or knew at Angel's, 
 ev'ry one, Tommy, every one ! And so boy take care 
 of yourself and and God bless ye, and pertikeiiy d n 
 me for a first-class A 1 fool." It was Yuba Bill, also, after 
 this speech, glared savagely around, walked down the crowded 
 gang-plank with a rigid and aggressive shoulder, picked a 
 quarrel with his cabman, and, after bundling that functionary 
 into his own vehicle, took the reins himself, and drove furi 
 ously to his hotel. " It cost me," said Bill, recounting the 
 occurrence somewhat later at Angel's, " it cost me a matter 
 o' twenty dollars afore the jedge the next mornin' ; but you 
 kin bet high thet I taught them 'Frisco chaps suthin new 
 about drivin*. I didn't make it lively in Montgomery Street 
 for about ten minutes O no !" 
 
 And so by degrees the two original locaters of the great 
 Cinnabar Lode faded from the memory of Angel's, and Cala 
 veras knew them no more. In five years their very names 
 had been forgotten; in seven the name of the town was 
 changed ; in ten the town itself was transported bodily to 
 the hillside, and the chimney of the Union Smelting Works 
 by night flickered like a corpse-light over the site of Johnson's 
 cabin, and by day poisoned the pure spices of the pines. 
 Even the Mansion House was dismantled, and the Wingdam 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 599 
 
 stage deserted the highway for a shorter cut by Quicksilver 
 City. Only the bared crest of Dead wood Hill, as of old, 
 sharply cut the clear blue sky, and at its base, as of old, 
 the Stanislaus River, unwearied and unresting, babbled, 
 whispered, and hurried away to the sea. 
 
 A midsummer's day was breaking lazily on the Atlantic. 
 There was not wind enough to move the vapours in the 
 foggy offing, but where the vague distance heaved against 
 a violent sky there were dull red streaks that, growing 
 brighter, presently painted out the stars. Soon the brown 
 rocks of Greyport appeared faintly suifused, and then the 
 whole ashen line of dead coast was kindled, and the light 
 house beacons went out, one by one. And then a hundred 
 sail, before invisible, started out of the vapoury horizon, and 
 pressed toward the shore. It was morning, indeed, and some 
 of the best society in Greyport, having been up all night, were 
 thinking it was time to go to bed. 
 
 For as the sky flashed brighter it fired the clustering red 
 roofs of a picturesque house by the sands that had all that 
 night, from open lattice and illuminated balcony, given light 
 and music to the shore. It glittered on the broad crystal 
 spaces of a great conservatory that looked upon an exquisite 
 lawn, where all night long the blended odours of sea and shore 
 had swooned under the summer moon. But it wrought con 
 fusion among the coloured lamps on the long veranda, and 
 startled a group of ladies and gentlemen who had stepped 
 from the drawing-room window to gaze upon it. It was so 
 searching and sincere in its way that, as the carriage of 
 the fairest Miss Gillyflower rolled away, that peerless young 
 woman, catching sight of her face in the oval mirror, instantly 
 pulled down the blinds, and, nestling the whitest shoulders in 
 Greyport against the crimson cushions, went to sleep. 
 
 " How haggard everybody is! Rose, dear, you look almost 
 intellectual," said Blanche Masterman. 
 
6oo MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 "I hope not," said Rose, simply. "Sunrises are very 
 trying. Look how that pink regularly puts out Mrs. Brown- 
 llobinson, hair and all !" 
 
 " The angels," said the Count de Nugat, with a polite 
 gesture towards the sky, "must have find these celestial 
 combinations very bad for the toilette. 1 " 
 
 "They're safe in white, except when they sit for their 
 pictures in Venice," said Blanche. "How fresh Mr. Isling 
 ton looks ! It's really uncomplimentary to us." 
 
 " I suppose the sun recognises in me no rival," said the 
 young man, demurely. " But," he added, " I have lived 
 much in the open air, and require very little sleep." 
 
 " How delightful !" said Mrs. Brown-Robinson, in a low, 
 enthusiastic voice, and a manner that held the glowing 
 sentiment of sixteen and the practical experiences of thirty- 
 two in dangerous combination ; " how perfectly delightful ! 
 What sunrises you must have seen, and in such wild, romantic 
 places ! How I envy you ! My nephew was a class-mate 
 yours, and has often repeated to me those charming stories 
 you tell of your adventures. Won't you tell some now ? 
 Do ! How you must tire of us and this artificial life here, 
 so frightfully artificial, you know! " (in a confidential 
 whisper) ; " and then to think of the clays when you roamed 
 the great West with the Indians, and the bisons, and the 
 grizzly bears! Of course, you have seen grizzly bears and 
 bisons?" 
 
 " Of course he has, dear," said Blanche, a little pettishly, 
 throwing a cloak over her shoulders, and seizing berckaperon 
 by the arm ; " his earliest infancy was soothed by bisons, and 
 he proudly points to the grizzly bear as the playmate of his 
 youth. Coine with me, and I'll tell you all about it. How 
 good it is of you," she added, sotto voce, to Islington, as he 
 stood by the carnage " how perfectly good it is of you to be 
 like those animals you tell us of, and not know your full power. 
 Think, with your experiences and our credulity, what stories 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 60 1 
 
 you might tell ! And you are going to \valk ? Good night, 
 then." 
 
 A slim, gloved hand was frankly extended from the window, 
 and the next moment the carriage rolled away. 
 
 " Isn't Islington throwing away a chance there ? " said 
 Captain Merwin, on the veranda. 
 
