i OURNEYS .GDICIAND 1 /,/. -.ivr- •■.:\\ SI ..s v.^^bfe. • . TOURNEYS {.imOUGH DGOKIAND Ghe Gempest ^Prospero and /Iriel ^^rt^:^ ^^^* GfirougiiBooWanii A New and Original Plan for Reading, Applied to the World's Best Literature for Children BY Charles H. Sylvester Author of English and American Litetaiure, Etc. VOLUME NINE BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY CHICAGO Copyright, 1909. by CHARLES H. STLVESTEB. CONTENTS PAGE Pere Marquette Jared Sparks 1 The Fall of the Alamo 23 The Alhambra Washington Irving 35 Herv^ Riel Robert Browning 53 The Battle of Waterloo Lord Byron 61 Ascent of the Jungfrau John Tyndall 66 Abou Ben Adhem Leigh Hunt 11 Florence Nightingale Anna McCaleb 79 How They Took the Gold-Train Charles Kingsley 100 A Bed of Nettles Grant Allen 131 Washington Irving 139 The Knickerbocker History of New York Washington Irving 148 The Battle of Traf.algar Robert Southey 214 C-ASABiANCA Felicia Henians 246 The Romance of the Swan's Nest . Elizabeth Barrett Browning 248 The Cotter's Saturday Night Robert Burns 253 Charles and Mary L-amb 263 Dream Children: A Revery Charles Lamb 271 Reading Shakespeare 283 The Tempest, A T.vle from Shakespeare Charles and Mary Lamb 286 The Tempest William, Shakespeare 302 Studies for The TEifPEST 416 The Impeachment of Warren Hastings Tliomas Babington Macaulay 439 A Dissertation upon Roast Pig Charles Lamb 466 The Praise of Chimney Sweepers Charles Lamb 477 For classification of selections, see the index at the end of Volume X, ILLUSTRATIONS PAGB The Tempest (Color Plate) .... Katkerine Maxey Frontispiece At the Portage R. F. Babcock 7 On the Mississippi JR. F. Babcock 9 The Gift of the CALxraiET R. F. Babcock 12 The Mexicans Rushed to the Walls ... F. J. Cowley 29 The Defenders Were Active F. J. Cowley 31 Bowie Had Strength to Use His Weapons . .F.J. Cowley 33 The Fall of the Alamo (Halftone) W. E. Scott 34 The Gate of Justice Beatrice Braidwood 38 In the Court of Lions Beatrice Braidwood 41 The H\ll of the Abencerrages Beatrice Braidwood 43 They Follow in a Flock G. R. Wlieeler 58 But Hark! Garrett Van Vranken 62 A Sharp Edge Led to the Top D. Walker 15 The Angel Came Again G. R. Wheeler 77 Florence Nightingale (Halftone) 80 The Lady with the Lamp Marguerite Calkins 91 "Do Not Shoot TILL I Do." George Werveke 103 How They Took the Gold-Train (Halftone) . George Werveke 110 A Figure Issued from a Cave George Werveke 118 Washington Irving (Halftone) 140 Here They Refreshed Themselves . . . Gordon Stevenson 164 He Was Interrupted by Wandle Schoonhoven Gordon Stevenson 179 Knickerbocker History of New York (Halftone) Gordon Stevenson 184 William the Testy Gordon Stevenson 193 His Pipe Was a Part of His Physiognomy . Gordon Stevenson 195 Peter Stuyvesant. Gordon Stevenson 198 Lady Hamilton Came up to Him .7. Hildebrand 217 "See," Cried Nelson ,J. Hildebrand 232 The ViCTOnr J. Hildebrand 236 "They Have Done for Me at Last." ... J. Hiklebrand 237 Romance of the Swan's Nest (Halftone). . . Walter O. Reese 248 Th' Expectant Wee-Things M. L. Spoor 255 The Cotter's Saturday Night (Halftone) . . . M. L. S Ascent of the Juxgfrau difficult, and circuit after circuit had to be made to round the gaping fissures. There is a passive cruelty in the aspect of these chasms sufficient to make the blood run cold. Among them it is not good for man to be alone, so I halted in the midst of them and swerved bach toward the Faulberg. But instead of it I struck the lateral tributary of the Aletsch, which runs up to the Griinhorn LUcke. In this passage I was more than once entangled in a mesh of fissures; but it is marvelous what steady, cool scrutiny can accomplish upon the ice, and how often difficul- ties of apparently the gravest kind may be re- duced to a simple form by skilful examination. I tried to get along the rocks to the Faulberg, but after investing half an hour in the attempt I thought it prudent to retreat. I finally reached the Faulberg by the glacier, and with great comfort consumed my bread and cheese and emptied my goblet in the shadow of its caves. On this day it was my desire to get near the buttresses of the Jungfrau, and to see what pros- pect of success a lonely climber would have in an attempt upon the mountain. Such an at- tempt might doubtless be made, but at a risk which no sane man would willingly incur. On August 6th, however, I had the pleasure of joining Dr. Hornby and Mr. Philpotts, who, with Christian Aimer and Christian Lauener for their guides, wished to ascend the Jungfrau. We quitted the Eggischhorn at 2:15 p. m., and in less than four hours reached the grottoes of the Faulberg. A nine fire was soon blazing, a pan Ascent oi the Jungfrau 69 of water soon bubbling sociably over the flame, and the evening meal was quickly prepared and disposed of. For a time the air behind the Jungfrau and ^Nlonk was exceedingly dark and threatening; rain was streaming down upon Lauterbrunnen, and the skirt of the storm wrapped the summits of the Jungfrau and the ]\Ionk. Southward, however, the sky was clear, and there were such general evidences of hope that we were not much disheartened by the local burst of ill-temper displayed by the atmos- phere to the north of us. Like a gust of passion the clouds cleared away, and before we went to rest all w^as sensibly clear. Still, the air was not transparent, and for a time the stars twinkled through it with a feeble ray. There was no visible turbidity, but a something which cut off half the stellar brilliancy. The starlight, how- ever, became gradually stronger, not on account of the augmenting darkness, but because the air became clarified as the night advanced. Two of our party occupied the upper cave, and the guides took possession of the kitchen, while a third lay \n the little grot below. Hips and ribs felt throughout the night the pressure of the subjacent rock. A single blanket, moreover, though sufficient to keep out the pain of cold, was insufficient to induce the comfort of warmth; so I lay awake in a neutral condition, neither happy nor unhappy, watching the stars without emotion as they apj^eared in succession above the mountain-heads. At half-past twelve a ruinl)iiiig in llic kitchen Vol IX. -6. 70 AscKNT OF tut: Jl ngfrau showed tlie guides to be alert, and soon afterward Christian Aimer announced that tea was pre- pared. We rose, consumed a crust and basin each, and at 1 :1.5 a.m., being perfectly harnessed, we dropped down upon the glacier. The cres- cent moon was in the skv, but for a long; time we had to walk in the shadoM' of the mountains, and therefore required illumination. The bot- toms were knocked out of two empty bottles, and each of these, inverted, formed a kind of lantern which protected from the wind a candle stuck in the neck. Aimer went first, holding his lantern in his left hand and his axe in the rio'ht, moving cautiously along the snow which, as the residue of the spring avalanches, fringed the glacier. At times, for no apparent reason, the leader paused and struck his ice-axe into the snow. Looking right or left, a chasm w^as al- ways discovered in these cases, and the cautious guide sounded the snow, lest the fissure should have prolonged itself underneath so as to cross our track. A tributary glacier joined the Aletsch from our ri^ht — a lono; corridor filled with ice, and covered by the purest snow. Down this valley the moonlight streamed, silvering the surface upon which it fell. Here we cast our lamps away, and roped our- selves together. To our left a second long- ice- corridor stretched up to the Lotsch saddle, which hung like a chain between the opposing mountains. In fact, at this point four noble ice-streams form a junction, and flow after- ward in the common channel of the .Great Ascent of the Jungfrau 71 Aletsch glacier. Perfect stillness might have been expected to reign upon the ice, but even at that early hour the gurgle of subglacial water made itself heard, and we had to be cautious in some places lest a too thin crust might let us in. We went straight up the glacier, toward the col which links the Monk and Jungfrau together. The surface was hard, and we went rapidly and silently over the snow. There is an earnestness of feeling on such occasions which subdues the desire for conversation. The communion we held was with the solemn mountains and their background of dark blue sky. "-Der Tag brichtr'^ exclaimed one of the men. I looked toward the eastern heaven, and could discover no illumination which hinted at the approach of day. At length the dawn really appeared, brightening the blue of the eastern firmament; at first it was a mere augmentation of cold light, but by degrees it assumed a warmer tint. The long uniform incline of the glacier being passed, we reached the first eminences of snow which heave like waves around the base of the Jungfrau. This is the region of beauty in the higher Alps — beauty pure and tender, out of which emerges the savage scenery of the peaks. For the healthy and the pure in heart these higher snow-fields are consecrated ground. The snow bosses were soon broken by chasms deep and dark, which required tortuous winding on our part to get round them. Having sur- 1. The day breaks- 7? Ascent of the Jungfrau mounted a steep slope, we passed to some red and rotten rocks, which required care on the part of those in front to prevent the loose and slippery shingle from falling upon those behind. We gained the ridge and wound along it. High snow eminences now flanked us to the left, and along the slope over which we passed the serace.'i had shaken their frozen bowlders. We tramped amid the knolls of the fallen avalanches toward a white wall which, so far as we could see, barred further progress. To our right were noble chasms, blue and profound, torn into the heart of the neve by the slow but resistless drag of gravitv on the descending snows. ^Meanwhile the dawn had brightened into perfect day, and over mountains and glaciers the gold and purple light of the eastern heaven was liberally poured. We had already caught sight of the peak of the Jungfrau, rising behind an eminence and pier- cing for fifty feet or so the rosy dawn. And man}' another peak of stately altitude caught the blush, while the shaded slopes were all of a beautiful azure, being illuminated by the firma- ment alone. A large segment of space enclosed between the Monk and Trugberg was filled like a reservoir with purple light. The world, in fact, seemed to worship, and the flush of adora- tion was on every mountain-head. Over the distant Italian Alps rose clouds of the most fantastic forms, jutting forth into the heavens like enormous trees, thrusting out umbrageous branches which bloomed and glis- tened in the solar rays. iVlong the whole southern Ascent of the Jungfeau 7S heaven these fantastic masses were ranged close together, but still perfectly isolated, until on reaching a certain altitude they seemed to meet a region of wind which blew their tops like streamers far away through the air. Warmed and tinted by the morning sun those unsubstan- tial masses rivalled in grandeur the mountains themselves. The final peak of the Jungfrau is now before us, and apparently so near! But the moun- taineer alone knows how delusive the impression of nearness often is in the Alps. To reach the slope Avhich led up to the peak we must scale or round the barrier already spoken of. From the coping and the ledges of this beautiful wall hiuig long stalactites of ice, in some cases like in- verted spears, with their sharp points free in air. In other cases, the icicles which descended from the overhanging top reached a projecting lower ledge, and stretched like a crystal railing from the one to the other. To the right of this barrier was a narrow gangway, from which the snow had not yet broken away so as to form a vertical or overhanging wall. It was one of those acci- dents which the mountains seldom fail to furnish, and on the existence of which the success of the climber entirely depends. Up this steep and narrow gangway we cut our steps, and a few minutes placed us safely at the bottom of the final pyramid of the Jungfrau. From this point we could look down into the abyss of the Roththal, and certainly its wild environs seemed to justify the uses to whicli 74 Ascent of the Jungfrau superstition has assigned the place. For here it is said the original demons of the mountains hold their orgies, and hither the spirits of the doubly-damned among men are sent to bear them company. The slope up which we had now to climb was turned toward the sun; its aspect was a southern one, and its snows had been melted and recongealed to hard ice. The axe of Aimer rano- against the obdurate solid, and its fragments whirred past us with a weird- like soimd to the abysses below. They sug- gested the fate which a false step might bring along with it. It is a practical tribute to the strength and skill of the Oberland guides that no disaster has hitherto occurred upon the peak of the Jungfrau. The work upon this final ice-slope was long and heavy, and during this time the summit ap- peared to maintain its distance above us. We at length cleared the ice, and gained a stretch of snoAV which enabled us to treble our upward speed. Thence to some loose and shingly rocks, again to the snow, whence a sharp edge led directly up to the top. The exhilaration of suc- cess was here added to that derived from physical nature. On the top fluttered a little black flag planted by our most recent predecessors. We reached it at 7:1.5 a.m., having accomplished the ascent from the Faulberg in six hours. The snow was flattened on either side of the apex so as to enable us all to stand upon it, and here we stood for some time, with all the magnificence of the Alps unrolled before us. Ascent of the Jungfrau 75 A SHARP EDGK I.ED TO THE TOP We may look upon these raountains again and again from a dozen different points of view, a perennial glory surrounds them which associates with every new prospect fresh impressions. I thought I had scarcely ever seen the Alps to greater advantage. Hardly ever was their maj- esty more fully revealed or more overpowering. The coloring of the air contributed as much to the effect as the grandeur of the masses on which that coloring fell. A calm splendor overspread 76 ASCEXT OF THK JlNCFUAr the mountains, softening' the harshness of tlic outHnes without detractino; from their strength. But half the interest of such scenes is psycholog- ical; the soul takes the tint of surrounding nature, and in its turn becomes majestic. And as I looked over this wondrous scene toward Mont Blanc, the Grand Combin, the Dent Blanche, the Weisshorn, the Dom, and the thousand lesser peaks which seemed to join in celebration of the risen day, I asked myself, as on previous occasions: How was this colossal work performed ? Who chiselled these mighty and picturesque masses out of a mere protuber- ance of the earth ? And the answer was at hand. Ever young, ever mighty — with the vigor of a thousand Avorlds still within him — the real sculptor was even then climljing up the eastern sky. It was he who raised aloft the waters which cut out these ravines; it was he who planted the glaciers on the mountain-slopes, thus giving gravity a plow^ to open out the valleys; and it is he who, acting through the ages, will finally lay low these mighty mountains, rolling them gradu- ally seaward — ''Sowing the seeds of continents to be"; so that the people of an older earth may see mould spread and corn wave over the hidden rocks which at this moment bear the w^eight of the Jungfrau. Abou Ben Adhem 77 THE ANGEL CAME AGAIN ABOU BEN ADHEM LFAGH HUNT Abou Ben Adhcni (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 78 Aboi Bf.x Ad hem And saw, within the nioonhght of his room, Making it rich, and like a Hly in bloom, An anoel writing; in a book of o^old — Do O Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head. And with a look made all of sw^eet accord, Answer'd, "The names of those W'ho love the Lord." "And is mine one ? " said Aboii. " Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerily still, and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one who loves his fellowmen." The angel WTote and vanish'd. The next night It came again with a great w^akening light, And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd. And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE ANNA McCALEB OLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, the youngest daughter of Edward Shore Nightingale, was born in 1820 in Florence, Italy, and was named for the city. Her father was of the family of Shores of Embley, Hants, and had adopted the name of Nightingale in accordance with the will of his granduncle, Peter Nightingale, from whom he had inherited the estate of Lea Hurst in Derby- shire. Mr. Nightingale was a man of wealth and prominence. He had ideas far in advance of his age in regard to the training of girls, and his daughters, Frances and Florence, were in- structed in music, in modern languages, in the classics and in mathematics. Miss Florence, as she was always called throughout the country- side, was a special favorite, and this does not seem strange when one learns what manner of child she was. The desire to do something to help, which was so strong in her all her life, showed itself very early, and one of the best- known stories of her childhood relates to her first attempt at nursing. According to this story, Florence was one day riding with the vicar, a friend of the family, who was especially fond of the unselfish, helpful child, and who often took her with him on his 70 80 Florenck Nightingale roll lids. They came upon an old shepherd of Mr. Xiglitingalc's, who was in the field attempt- ing to gather his flock together, but with no great success. "Whv Roger," cried Florence, "what has become of Cap ? I never saw you tr\' to care foi* the sheep without him before." "Indeed, Miss Florence," replied the man, "I'd not be doing without him now if I could help it, but I am afraid I shall have to do without him always, for he must be killed to-night." "Oh, Roger," cried the child, "what can dear, good Cap have done that he should have to die ?'' "Nothing, indeed, Miss, but he is of no use to me now, for some bad boys have broken his leg with stones, and I cannot afford to keep him and feed him when he is no help to me." "But how you will miss him," said Florence. "He has always lived right in the house W'ith you like a person." There were actually tears in the man's eyes as he nodded in reply to her; and partly because she felt sorry for him, and partly because she could not bear the thought of the faithful old dog suffering and being killed, she besought the \icar to go with her to Roger's house to see whether something could not be done for Cap. "I really don't believe," said the vicar on the way, "that Cap's leg can be broken. It would have to be a verv bio; stone and a verv strong bov that could break the leg of a great dog like Cap." Sure enough, when they reached the house, they found that the dog's leg was badly swollen, FXORENCE NIGUTLNGALE Florence Nightingale 81 and evidently very painful, but was not broken; and though he had barked furiously at their entrance into the cabin, and at first refused to allow them to come near him, he finally seemed to understand that they wanted to help him, and his brown eyes looked gratefully at Florence as she knelt beside him and stroked his head. "The first thing to do," said the vicar, "is to bathe the poor leg with hot water." Instantly Florence was up and out of the liouse, begging at a neighboring hut for some- thing to start a fire with. Returning, she kindled a fire and put the water on to boil, and then she again ran out of doors in search of some flannel to use in bandaging Cap's leg. A child's petticoat was hung out to dry before one of the neighboring huts, and this Florence snatched and tore into strips. For a long time she re- mained with the dog, wringing the cloths out of the hot water, and applying them to the swollen leg. Roger, when he returned that evening, carrying a cord with which to hang poor Cap, was delighted when he was told that the sacrifice of the dog's life would not be necessary. In the morning Florence returned, bringing