 " Perhaps he couldn't stand my lovely aunt's superadded 
 presence. But, then, he's the guest of Blanche's father, and 
 I dare say they see enough of each other, as it is." 
 
 " But isn't it a rather dangerous situation ?" 
 
 " For him, perhaps ; although he's awfully old, and very 
 queer. For her, with an experience that takes in all the 
 available men in both hemispheres, ending with Nugat over 
 there, I should say - a man more or less wouldn't affect her 
 much, anyway. Of course," he laughed, "these are the accents 
 of bitterness. But that was last year." 
 
 Perhaps Islington did not overhear the speaker ; perhaps if 
 he did, the criticism was not new. He turned carelessly away, 
 and sauntered out on the road to the sea. Thence he strolled 
 along the sands towards the cliffs, where, meeting an impediment 
 in the shape of a garden wall, he leaped it with a certain agile, 
 boyish ease and experience, and struck across an open lawn 
 towards the rocks again. The best society of Greyport were 
 not early risers, and the spectacle of a trespasser in an evening 
 dress excited only the criticism of grooms hanging about the 
 stables, or cleanly housemaids on the broad verandas that in 
 Greyport architecture dutifully gave upon the sea. Only 
 once, as he entered the boundaries of Cliifwood Lodge, the 
 famous seat of Renwyck Masterman, was he aware of 
 suspicious scrutiny; but a slouching figure that vanished 
 quickly in the lodge offered no opposition to his progress. 
 Avoiding the pathway to the lodge, Islington kept along the 
 rocks until, reaching a little promontory and rustic pavilion, 
 he sat down and gazed upon the sea. 
 
 And presently an infinite peace stole upon him. Except 
 
6o2 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 where the waves lapped lazily the crags below, the vast expanse 
 beyond seemed unbroken by ripple, heaving only in broad, 
 ponderable sheets, and rhythmically, as if still in sleep. The 
 air was filled with a luminous haze, that caught and held the 
 direct sunbeams. In the deep calm that lay upon the sea, it 
 seemed to Islington that all the tenderness of culture, magic 
 of wealth, and spell of refinement that for years had wrought 
 upon that favoured shore had extended its gracious influence 
 even here. What a pampered and caressed old ocean it was ; 
 cajoled, flattered, and feted where it lay! An odd recollection 
 of the turbid Stanislaus hurrying by the ascetic pines, of the 
 grim outlines of Deadwood Hill, swam before his eyes, and 
 made the yellow green of the velvet lawn and graceful foliage 
 seem almost tropical by contrast. And, looking up, a few 
 yards distant he beheld a tall slip of a girl gazing upon the 
 sea Blanche Master man. 
 
 She had plucked somewhere a large fan-shaped leaf, which 
 she held parasol-wise, shading the blond masses of her hair, 
 and hiding her gray eyes. She had changed her festal 
 dress, with its amplitude of flounce and train, for a closely- 
 fitting half-antique habit whose scant outlines would have 
 been trying to limbs less shapely, but which prettily accented 
 the graceful curves and sweeping lines of this Greyport 
 goddess. As Islington rose she came toward him with 
 a frankly outstretched hand and unconstrained manner. Had 
 she observed him first ? I don't know. 
 
 They sat down together on a rustic seat, Miss Blanche 
 facing the sea, and shading her eyes with the leaf. 
 
 " I don't really know how long I have been sitting here," 
 said Islington, " or whether I have not been actually asleep 
 and dreaming. It seemed too lovely a morning to go to bed. 
 But you?" 
 
 From behind the leaf, it appeared that Miss Blanche on. 
 retiring had been pursued by a hideous winged bug which 
 defied the efforts of herself and maid to dislodge. Odin, the 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 603 
 
 Spitz dog, had insisted upon scratching at the door. And it 
 made her eyes red to sleep in the morning. And shft had an 
 early call to make. And the sea looked lovely. 
 
 " I'm glad to find you here, whatever he the cause," said 
 Islington, with his old directness. " To-day, as you know, is 
 my last day in Greyport, and it is much pleasanter to say 
 good-bye under this blue sky than even beneath your father's 
 wonderful frescoes yonder. I want to remember you, too, as 
 part of this pleasant prospect which belongs to us all, rather 
 than recall you in anybody's particular setting." 
 
 " I know," said Blanche, with equal directness, " that 
 houses are one of the defects of our civilization ; but I don't 
 think I ever heard the idea as elegantly expressed before. 
 Where do you go ? " 
 
 " I don't know yet. I have several plans. I may go to 
 South America, and become president of one of the republics, 
 I am not particular which. I am rich, but in that part of 
 America which lies outside of Greyport it is necessary for 
 every man to have some work. My friends think I should 
 have some great aim in life, with a capital A. But I was 
 born a vagabond, and a vagabond I shall probably die." 
 
 " I don't know anybody in South America," said Blanche, 
 languidly. " There were two girls here last season, but they 
 didn't wear stays in the house, and their white frocks never 
 were properly done up. If you go to South America, you 
 must write to me." 
 
 " I will. Can you tell me the name of this flower which I 
 found in your green-house ? It looks much like a California 
 blossom." 
 
 " Perhaps it is. Father bought it of a half-crazy old man 
 who came here one day. Do you know him ? " 
 
 Islington laughed. " I am afraid not. But let me present 
 this in a less business-like fashion." 
 
 " Thank you. Remind me to give you one in return 
 before you go, or will you choose yourself ? " 
 
604 MRS. SKAGG&S HUSBANDS. 
 
 They had both risen as by a common instinct, 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 The cool flower-like hand lay in his for an instant. 
 