with her two petticoats to replace the one which she had torn up, and she again remained with Cap, doing what she could to make him comfortable. The tendencies which this circumstance showed in the child were noticeable all her life. Not only did she desire to help people and to relieve suft'ering, but she usually managed to find some wav to do it. She was not a senti- N.? Flohi;\('i Nightingale inentalist who sat and wept over people's illness and miseries; she was a praetical person who sought constantly the means of remedying such illness and miseries. As she grew older, ]\Iiss Nightingale became convinced that the "art," as she called it, of nursing was one which was painfully neglected. She felt that nurses should have as strict and as careful training as shoidd doctors, and that they should be women of intelligence and of good character. To find out just what conditions were, she made a tour of inspection through many hospi- tals in England and in France. The latter country she found to be much in advance of Eno;land, for in France nursing; was almost entirely in the hands of the Catholic Sisters of Mercy, who were carefully trained, and who were, many of them, women of great refinement and intelligence. Why, Miss Nightingale won- dered, could there not be schools and hospitals where Protestant women could be trained as were the Sisters of Mercy ? There was, indeed, one such place, which was at this time being much discussed on the Conti- nent and even in England. This was the in- stitution conducted at Kaiserwerth, in Germany, by Pastor Fliedner, for the training of deacon- esses, or district nurses. These nurses, trained and given experience in the hospital at Kaiser- werth, were sent out to care for the sick poor free of charge, and to teach them some of the simplest rules of health. To this institution Florence Nightingale 83 Miss Nightingale determined to go, and her decision cansed a stir among those wlio knew her in England. It was all right, they declared, for German peasants to be trained as nurses — })easants were expected to wait upon other people; but for an English lady of wealth and refinement to place herself in a position where she might be called upon to serve those below her in station — the thing was not to be thought of. However, ]Miss Nightingale had been think- ing of it long and seriously, and nothing that was said could alter her determination. She went to Kaiserwerth in 1849, causing a flutter among the blue-gowned, white-capped peasant girls there. Soon the heads of the institution came to depend upon lier for lielp such as the other students could not render, and her companions grew to love her very tenderly. A friend of Miss Nightingale's who visited Kaiserwerth, years afterward found that the "English Friiu- lein" was still remembered and loved. Miss Nightingale's l)ody was by no means as strong as her spirit, and the training at Kaiser- werth told upon her, so that she was obliged to remain at Lea Hurst resting for some time after her return from Germany. The first patient she had after her months of resting was not a person, but an institution. The Harley Street Home for Sick Governesses in London, a most worthy charity, was, owing to mismanagement, in a verv bad state. Miss Niohtinjj-ale, whose organizing abilit}' was of the highest order, undertook to place the institution on a better 84 FloRKNCK XlCillTINGALK footinj:". and for months she scarcelv left the Home or saw her friends, so arduous were her labors. In building up the shattered finances, i»she did not spare her own fortune, and when, at the end of some months, she gave up her patient as cured, the charity was one of which London could well be proud. All that Miss Nightingale had done hitherto had been but a preparation for the great work which she was soon to be called upon to perform. This work was not of her own choosing; indeed. it was of no one's choosing. In 18,54 the Crimean War broke out between England and Russia, and it was not long before people in England were reading in The Times descriptions of the suffering caused the English soldiers by the defective hospital arrangements. There was a hospital at Scutari, a port of the Turkish capital; there was a general hospital and a collection of hut hospitals at Balaklava; and there was what might have been, with good management, a sufRciency of hospital supplies sent out by the British government. But for some reason, never fully understood, no com- forts were provided for well soldiers and no effective help was given the sick and wounded. \V. II. Russell in TJie Times wrote: "It is now pouring rain, the skies are black as ink, the wind is howUng over the staggering tents, the trenches are turned into dykes; in the tents the water is sometimes a foot deep; our men have not either warm or waterproof clothing; they are out for twelve hours at a time in the trenches; Florence Nightingale 85 thev are plunged into the inevitable miseries of a winter campaign, and not a soul seems to care for their comfort, or even for their lives. These are hard truths, but the people of England must hear them. They must know that the wretched beo-jjar who wanders about the streets of London in the rain, leads the life of a prince compared with the British soldiers who are fighting out here for their country." x\nd again the same correspondent wrote in the same paper: "The commonest accessories of a hospital are wanting; there is not the least attention paid to decency or clean linen; the stench is appalling; the fetid air can hardly struggle out to taint the atmosphere, save through the chinks in the walls and roofs; and for all I can observe, these men die without the least efi'ort being made to save them. There they lie, just as thev were let oentlv down on the o^round by the poor fellows, their comrades, who brought them on their backs from the camp with the greatest tenderness, but who were not allowed to remain with them. The sick appear to be tended by the sick, and the dying by the dying." These facts had the effect which might have been expected. Letters, expostulations, sup- plies, offers of assistance ])egan to pour in on the War Office in a flood. No ofi'ers of hospital supplies were refused, and l)efore long vast quantities were on their way to the East. But it seemed as if evervthin"" were destined to assed across their foreheads. Yeo's sneer was but too just; there were not only old men and youths among them, but women; slender young girls, mothers with children running at their knee; and, at the sight, a low murmur of indignation rose from the ambushed Englishmen, worthy of the free and righteous hearts of those days, when Raleigh could appeal to man and God, on the ground of a common humanity, in behalf of the outraged heathens of the New World; when Englishmen still knew that man was man, and that the instinct of freedom w^as the righteous voice of God; ere the hapless seventeenth century had brutalized them also, by bestowing on them, amid a hundred other bad legacies, the fatal gift of negro-slaves. But the first forty, so Amyas counted, bore on their backs a burden which made all, perhaps, but him and Yeo, forget even the wretches who liore it. Each basket contained a square pack- 106 How Thky Took the Gold-Train age of carefully corded hide; the look whereof friend Amyas knew full well. ''What's in they, captain?" "Gold!" And at that magic word all eyes were strained "reedilv forward, and such a rustle followed, that Amyas, in the very face of de- tection, had to whisper — "Be men, be men, or you will spoil all yet!" The last twenty, or so, of the Indians bore larger baskets, but more lightly freighted, seem- ingly with manioc, and maize-bread, and other food for the party; and after them came, with their bearers and attendants, just twenty soldiers more, followed by the officer in charge, who smiled away in his chair, and twirled two huge mustachios, thinking of nothing less than of the English arrows which were itchino; to be awav and through his ribs. The ambush was com- plete ; the only question how and when to begin ? Amyas had a shrinking, which all will under- stand, from drawing bow in cold blood on men so utterly unsuspicious and defenseless, even though in the very act of de\dlish cruelty — for devilish cruelty it was, as three or four drivers armed with whips, lingered up and down the slowly staggering file of Indians, and avenged every moment's lagging, even every stumble, by a blow of the cruel manati-hide, which cracked like a pistol-shot against the naked limbs of the silent and uncomplaining victim. Suddenly the casus belli,^ as usually happens, arose of its own accord. 8. Casus belli means cause of war. How They Took the Gold-Train 107 The last but one of the chained hne was an old gray-headed man, followed by a slender graceful girl of some eighteen years old, and Amyas's heart yearned over them as they came up. Just as they passed, the foremost of the file had rounded the corner above; there was a bustle, and a voice shouted, "Halt, Senors! there is a tree across the path!" "A tree across the path ?" bellowed the officer, while the line of trembling Indians, told to halt above, and driven on by blows below, surged up and down upon the ruinous steps of the Indian road, until the poor old man fell groveling on his face. The officer leaped down, and hurried upward to see what had liappened. Of course, he came across the old man. "Grandfather of Beelzebub, is this a place to lie worshiping your fiends ? " and he pricked the prostrate wretch with the point of his sword. The old man tried to rise ; but the Meight of his head was too much for him; he fell again, and lay motionless. The driver applied the manati-hide across his loins, once, twice, with fearful force; but even that specific was useless. "Gastado, Sefior Capitan," said he, with a shrug. "Used up. He has been failing these three months!" "What does the intendant mean by sending me out with worn-out cattle like these .'' For- ward there ! " shouted ho. " Clear away the tree, 108 How They Took tuv: Gold-Train Senors, and I'll soon clear the chain. Hold it up, Pedrillo!" The driver lield up the chain, which was fastened to the old man's wrist. The officer stepped back, and flourished round his head a Toledo blade, whose beauty made Amyas break the Tenth Commandment on the spot. The man was a tall, handsome, broad- shouldered, high-bred man: and Amyas thought that he was going to display the strength of his arm, and the temper of his blade, in severing the chain at one stroke. Even he was not prepared for the recondite fancies of a Spanish adventurer, worthy son or nephew of those first conquerors, who used to try the keenness of their swords upon the living bodies of Indians, and reo;ale themselves at meals M ith the odor of roasting caciques. The blade gleamed in the air, once, twice, and fell: not on the chain, l)ut on the wrist which it fettered. There was a shriek, a crimson flash — and the chain and its prisoner were parted indeed. One moment more, and Amyas's arrow would liave been through the throat of the murderer, ^^"ho paused, regarding his workmanship with a satisfied smile; but vengeance was not to come from him. Quick and fierce as a tiger-cat, the girl sprang on the ruflSan, and with the intense strength of passion, clasped him in her arms and leaped ^-ith him from the narrow ledge into the abyss below. There was a rush, a shout; all faces were bent over the precipice. The girl hung by her chained How They Took the Gold-Traix 109 wrist: the officer was gone. There was a mo- ment's awful silence; and then Amyas heard his body crashing through the tree-tops far below. "Haul her up! Hew her to pieces! Burn the witch!" and the driver, seizing the chain, pulled at it with all his might, while all springing from their chairs, stooped over the brink. Now was the time for Amyas! Heaven had delivered them into his hands. Swift and sure, at ten yards off, his arrow rushed through the body of the driver, and then, with a roar as of a leaping lion, he sprang like an avenging angel into the midst of the astonished ruffians. His first thought was for the girl. In a mo- ment, by sheer strength, he had jerked her safely up into the road; Avhile the Spaniards recoiled right and left, fancying him for the moment some mountain giant or supernatural foe. His hurrah undeceived them in an instant, and a cry of "English! Dogs!" arose, but arose too late. The men of Devon had followed their captain's lead: a storm of arrows left five Spaniards dead, and a dozen more wounded, and down leapt Salvation Yeo, his white hair streaming behind him, with twenty good swords more, and the work of death began. The Spaniards fought like lions; but they had no time to fix their arquebuses on the crutches; no room, in that narrow path, to use their pikes. The English had the wall of them; and to have the wall there, was to have the foe's life at their mercy. Five desperate minutes, and not a living Spaniard stood upon those steps; and certainly 110 How They Took the Gold-Train no living one lay in the green abyss below. Two only, who were behind the rest, happening to be in full armor, escaped without mortal wound, and fled down the hill again. "After them! Michael Evans and Simon Heard; and catch them, if they run a league." The two long and lean Clovelly men, active as deer from forest training, ran two feet for the Spaniard's one; and in ten minutes returned, having done their work; while Amyas and his men hurried past the Indians, to help Gary and the party forward, where shouts and musket shots announced a sharp affray. Their arrival settled the matter. All the Spaniards fell but three or four, who scrambled down the crannies of the cliff. "Let not one of them escape! Slay them as Israel slew Amalek!" cried Yeo, as he bent over; and ere the wretches could reach a place of shelter, an arrow was quivering in each body, as it rolled lifeless down the rocks. "Now then! Loose the Indians!" They found armorers' tools on one of the dead bodies, and it was done. "We are friends," said Amyas. "All we ask is, that you shall help us carry this gold down to the Magdalena, and then you are free." Some few of the younger groveled at his knees, and Idssed his feet, hailing him as the child of the Sun : but the most part kept a stolid indiffer- ence, and when freed from their fetters, sat quietly down where they stood, staring into vacancy. The iron had entered too deeply into AMYAS SPilANG UPON TIIC.M How They Took the Gold-Traix 111 their soul. They seemed past hope, enjoyment, even understanding. But the young girl, who was last of all in the line, as soon as she was loosed, sprang to her father's body, speaking no word, lifted it in her thin arms, laid it across her knees, kissed the fallen lips, stroked the furrowed cheeks, mur- mured inarticulate sounds like the cooing of a woodland dove, of which none knew the mean- ing but she, and he who heard not, for his soul had long since fled. Suddenly the truth flashed on her; silent as ever, she drew one long heavy breath, and rose erect, the body in her arms. Another moment, and she had leaped into the abyss. They watched her dark and slender limbs, twined closely round the old man's corpse, turn over, and over, and over, till a crash among the leaves, and a scream among the birds, told that slie had reached the trees; and the green roof hid her from their view. *' Brave lass!" shouted a sailor. "The Lord forgive her!" said Yeo. "But, your worship, we must have these rascals' ord- nance." "And their clothes too, Yeo, if we wish to get down the Magdalena unchallenged. Now listen, my masters all! We have won, by God's good grace, gold enough to serve us the rest of our lives, and that without losing a single man; and may yet win more, if we be wise, and He thinks good. But oh, my friends, do not make God's ll'S How They Took the Gold-Train gift our ruin, by faithlessness, or greediness, or jiTiy mutinous haste." "You shall find none in us!" cried several men. ''We know your worship. We can trust our general." "Thank God!" said Amyas. "Now then, it will be no shame or sin to make the Indians carry it, saving the women, whom God forbid we should burden. But we must pass through the very heart of the Spanish settlements, and by the town of Saint ^Martha itself. So the clothes and weapons of these Spaniards we must have, let it cost us what labor it may. How many lie in the road ? " "Thirteen here, and about ten up above," said Cary.^ "Then there are near twenty missing. Who will volunteer to go down over the clifi', and bring lip the spoil of them ? " "I, and I, and I;" and a dozen stepped out, as they did always when Amyas wanted any- thing done; for the simple reason, that they knew that he meant to help at the doing of it himself. "Very well, then, follow me. Sir John,'" take the Indian lad for your interpreter, and try and comfort the souls of these poor heathens. Tell them that they shall all be free." "Why, who is that comes up the road ? " All eyes were turned in the direction of which he spoke. And, wonder of wonders! up came 9. Will Gary is the lieutenant and right-band man of Amyas. 10. Sir John Brimblecombe is the chaplain of the expedition. How They Took thi: Gold -Train 113 none other than Ayacanora^* herself, blow-gun in hand, bow on back, and bedecked in all her feather garments, which last were rather the worse for a fortnight's woodland travel. All stood mute with astonishment, as, seeing Amyas, she uttered a cry of joy, quickened her pace into a run, and at last fell panting and ex- hausted at his feet. "I have found you!" she said; "you ran away from me, but you could not escape me!" And she fawned round Amyas, like a dog who has found his master, and then sat down on the bank, and burst into wild sobs. *'God help us!" said Amyas, clutching his hair, as he looked down upon the beautiful weeper. "What am I to do with her, over and above all these poor heathens ? " But there was no time to be lost, and over the cliff he scram])led; while the ffirl, seeino- that the main body of the English remained, sat down on a point of rock to watch him. After half-an-hour's hard work, the weapons, clothes, and armor of the fallen Spaniards were hauled up the clifl', and distributed in bundles among the men; the rest of the corpses were thrown over the precipice, and they started again upon their road toward the Magdalena, while 11. Ayacariora is a beautiful Indian princess whom llie Spaniai-Js met in the hulian village desoritjed in the preceding chapter. Shr seems quite did'erent from others of tlie tribe, and is tliouglit to be a dc- seendant from one of the light-skinned Peruvian Incas, wIkjui the Span- iards had almost entirely extinguished. Much later in the story she is discovered to be of real white descent, and at the end of the book slie becomes the wife of Amvas. 114 How Thky Took thf. Gold -Train Yeo snorted like a ^\al-ho^se who smells the hattle, at the delight of once more handling- powder and ball. "We can face the world now, sir! Why not go back and try Santa Fe, after all ?" But Amyas thought that enough was as good as a feast, and they held on downwards, while the slaves followed, without a sign of gratitude, but meekly obedient to their new masters, and testifying now and then by a sign or a grunt, their surprise at not being beaten, or made to carry their captors. Some, however, caught sio;ht of the little calabashes of coca which the English carried. That woke them from their torpor, and they began coaxing abjectly (and not in vain) for a taste of that miraculous herb, which would not only make food unnecessary, and enable their panting lungs to endure the keen mountain air, but would rid them, for a while at least, of the fallen Indian's most un- pitying foe, the malady of thought. As the cavalcade turned the corner of the mountain, they paused for one last look at the scene of that fearful triumph. Lines of vultures were already streaming out of infinite space, as if created suddenly for the occasion. A few hours and there would be no trace of that fierce fray, but a few white bones amid untrodden beds of flowers. And now Amyas had time to ask Ayacanora the meaning of this her strange appearance. He wished her anywhere but where she was: but now that she was here, what heart could be so How They Took the Gold -Train 115 hard as not to take pity on the poor wild tiling ? And Amyas as he spoke to her had, perhaps, a tenderness in his tone, from very fear of hurting her, which he had never used before. Passion- ately she told him how she had followed on their track day and night, and had every evening made sounds, as loud as she dared, in hopes of their hearing her, and either waiting for her, or coming back to see what caused the noise. Amyas now recollected the strange roaring which had followed them. "Noises.