 " "Will you oblige me by putting aside that leaf a moment 
 before I go ?" 
 
 " But my eyes are red, and I look like a perfect fright." 
 
 Yet, after a long pause, the leaf fluttered down, and a pair 
 of very beautiful but withal very clear and critical eyes met 
 his. Islington was constrained to look away. When he 
 turned again, she was gone. 
 
 " Mister Hislington, sir ! " 
 
 It was Chalker, the English groom, out of breath with 
 running. 
 
 " Seem' you alone, sir, beg your pardon, sir, but there's a 
 person " 
 
 " A person ! what the Devil do you mean ? Speak 
 English no, damn it, I mean don't," said Islington, snap 
 pishly. 
 
 " I sed a person, sir. Beg pardon no offence but not a 
 gent, sir. In the lib'ry." 
 
 A little amused even through the utter dissatisfaction with 
 himself and vague loneliness that had suddenly come upon 
 him, Islington, as he walked toward the lodge, asked, " Why 
 isn't he agent?" 
 
 " No gent beggin' your pardin, sir ud guy a man in 
 sarvis, sir. Takes me 'ands so, sir, as I sits in the rumble at 
 the gate, and puts 'em downd so, sir, and ses, ' Put 'em in 
 your pocket, young man, or is it a road agint you expects to 
 see, that you 'olds hup your 'ands hand crosses 'em like to 
 that,' ses he. ' 'Old 'ard,' sez he, ' on the short curves, or 
 you'll bust your precious crust,' ses he. And hasks for you, 
 sir. This way, sir." 
 
 They entered the lodge. Islington hurried down the long, 
 Gothic hall, and opened the library door. 
 
 In an arm-chair, in the centre of the room, a man sat 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 605 
 
 apparently contemplating a large, stiff, yellow hat, with an 
 enormous brim, that was placed on the floor before him. His 
 hands rested lightly between his knees, but one foot was 
 drawn up at the side of his chair in a peculiar manner. In 
 the first glance that Islington gave, the attitude in some odd, 
 irreconcileable way suggested a brake. In another moment 
 he dashed across the room, and, holding out both hands, cried, 
 < Yuba Bill!" 
 
 The man rose, caught Islington by the shoulders, wheeled 
 him round, hugged him, felt of his ribs like a good-natured 
 ogre, shook his hands violently, laughed, and then said, some 
 what ruefully, " And how ever did you know me T' 
 
 Seeing that Yuba Bill evidently regarded himself as in 
 some elaborate disguise, Islington laughed, and suggested that 
 
 must have been instinct. 
 
 " And you?" said Bill, holding him at arm's length, and 
 surveying him critically, "you! toe think toe think a 
 little cuss no higher nor a trace, a boy as I've flicked outer the 
 road with a whip time in agin, a boy ez never heel much 
 clothes to speak of, turned into a sport !" 
 
 Islington remembered, with a thrill of ludicrous terror, that 
 he still wore his evening dress. 
 
 " Turned," continued Yuba Bill, severely, " turned into 
 a restyourant waiter, a garsong ! Eh, Alfonse, bring me a 
 patty de foy grass and an omelette, demme !" 
 
 " Dear old chap," said Islington, laughing, and trying to 
 put his hand over Bill's bearded mouth, " but you you don't 
 look exactly like yourself! You're not well, Bill." And, 
 indeed, as he turned toward the light, Bill's eyes appeared 
 cavernous, and his hair and beard thickly streaked with 
 gray. 
 
 " Maybe it's this yer harness," said Bill, a little anxiously. 
 " When I hitches on this yer curb " (he indicated a massive 
 gold watch-chain with enormous links), " and mounts this 
 ' morning star,' " (he pointed to a very large solitaire pin 
 
606 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 which had the appearance of blistering his whole shirt-front), 
 " it kinder weighs heavy on me, Tommy. Otherwise, I'm aI5 
 right, my boy, all right." But he evaded Islington's keen 
 eye, and turned from the light. 
 
 " You have something to tell me, Bill," said Islington, 
 suddenly, and with almost brusque directness ; " out with it." 
 
 Bill did not speak, but moved uneasily toward his hat. 
 ' " You didn't come three thousand miles, without a word of 
 warning, to talk to me of old times," said Islington, more 
 kindly, " glad as I would have been to see you. It isn't your 
 way, Bill, and you knw it. "We shall not be disturbed here," 
 he added, in reply to an inquiring glance that Bill directed to 
 the door, " and I am ready to hear you." 
 
 " Firstly, then," said Bill, drawing his chair nearer Isling 
 ton, " answer me one question, Tommy, fair and square, and 
 up and down." 
 
 " Go on," said Islington, with a slight smile. 
 
 "Ef I should say to you, Tommy, say to you to-day,, 
 right here, you must come with me, you must leave this 
 place for a month, a year, two years, maybe, perhaps for ever, 
 is tiiere anything that ud keep you, anything, my boy, ez 
 you couldn't leave ? " 
 
 " No," said Tommy, quietly ; " I am only visiting here. 
 I thought of leaving Greyport to-day." 
 
 " But if I should say to you, Tommy, come with me on a 
 pasear to Chiny, to Japan, to South Ameriky, p'r'aps, could 
 you go ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Islington, after a slight pause. 
 
 " Thar isn't ennything," said Bill, drawing a little closer, 
 and lowering his voice confidentially, " ennything in the way 
 of a young woman, you understand, Tommy ez would keep 
 you ? They're mighty sweet about here ; and whether a man 
 is young or old, Tommy, there's always some woman as is 
 brake or whip to him !" 
 
 In a certain excited bitterness that characterised the deli- 
 
MRS. SKAGGS*S HUSBANDS. 607 
 
 very of this abstract truth, Bill did not see that the young 
 man's face flushed slightly as he answered, " No." 
 
 " Then listen. It's seven years ago, Tommy, thet I was 
 working one o' the Pioneer coaches over from Gold Hill. Ez 
 I stood in front o' the stage office, the sheriff o' the county 
 comes to me, and he sez, 'Bill,' sez he, ' I've got a loone.y chap, 
 as I'm in charge of, taking 'im down to the 'sylumin Stockton. 
 He'z quiet and peaceable, but the insides don't like to ride with 
 him. Hev you enny objection to give him a lift on the box 
 beside you ?' I sez, ' No ; put him up.' "When I came to go 
 and get up on that box beside him, that man, Tommy, that 
 man sittin' there, quiet and peaceable, was Johnson ! 
 
 " He didn't know me, my boy," Yuba Bill continued, rising 
 and putting his hands on Tommy's shoulders, "he didn't 
 know me. He didn't know nothing about you, nor Angel's^ 
 nor the quicksilver lode, nor even his own name. He said his 
 name was Skaggs, but I knowd it was Johnson. Thar was 
 times, Tommy, you might have knocked me off that box with 
 a feather ; thar was times when if the twenty- seven passengers 
 o' that stage hed found theirselves swimming in the American 
 River five hundred feet below the road, I never could have 
 explained it satisfactorily to the company, never. 
 
 " The sheriff said," Bill continued hastily, as if to preclude 
 any interruption from the young man, "the sheriff said he had 
 been brought into Murphy's Camp three years before, dripping 
 with water, and sufferin' from perkussion of the brain, ana had 
 been cared for generally by the boys 'round. When I told the 
 sheriff I knowed 'im, I got him to leave him in my care ; and 
 I took him to 'Frisco, Tommy, to 'Frisco, and I put him in 
 charge o' the best doctors there, and paid his board myself. 
 There was nothin' he didn't have ez he wanted. Don't look 
 that way, my dear boy, for God's sake, don't !" 
 
 " O Bill," said Islington, rising and staggering to the 
 window, " why did you keep this from me ?' ? 
 
 " "Why?" said Bill, turning on him savagely "why? because 
 
608 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 I warn't a fool. Thar was you, \vinnin' your way in college ; 
 thar was you, risin in the world, and of some account to it : 
 Yer was an old bummer, ez good ez dead to it, a man ez 
 oughter been dead afore ! a man ez never denied it ! But 
 you allus liked him better nor me," said Bill, bitterly. 
 
 " Forgive me, Bill," said the young man, seizing both his 
 hands. " I know you did it for the best, but go on." 
 
 " Thar ain't much more to tell, nor much use to tell it, as I 
 can see," said Bill, moodily. " He never could be cured, the 
 doctors said, for he had what they called monomania, was 
 always talking about his wife and darter that somebody had 
 stole away years ago, and plannin' revenge on that somebody. 
 And six months ago he was missed. I tracked him to Carson, 
 to Salt Lake City, to Omaha, to Chicago, to New York, and 
 here." 
 
 " Here !" echoed Islington. 
 
 " Here ! And that's what brings me here to-day. "VVhethers 
 he's crazy or well, wlicthers he's huntin' you or lookin' up 
 that other man, you must get away from here. You mustn't 
 see him. You and me, Tommy, will go away on a cruize. 
 In three or four years he'll be dead or missing, and then we'll 
 come back. Come." Aud he rose to his feet. 
 
 " Bill," said Islington, rising also, and taking the hand of 
 his friend, with the same quiet obstinacy that in the old days 
 had endeared him to Bill, " wherever he is, here or elsewhere, 
 sane or crazy, I shall seek and find him. Every dollar that I 
 have shall be his, every dollar that I have spent shall be 
 returned to him. I am young yet, thank God, and can work ; 
 and if there is a way out of this miserable business, I shall 
 find it." 
 
 " I knew," said Bill, with a surliness that ill concealed his 
 evident admiration of the calm figure before him, " I knew 
 the partikler style of d n fool that you was, and expected no 
 better. Good-bye, then God Almighty ! who's that ?" 
 
 He was on his way to the open French window, but had 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 609 
 
 started back, his face quite white and bloodless, and his eyes 
 staring. Islington ran to the window, and looked out. A 
 white skirt vanished around the corner of the veranda. When, 
 he returned, Bill had dropped into a chair. 
 
 " It must have been Miss Masterman, I think ; but what's- 
 the matter?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Bill, faintly ; " have you got any whiskey- 
 handy ?" 
 
 Islington brought a decanter, and, pouring out some spirits, 
 handed the glass to Bill. Bill drained it, and then said,, 
 "Who is Miss Masterman?" 
 
 " Mr. Masterman's daughter; that is, an adopted daughter,. 
 I believe." 
 
 " Wot name?" 
 
 " I really don't know," said Islington, pettishly, more vexecT 
 than he cared to own at this questioning. 
 
 Yuba Bill rose and walked to the window, closed it, walked 
 back again to the door, glanced at Islington, hesitated, ancT 
 then returned to his chair. 
 
 "I didn't tell you I was married, did I?" he said, sud 
 denly, looking up in Islington's face with an unsuccessful 
 attempt at a reckless laugh. 
 
 " No," said Islington, more pained at the manner than the- 
 words. 
 