^ What did you make them with.^" Ayacanora lifted her finger with an air of most self-satisfied mystery; and then drew cautiously from under her feather cloak an object at which Amyas had hard work to keep his countenance. "Look!" whispered she, as if half afraid that the thing itself should hear her. "I have it — the holy trumpet!" There it was, a handsome earthen tube some two feet long, neatly glazed, and painted with quaint grecques and figures of animals; a relic evidently of some civilization now extinct. Brimblecombe rubbed his little fat hands. " Brave maid ! you have cheated Satan this time," fjuoth he: wliile Yeo advised that the idolatrous relic should be forthwith "hove over cliff." "Let be," said Amyas. "What is the mean- ing of this, Ayacanora ? And why have you followed us 'i " She told a long story, from which Amyas picked up, as far as he could understand her, that that trumpet had ])een for years the torment 116 How They Took thi: Gold-Train of lier life; the one thing in the tribe superior to lier; the one thing wliich slie was not allowed to see, because, forsooth, she was a woman. So she determined to show them that a woman was as good as a man; and hence her hatred of marriage, and her Amazonian exploits. But still the Piache'- would not show her that trum- pet, or tell her where it was: and as for going to seek it, even she feared the superstitious wrath of the tribe at such a profanation. But the day after the English went, the Piache chose to ex- press his joy at their departure; whereon, as was to be expected, a fresh explosion between master and pupil, which ended, she confessed, in her burning the old rogue's hut over his head, from which he escaped Mith loss of all his conjuring- tackle, and fled raging into the woods, vowing that he would carry off the trumpet to the neigh- boring tribe. Whereon, l)y a sudden impulse, the young lady took plenty of coca, her Aveapons, and her feathers, started on his trail, and ran him to earth just as he was unveiling the precious mystery. At which sight (she confessed) she was horribly afraid, and half inclined to run: but, gathering courage from the thought that the white men used to laugh at the whole matter, she rushed upon the hapless conjurer, and bore off her prize in triumph; and there it was! "I hope you have not killed him ? " said Amyas. "I did beat him a little; but I thought you would not let me kill him." 12. The Piache is the chief medicine man of the tribe of Indian* aiiong whom Ayacanora was regarded as a powerful princess. How Thi;y Took the Gold-Train 117 Am}'as was half amused with her confession of liis authority over her: but she went on,— "And then I dare not go back to the Indians; so I was forced to come after you." "And is that, then, your only reason for com- ing after us ? " asked stupid Amyas. He had touched some secret chord — though what it was he was too busy to inquire. The girl drew herself up proudly, blushing scarlet, and said — "You never tell lies. Do you think that I would tell lies ? " On which she fell to the rear, and followed them steadfastly, speaking to no one, but evi- dently determined to follow them to the world's end. They soon left the high road; and for several days held on downwards, hewing their path slowly and painfully through the thick under- wood. On the evening of the fourth day, they had reached the margin of a river, at a point where it seemed broad and still enough for navi- gation. For those three days they had not seen a trace of human Ijeings, and the spot seemed lonely enough for them to encamp without fear of discovery, and begin the making of their canoes. They began to spread tliemselves along the stream, in search of the soft-wooded trees proper for their purpose; but hardly had their search begun, when, in the midst of a dense thicket, they came upon a sight which filled them with astonishment. Beneath a honey-combed cliff, which supported one enonnous cotton-tree, Vol IX.— 9. IIS ^()^A Tni.A Took thk Gold-Train A FIGXJRE ISSUED FROM A CAVE was a spot of some thirty yards square sloping down to the stream, planted in rows with mag- nificent banana-plants, full twelve feet high, and bearing amono^ their huo-e wax^^ leaves clusters of ripening fruit; while, under their mellow shade, yams and cassava plants were flourishino^ luxuriantly, the whole beings sur- rounded by a hedge of orange and scarlet flowers. There it lay, streaked with long shadows from the setting sun, w^hile a cool southern air rustled in the cotton-tree, and flapped to and fro the great banana leaves; a tiny paradise of art and care. But where was its inhabitant ? How They Took the Gold-Train 119 Aroused by the noise of their approach, a figure issued fr©ni a cave in the rocks, and, after gazing at them for a moment, came down the garden towards them. He was a tall and stately old man, whose snow-white beard and hair cov- ered his chest and shoulders, while his lower limbs were wrapt in Indian-web. Slowly and solemnly he approached, a staff in one hand, a string of beads in the other, the living likeness of some old Hebrew prophet, or anchorite of ancient legend. He bowed courteously to Am- yas (who of course returned his salute) , and was in act to speak, when his eye fell upon the Indians, who were laying down their burdens in a heap under the trees. His mild countenance assumed instantly an expression of the acutest sorrow and displeasure; and, striking his hands together, he spoke in Spanish — "Alas ! miserable me ! Alas ! unhappy Seiiors ! Do my old eyes deceive me, and is it one of those evil visions of the past which haunt my dreams by night: or has the accursed thirst for gold, the ruin of my race, penetrated even into this my solitude .^ Oh, Sefiors, Senors, know you not that you bear with you youi- own poison, your own familiar fiend, the root of every evil ? And is it not enough for you, Senors, to load your- selves with the wedge of Achan, and partake his doom, but you must make these hapless heathens the victims of your greed and cruelty, and forestall for them on earth those torments which may await their iinbaptized souls here- after .>" l^iO How Thky Took the Gold-Train "AVe liave preserved, and not enslaved these Indians, ancient Seiior," said Amyas prondly; "and to-morrow will see them as free as the birds over our heads." "Free? Then you cannot be countr^inen of mine! But pardon an old man, my son, if he has spoken too hastily in the bitterness of his own experience. But who and whence are you ? And whv are vou brinoino; into this lonelv wilder- ness that gold — for I know too well the shape of those accursed packets, A^hich would God that I had never seen!" "^Miat we are, reverend sir, matters little, as long as we behave to you as the young should to the old. As for our gold, it will be a curse or a blessing to us, I conceive, just as we use it well or ill; and so is a man's head, or his hand, or any other thing; but that is no reason for cutting off his limbs for fear of doing harm with them; neither is it for throwing away those packages, which, by your leave, we shall deposit in one of these caves. We must be your neighbors, I fear, for a day or two; but I can promise you that your garden shall be respected, on condition that you do not inform any human soul of our being here." "God forbid, Seiior, that I should try to in- crease the number of my visitors, much less to bring hither strife and blood, of which I have seen too much already. As you have come in peace, in peace depart. Leave me alone with God and my penitence, and may the Lord have mercy on you!" How They Took the Gold-Train 121 And he was about to withdraw, when, recol- lecting himself, he turned suddenly to Amyas again: "Pardon me, Senor, if, after forty years of utter solitude, I shrink at first from the conversa- tion of human beings, and forget, in the habitual shyness of a recluse, the duties of a hospitable gentleman of Spain. My garden, and all which it produces, is at your service. Only let me entreat that these poor Indians shall have their share; for heathens though they be, Christ died for them; and I cannot but cherish in my soul some secret hope that He did not die in vain." "God forbid!" said Brimblecombe. "They are no worse than we, for aught I see, whatso- ever their fathers may have been; and they have fared no A\orse than we since they have been with us, nor will, I promise you." The good fellow did not tell that he had been starving himself for the last three days to cram the children with his own rations; and that the sailors, and even Amyas, had been going out of their way every five minutes, to get fruit for their new pets. A camp was soon formed; and that evening the old hermit asked Amyas, Gary, and Brimble- combe to come up into his cavern. They went; and after the accustomed compH- ments had passed, sat down on mats upon the ground, while the old man stood, leaning against a slab of stone surmounted by a rude wooden cross, which served him as a place of prayer. * ^ '^ Jh --}: * ^ * >jj ;{:: >i; >{; -^ :{: l''2'-2 How They Took the Gold-Train Tlio talk lasted long into the night,''' but Am- yas was up long before daybreak, felling the trees; and as he and Cary walked back to breakfast, the first thing which they saw was the old man in his garden with four or five Indian children roiuid him, talking smilingly to them, "The old man's heart is sound still;' said Will. "No man is lost who is still fond of little children." ''Ah, Senors!" said the hermit as they came up, "you see that I have begun already to act upon your advice." "And you have begun at the right end," quoth Amyas; "if you win the children, you win the mothers." "And if you win the mothers," quoth Will, "the poor fathers must needs obey their wives, and follow in the wake " The old man only sighed. "The prattle of these little ones softens my hard heart, Senors, with a new pleasure; but it saddens me, when I recollect that there may be children of mine now in the world — children who have never known a father's love — never known aught but a master's threats " "God has taken care of these little ones. Trust that He has taken care of yours." That day Amyas assembled the Indians, and told them that they must obey the hermit as their 13. The old hermit proves to be one of the survivors of Pizarro's company. He took part in the destruction of native civilization and was guilty of all the cruelties and barbarities that his race practiced. He is living now in the wilderness in an eflfort to atone for his terrible sins. How They Took the Gold-Train 123 king, and settle there as best they could: for if they broke up and wandered away, nothing was left for them but to fall one by one into the hands of the Spaniards. They heard him with their usual melancholy and stupid acquiescence, and went and came as they were bid, like animated machines; but the negroes were of a different temper; and four or five stout fellows gave Am- yas to understand that they had been warriors in their own country, and that warriors they would be still; and nothing should keep them from Spaniard-hunting. xVmyas saw that the presence of these desperadoes in the new colony would both endanger the authority of the hermit, and bring the Spaniards down upon it in a few weeks; so making a virtue of necessity, he asked them whether they would go Spaniard-hunting with him. This was just what the bold Coromantees wished for; they grinned and shouted their de- light at serving under so great a warrior, and then set to work most gallantly, getting through more in the day than any ten Indians, and in- deed than any two Englishmen. So went on several days, during wliich the trees were felled, and the process of digging them out began; while Ayacanora, silent and moody, wandered into the woods all day with her blow- gun, and l)rought home at evening a load of parrots, monkeys, and curassows; two or three old hands were sent out to hunt likewise; so that, what with the oame and the fish of the river, which seemed inexhaustible, and tlie fruit of the V24 How They Took the Gold-Train neighboring palm-trees, there was no lack of food in the camp. But what to do with Aya- canora ^^■eighed heavily on the mind of Amyas. He opened his heart on the matter to the old hermit, and asked him whether he would take charge of her. The latter smiled, and shook his head at the notion. "If your report of her be true, I may as well take in hand to tame a jaguar." However, he promised to try; and one evening, as they were all standing together be- fore the mouth of the cave, Ayacanora came up smiling with the fruit of her day's sport; and xVmyas, thinking this a fit opportunity, began a carefully-prepared harangue to her, which he intended to be altogether soothing, and even pathetic, — to the effect that the maiden, having no parents, was to look upon this good old man as her father; that he would instruct her in the white man's religion and teach her how to be happy and good, and so forth; and that, in fine, she was to remain there with the hermit. She heard him quietly, her great dark eyes opening wider and wider, her bosom swelling, her stature seeming to grow taller every moment, as she clenched her weapons firmly in both her hands. Beautiful as she always was, she had never looked so beautiful before; and as Amyas spoke of parting with her, it was like throwing away a lovely toy; but it must be done, for her .sake, for his, perhaps for that of all the crew. The last words had hardly passed his lips, when, with a shriek of mingled scorn, rage, and fear, she dashed through the astonished group. How They Took the Gold -Train 125 "Stop her!" was Aniyas's first word; but his next was, "Let her go!" for springing like a deer through the httle garden, and over the flower-fence, she turned, menacing with her blow-2:un the sailors, who had already started in her pursuit. "Let her alone, for Heaven's sake!" shouted Amyas, who, he scarce knew why, shrank from the thought of seeing those graceful limbs strug- gling in the seamen's grasp. She turned again, and in another minute her gaudy plumes had vanished among the dark forest stems, as swiftly as if she had been a pass- ing bird. All stood thunderstruck at this unexpected end to the conference. At last Amyas spoke — "There's no use in standing here idle, gentle- men. Staring after her won't bring her back. After all, I'm glad she's gone," But Ayacanora did not return; and ten days more went on in continual toil at the canoes with- out any news of her from the hunters. Amyas, by the bye, had strictly bidden these last not to follow the girl, not even to speak to her, if they came across her in their wanderings. He was shrewd enough to guess that the only way to cure her sulkiness was to out-sulk her; but there was no sign of her presence in any direction; and the canoes being finished at last, the gold, and such provisions as they could collect, were placed on board, and one evening the party pre- pared for their fresh voyage. They determined to travel as much as possible by night, for fear 126 How They Took the Gold-Train of discovery, especially in the neighborhood of the fcNv Spanish settlements ^vhich Avere then scattered along the banks of the main stream. These, however, the negroes kncAv, so that there was no fear of coming on them unawares; and as for falling asleep in their night journeys, "Nobody," the negroes said, "ever slept on the IMagdalena; the mosquitoes took too good care of that." Which fact Amyas and his crew veri- fied afterwards as thoroughly as wretched men could do. The sun had sunk; the night had all but fallen; the men were all on board; Amyas in command of one canoe, Cary of the other. The Indians were grouped on the bank, watching the party with their listless stare, and with them the young guide, who preferred remaining among the Indians, and was made supremely happy by the present of a Spanish sword and an English ax; while, in the midst, the old hermit, with tears in his eyes, prayed God's blessing on them. "I owe to you, noble cavaliers, new peace, new labor, I may say, new life. ^lay God be with you, and teach you to use your gold and your swords better than I used mine." The adventurers waved their hands to him. "Give way, men," cried Amyas; and as he spoke the paddles dashed into the water, to a right English hurrah ! which sent the birds flutter- ing from their roosts, and was answered by the yell of a hundred monkeys, and the distant roar of the jaguar. How They Took the Gold -Train 127 About twenty yards below, a wooded rock, some ten feet high, hung over the stream. The river was not there more than fifteen yards broad; deep near the rock, shallow on the farther side; and Amyas's canoe led the way, within ten feet of the stone. As he passed, a dark figure leapt from the bushes on the edge, and plunged heavily into the water close to the boat. All started. A jaguar 't No ; he would not have missed so short a spring. What, then } A human being "i A head rose panting to the surface, and with a few strong strokes, the swimmer had clutched the gunwale. It was Ayacanora ! "Go back!" shouted Amyas. "Go back, girl!" She uttered the same wild cry with which she had fled into the forest. "I will die, then! " and she threw up her arms. Another moment, and she had sunk. To see her perish before his eyes! who could bear that .'' Her hands alone were above the surface. Amyas caught convulsively at her in the darkness, and seized her wrist. A yell rose from the negroes: a roar from the crew as from a cage of lions. There was a rush and a swirl along the surface of the stream; and "Caiman!'^ caiman!" shouted twenty voices. Now, or never, for the strong arm! "To larboard, men, or over we go!" cried Amyas, and with one huge heave, he Hfted the slender body upon the gunwale. Her lower limbs were 14. A caiman, or cayman, is a species of alligator. 1^28 How They Took the Gold -Train still in the water, when, within arm's length, rose above the stream a huge muzzle. The lower jaw lay flat, the upper reached as high as Amvas's head. He could see the lone: fangs gleam white in the moonshine; he could see for one moment, full down the monstrous depths of that great gape, which would have crushed a bufi'alo. Three inches, and no more, from that soft side, the snout surged up— — There was the gleam of an ax from above, a sharp ringing blow, and the jaws came together with a clash which rang; from l)ank to bank. He had missed her! Swerving beneath the blow, liis snout had passed beneath her body, and smashed up against the side of the canoe, as the striker, overbalanced, fell headlong overboard upon the monster's back. "Who is it.'" "Yeol" shouted a dozen. Man and beast went down together, and where they sank, the moonlight shone on a great swirl- ing eddy, while all held their breaths, and Ayacanora cowered down into the bottom of the canoe, her proud spirit utterly broken, for the first time, by the terror of that great need, and by a bitter loss. For in the struggle, the holy trumpet, companion of all her wanderings, had fallen from her bosom; and her fond hope of bringing magic prosperity to her English friends had sunk with it to the bottom of the stream. None heeded her; not even Amyas, round whose knees she clung, fawning like a spaniel dog: for where was Yeo .