 " Fact," said Yuba Bill. " Three years ago it was, Tommy,, 
 three years ago ! " 
 
 He looked so hard at Islington, that, feeling he was 
 expected to say something, he asked vaguely, " Who did you 
 marry ? " 
 
 "Thet's it!" said Yuba Bill ; can't ezactly say; par- 
 tikly, though, a she devil ! generally, the wife of half-a-dozen 
 other men." 
 
 Accustomed, apparently, to have his conjugal infelicities ar 
 theme of mirth among men, and seeing no trace of amuse 
 ment on Islington's grave face, his dogged, reckless manner 
 
 11 R 2 
 
6io MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 softened, and, drawing his chair closer to Islington, he went 
 on: " It all began outer this: we was coming down Watson's 
 grade one night pretty free, when the expressman turns to me 
 and sez, ' There's a row inside, and you'd better pull up ! ' 
 pulls up, and out hops, first a woman, and then two or three 
 chaps swearing and cursin', and try in' to drag some one arter 
 them. Then it 'pear'd, Tommy, thet it was this woman's 
 drunken husband they was going to put out for abusin' her, 
 and strikin' her in the coach ; and if it hadn't been for me, 
 my boy, they'd hev left that chap thar in the road. But I fixes 
 matters up by putting her alongside o' me on the box, and 
 we drove on. She was very white, Tommy, for the matter 
 o' that, she was always one o' these very white wimen, that 
 never got red in the face, but she never cried a whimper. 
 Most wimin would have cried. It was queer, but she never 
 cried. I thought so at the time. 
 
 " She was very tall, with a lot o' light hair meandering 
 down the back of her head, as long as a deer-skin whip-lash, 
 and about the colour. She hed eyes thet'd bore you through 
 at fifty yards, and pooty hands and feet. And when she 
 kinder got out o' that stiff, narvous state she was in, and 
 warmed up a little, and got chipper, by G d, sir, she was 
 handsome, she was that !" 
 
 A little flushed and embarrassed at his own enthusiasm, 
 he stopped, and then said, carelessly, " They got off at 
 Murphy's." 
 
 "Well? "said Islington. 
 
 ; ' Well, I used to see her often arter thet, and when she 
 was alone she alms took the box-seat. She kinder confided 
 her troubles to me, how her husband got drunk and abused 
 hor; and I didn't see much o' him, for he was away in 
 'Frisco arter thet. But it was all square, Tommy, all square 
 'twix.t me and her. 
 
 " 1 got a going there a good deal, and then one day I sez 
 to myself, ' Bill, this won't do,' and 1 got changed to another 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 6n 
 
 route. Did you ever know Jackson Filltree, Tommy?" said 
 Bill, breaking off suddenly. 
 
 No." 
 
 " Might have heerd of him, p'r'aps?" 
 
 "No," said Islington, impatiently. 
 
 "Jackson Filltree ran the express from White's out to 
 Summit, 'cross the North Fork of the Yuba. One day he 
 sez to me, ' Bill, that's a mighty bad ford at the North Fork.' 
 I sez, ' I believe you, Jackson.' * It '11 git me some day, Bill, 
 sure,' sez he. I sez, ' Why don't you take the lower ford ? 
 c I don't know/ sez he, * but I can't,' So ever after, when I 
 met him, he sez, 'That North Fork ain't got me yet.' One 
 day I was in Sacramento, and up comes Filltree. He sez, 
 ' I've sold out the express business on account of the North 
 Fork, but it's bou to get me yet, Bill, sure ;' and he 
 laughs. T W o weeks after they finds his body below the ford 
 whar he tried to cross, comin' down from the Summit way. 
 Folks said it was foolishness : Tommy, I sez it was Fate! The 
 second nay arter I was changed to the Placerville route, thet 
 woman comes outer the hotel above the stage office. Her 
 husband, she said, was lying sick in Placerville ; that's what 
 she said; but it was Fate, Tommy, Fate. Three months 
 afterward, her husband takes an overdose of morphine for 
 delirium tremens, and dies. There's folks ez sez she gave it 
 to him, but it's Fate. A year after that I married her, 
 Fate, Tommy, Fate ! 
 
 " I lived with her jest three months," he went on, after a 
 long breath, " three months ! It ain't much time for a 
 happy man. I've seen a good deal o' hard life in my day, 
 but there was days in that three months longer than any day 
 in my life, days, Tommy, when it was a toss-up whether I 
 should kill her or she me. But thar, I'm done. You are a 
 young man, Tommy, and I ain't goin' to tell things thet, old 
 as I am, three years ago I couldn't have believed." 
 
 When at last, with his grim face turned towards the win- 
 
612 'MRS. SKAGG&S HUSBANDS. 
 
 dow, he sat silently with liis clenched hands on his knees 
 before him, Islington asked where his wife was no\v. 
 
 " Ask me no more, my hoy, no more. I've said my say." 
 With a gesture as of throwing down a pair of reins heforc 
 him, he rose and walked to the window. 
 
 " You kin understand, Tommy, why a little trip around 
 the world ud do me good. Ef you can't go with me, well and 
 good. But go I must." 
 
 " Xot before luncheon, I hope," said a very sweet voice, as 
 Blanche Mastcrman suddenly stood before them. " Father 
 would never forgive me if in his absence I permitted one of 
 Mr. Islington's friends to go in this way. You will stay, won't 
 you? Do ! And you will give me your arm now; and when 
 Mr. Islington has done staring, he will follow us into the 
 dining room and introduce you." 
 
 " I have quite fallen in love with your friend," said Miss 
 Blanche, as they stood in the drawing-room looking at the 
 figure of Bill, strolling, with his short pipe in his mouth, 
 through the distant shrubbery. " He asks very queer ques 
 tions, though. He wanted to know my mother's maiden 
 name." 
 
 " He is an honest fellow," said Islington, gravely. 
 
 " You are very much subdued. You don't thank me, I 
 dare say, for keeping you and your friend here; but you 
 couldn't go, you knoAV, until father returned." 
 
 Islington smiled, but not very gayly. 
 
 "And then I think it much better for us to part here under 
 these frescoes, don't you ? Good-bye." 
 
 She extended her long, slim hand. 
 
 "Out in the sunlight there, when my eyes were red, you 
 were very anxious to look at me," she added, in a dangerous 
 voice. 
 
 Islington raised his sad eyes to hers. Something glittering 
 upon her own sweet lashes trembled and fell. 
 
MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 613 
 
 "Blanche!" 
 
 She was rosy enough now, and would have withdrawn hci 
 hand, hut Islington detained it. She was not quite certain 
 but that her waist was also in jeopardy. Yet she could not 
 help saying, "Are you sure that there isn't anything in tho 
 way of a young woman that would keep you ?" 
 
 " Blanche ! " said Islington, in reproachful horror. 
 
 " If gentlemen will roar out their secrets before a;i open 
 window, with a young woman lying on a sofa on the veranda, 
 reading a stupid French novel, they must not be surprised if 
 she gives more attention to them than her book." 
 
 "Then you know all, Blanche ?" 
 
 " I know/' said Blanche, "let s see I know the particklal 
 style cf ahem! fool you was, and expected no better. 
 Good-bye." And, gliding like a lovely and innocent milk 
 snake out of his grasp, she slipped away, 
 
 To the pleasant ripple of waves, the sound of music and 
 light voices, the yellow midsummer moon again rose over 
 Grevport. It looked upon formless masses of rock and 
 shrubbery, wide spaces of lawn and beach, and a shimmering 
 expanse of water. It singled out particular objects, a 
 white sail in shore, a crystal globe upon the lawn, and flashed 
 upon something held between the teeth of a crouching 
 figure scaling the low wall of ClifFwood Lodge. Then, as 
 a man and woman passed out from under the shad of 
 the foliage into the open moonlight of the garden-path, the 
 figure leaped from the wall, and stood erect and waiting in 
 the shadow. 
 
 It was the figure of an old man, with rolling eyes, his 
 trembling hand grasping a long, keen knife a figure more 
 pitiable than pitiless, more pathetic than terrible. But the 
 next moment the knife was stricken from his hand, and he 
 struggled in the firm grasp of another figure that apparently 
 sprang from the wall beside him. 
 
614 MRS. SKAGGS'S HUSBANDS. 
 
 " D n you, Masterman !" cried the old man, hoarsely ; 
 
 '' give me fair play, and I'll kill you yet ! " 
 
 " Which my name is Yuba Bill," said Bill, quietly ; " and 
 it's time this d n fooling was stopped." 
 
 The old man stared in Bill's face savagely. 
 
 " I know you. You're one of Masterman's friends ; d n 
 
 you ! Let me go till I cut his heart out ; let me go ! Where 
 is my Mary ? where is my wife ? there she is ! there ! 
 there! there ! Mary!" 
 
 He would have screamed, but Bill placed his powerful hand 
 upon his mouth, as he turned in the direction of the old man's 
 glance. Distinct in the moonlight the figures of Islington and 
 Blanche, arm in arm, stood out upon the garden path. 
 
 " Give me my wife ! " muttered the old man, hoarsely, 
 between Bill's fingers. " Where is she ? " 
 
 A sudden fury passed over Yuba Bill's face. 
 
 "Where is your wife?" he echoed, pressing the old man 
 back against the garden wall, and holding him there as in a 
 vice. "Where is your wife?" he repeated, thrusting his 
 grim sardonic jaw and savage eyes into the old man's frightened 
 face. " Where is Jack Adam's wife ? Where is MY WIFE ? 
 Where is the she-devil that drove one man mad, that sent 
 another to hell by his own band, that eternally broke and 
 ruined me ? Where ! Where ! Do you ask where ? In 
 jail in Sacramento in jail, do you hear ? in jail for murder, 
 Johnson murder !" 
 
 The old man gasped, stiffened, and then, relaxing, suddenly 
 slipped, a mere inanimate mass, at Yuba Bill's feet. With a 
 sudden revulsion of feeling, Yuba Bill dropped at his side, 
 and, lifting him tenderly in his arms, whispered, 
 
 " Look up, old man, Johnson ! look up, for God's sake J 
 It's me, Yuba Bill; and yonder is your daughter, and 
 Tommy! don't you know 1- Tommy, little Tommy Is 
 lington?" 
 
 Johnson's eyes slowly opened. He whispered, 
 
THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 615 
 
 \ 
 
 c ' Tommy ! yes, Tommy ! Sit by me, Tommy. But don't 
 sit so near the bank. Don't you see how the river is rising 
 and beckoning to me hissing, and boilin' over the rocks ? 
 It's gittin' higher ! Hold me, Tommy \ hold me, and don't 
 let me go yet. "We'll live to cut his liver out, Tommy ; we'll 
 live we'll " 
 
 His head sank, and the rushing river, invisible to all eyes 
 save his, leaped toward him out of the darkness, and bore him 
 away, no longer to the darkness, but through it to the distant 
 peaceful, shining sea. 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT THAT CAME TO 
 RUPERT. 
 
 & Storo for 3EttlIe Softucrs. 
 