^ How They Took the Gold -Train 1'29 Another swirl; a shout from the canoe abreast of them, and Yeo rose, having dived clean under his own boat, and risen between the two. "Safe as yet, lads! Heave me a line, or he'll have me after all." But ere the brute reappeared, the old man was safe on board. "The Lord has stood by me," panted he, as he shot the water from his ears. "We went down together: I knew the Indian trick, and being uppermost, had my thumbs in his eyes before he could turn: but he carried me down to the very mud. My breath was nigh gone, so I left go, and struck up: but my toes tingled as I rose again, I'll warrant. There the beggar is, looking for me, I declare!" And true enough, there^ was the huge brute swimming slowly round and round, in search of his lost victim. It was too dark to put an arrow into his eye; so they paddled on, while Ayacanora crouched silently at iVmyas's feet. "Yeo!" asked he, in a low voice, "what shall we do with her .^" "Why ask me, sir.^" said the old man, as he had a very good right to ask. "Because, when one don't know oneself, one had best inquire of one's elders. Besides, you saved her life at the risk of your own, and have a right to a voice in the matter, if any one has, old friend." "Then, my dear young captain, if the Lord puts a precious soul under your care, don't you refuse to bear the burden He lays on you." 130 How They Took the Gold-Train AmviKs was silenl awliile: M'liile Ayacanora, A\lio was evidently utterly exhausted by the night's adventure, and |)robabIy by long wander- ings, watc'hings, and weepings whieh had gone before it. sank with her head against his knee, fell fast asleep, and l^reathed as gently as a child. At last he rose in the canoe, and called Gary alongside. "Listen to me, gentlemen, and sailors all. Vou know that we have a maiden on board here, l)y no choice of our own. Whether she will be a blessino; to us, God alone can tell : but she mav turn to the greatest curse which has befallen us ever since we came out over Bar three years ago. Promise me one thing, or I put her ashore the next beach; and that is, that you will treat her as if she were your own sister," A BED OF NETTLES GRANT ALLEN EACHING my hand into the hedge- row to pick a long, hthe, blossom- ing spray of black bryony — here it is, with its graceful climbing- stem, its glossy, heart-shaped leaves and its pretty greenish lily flowers — I have stung myself rather badly against the nettles that grow^ rank and tall from the rich mud in the ditch below. Nothing soothes a nettle sting like philosophy and dock- leaf; so I shall rub a little of the leaf on my hand and then sit awhile on the Hole Farm gate here to philosophize about nettles and things gener- ally, as is my humble wont. There is a great deal more in nettles, I believe, than most people are apt to imagine; indeed, the nettle-philosopliy at present current with the larger part of the world seems to me lamentably one-sided. As a rule, the sting is the only point in the whole orcjanization of the familv over Mliich we evei- waste a sinole tliou<»ht. This is our ordinary human narrowness; in each plant or animal we interest ourselves about that one part alone which has special reference to our own relations with it, for good or for evil. In a strawl)erry, we think only of the fruit; in a hawthorn, of llie flowers; in a deadly niglilsliade, of the poisonous berry; and in a nettle, of llie sting. Now, I 131 13!2 A Bkd of Xi:ttles frankly admit at the present moment that the nettle sting has an obtrusive and unnecessarily pungent way of forcing itself upon the human attention; but it does not sum up the whole life-history of the plant in its own one peculiarity for all that. The nettle exists for its own sake, we may be sure, and not merely for the sake of occasionally inflicting a passing smart upon the meddlesome human fingers. However, the sting itself, viewed philo- sophically, is not without decided interest of its own. It is one, and perhaps the most highly developed, among the devices by which plants guard themselves against the attacks of animals. Weeds and shrubs with juicy, tender leaves are very apt to be eaten down by rabbits, cows, donkeys and other herbivores. But if any individuals among such species happen to show any tendency to the development of any un- pleasant habit, which prevents the herbivores from eating them, then those particular indi- viduals will of course be spared when their neighbors are eaten, and will establish a new and specially protected variety in the course of successive generations. It does not matter what the peculiarity may be, provided only it in any way deters animals from eating the plant. In the arum, a violently acrid juice is secreted in the leaves, so as to burn the mouth of the ag- gressor. In the dandelion and wild lettuces, the juice is merely bitter. In houndstongue and catmint it has a nauseous taste. Then again, in the hawthorn and the ])lackthorn, some of the A Bed of Nettles 133 shorter branches have developed into stout, sharp spines, which tear the skin of would-be assailants. In the brambles, the hairs on the stem have thickened into pointed prickles, which answer the same purpose as the spines of their neighbors. In the thistles, the gorse and the holly, once more, it is the angles of the leaves themselves, which have grown into needle-like points so as to deter animals from browsing upon them. But the nettle probably carries the same tendency to the furthest possible limit. Not content with mere defense, it is to some extent actively aggressive. The hairs which clothe it have become filled with a poisonous, irritating juice, and when any herbivore thrusts his tender nose into the midst of a clump, the sharp points pierce his naked skin, the liquid gets into his veins in the very neighborhood of the most sensitive nerves, and the poor creature receives at once a lifelong warning against attacking nettles in future. The way in which so curious a device has grown up is not, it seems to me, very difficult to guess. Many plants are armed with small sharp hairs which act as a protection to them against the incursions of ants and other destructive insects. These hairs are often enough more or less glandular in structure, and therefore liable to contain various waste products of the plant. Suppose one of these waste products in the ancestors of the nettle to be at first slightly pungent, by accident, as it were, then it would i-xercise a slightly deterrent effect upon nettle- -'. IX.- 10. 134 A Bed OF I^ettles eating animals. The more stinging it grew, the more effectual would the protection be; and as in each generation the least protected plants would get eaten down, while the more protected were spared, the tendency would be for the juice to grow more and more stinging till at last it reached the present high point of development. It is noticeable, too, that in our warrens and wild places, most of the plants are thus more or less protected in one way or another from the attacks of animals. These neglected spots are over- grown with gorse, brambles, nettles, blackthorn, and mullein, as well as with the bitter spurges, and the stringy inedible bracken. So, too, while in our meadows we purposely propagate tender fodder plants, like grasses and clovers, we find on the margins of our pastures and by our road- sides only protected species, such as thistles, houndstongue, cuckoo-pint, charlock, nettles (once more), and ti^orn bushes. The cattle or the rabbits eat down at once all juicy and succu- lent plants, leaving only these nauseous or prickly kinds, together with such stringy and innutritions weeds as chervil, plantain, and burdock. Here we see the mechanism of natural selection at work under our very eyes. But the sting certainly does not exhaust the whole philosophy of the nettle. Look, for ex- ample, at the stem and leaves. The nettle has found its chance in life, its one fitting vacancy, among the ditches and waste-places by roadsides or near cottages; and it has laid itself out for the circumstances in which it lives. Its near A Bed of Nettles 135 •relative, the hop, is a twisting cHmber; its southern cousins, the fig and the mulberry, are tall and spreading trees. But the nettle has made itself a niche in nature along the bare patches which diversify human cultivation; and it has adapted its stem and leaves to the station in life where it has pleased Providence to place it. Plants like the dock, the burdock, and the rhubarb, which lift their leaves straight above the ground, from large subterranean reservoirs of material, have usually big, broad, undivided leaves, that overshadow all beneath them, and push boldly out on every side to drink in the air and the sunlight. On the other hand, regular hedgerow plants, like cleavers, chervil, herb Robert, milfoil, and most ferns, which grow in the tangled shady undermath of the bank and thickets, have usually slender, bladelike, much- divided leaves, all split up into little long narrow pushing segments, because they cannot get sunlight and air enough to build up a single large respectable rounded leaf. The nettle is just halfway between these two extremes. It does not grow out broad and solitary like the burdock, nor does it creep under the hedges like the little much-divided wayside weeds; but it springs up erect in tall, thick, luxuriant clumps, growing close together, each stem fringed with a considerable number of moderate-sized, heart-shaped, toothed and pointed leaves. Such leaves have just room enough to expand and to extract from the air all the carbon they need for their growth, without 136 A Bed of Nettles encroaching upon one another's food supply (for it must always be borne in mind that leaves grow out of the air, not, as most people fancy, out of the ground) , and so without the consequent necessity for dividing up into little separate narrow segments. Accordingly, this type of leaf is very common among all those plants which spring up beside the hedgerows in the same erect shrubby manner as the nettles. Then, again, there is the flower of the nettle, which in most plants is so much the most con- spicuous part of all. Yet in this particular plant it is so unobtrusive that most people never notice its existence in any way. That is because the nettle is wind-fertilized, and so does not need bright and attractive petals. Here are the flowering branches, a lot of little forked antler- like spikes, sticking out at right angles from the stem, and half concealed by the leaves of the row above them. Like many other wind- fertilized flowers, the stamens and pistils are collected on different plants — a plan which absolutely insures cross-fertilization, without the aid of the insects. I pick one of the stamen- bearing clusters, and can see that it is made up of small separate green blossoms, each with four tiny leaf-hke petals, and with four stamens doubled up in the center. I touch the flowers with the tip of my pocket knife, and in a second the four stamens jump out elastically as if alive, and dust the white pollen all over my fingers. Why should they act like this ? Such tricks are not uncommon in bee-fertilized flowers, because A Bed of Nettles 1S7 they insure the pollen being shed only when a bee thrusts his head into the blossom; but what use can this de\dce be to the wind-fertilized nettle ? I think the object is somewhat after this fashion. If the pollen were shed during perfectly calm weather, it would simply fall upon the ground, without reaching the pistils of neighboring plants at all. But by having the stamens thus doubled up, with elastic stalks, it happens that even when ripe they do not open and shed the pollen unless upon the occurrence of some slight concussion. This concussion is given when the stems are waved about by the wind; and then the pollen is shaken out under circumstances which give it the best chance of reaching the pistil. Finally, there is the question of fruit. In the fig and the mulberry the fruit is succulent, and depends for its dispersion upon birds and ani- mals. In the nettle it takes the form of a tiny, seed-like, flattened nut. ^Miy is this, again? One might as well ask, why are we not all Lord Chancellors or Presidents of the Royal Academy. Each plant and each animal makes the best of such talents as it has got, and gets on by their aid; but all have not the same talents. One survives by dint of its prickles; another by dint of its attractive flowers; a third by its sweet fruit; a fourth by its hard nut-shell. As regards stings, the nettle is one of the best protected plants; as regards flower and fruit, it is merely one of the ruck. Every plant can only take advantage of any stray chances it happens to 1S8 A Bed of Nettles possess; and the same advantageous tendencies do not show themselves in all alike. It is said that once a certain American, hearing of the sums which Canova got for his handicraft, took his son to the great man's studio, and inquired how much he would ask to make the boy a sculptor. But there is no evidence to show that that aspiring youth ever produced an Aphrodite or a Discobolus. s y WASHINGTON IRVING §^URING the course of the revolu- ^ tion that changed the British colonies in America into the United States, there was born in the city of New York the first great writer of this new nation, Washington Irving. The parents of Irving had been in America but twenty years, the father being Scotch and the mother EngHsh, yet they s}Tnpathized so fully with the colonists that they spent much of their time and means in caring for the soldiers held as prisoners by the British. The mother was unusually warm-hearted and charitable, but the father, though a kind and conscientious man, was very strict, especially in dealing with his children. He seemed to feel that nearly every kind of amusement that young people delighted in was sinful, and he held up before his children such sober ways of living that Washington at least came to think that everything pleasant was wicked. No amount of sternness, however, could keep the five boys of the family and their three sisters wholly out of mischief, nor hinder them from having many a harmless good time. After spending two years in a primary school, Washington was sent when six years old to a school kept by a soldier who had fought in the 139 140 Washington Irving Revolution, a man who dealt most harshly with disorderly pupils. Though Washington was always breaking rules, he was so honest in ad- mitting the wrong done that the teacher had a particular Irking for him, and would call him by the envied title of "General." To bear this title, as well as the name of the foremost Ameri- can of that time, and to have received a blessing from the great Washington himself, was honor enough for one boy. Though it was not till several years later that he first went to the theater, yet when he was about ten he was fond of acting the part of some warrior knight of whom he had read, and would challenge one of his companions to a duel in the yard, where they would fight desperately with wooden swords. About this time, too, he came upon Robinson Crusoe and Sindbad the Sailor^ and thus was awakened a great delight in books of travel and adventure. Most pleasing of all was The World Displayed, a series of volumes in which one could read of voyages and land journeys in the most distant parts of the world. How exciting it was to scan hastily the pages of these books under cover of his desk at school, or to read them in bed at night by the light of candles smuggled into his room! It is no wonder that he grew to wish with all his heart that he could go to sea, and that he haunted the wharves watching the out-going vessels. \Mien only fifteen years old, Washington finished his schooling. In later life he was al- ways very sorry that he had not been sent to col- WA.SUINGTON IRVIXQ Washington Irving 141 lege at this time. Within a year he began the study of law, but he went at his work in such a half-hearted way that although he passed his examination in 1806, he was really ver}^ poorly fitted for his calling. The last two years of this time had been passed in Europe, where he had been sent to recoyer his health; and it is safe to say that thoughts of his legal studies troubled young Irving but little during this interesting trip. If as a boy he had been thrilled merely in reading of voyages and travels, what was now his pleasure in jour- neying through one strange scene after another and meeting; with such exciting; adventures as that which befell him on the way from Genoa to Sicily, when the vessel on which he was sailing- was boarded by pirates. On this occasion, as he could translate the questions of the attacking party and could answer these men in their own tongue, he was forced to go on the pirate shij), among an evil-looking crew, armed with stilettos, cutlasses and pistols, and act as interpreter before the captain. As it turned out that the booty was too small to be worth taking, Irving and his companions escaped without hurt. In the course of his further travels he found especial delight in the works of art at Rome, and in attending the theater and opera in Paris and London. In Januar}', 1807, several months after his return to America, Irying, with one of his brothers and a friend, began to publish Salma- gundit a magazine containing humorous articles 142 Washington Irving on the social life of New York. This became so popidar that twenty numbers were issued. Having found so much of interest in the Hfe of his native city, Irving next wrote a comic History of New York, by Diedrich Knicker- bocker, deaHng with the early period when the city was ruled by the Dutch. The novel way in which this work was announced would do credit to the most clever advertiser. About six weeks before the book was published, ap- peared this notice in the Evening Post: ^^Distressing. "Left his lodgings some time since, and has not since been heard of, a small elderly gentle- man, dressed in an old black coat and cocked hat, by the name of Knickerbocker. iVs there are some reasons for believing he is not entirely in his right mind, and as great anxiety is enter- tained about him, any information concerning him left either at the Columbian Hotel, Mul- berry Street, or at the office of this paper, will be thanJifully received. *'P. S. — Printers of newspapers would be aiding the cause of humanity by giving an in- sertion to the above. — Oct. 25." Almost two weeks later a notice signed A Traveler, told that the old man had been seen resting by the road over w^hich the Albany stage coach passed. Then in ten days fol- lowed this amusing letter to the editor of the Post: Washington Irving 143 "Sir: — You have been good enough to publish in your paper a paragraph about Mr. Diedrich Knickerbocker, who was missing so strangely from his lodgings some time since. Nothing satisfactory has been heard of the old gentleman since; but a very curious kind of a written hook has been found in his room in his own handwriting. Now I wish you to notice him, if he is still alive, that if he does not return and pay off his bill for board and lodging, I shall have to dispose of his Book, to satisfy me for the same." Needless to say, the book was issued in due time, and it was warmly welcomed not only in the United States but in England. This year of great literary success was also one of the saddest in Irving's life. He had be- come deeply attached to Matilda Hoffman, daughter of one of the lawyers under whom he had studied, and was looking forward to the time when she should become his w^fe. The death of the young girl in 1809 caused a grief so deep that Irving almost never spoke of it. He remained true to the memory of this early love throughout his life, and never married. By this time it had become plain that Irving could write with far more efl'ect than he could ever hope to practice law. Yet the idea of using his pen in order to earn a living, not merely for his own amusement, was so distasteful to him that he put aside the thought of a literary career. Had he not had two kind and indulgent brothers, it might have gone hard with him 144 Washington Irving at this time; but he was given a one-fifth share in their business, and being only a silent partner, was allowed to spend his time in w^hatever ways he pleased. In 1815, however, it became necessary for him to take his brother Peter's place for a time at the head of that part of the business which was carried on in Liverpool. Though he was a loyal American, he found England so much to his liking that there is no telling how long after his brother's recovery he would have kept on living in his half-idle way in his pleasant surroundings, had not the business in which he was interested failed in 1818. Thus roused to efl'ort, he began publishing in 1819 the highly popular Sketch Book, by Geoffrey Crayon, a series of stories and essays in the first number of which appeared, with others, Rip Van Winkle. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was contained in a later issue. Bracehridge Hall and Tales of a Traveller, of the same nature as the Sketch Book, followec) soon afterward, all three being sent to America and being published also in England. A new and more serious kind of work opened before Irving in 1826 when he was invited to ^Madrid by the United States minister, to make a translation of Xavarrete's Voyages of Colum- bus. Instead of translating, however, he wrote a valuable original work entitled the Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus. Thus was awakened his deep interest in the romantic history and legends of Spain. He traveled about the country', stajing for several weeks in the Washington Irving 145 celebrated palace of the Alhambra, studied rare old books, and as a result produced several other works upon Spanish subjects. Of these The Conquest of Granada was written before he left Spain and The Alhambra was completed in England after his return in 1829 to fill the office of secretary of legation. This last-named work, while highly entertaining, is in many places as beautiful as poetry. In 1824 Irving had written to a friend in America concerning New York: "There is a charm about that little spot of earth; that beautiful city and its environs, that has a perfect spell over my imagination. The bay, the rivers and their wald and woody shores, the haunts of my boyhood, both on land and water, abso- lutely have a witchery over my mind. I thank God for my having been born in so beautiful a place among such beautiful scenery; I am convinced I owe a vast deal of what is good and pleasant in my nature to the circumstance." It was not, however, until 1832 that he was able to return to his much-loved birthplace. Then, after seventeen years' absence, during which he had become a very famous writer, he was welcomed with the warmest greetings and the highest honors of his townspeople. It was not long before he made a tour through the far West, — through the wilds of Missouri and Arkansas. From a point in the latter region he wrote of his party as "depending upon game, such as deer, elk, bear, for food, encamping on the borders of brooks, and sleeping in the open 146 Washington Irving air under trees, with outposts stationed to guard us against any surprise by the Indians." The beautiful scenery and exciting events that marked this trip were later told of in his Tour on the Prairies. Having been a wanderer for a good many years, Irving now began to wish for a home. Accordingly he bought a little estate near Tarry- town on the Hudson River, and had the cottage on this land made over into "a little nookery somewhat in the Dutch style, quaint, but un- pretending." Here he gathered about him a brother's family and other relatives, and settled down to a quiet, happy, industrious life. In the first years spent in this pleasant home he contributed articles to the Knickerbocker Maga- zine, later collected and published under the title of Wolferfs Roost, and wrote Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey, now part of the volume of Crayon Miscellany. So smoothly did the home life at Sunnyside flow along that Irving was none too well pleased to separate himself from it in 1842 when ap- pointed minister of the United States to Spain. Nevertheless, he looked upon this event as the ''crowning hour" of his life. During the thirteen years that remained to him after returning to Sunnyside in 1846, he produced the Life of Mahomet and his Successors, a Life of Goldsmith, an author whom he especially admired and appreciated, and a biography of his celebrated namesake, which, though entitled a Life of Washington, is nothing less than a Washington Irving 147 history of the Revohition. In the very year this last great work was completed, Irving died, surrounded by the household to whom he had become so much endeared (November 28, 1859). In his writings Washington Irving has shown himself so gentle and unpretentious and so large- hearted, that his words concerning Oliver Gold- smith seem to apply with equal fitness to himself : "There are few writers for whom the reader feels such personal kindness." These same qualities were revealed also day by day in the smallest incidents of his life. Perhaps they were never more simply illustrated than on the occa- sion when he was traveling in a railway car behind a woman with two small children and a baby who was being constantly disturbed by the older children's efforts to climb to a seat by the window. Having taken in the situation, Irving began lifting first one and then the other of the little ones into his lap, allowing each just three minutes at the window, and this he con- tinued until they had had enough, and the grate- ful mother had enjoyed a needed rest. Appar- ently he bore ill-will toward no one, and his ever-ready humor helped him to view the lives of others without harshness. Thus it is not only as a great literary artist, but as an American of the most worthy type, that he has won lasting honor. TIIE ECNICKERBOCKER HISTORY OF NEW YORK WASHINGTON IRVINO INTRODUCTORY NOTE HISTORY of New York by Diedrick Knickerbocker was pub- lished in 1809. Nearly forty years later Washington Irving, the real author, says it was his purpose in the history to embody the tradi- tions of New York in an amusing form, to illus- trate its local humors, customs and peculiarities in a whimsical narrative, which should help to hind the heart of the native inhabitant to his home. He adds: "In this I have reason to believe I have in some measure succeeded. Before the appearance of my work the popular traditions of our city were unrecorded; the peculiar and racy customs and usages derived from our Dutch progenitors were unnoticed, or regarded with indifference, or adverted to with a sneer. Now they form a convivial currency, and are brought forward on all occasions; they link our whole community together in good humor and good fellowship; they are the rallying-points of home feeling, the seasoning of our civic festivities, the staple of local tales and local pleasantries; and are so liarped upon by our writers of popular fiction KInickerbocker History 149 that I find myself almost crowded off the legend- ary ground which I was the first to explore by the host who have followed in my footsteps. "I dwell on this head because, at the first appearance of my work, its aim and drift were misapprehended by some of the descendants of the Dutch worthies, and because I under- stand that now and then one may still be found to regard it with a captious eye. The far greater part, however, I have reason to flatter myself, receive my good-humored picturings in the same temper in which they were executed; and when I find, after a lapse of nearly forty years, this hap- hazard production of my youth still cherished among them; when I find its very name become a "household word" and used to give the home stamp to everything recommended for populai acceptation, such as Knickerbocker societies; Knickerbocker insurance companies; Knicker- bocker steamboats; Knickerbocker omnibuses; Knickerbocker bread; and Knickerbocker ice: and when I find New Yorkers of Dutch descent priding themselves upon being "genuine Knick- erbockers," I please myself with the persuasion that I have struck the right chord; that my dealings with the good Dutch times, and the customs and usages derived from them, are in harmony with the feelings and humors of my townsmen ; that I have opened a vein of pleasant associations and quaint characteristics peculiar to my native place, and which its inhabitants will not willingly suffer to pass away; and that, though other histories of New York may appear Vol, IX.— n. 150 Kn'ick fh bockfr History of higher claims to learned acceptation, and may take their dignified and appropriate rank in the family library*. Knickerbocker's history will still be received with good-humored indulgence, and be thumbed and chuckled over by the family fireside." To give color to his fancy, Irving created the fanciful character of Diediich Knickerbocker, whom he describes as follows: "He was a small, brisk-looking old gentleman, dressed in a rusty black coat and a pair of olive velvet breeches and a small cocked hat. He had a few gray hairs plaited and clubbed behind. The only piece of finery which he bore about him was a bright pair of square silver shoe buckles, and all his baggage was contained in a pair of saddle bags which he carried under his arm.*' He was "a verv worth v good sort of an old gentleman, though a little queer in his ways. He would keep in his room for days together, and if any of the children cried or made a noise about his door he would bounce out in a great passion, with his hands full of papers and say something about 'deranging his ideas'." According to the tale which Irving invented he resided for some time at the Independent Columbian Hotel, and from this place he dis- appeared, leaving his tills unpaid. However, in the sad " ' - which he didn't take from his room the „„ — -ri found the manuscript of the History of \ev: York\ and published it in order to secure pay for the old gentleman's board. KS'ICKEEBOCKER HiSTOET 151 The book met with marked success, and shortly after its publication a large part of New York was laughing at its humorous details, and Irving's estimate of its popularity as given above was modest indeed. The histoiy- consists of eight books, the first of which, in irony of some histories which had previously been published, gives a description of the world and a histon- of its creation, and in brief, the story of Xoah and the discovery of America, and a dissertation on the origin of the American Indian. The second book contains an account of Hudson's discovery of the river that bears his name and of the settlement of Xew Amsterdam. A book is given to each of the first two Dutch governors, and three books to the rule of Peter Stuyvesant. The history then terminates with the surrender of Xew Amsterdam to the British. The selections which appear here have been chosen for their rich humor rather than for their historical value, although, in his quaint way. Irving gives us a picture of the c^ltW Dutch settlers that is in many respects remarkably true to life. His exaggerations are usually so notice- able that it is not difficult to separate truth from fiction. 152 KxiCKtRBOCKER HlSTORY THE FOUNDING OF NEW AJVISTERDAM T was some three or four years after the return of the immortal Ilendrick that a crew of honest, Low Dutch colonists set sail from the city of Amsterdam for the shores of America. The ship in which these illustrious adventurers set sail was called the Goede Vrouic, or Good Woman, in compliment to the \\iie of the president of the West India Company, who was allowed by ever^'body (except her husband) to be a sweet-tempered lady. It was in truth a most gallant vessel, of the most approved Dutch construction, and made by the ablest ship car- penters of Amsterdam, who it is well known always model their ships after the fair forms of their countrj'women. Accordingly, it had one hundred feet in the beam, one hundred feet in the keel, and one hundred feet from the bottom of the stern-post to the tafferel. The architect, who was somewhat of a religious man, far from decorating the ship with pagan idols, such as Jupiter, Neptune, or Hercules (which heathenish abominations I have no doubt occasion the misfortunes and shipwreck of many a noble vessel) — he, I say, on the con- trary, did laudably erect for a head a goodly image of Saint Nicholas, equipped with a low, broad-brimmed hat, a huge pair of Flemish trunk hose, and a pipe that reached to the end of the bow-sprit. Thus gallantly furnished, the Knickerbocker History 153 stanch ship floated sideways, like a majestic* goose, out of the harbor of the great city of Amsterdam, and all the bells that were not other- wise engaged rang a triple bobmajor on the joyful occasion. The voyage was uncommonly prosperous, for, being under the especial care of the ever-revered Saint Nicholas, the Goede Vrouw seemed to be endowed with qualities unknown to common vessels. Thus she made as much leeway as headway, could get along very nearly as fast "U'ith the wind ahead as when it was apoop, and was particularly great in a calm; in consequence of which singular advantages she made out to ac- complish her voyage in a very few months, and came to anchor at the mouth of the Hudson a little to the east of Gibbet Island. Here, lifting up their eyes, they beheld, on what is at present called the Jersey shore, a small Indian village, pleasantly embowered in a grove of spreading elms, and the natives all collected on the beach gazing in stupid admiration at the Goede Vrouw. A boat was immediately dis- ])atched to enter into a treaty with them, and, approaching the shore, hailed them through a trumpet in the most friendly terms; but so horribly confounded were these poor savages at Ihe tremendous and uncouth sound of the Low JJ)utch language that they one and all took to their heels, and scampered over the Bergen hills; nor did they stop until they had buried themselves, head and ears, in the marshes on the other side, where they all miserably perished to 154 Knickerbocker History a man, and their bones, being collected and decently covered by the Tammany Society of that day, formed that singular mound called Rattlesnake Hill which rises out of the center of the salt marshes a little to the east of the Newark causeway. Animated by this unlooked-for victory, our valiant heroes sprang ashore in triumph, took possession of the soil as conquerors in the name of their IliMi Mightinesses the Lords States General, and, marching fearlessly forward, car- ried the village of Communipaw by storm, not- withstanding that it was \igorously defended by some half a score of old squaws and pappooses. On looldng about them they w^ere so transported M'ith the excellencies of the place that they had very little doubt the blessed Saint Nicholas had guided them tliither as the very spot whereon to settle their colony. The softness of the soil was wonderfully adapted to the driving of piles; the swamps and marshes around them afforded ample opportunities for the constructing of dykes and dams; the shallowness of the shore was peculiarly favorable to the building of docks — in a word this spot abounded with all the requi- sites for the foundation of a great Dutch city. On making a faithful report, therefore, to the crew of the Goede Vrouw, they one and all determined that this was the destined end of their voyage. Accordingly they descended from the Goede Vrouw, men, women, and children, in goodly groups, as did the animals of yore from the ark, and formed themselves into a thriving Knickerbocker History 155 settlement, which they called by the Indian name Communipaw. The crew of the Goede Vrouw being soon reinforced by fresh importations from Holland, the settlement went jollily on, increasing in magnitude and prosperity. The neighboring Indians in a short time became accustomed to the uncouth sound of the Dutch language, and an intercourse gradually took place between them and the newcomers. A brisk trade for furs was soon opened : the Dutch traders were scrupulously honest in their dealings, and purchased by weight, establishing it as an invariable table of avoirdupois that the hand of a Dutchman weighed one pound and his foot two pounds. It is true the simple Indians were often puzzled by the great disproportion between bulk and weight, for let them place a bundle of furs, never so large, in one scale, and a Dutchman put his hand or foot in the other, the bundle was sure to kick the beam — never was a package of furs known to weigh more than two pounds in the market of Communipaw! The Dutch possessions in this part of the globe began now to assume a very thriving appearance, and were comprehended under the general title of Nieuw Nederlandts, on account, as the sage Vander Douck observes, of their great resem- blance to the Dutch Netherlands; which indeed was truly remarkable, excepting that the former were rugged and mountainous, and the latter level and marshy. About this time the tranquil- ity of the Dutch colonists was doomed to suffer 15G Knickerbocker History a temporary interruption. In 1614, Captain Sir Samuel Argal, sailing under a commission from Dale, governor of Virginia, visited the Dutch settlements on Hudson River and de- manded their submission to the English crown and Virginian dominion. To this arrogant demand, as they were in no condition to resist it, they submitted for the time, like discreet and reasonable men. Oloft'e Van Kortlandt, a personage who was held in great reverence among the sages of Communipaw for the variety and darkness of his knowledge, had originally been one of a set of peripatetic philosophers who had passed much of their time sunning themselves on the side of the great canal of Amsterdam in Holland, enjoying, like Diogenes, a free and unencumbered estate in sunshine. His name Kortlandt (Shortland or Lackland) was supposed, like that of the illustrious Jean Sansterre, to indicate that he had no land; but he insisted, on the contrary, that he had great landed estates somewhere in Terra Incognita, and he had come out to the New World to look after them. He was the first great land speculator that we read of in these parts. Like all land speculators, he was much given to dreaming. Never did anything extraordinary happen to Communipaw but he declared that he had previously dreamt it, being one of those infallible prophets who predict events after they have come to pass. As yet his dreams and speculations had turned Knickerbocker History 157 to little personal profit, and he was as much a lackland as ever. Still, he carried a high head in the community; if his sugar-loaf hat was rather the worse for wear, he set it off with a taller cock's tail; if his shirt was none of the clean- est, he pulled it out the more at the bosom ; and if the tail of it peeped out of a hole in his breeches, it at least proved that it really had a tail and was not mere rufi]e. The worthy Van Kortlandt urged the policy of emerging from the swamps of Communipaw and seeking some more eligible site for the seat of empire. Such, he said, was the advice of the good Saint Nicholas, who had appeared to him in a dream the night before, and whom he had known by his broad hat, his long pipe, and the resemblance which he bore to the figure on the bow of the Goede Vrouw. This perilous enterprise was to be conducted by OlofFe himself, who chose as lieutenants or coadjutors Mynheers Jacobus Van Zandt, Abraham Ilardenbroeck, and Winant Ten Broeck — three indubitably great men, but of whose history, although I have made diligent inquiry, I can learn but little previous to their leaving Holland. Had I the benefit of mythology and classic fable, I should have furnished the first of the trio with a pedigree equal to that of the ])rou(lest hero of antiquity. Ilis name, Van Zandt — that is to say, from the sand, or, in common parlance, from the dirt — gave reason to supj)ose that, like Triptolemus, the Cyclops, and the 158 Knickerbocker History Titans, he had sprung from Dame Terra, or the earth! This supposition is strongly corrob- orated by his size, for it is well known that all the progeny of mother earth were of a gigantic stature; and Van Zandt, we are told, was a tall, raw-boned man, above six feet high, with an astonishingly hard head. Of the second of the trio but faint accounts have reached to this time, which mention that he was a sturdy, obstinate, worrying, bustling little man, and, from being usually equipped in an old pair of buckskins, w^as familiarly dubbed Hardenbroeck ; that is to say, Tough Breeches. Ten Broeck completed this junto of adven- turers. It is a singular but ludicrous fact — which, were I not scrupulous in recording the whole truth, I should almost be tempted to