 TT 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 joyous 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 
 quickening 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 wierd contrast to the roses, seen dimly through the 
 windows, as the south-west 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 the semicircle of flaxen 
 
5i6 THE CHRTSTMAS GIFT 
 
 heads around him, " I want it distinctly understood before I 
 l>cgin my story, that I am not to he interrupted by any ridi 
 culous questions. At the first one I shall stop. At the 
 second, I shall feel it my duty to administer a dose of castor- 
 -oil, all round. The boy that moves his legs or arms will be 
 understood to invite amputation. I have brought my instru 
 ments with me, and never allo\v pleasure to interfere with my 
 ^business. Do you promise ? '' 
 
 11 Yes, sir," said six small voices, simultaneously. The 
 volley was, however, followed by half-a-dozen dropping 
 questions. 
 
 u Silence ! Bob, put your feet down, and stop rattling 
 that sword. Flora shall sit by my side, like a little lady, and 
 1}e 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 
 Jbe put out of the room." 
 
 There was a profound silence. Bob laid his sword tenderly 
 aside, and nursed .his leg thoughtfully. Flora, after coquct- 
 tishly adjusting the pockets of her little apron, put her arm 
 upon the Doctor's shoulder, and permitted herself to be drawn 
 Reside him. Fung Tang, the little heathen page, who was 
 .permitted, on this rare occasion, to share the Christian revels 
 an 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 symmetry of limb, was the 
 only sound that disturbed the Christmas-like peace of the 
 .apartment a peace which held the odours of evergreens, new 
 toys, cedar-boxes, glue, and varnish in a harmonious combi 
 nation that passed all understanding. 
 
 *' About four years ago at this time," began the Doctor, " I 
 
THAT CAME TO RUPERT. 617 
 
 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 Christ 
 mas night. I was very glad to go, as I Avas anxious to see 
 one of his sons, Avho, though only t\velve years old, Avas said 
 to he very clever. I dare not tell you how many Latin verses 
 this little felloAV could recite, or how many English ones he 
 had composed. In the first place, you'd Avant me to repeat 
 them ; secondly, I'm not a judge of poetry Latin or English. 
 But there \vcrejudges\vho said they Avere wonderful for a boy, 
 and everybody predicted a splendid future for him. Every 
 body but his father. He shook his head doubtingly, whenever 
 it was mentioned, for, as I have told you, he was a practical, 
 matter-of-fact man. 
 
 " There Avas a pleasant party at the Professor's that night. 
 All the children of the neighbourhood were there, and amonir 
 
 O O 
 
 them the Professor's clever son Rupert, as they called him 
 a thin little chap, about as tall as Bobby there, and fair and 
 delicate as Flora by my side. His health was feeble, his 
 father said ; lie seldom ran about and played with other boys 
 preferring to stay at home and brood over his books, and com 
 pose Avhat he called his verses. 
 
 " Well, Ave had a Christmas-tree just like this, and AVC had, 
 been laughing and talking, calling off the names of the chil 
 dren who had presents on the tree, and everybody was very 
 happy and joyous, when one of the children suddenly uttered 
 a cry of mingled surprise and hilarity, and paid: 'Here's 
 something for Rupert and what do you think it is?' 
 
 "We all guessed. 'A desk;' 'A copy of Milton;' 
 'A gold pen;' 4 A rhyming dictionary.' 'I\ T o? wlia 
 then?' 
 
 "' A drum!' 
 
 " k A what?' asked everybody. 
 
 " ' A drum ! with Rupert's name on it/ 
 
 *' Sure enough there it was. A good-sized, bright, neAA% 
 
618 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT 
 
 brass-bound drum, with a slip of paper on it, with the inscrip 
 tion, ' FOR RUPERT.' 
 
 " Of course we all laughed, and thought it a good joke. 
 ' You see you're to make a noise in the world, Rupert !' 
 said one. 'Here's parchment 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 colour, 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 everybody 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 moment 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 downstairs 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 Professor lived, and there I met him. My first question 
 was about Rupert. The Professor shook his head sadly : 
 6 He's not so well ;' he said ; ' he has 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 ; l it may distract his mind and do 
 him good.' 
 
 "I went accordingly to the Professor's house, and found 
 Rupert 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 
 
THAT CAME TO RUPERT. 619 
 
 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 towards 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 1 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 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. 'Some 
 times,' 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 interest 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 w r ere very acute, as most weak people's 
 
620 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT 
 
 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 ound 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 downstairs, I 
 met the Professor. I gave him my opinion of the case well, 
 no matter what it was. 
 
 " c He wants fresh air and exercise,' said the Professor, 
 4 and some practical experience of life, sir.' The Professor 
 was not a bad man, 1 but he was a little worried and impatient, 
 and thought as clever people are apt to think that things 
 which he didn't understand were either silly or improper. 
 
 "I left the city that very day, and in the excitement of 
 battle-fields and hospitals I forgot all about little Rupert, nor 
 did I hear of him again, until one day, meeting an old class 
 mate 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 into 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 
 slaughtered. I was detached from my brigade to ride over to 
 the battle-field and assist the surgeons 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, 
 1 went at once to work. Ah, Bob," said the Doctor, thought 
 fully, taking the bright sword from the hands of the half- 
 frightened Bob, and holding it gravely before him, " these 
 pretty playthings are symbols of cruel, ugly realities." 
 
 " I turned to a tall, stout Vermonter," he continued, very 
 slowly, tracing a pattern on the rug with the point of the 
 
THAT CAME TO RUPERT. 621 
 
 scabbard, " who was badly wounded in both thigh?, but lie 
 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 unselfishness was very common in the army ; 
 but he went on : ' For God's sake, Doctor, leave me here ; 
 there is a drummer-boy of our regiment a mere child 
 dying, if he isn'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 of this morning, and saved the honour of 
 the regiment.' I was so much more impressed by the man's 
 manner than by the substance of his speech, which was, how 
 ever, corroborated by the other poor fellows strelched 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 Rupert. 
 
 " 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 of the Vermonter, 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 recognised 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 forgive 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 something in me tells me this is right.' 
 
 " He lay still for a moment, and then grasping my hand, said : 
 
622 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 "'Hark!' 
 
 " I listened, but heard nothing hut the suppressed 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 : 
 
 " ' Listen ' he went on ' it's the reveille. There are the 
 ranks drawn u,p 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 lav quite still. 
 
 "That's all. 
 
 "No questions now never mind what became of the 
 drum. 
 
 " Who's that snivelling 1 
 
 " BlesS my soul whtre's my pill-box?" 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 STDYEN.i AND RICHARDSON, PRINTERS, 5, GREAT QUEEN STUEETj 
 LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, w.c. 
 
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 Cyclopaedia of Costume ; or, A Dic 
 tionary of Dress, Regal, Ecclesiastical, Civil, and Military, from 
 the Earliest Period in England to the" reign of George the Third. 
 Including Notices of Contemporaneous Fashions on the Continent, 
 and preceded by a General History of the Costume of the Principal 
 Countries of Europe. By J. R. PLANCH, F.S.A., Somerset Herald. 
 
 This -work -will be published in Twenty-four Monthly Parts, quarto, at Five 
 Shillings, profusely illustrated by Plates and Wood Engravings; with each Part 
 will also be issued a splendid Coloured Plate, from an original Painting or Illu 
 mination, of Royal and Noble Personages, and National Cost^lme ) both foreign and 
 domestic. The First Part is just ready. 
 
 IN collecting materials for a History of Costume of 
 more importance than the little handbook which has 
 met with so much favour as an elementary work, I was 
 not only made aware of my own deficiencies, but sur 
 prised to find how much more vague are the explana 
 tions, and contradictory the statements, of our best 
 authorities, than they appeared to me, when, in the 
 plenitude of my ignorance, I rushed upon almost un 
 trodden ground, and felt bewildered by the mass of 
 unsifted evidence and unhesitating assertion which met 
 my eyes at every turn. 
 
 During the forty years which have elapsed since the 
 publication of the first edition of my " History of British 
 Costume" in the "Library of Entertaining Know 
 ledge," archaeological investigation has received such 
 an impetus by the establishment of metropolitan and 
 provincial peripatetic antiquarian societies, that a flood 
 of light has been poured upon us, by which we are 
 enabled to re-examine our opinions and discover reasons 
 to doubt, if we cannot find facts to authenticate. 
 
 That the former greatly preponderate is a grievous 
 acknowledgment to make after assiduously devoting 
 the leisure of half my life to the pursuit of information 
 on this, to me, most fascinating subject. It is some 
 consolation, however, to feel that where I cannot in 
 struct, I shall certainly not mislead, and that the reader 
 will find, under each head, all that is known to, or 
 suggested by, the most competent writers I am ac- 
 
 _ quainted with, either here or on the Continent. 
 
 That this work appears in a glossarial form arises from the desire of many artists, 
 who have expressed to me the difficulty they constantly meet with in thir en 
 deavours to ascertain the complete form of a garment, or the exact mode of fastening 
 a piece of armour, or buckling of a belt, from their study of a sepulchral effigy or 
 a figure in an illumination; the attitude of the personages represented, or the dispo 
 sition of other portions of their attire, effectually preventing the req.uisite examination. 
 The books supplying any such information are very few, and the best confined to 
 armour or ecclesiastical costume. The only English publication of the kind required, 
 that I am aware of, is the late Mr. Fairholt's " Costume in England " (8vo, London, 
 
 their composition. Twenty-eight years have expired since that book appeared, and 
 
 progress and critical inquiry, a welcome addition to the library of an English 
 gentleman J. R. PLANCHE. 
 
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 it, I 
 
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BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & WINDUS. 29 
 
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 HANDBOOK OF COLLOQUIALISMS. 
 
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34 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & W INDUS. 
 MR. SWINBURNE'S WORKS. 
 
 SECOND EDITION NOW READY OF 
 
 Both well : A Tragedy. By ALGERNON 
 
 CHARLES SWINBURNE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, pp. 540, i2s. 6d. 
 
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 Chastelard : A Tragedy. Foolscap 8vo, 75. 
 Poems and Ballads. Foolscap Svo, 95. 
 
 Notes on " Poems and Ballads," and 
 
 on the Reviews of them. Demy Svo, is. 
 
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 74 6- 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W. 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & VVINDUS. 35 
 MR. SWINBURNE'S WORKS continued. 
 
 The Queen Mother and Rosamond. 
 
 Foolscap 8vo, 5-y. __ 
 
 A Song of Italy. Foolscap 8vo, 3*. 6d. 
 Ode on the Proclamation of the 
 
 French Republic. Demy 8vo, is. 
 
 Under the Microscope. Post 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 William Blake : A Critical Essay. With 
 
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 THE THACKERAY SKETCH-BOOK. 
 
 THACKERAYANA. 
 
 Notes and Anecdotes, 
 Illustrated by about Six Hundred 
 Sketches by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE 
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 Waterford Roll (The). Illuminated 
 
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