pass over in silence as incompatible ^vith the gravity and dignity of history — that this worthy gentle- man should likewise have been nicknamed from what in modern times is considered the most ignoble part of the dress; but in truth the small-clothes seem to have been a very dig- nified garment in the eyes of our venerated an- cestors. The name of Ten Broeck, or, as it was some- times spelled. Tin Broeck, has been indifferently translated into Ten Breeches and Tin Breeches. Certain elegant and ingenious writers on the subject declare in favor of Tiii, or rather Thin, Breeches; whence they infer that the original bearer of it was a poor but merry rogue, whose Knickerbocker History 159 galligaskins were none of the soundest, and who, peradventure, may have been the author of that truly philosophical stanza: "Then why should we quarrel for riches, Or any such glittering toys ? A light heart and thin pair of breeches Will go through the world, my brave boys!" The more accurate commentators, however, declare in favor of the other reading, and affirm that the worthy in question was a burly, bulbous man, who, in sheer ostentation of his venerable progenitors, was the first to introduce into the settlement the ancient Dutch fashion of ten pair of breeches^ Such was the trio of coadjutors chosen by Oloffe the Dreamer to accompany him in this voyage into unknown realms; as to the names of his crews, they have not been handed down by history. And now the rosy blush of morn began to mantle in the east, and soon the rising sun, emerging from amid golden and purple clouds, shed his blithesome rays on the tin weathercocks of Communipaw. It was that delicious season of the year when Nature, breaking from the chilling thralldom of old winter, like a blooming damsel from the tyranny of a sordid old father, threw herself, blushing with ten thousand charms, into the arms of youthful spring. Every tufted copse and blooming grove resounded with the notes, of hymeneal love. The very insects, as 160 Knickerbocker History they sipped the dew that gemmed the tender grass of meadows, joined in the joyous epithala- miiim, the virgin bud timidly put forth its bhishes, "the voice of the turtle was heard in the land," and the heart of man dissolved away in tenderness. No sooner did the first rays of cheerful Phoebus dart into the windows of Communipaw than the little settlement was all in motion. Forth issued from his castle the sage Van Kort- landt, and, seizing a conch-shell, blew a far- resounding blast, that soon summoned all his lusty followers. Then did they trudge resolutely down to the waterside, escorted by a multitude of relatives and friends, who all went down, as the common phrase expresses it, "to see them off." The good Oloffe bestowed his forces in a squadron of three canoes, and hoisted his flag on board a little round Dutch boat, shaped not unhke a tub, which had formerly been the jolly- boat of the Goede Vrouw. And now, all being embarked, they bade farewell to the gazing throng upon the beach, who continued shouting after them even when out of hearing, wishing them a happy voyage, advising them to take good care of themselves, not to get drowned, with an abundance other of those sage and invaluable cautions generally given by landsmen to such as go down to the sea in ships and adventure upon the deep waters. In the mean- while, the voyagers cheerily urged their course across the crystal bosom of the bay and soon left behind them the green shores of ancient Pavonia. Knickerbocker History 161 They coasted by Governor's Island, since terrible from its frowning fortress and grinning batteries. They would by no means, however, land upon this island, since they doubted much it might be the abode of demons and spirits, which in those days did greatly abound through- out this savage and pagan country. Just at this time a shoal of jolly porpoises came rolling and tumbling by, turning up their sleek sides to the sun and spouting up the briny element in sparkling showers. No sooner did the sage Oloffe mark this than he was greatly rejoiced. "This," exclaimed he, "if I mistake not, augurs well: the porpoise is a fat, well- conditioned fish, a burgomaster among fishes; his looks betoken ease, plenty, and prosperity; I greatly admire this round fat fish, and doubt not but this is a happy omen of the success of our undertaking." So saying, he directed his squad- ron to steer in the track of these alderman fishes. Turning, therefore, directly to the left, they swept up the strait vulgarly called the East River. And here the rapid tide which courses through this strait, seizing on the gallant tub in which Commodore Van Kortlandt had em- barked, hurried it forward with a velocity un- paralleled in a Dutch boat navigated by Dutch- men; insomuch that the good commodore, who had all his life long been accustomed only to the drowsy navigation of canals, v/as more than ever convinced that they were in the hands of some supernatural power, and that the jolly 162 Knickerbocker IIistort porpoises were towing them to some fair haven that was to fulfill all their wishes and expec- tations. Thus borne away by the resistless current, they doubled that boisterous point of land since called Corlear's Hook, and leaving to the right the rich winding cove of the Wallabout, they drifted into a magnificent expanse of water, surrounded by pleasant shores whose verdure was exceedingly refreshing to the eye. While the voyagers were looking around them on what they conceived to be a serene and sunny lake, they beheld at a distance a crew of painted sav- ages busily employed in fishing, who seemed more like the genii of this romantic region, their slender canoe lightly balanced like a feather on the undulating surface of the bay. At sight of these the hearts of the heroes of Communipaw were not a little troubled. But, as good fortune would have it, at the bow of the commodore's boat was stationed a very vaHant man, named Hendrick Kip (which, being interpreted, means chicken, a name given him in token of his courage). No sooner did he behold these varlet heathens than he trembled with excessive valor, and although a good half mile distant he seized a musketoon that lay at hand, and, turning away his head, fired it most intrepidly in the face of the blessed sun. The blundering weapon recoiled and gave the valiant Kip an ignominious kick, which laid him pros- trate with uplifted heels in the bottom of the boat. But such was the effect of this tremendous fire Knickerbocker History 163 that the wild men of the woods, struck ^\'ith con- sternation, seized hastily upon their paddles and shot away into one of the deep inlets of the Long Island shore. This signal victory gave new spirits to the voyagers, and in honor of the achievement they gave the name of the valiant Kip to the surround- ing bay, and it has continued to be called Kip's Bay from that time to the present. The heart of the good Van Kortlandt — who, having no land of his own, was a great admirer of other people's — expanded to the full size of a pepper- corn at the sumptuous prospect of rich, unsettled country around him, and falling into a delicious reverie he straightway began to riot in the posses- sion of vast meadows of salt marsh and inter- minable patches of cabbages. From this delect- able vision he was all at once awakened by the sudden turning of the tide, which would soon have hurried him from this land of promise, had not the discreet navigator given the signal to steer for shore, where they accordingly landed hard by the rocky heights of Bellevue — that happy retreat where our jolly aldermen eat for the good of the city and fatten the turtle that are sacrificed on civic solemnities. Here, seated on the green sward, by the side of a small stream that ran sparkling among the grass, they refreshed themselves after the toils of the seas by feasting lustily on the ample stores which they had provided for this perilous voyage. ±5y this time the jolly Phoebus, like some wanton urchin sporting on the side of a green hill, ()4 Knickerbocker History HERE THEY REFRESHED THEMSELVES began to roll down the declivity of the heavens; and now, the tide having once more turned in their favor, the Pavonians again committed themselves to its discretion, and, coasting along the western shores, were borne toward the straits of Blackwell's Island. And here the capricious wanderings of the current occasioned not a little marvel and per- plexity to these illustrious mariners. Now would they be caught by the wanton eddies, and, sweeping around a jutting point, would wind deep into some romantic little cave, that indented the fair island of Manna-hata; now were they hurried narrowly by the very basis of impending Knickerbocker History 165 rocks, mantled with the flaunting grape-vine and crowned with groves which threw a broad shade on the waves beneath; and anon they were borne away into the mid-channel and wafted along with a rapidity that very much discomposed the sage Van Kortlandt, who as he saw the land swiftly receding on either side, began exceedingly to doubt that terra firma was giving them the slip. Wherever the voyagers turned their eyes a new creation seemed to bloom around. No signs of human thrift appeared to check the delicious wildness of Nature, who here reveled in all her luxuriant variety. Those hills, now bristled, like the fretful porcupine, with rows of poplars (vain upstart' plants! minions of wealth and fashion!), were then adorned with the vigorous natives of the soil — the hardy oak, the generous chestnut, the graceful elm — while here and there the tulip tree reared its majestic head, the giant of the forest. Where now are seen the gay retreats of luxury — villas half buried in twilight bowers, whence the amorous flute oft breathes the sighings of some city swain — there the fish- hawk built his solitary nest on some dry tree that overlooked his watery domain. The timid deer fed undisturbed along those shores now hallowed l)y the lover's moonlight walk and printed by the slender foot of beauty; and a savage solitude ex- tended over those happy regions where now are reared the stately towers of the Joneses, the Schermerhornes, and the Rhineltmders. Ah! witching scenes of foul delusion! Ah! hapless voyagers, gazing with simple wonder on Vol. IX.— u. 1(36 Knickerbocker History these Circean shores! Such, alas! are they, poor easy souls, who Hsten to the seductions of a wicked world — treacherous are its smiles, fatal its caresses. He who yields to its enticements launches upon a whelming tide, and trusts his feeble bark among the dimpling eddies of a whirlpool! And thus it fared with the worthies of Pavonia, who, little mistrusting the guileful scene before them, drifted quietly on until they were aroused by an uncommon tossing and agitation of their vessels. For now the late dimpling current began to brawl around them and the waves to boil and foam with horrific fury. Awakened as if from a dream, the as- tonished Oloffe bawled aloud to put about, but his words were lost amid the roaring of the waters. And now ensued a scene of direful consternation. At one time they were borne with dreadful velocity among tumultuous breakers; at another hurried down boisterous rapids. Now they were nearly dashed upon the Hen and Chickens (infamous rocks! — more voracious than Scylla and her whelps), and anon they seemed sinking into yawning gulfs that threatened to entomb them beneath the waves. All the elements combined to produce a hideous confusion. The waters raged, the winds howded, and as they were hurried along several of the astonished mariners beheld the rocks and trees of the neighboring shores driving through the air! At length the mighty tub of Commodore Van Kortlandt was drawn into the vortex of that tremendous whirlpool called the Pot, where it Knickerbocker History 167 was whirled about in giddy mazes until the senses of the good commander and his crew were over- powered by the horror of the scene and the strangeness of the revolution. How the gallant squadron of Pavonia was snatched from the jaws of this modern Charybdis has never been truly made known, for so many survived to tell the tale, and, what is still more wonderful, told it in so many different ways, that there has ever prevailed a great variety of opin- ions on the subject. As to the commodore and his crew, when they came to their senses they found themselves stranded on the Long Island shore. The worthy commodore, indeed, used to relate many and wonderful stories of his adventures in this time of peril — how that he saw specters flying in the air and heard the yeUing of hobgoblins, and put his hand into the pot when they were whirled round, and found the water scalding hot, and beheld several uncouth-looking beings seated on rocks and skimming it with huge ladles; but particularly he declared, with great exulta- tion, that he saw the losel porpoises, which had betrayed them into this peril, some broiling on the Gridiron and others hissing on theFrying-pan ! These, however, were considered by many as mere fantasies of the commodore while he lay in a trance, especially as he was known to be given to dreaming, and the truth of them has never been clearly ascertained. It is certain, however, that to the accounts of Olofl'e and his followers may be traced the various traditions handed down 168 Knickerbocker History of this marvelous strait — as how the devil has been seen there sitting^ astride of the Hog's Back and playing on the fiddle, how he broils fish there before a storm, and many other stories in which we must be cautious of putting too much faith. In consequence of all these terrific cir- cumstances the Pavonian commander gave this pass the name of Hellegat, or, as it has been interpreted, Hell-Gate,^ which it continues to bear at the present day. The darkness of the night had closed upon this disastrous day, and a doleful night was it to the shipwrecked Pavonians, whose ears were incessantly assailed with the raging of the ele- ments and the howling of the hobgoblins that infested this perilous strait. But when the morning dawned the horrors of the preceding evening had passed away — rapids, breakers, whirlpools had disappeared, the stream again ran smooth and dimpling, and, having changed its tide, rolled gently back toward the quarter where lay their much-regretted home. The woe-begone heroes of Communipaw eyed each other with rueful countenances; their squad- ron had been totally dispersed by the late disaster. I forbear to treat of the long consultation of OlofFe with his remaining followers, in which they determined that it would never do to found a city in so diabolical a neighborhood. Suffice it 1. This is a narrow strait in the sound, at the distance of six miles above New Yorii. It is dangerous by reason of numerous rocks, shelves, and whirlpools. These have received sundry appellations, such as the Gridiron, Frying-pan, Hog's Back, Pot, etc. Knickerbocker History 109 in simple brevity to say that they once more committed themselves, with fear and trembling, to the briny element, and steered their course back again through the scenes of their yester- day's voyage, determined no longer to roam in search of distant sites, but to settle themselves down in the marshy regions of Pavonia. Scarce, however, had they gained a distant view of Communipaw when they were encountered by an obstinate eddy which opposed their home- ward voyage. Weary and dispirited as they were, they yet tugged a feeble oar against the stream, until, as if to settle the strife, half a score of potent billows rolled the tub of Commodore Van Kortlandt high and dry on the long point of an island which divided the bosom of the bay. Oloffe Van Kortlandt was a devout trench- erman. Every repast w^as a kind of religious rite with him, and his first thought on finding himself once more on dry ground was how he should contrive to celebrate his wonderful escape from Hell-Gate and all its horrors by a solemn banquet. The stores which had been provided for the voyage by the good housewives of Com- munipaw were nearly exhausted, but in casting his eyes about the commodore beheld that the shore abounded with oysters. A great store of these was instantly collected; a fire was made at the foot of a tree; all hands fell to roasting and broiling and stewing and frying, and a sumptu- ous repast was soon set forth. On the present occasion the worthy Van Kortlandt was observed to be particularly zeal- 170 Knickerbocker History ous in his devotions to the trencher; for, having the cares of the expedition especially committed to his care, he deemed it incumbent on him to eat profoundly for the public good. In pro- portion as he filled himself to the very brim with the dainty viands before him, did the heart of this excellent burgher rise up toward his throat, until he seemed crammed and almost choked with good eating and good nature. And at such times it is, when a man's heart is in his throat, that he may more truly be said to speak from it and his speeches abound with kindness and good fellowship. Thus, having swallowed the last possible morsel and washed it down with a fervent potation, Oloffe felt his heart yearning and his whole frame in a manner dilating with unbounded benevolence. Everything around him seemed excellent and delightful, and, laying his hands on each side of his capacious periphery, and rolling his half-closed eyes around on the beautiful diversity of land and water before him, he exclaimed, in a fat, half-smothered voice, "What a charming prospect!" The words died away in his throat, he seemed to ponder on the fair scene for a moment, his eyelids heavily closed over their orbits, his head drooped upon his bosom, he slowly sank upon the green turf, and a deep sleep stole gradually over him. Van Kortlandt awoke from his sleep greatly instructed, and he aroused his companions and told them that it was the will of Saint Nicholas that they should settle down and build the city here. With one voice all assented to this. Knickerbocker History 171 The great object of their perilous expedition, therefore, being thus happily accomphshed, the voyagers returned merrily to Commiuiipaw, where they were received with great rejoicings. It having; been solemnlv resolved that the seat of empire should be removed from the green shores of Pavonia to the pleasant island of Man- na-hata, everybody was anxious to embark under the standard of Oloffe the Dreamer, and to be among the first sharers of the promised land. A day was appointed for the grand migra- tion, and on that day little Communipaw was in abuzz and bustle like a hive in swarming-time. Houses were turned inside out and stripped of the venerable furniture which had come from Holland; all the community, great and small, black and white, man, woman and child, was in commotion, forming lines from the houses to the water-side, like lines of ants from an ant-hill; everybody laden with some article of household furniture, while busy housewives plied backward and forward along the lines, helping everything forward by the nimbleness of their tongues. By degrees a fleet of boats and canoes were piled up with all kinds of household articles — ponderous tables; chests of drawers resplendent with brass ornaments; quaint corner cupboards; beds and bedsteads; with any quantity of pots, kettles, frying-pans and Dutch ovens. In each boat embarked a whole family, from the robus- tious burgher down to the cats and dogs and little negroes. In this way they set off across the 172 Knickerbocker History mouth of the Hudson, under the guidance of (^lolVe the Dreamer, who hoisted his standard on the leading boat- As the httle squadron from Communipaw drew near to the shores of Manna-hata, a sachem at the head of a band of warriors appeared to oppose their landing. Some of the most zealous of the pilgrims were for chastising this insolence with powder and ball, according to the approved mode of discoverers; but the sage Olofi'e gave them the significant sign of Saint Nicholas, laying his finger beside his nose and winking hard with one eye, whereupon his followers perceived that there was something sagacious in the wink. He now addressed the Indians in the blandest terms, and made such tempting display of beads, hawks'-bells, and red blankets that he was soon permitted to land, and a great land speculation ensued. And here let me give the true story of the original purchase of the site of this re- nowned city about which so much has been said and written. Some affirm that the first cost was but sixty guilders. The learned Dominie Heckwelder records a tradition that the Dutch discoverers bargained for only so much land as the hide of a bullock would cover; but that they cut the hide in strips no thicker than a child's finger, so as to take in a large portion of land and to take in the Indians into the bargain. This, how^ever, is an old fable which the w^orthy Dominie may have borrowed from antiquity. The true version is, that Oloffe Van Kortlandt bargained for just so much land Knickerbocker History 173 as a man could cover with his nether garments. The terms being concluded, he produced his friend INIynheer Ten Broeck as the man whose breeches were to be used in measurement. The simple savages, whose ideas of a man's nether garments had never expanded beyond the dimen- sions of a breech-clout, stared with astonishment and dismay as they beheld this burgher peeled like an onion, and breeches after breeches spread forth over the land until they covered the actual site of this venerable city. This is the true history of the adroit bargain by which the island of Manhattan was bought for sixty guilders; and in corroboration of it I will add that Mynheer Ten Breeches, for his services on this memorable occasion, was elevated to the office of land measurer, which he ever afterward exercised in the colony. The land being thus fairly purchased of the Indians, a circumstance very unusual in the history of colonization, and strongly illustrative of the honesty of our Dutch progenitors, a stock- ade fort and a trading-house were forthwith erected on an eminence, the identical place at present known as the Bowling Green. Around this fort a progeny of little Dutch- built houses, with tiled roofs and weathercocks, soon sprang up, nestling themselves under its walls for protection, as a brood of half-fledged chickens nestle under the wings of the mother hen. The whole was surrounded by an inclosure of strong palisadoes to guard against any sudden irruption of the savages. Outside of these ex- 174 Kmckkhbockek History tended the cornfields and cabbage-gardens of the community, with here and there an attempt at a tobacco-plantation; all covering those tracts of country at present called Broadway, Wall street, William street and Pearl street. I must not omit to mention that in portioning out the land a goodly "bowerie" or farm was allotted to the sage Oloffe in consideration of the service he had rendered to the public by his talent at dreaming; and the site of his "bowerie" is known Idv the name of Kortlandt, (or Court- landt,) street to the present day. And now, the infant settlement having ad- vanced in age and stature, it was thought high time it should receive an honest Christian name. Hitherto it had gone by the original Indian name Manna-hata, or, as some will have it, "The Manhattoes; " but this was now decried as savage and heathenish, and as tending to keep up the memory of the pagan brood that originally pos- sessed it. Many were the consultations held upon the subject without coming to a conclusion, for, though everybody condemned the old name, nobody could invent a new one. At length, when the council was almost in despair, a burgher, remarkable for the size and squareness of his head, proposed that they should call it New Amsterdam. The proposition took every- body by surprise; it was so striking, so apposite, so ingenious. The name was adopted by ac- clamation, and New Amsterdam the metropolis was thenceforth called. Still, however, the early authors of the province continued to call it Knickerbocker History 175 by the general appellation of "The Manhattoes," and the poets fondly clung to the euphonious name of Manna-hata; but those are a kind of folk whose tastes and notions should go for noth- ing in matters of this kind. Having thus provided the embryo city with a name, the next was to give it an armorial bearing or device. As some cities have a rampant lion, others a soaring eagle, emblematical, no doubt, of the valiant and high-fl}ing qualities of the in- habitants, so after mature deliberation a sleek beaver was emblazoned on the city standard as in- dicative of the amphibious origin and patient and persevering habits of the New Amsterdammers. WALTER THE DOUBTER T was in the year of our Lord 1629 that Mynheer Wouter Van Twiller was appointed governor of the prov- ince of Nieuw Nederlandts, under the commission and control of their High Mightinesses the Lords States General of the United Netherlands and the privileged West India Company. The renowned Wouter (or Walter) Van Twiller was descended from a long line of Dutch burgomasters, who had successively dozed away their lives and grown fat upon the bench of magistracy in Rotterdam, and who had com- ported themselves with such singular wisdom and propriety that they were never either heard or talked of; which, next to being universally 176 Knickerbocker History applauded, should be the object of ambition of all magistrates and rulers. There are two op- posite ways by which some men make a figure in the world — one by talking faster than they think, and the other by holding their tongues and not thinking at all. By the first many a smatterer acquires the reputation of a man of quick parts; by the other many a dunderpate, like the owl, the stupidest of birds, comes to be considered the very type of wisdom. This, by the way, is a casual remark, which I would not for the uni- verse have it thought I apply to Governor Van Twiller. It is true he was a man shut up within himself, like an oyster, and rarely spoke except in monosyllables; but then it was allowed he seldom said a foolish tiling. So invincible w-as his gra\ity that he was never known to laugh or even to smile through the whole course of a long and prosperous life. Nay, if a joke were uttered in his presence that set light-minded hearers in a roar, it was observed to throw him into a state of perplexity. Sometimes he would deign to inquire into the matter, and when, after much explanation, the joke was made as plain as a pike-staff, he w^ould continue to smoke his pipe in silence, and at length, knocking out the ashes, would exclaim, *'Well! I see nothing in all that to laugh about." The person of this illustrious old gentleman was formed and proportioned, as though it had been molded by the hands of some cunning Dutch statuary, as a model of majesty and lordly grandeur. He was exactly five feet six inches Knickerbocker History 177 in height and six feet five inches in circumference. His head was a perfect sphere, and of such stu- pendous dimensions that Dame Nature with all her sex's ingenuity would have been puzzled to construct a neck capable of supporting it; where- fore she wisely declined the attempt, and settled it firmJy on the top of his backbone just between the shoulders. Ilis body was oblong and par- ticularly capacious at bottom; which was wisely ordered by Providence, seeing that he was a man of sedentary habits and very averse to the idle labor of walking. His legs were short, but sturdy in proportion to the weight they had to sustain, so that when erect he had not a little the appearance of a beer-barrel on skids. His face, that infallible index of the mind, presented a vast expanse, unfurrowed by any of those lines and ann^les which disfif^^ure the human countenance with what is termed expression. Two small gray eyes twinkled feebly in the midst, like two stars of lesser magnitude in a hazy firmament, and his full-fed cheeks, which seemed to have taken toll of everything that went into his mouth, were curiously mottled and streaked with dusky red, like a spitzenberg apple. In his council he presided with great state and solemnity. He sat in a huge chair of solid oak, hewn in the celebrated forest of The Hague, fabricated by an experienced timmerman of Amsterdam, and curiously carved about the arms and feet into exact imitations of gigantic eagle's claws. Instead of a scepter he swayed a long Turkish pipe, wrought with jasmine and 178 Knickerbocker History amber, which had been presented to a stadtholder of Holland at the conclusion of a treaty with one of the petty Barbary powers. In this stately chair would he sit and this magnificent pipe would he smoke, shaking his right knee with a constant motion, and fixing his eye for hours upon a little print of Amsterdam which hung in a black frame against the opposite wall of the coun- cil-chamber. Nay, it has even been said that when any deliberation of extraordinary length and intricacy was on the carpet the renowned Wouter would shut his eyes for full two hours at a time, that he might not be disturbed by ex- ternal objects; and at such times the internal commotion of his mind was evinced by certain regular guttural sounds, which his admirers de- clared were merely the noise of conflict made by his contending doubts and opinions. The very outset of the career of this excellent magistrate was distinguished by an example of legal acumen that gave flattering presage of a wise and equitable administration. The morn- ing after he had been installed in office, and at the moment that he was making his breakfast from a prodigious earthen dish filled with milk and Indian pudding, he was interrupted by the appearance of Wandle Schoonhoven, a very im- portant old burgher of New Amsterdam, who complained bitterly of one Barent Bleecker, in- asmuch as he refused to come to a settlement of accounts, seeing ^hat there was a heavy balance in favor of the said Wandle. Governor Van Twiller, as I have already observed, was a man Knickerbocker History 179 OK-loir .STEVEwao HE WAS INTERHtJPTKD BY WANDLE SCHOONHOVEN of few words; he was likewise a mortal enemy to multiplying writings or being disturbed at his breakfast. Having listened attentively to the statement of Wandle Schoonhoven, giving an occasional grunt as he shoveled a spoonful of Indian pudding into his mouth, either as a sign that he relished the dish or comprehended the story, he called unto him his constable, and, pull- ing out of his breeches pocket a huge jack-knife, dispatched it after the defendant as a summons, accompanied by his tobacco-box as a warrant. 180 Knickerbocker History This summary process was as effectual in those simple days as was the seal ring of the great Ilaroun Alraschid among the true believers. The two parties being confronted before him, each produced a book of accounts written in a language and character that would have puzzled any but a High Dutch commentator or a learned decipherer of Egyptian obelisks. The sage "Woutcr took them one after the other, and, hav- ing poised them in his hands and attentively counted over the number of leaves, fell straight- way into a very great doubt, and smoked for half an hour without saying a word; at length, laying his finger beside his nose and shutting his eyes for a moment with the air of a man who had just caught a subtle idea by the tail, he slowly took his pipe from his mouth, puffed forth a column of tobacco-smoke, and with marvelous gravity and solemnity pronounced — that, having care- fully counted over the leaves and weighed the books, it was found that one was just as thick and as heavy as the other; therefore it was the final opinion of the court that the accounts were equally balanced; therefore Wandle should give Barent a receipt, and Barent should give Wandle a receipt; and the constable should pay the costs. This decision, being straightway made known, diffused general joy throughout New Amster- dam, for the people immediately perceived that they had a very wise and equitable magistrate to rule over them. But its happiest effect was that not another lawsuit took place throughout the Knickerbocker History 181 whole of his administration, and the office of constable fell into such decay that there was not one of those losel scouts known in the province for many years. HOW THE COLONISTS LIVED IN THE DAYS OF WALTER THE DOUBTER rn n --Mj!!3HE houses of the higher class were generally constructed of wood, ex- cepting the gable end, which was of small black and yellow Dutch bricks, and always faced on the street, as our ancestors, like their descend- ants, were very much given to out- ward show, and were noted for putting the best leg foremost. The house was always furnished with abundance of large doors and small win- dows on every floor, the date of its erection was curiously designated by iron figures on the front, and on the top of the roof was perched a fierce little weathercock, to let the family into the im- portant secret which way the wind blew. These, like the weathercocks on the tops of our steeples, pointed so many different ways that every man could have a wind to his mind; the most stanch and loyal citizens, however, always went accord- ing to the weathercock on the top of the gover- nor's house, which was certainly the most correct, as he had a trusty servant employed every morn- ing to climb up and set it to the right quarter. In those good days of simplicity and sunshine u passion for cleanliness was the leading prin- Vol. IX.— 13. 18'-2 Knickerbocker History ciple in domestic economy and the universal test of an able housewife — a character which formed the utmost ambition of our unenlightened grand- mothers. The front door was never opened ex- cept on marriages, funerals, New Year's days, the festival of Saint Nicholas, or some such great occasion. It was ornamented wdth a gorgeous brass knocker, curiously wrought, sometimes in the device of a dog, and sometimes of a lion's head, and was daily burnished with such religious zeal that it was ofttimes worn out by the very precautions taken for its preservation. The whole house was constantly in a state of inunda- tion under the discipline of mops and brooms and scrubbing brushes ; and the good housewives of those days were a kind of amphibious animal, delighting exceedingly to be dabbling in water, insomuch that an historian of the day gravely tells us that many of his townswomen grew to have webbed fingers like unto a duck; but this I look upon to be a mere sport of fancy, or, what is worse, a willful misrepresentation. The grand parlor was the sanctum-sanctorum where the passion for cleaning was indulged without control. In this sacred apartment no one was permitted to enter excepting the mistress and her confidential maid, who visited it once a week for the purpose of giving it a thorough cleaning and putting things to rights, always taking the precaution of leaving their shoes at the door and entering devoutly in their stocking feet. After scrubbing the floor, sprinkling it with fine white sand, which was curiously stroked Knickerbocker History 183 into angles, and curves, and rhomboids with a broom — after washing the windows, rubbing and poUshing the furniture, and putting a new bunch of evergreens in the fireplace — the window shutters were again closed to keep out the flies, and the room carefully locked up until the revolution of time brought round the weekly cleaning day. As to the family, they always entered in at the gate, and most generally lived in the kitchen. To have seen a numerous household assembled round the fire one would have imagined that he was transported back to those happy days of primeval simplicity which float before our imagi- nations like golden visions. The fireplaces were of a truly patriarchal magnitude, where the whole family, old and young, master and servant, black and white — nay, even the very cat and dog — enjoyed a community of privilege and had each a right to a corner. Here the old burgher would sit in perfect silence, pufiing his pipe, looking in the fire with half-shut eyes, and thinking of nothing for hours together; the goede vrouw on the opposite side would employ herself diligently in spinning yarn or knitting stockings. The young folks would crowd around the hearth, listening with breathless attention to some old crone of a negro who was the oracle of the family, and who, perched like a raven in a corner of the chimney, would croak forth for a long winter afternoon a string of incredible stories about New England witches, grisly ghosts, horses without heads, and hair-breadth escapes and bloody encounters among the Indians. 184 K^NICKERBOCKER HiSTORY In those happy days a well-regulated family always rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed at sunset. Dinner was invariably a private meal, and the fat old burghers showed incontestible signs of disapprobation and uneasi- ness at being surprised by a visit from a neighbor on such occasions. But, though our worthy ancestors were thus singularly adverse to giving dinners, yet they kept up the social bands of intimacy by occasional banquetings called tea- parties. These fashionable parties were generally con- fined to the higher classes — or noblesse — that is to say, such as kept their own cows and drove their own wagons. The company commonly assembled at three o'clock and went away about six, unless it was in winter time, when the fash- ionable hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might get home before dark. The tea-table was crowned with a huge earthen dish well stored with slices of fat pork fried brown, cut up into morsels, and swimming in gravy. The com- pany, being seated round the genial board and each furnished with a fork, evinced their dex- terity in launching at the fattest pieces in this mighty dish — in much the same manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea, or our Indians spear salmon in the lakes. Sometimes the table was graced with immense apple pies or saucers full of preserved peaches and pears; but it was always sure to boast an enormous dish of balls of sweetened dough, fried in hog's fat, and called doughnuts, or olykoeks — a delicious kind of cake AN OI,U MA.ItO WUUl.U CUOAh. 1 (Jit Ml aiuiuha Knickerbocker History 185 at present scarce known in this city, except in genuine Dutch famihes. The tea was served out of a majestic delft tea- pot ornamented with paintings of fat Httle Dutch shepherds and shepherdesses tending pigs, with boats saihng in the air, and houses built in the clouds, and sundry other ingenious Dutch fantasies. The beaux distinguished themselves by their adroitness in replenishing this pot from a huge copper tea-kettle which would have made the pigmy macaronies of these degenerate days sweat merely to look at it. To sweeten the bev- erage a lump of sugar was laid beside each cup, and the company alternately nibbled and sipped with great decorum, until an improvement was introduced by a shrewd and economic old lady, which was to suspend a large lump directly over the tea-table by a string from the ceiling, so that it could be swung from mouth to mouth — an ingenious expedient which is still kept up by some families in Albany, but which prevails without exception in Communipaw, Bergen, Flatbush, and all our uncontaminated Dutch villages. At these primitive tea-parties the utmost pro- priety and dignity of deportment prevailed. No flirting nor coquetting; no gambling of old ladies nor hoyden chattering and romping of young ones; no self-satisfied struttings of wealthy gentle- men with their brains in their pockets; nor amus- ing conceits and monkey divertisements of smart young gentlemen with no brains at all. On the contrary, the young ladies seated themselves 186 Knickerbocker History demurely in their rush-bottomed chairs and knit their own woolen stockings, nor ever opened their lips excepting to say YaJi, Mynheer, or Yah ya, Vrouiv, to any question that was asked them, behaving in all things like decent, well-educated damsels. As to the gentlemen, each of them tranquilly smoked his pipe and seemed lost in contemplation of the blue and white tiles with which the fireplaces were decorated, whereon sundry passages of Scriptures were piously por- trayed: Tobit and his dog figured to great ad- vantage ; Haman swung conspicuously on his gib- bet; and Jonah appeared most manfully bounc- ing out of the whale, Hke Harlequin through a barrel of fire. The parties broke up w^ithout noise and with- out confusion. They were carried home by their own carriages — that is to say, by the vehicles Nature had provided them — excepting such of the wealthy as could afford to keep a wagon. The gentlemen gallantly attended their fair ones, to their respective abodes, and took leave of them with a hearty smack at the door, which as it was an established piece of etiquette, done in perfect simplicity and honesty of heart, occa- sioned no scandal at that time, nor should it at the present: if our great-grandfathers approved of the custom, it would argue a great want of reverence in their descendants to say a word against it. In this dulcet period of my history, when the beauteous island of Manna-hata presented a scene the very counterpart of those glowing pic- Knickerbocker History 187 tures drawn of the golden reign of Saturn, there was, as I have before observed, a happy igno- rance, an honest simpHcity, prevalent among its inhabitants, which, were I even able to depict, would be but little understood by the degenerate age for which I am doomed to write. Even the female sex, those arch innovators upon the tran- quillity, the honesty, and gray-beard customs of society, seemed for a while to conduct themselves with incredible sobriety and comeliness. Their hair, untortured by the abominations of art, was scrupulously pomatumed back from their foreheads with a candle, and covered with a little cap of quilted calico which fitted exactly to their heads. Their petticoats of linsey-wool- sey were striped with a variety of gorgeous dyes, though I must confess these gallant garments were rather short, scarce reaching below the knee; but then they made up in the number, which generally equalled that of the gentlemen's small-clothes; and, what is still more praise- worthy, they were all of their own manufacture, of which circumstance, as may well be supposed, they were not a little vain. These were the honest days in which every woman stayed at home, read the Bible, and wore pockets — ay, and that too of a goodly size, fashioned with patchwork into many curious devices and ostentatiously worn on the outside. These, in fact, were convenient receptacles where all good housewives carefully stored away such things as they wished to have at hand, by which means they often came to be incredibly crammed ; 188 Knickerbocker History and I remember there was a story current when I was a boy that the lady of Woiiter Van Twillei once had occasion to empty her right pocket in searcli of a wooden ladle, when the contents filled a couj)le of corn baskets, and the utensil was discovered lying among some rubbish in one corner. But we must not give too much faith to all these stories, the anecdotes of those remote periods being very subject to exaggeration. Besides these notable pockets, they likewise wore scissors and pincushions suspended from their girdles by red ribbons, or among the more opulent and showy classes by brass, and even silver, chains — indubitable tokens of thrifty housewives and industrious spinsters. I cannot say much in vindication of the shortness of the petticoats: it doubtless was introduced for the purpose of giving the stockings a chance to be seen, which were generally of blue worsted with magnificent red clocks, or perhaps to display a well-turned ankle and a neat, though serviceable foot, set off by a high-heeled leathern shoe with a large and splendid silver buckle. Thus we find that the gentle sex in all ages have shown the same disposition to infringe a little upon the laws of decorum in order to betray a lurking b' auty or gratify an innocent love of finery. From the sketch here given it will be seen that our good grandmothers differed considerably in their ideas of a fine figure from their scantily dressed descendants of the present day. A fine lady in those times waddled under more clothes, even on a fair summer's day, than would have Knickerbocker History 189 clad the whole bevy of a modem ball-room. Nor were they the less admired by the gentlemen in consequence thereof. On the contrary, the greatness of a lover's passion seemed to increase in proportion to the magnitude of its object, and a voluminous damsel, arrayed in a dozen of petticoats, was declared by a Low Dutch son- neteer of the province to be radiant as a sun- flower and luxuriant as a full-blown cabbage. Certain it is that in those days the heart of a lover could not contain more than one lady at a time; whereas the heart of a modern gallant has often room enough to accommodate half a dozen. The reason of which I conclude to be, that either the hearts of the gentlemen have grown larger or the persons of the ladies smaller; this, however, is a question for physiologists to deter- mine. But there was a secret charm in these petti- coats which no doubt entered into the considera- tion of the prudent gallants. The wardrobe of a lady was in those days her only fortune, and she who had a good stock of petticoats and stockings was as absolutely an heiress as is a Kamschatka damsel with a store of bear skins or a Lapland belle with a plenty of reindeer. The ladies, therefore, were very anxious to display these powerful attractions to the greatest advantage; and the best rooms in the house, instead of being adorned with caricatures of Dame Nature in water colors and needlework, were always hung round with abundance of homespun garments, the manufacture and the property of the females 190 Knickerbocker History — a piece of laudable ostentation that still pre- vails among the heiresses of our Dutch villages. The gentlemen, in fact, Avho figured in the circles of the gay world in these ancient times corresponded, in most particulars, with the beauteous damsels whose smiles they were am- bitious to deserve. True it is their merits would make but a very inconsiderable impression upon the heart of a modern fair; they neither drove their curricles nor sported their tandems, for as yet those gaudy vehicles were not even dreamt of, neither did they distinguish themselves by their brilliancy at the table, and their consequent renconters with watchmen, for our forefathers were of too pacific a disposition to need those guardians of the night, every soul throughout the town being sound asleep before nine o'clock. Neither did they establish their claims to gen- tility at the expense of their tailors, for as yet those offenders against the pockets of society and the tranquility of all aspiring young gentlemen were unknown in New Amsterdam; every good housewife made the clothes of her husband and family, and even the goede vrouw of Van Twiller himself thought it no disparagement to cut out her husband's hnsey-woolsey galligaskins. Not but what there were some two or three youngsters who manifested the first dawning of what is called fire and spirit, who held all labor in contempt, skulked about docks and market- places, loitered in the sunshine, squandered what little money they could procure at hustle-cap and chuck-farthing, swore, boxed, fought cocks, and Knickerbocker History 191 raced their neighbors' horses; in short, who promised to be the wonder, the talk, and abom- ination of the town, had not their styHsh career been unfortunately cut short by an affair of honor with a whipping-post. Far other, however, was the truly fashionable gentleman of those days. His dress, which served for both morning and evening, street and drawing-room, was a linsey-woolsey coat, made, perhaps, by the fair hands of the mistress of his affections, and gallantly bedecked with abun- dance of large brass buttons; half a score of breeches heightened the proportions of his figure ; his shoes were decorated by enormous copper buckles; a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat overshadowed his burly visage; and his hair dangled down his back in a queue of eelskin. Thus equipped, he would manfully sally forth with pipe in mouth to besiege some fair damsel's obdurate heart — not such a pipe, good reader, as that which Acis did sweetly tune in praise of his Galatea, but one of true Delft manufacture and furnished with a charge of fragrant tobacco. With this would he resolutely set himself down before the fortress, and rarely failed, in the pro- cess of time, to smoke the fair enemy into a sur- render upon honorable terms. Happy would it have been for New Amster- dam could it always have existed in this state of lowly simplicity; but alas! the days of childhood are too sweet to last! Cities, like men, grow out of them in time, and are doomed alike to grow into the bustle, the cares, and miseries of the world. 192 Knickerbocker History WILLIAM THE TESTY ILIIELMUS KIEFT, who in 1G3-1 ascended the gubernato- rial chair (to borrow a favorite though chimsy appellation of modern phraseologists) , was of a lofty descent, his father being inspector of windmills in the ancient town of Saardam; and our hero, we are told, when a boy made very curious investiga- tions into the nature and operation of these ma- chines, which was one reason why he afterward came to be so ingenious a governor. His name, according to the most authentic etymologists, was a corruption of Kyver — that is to say, a lorangler or scolder — and expressed the char- acteristic of his family, which for nearly two centuries had kept the windy town of Saardam in hot water, and produced more tartars and brimstones than any ten families in the place; and so truly did he inherit this family peculiarity that he had not been a year in the government of the province before he was universally denom- inated William the Testy. His appearance answered to his name. He was a brisk, wiry, waspish little old gentleman; such a one as may now and then be seen stumping about our city in a broad-skirted coat with huge buttons, a cocked hat stuck on the back of his head, and a cane as high as his chin. His face was broad, but his features were sharp, his cheeks were scorched into a dusky red by two fiery little gray Knickerbocker History 193 <3ct>Cx-M STfVfreino; informed that it was indeed so, exclaimed, "Poor fellow!" Presently a double-headed shot struck a party of marines, who were drawn up on the poop, and killed eight of them: upon which Nelson immedi- ately desired Captain Adair to disperse his men round the ship, that they might not suffer so much from being together. A few minutes afterwards a shot struck the fore brace bits on the quarter-deck, and passed between Nelson and Hardy, a splinter from the bit tearing off Hardy's buckle and bruising his foot. Both stopped, and looked anxiously at each other, each supposing the other to be wounded. Nelson then smiled, and said, "This is too warm work, Hardy, to last long." The Victory had not yet returned a single gun : fifty of her men had been by this time killed or wounded, and her main-topmast, with all her studding sails and their booms, shot away. Nelson declared that, in all his battles, he had seen nothing which surpassed the cool courage of his crew on this occasion. At four minutes after twelve she opened her fire from both sides of her deck. It was not pos- sible to break the enemy's line without running on board one of their ships : Hardy informed him of this, and asked which he would prefer. The Battle of Trafalgar 235 Nelson replied: "Take your choice, Hardy, it does not signify much." The master was then ordered to put the helm to port, and the Victory ran on board the Re- doubtable, just as her tiller ropes were shot away. The French ship received her with a broadside; then instantly let down her lower-deck ports, for fear of being boarded through them, and never afterwards fired a great gun during the action. Her tops, like those of all the enemy's ships, were filled with riflemen. Nelson never placed musketry in his tops; he had a strong dislike to the practice, not merely because it endangers setting fire to the sails, but also because it is a murderous sort of warfare, by which individuals may suffer, and a commander, now and then, be picked off, but which never can decide the fate of a general engagement. Captain Harvey, in the Temeraire, fell on board the Redoubtable on the other side. An- other enemy was in like manner on board the Temeraire: so that these four ships formed as compact a tier as if they had been moored to- gether, their heads lying all the same way. The lieutenants of the Victory, seeing this, depressed their guns of the middle and lower decks, and fired with a diminished charge, lest the shot should pass through, and injure the Temeraire. And because there was danger that the Redoubt- able might take fire from the lower-deck gims, the muzzles of which touched her side when they were run out, the fireman of each gun stood ready with a bucket of water, which, as soon as the gun •236 The Battle of Trafalgab was discharged, he dashed into the hole made by the shot. An incessant fire was kept up from the Victory from both sides; her larboard guns play- ing upon the Bucentaure and the huge Santissima Trinidad. It had been part of Nelson's prayer that the British fleet might be distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an THE nCTOBT example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing upon the Redoubtable, supposing that she had struck, because her great guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received his death. A ball fired from her mizzen-top, which, in the then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, — about a quarter after one, just in the heat of the action. He fell upon his face, on the spot which was cov- The Battle of Trafalgar 237 THEY HAVE DONE FOB ME AT LAST. ered with his poor secretary's blood. Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men raising him up. "They have done for me at last, Hardy," said he. "I hope not!" cried Hardy. "Yes," he replied; "my backbone is shot through." Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately: — then, that he might not be 238 The Battle of Trafalgar seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. — Had he but concealed these badges of honour from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all, except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself being certain, from the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood which he felt momently within his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be useful: "For," said he, "you can do nothing for me." All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade, to alle\date his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of the Victory hurrahed, and at every hurrah a visible expres- sion of joy gleamed in the ej^es, and marked the countenance of the dying hero. Cut he became impatient to see Captain Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause pre- vented him, and repeatedly cried: "Will no The Battle of Trafalgar 239 one bring Hardy to me ? He must be killed ! He surely is dead ! " An hour and ten minutes elapsed, from the time when Nelson received his wound, before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in silence: Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most painful, and yet sub- limest moment. "Well, Hardy," said Nelson, "how goes the day with us ? " "Very well," replied Hardy. "Ten ships have struck, but five of their van have tacked, and show an intention of bearing down upon the Victory. I have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." "I hope," said Nelson, "none of our ships struck." Hardy answered, "There was no fear of that." Then and not till then, Nelson spoke of him- self. "I am a dead man, Hardy," he said; "I am going fast; it will be all over with me soon. Come nearer to me. My back is shot through. Beatty will tell you so." Captain Hardy then once more shook hands with him; and, with a heart almost bursting, hastened upon deck. By this time all feeling below the breast was gone, and Nelson, having made the surgeon ascertain this, said to him: "You know I am gone. T know it. T frol something rising in my •240 The Battle of Trafalgar breast" — putting his hand to his left side — "which tells me so." And upon Beatty's inquiring whether his pain was very great, he replied, "So great that I wish I was dead. Yet," said he, in a lower voice, "one would like to live a little longer too!" Captain Hardy, some fifty minutes after he had left the cockpit, returned; and, again taking the hand of his dying friend and commander, congratulated him upon having gained a com- plete victory. How many of the enemy were taken he did not know, as it was impossible to perceive them distinctly — but fourteen or fifteen of them at least. "That's well," cried Nelson; "but I bar- gained for twenty." And then, in a stronger voice, he said, "xA.nchor, Hardy; anchor." Hardy upon this, hinted that Admiral Col- iingwood would take upon himself the direction of affairs. "Not while I live, Hardy!" said the dying Nelson, ineffectually endeavouring to raise him- self from the bed; "do you anchor." His previous order for preparing to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the necessity of this. Presently, calling Hardy back, he said to him in a low voice, "Don't throw^ me over- board ; " and he desired that he might be buried by his parents, unless it should please the king to order otherwise. Then, reverting to his private feelings: "Kiss me, Hardy," said he. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek: and Nelson said, "Now I am The Battle of Trafalgab 241 satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty.*' Hardy stood over him in silence for a minute or two; then knelt again, and kissed his forehead. **\Mio is that.'^" said Nelson; and being in- formed, he replied, "God bless you, Hardy." And Hardy then left him forever. Nelson now desired to be turned on his right side, and said: "I wish I had not left the deck; for I shall soon be gone." Death was, indeed, rapidly approaching. He said to his chaplain: "Doctor, I have not been a great sinner." His articulation now became difficult; but he was distinctly heard to say, "Thank God, I have done my duty!" These words he had repeatedly pronounced; and they were the last words he uttered. He expired at thirty minutes after four, — three hours and a quarter after he had received his wound. Within a quarter of an hour after Nelson was wounded, above fifty of the Victory's men fell by the enemy's musketry. They, however, on their part, were not idle; and it was not long before there were only two Frenchmen left alive in the mizzen-top of the Redoubtable. One of them was the man who had given the fatal wound: he did not live to boast of what he had done. An old quartermaster had seen him fire; and easily recognized him, because he wore a glazed cocked hat and a white frock. This quartermaster, and two midshipmen, Mr. Col- lingwood and Mr. Pollard, were the only persons left on the Victory's poop; the two midshipmen kept filing at the top, and he supplied them with ^242 The Battle of Trafalgar cartridges. One of the Frenchmen, attempting: to make his escape down the rigging, was shot by ]Mr. Pollard, and fell on the poop. But the old quartermaster, as he cried out, "That's he, that's he," and pointed at the other, who was coming forward to fire again, received a shot in his mouth, and fell dead. Both the midship- men then fired, at the same time, and the fellow dropped in the top. When they took possession of the prize, they went into the mizzen-top, and found him dead ; with one ball through his head, and another through his breast. The Redoubtable struck within twenty minutes after the fatal shot had been fired from her. During that time she had been twice on fire, — in her fore-chains and in her forecastle. The French, as they had done in other battles, made use, in this, of fireballs and other combustibles — implements of destruction which other nations, from a sense of honour and humanity, have laid aside — which add to the sufferings of the wounded, without determining the issue of the combat — which none but the cruel would em- ploy, and which never can be successful against the brave. Once they succeeded in setting fire, from the Redoubtable, to some ropes and canvas on the Victory's booms. The cry ran through the ship, and reached the cockpit; but even this dreadful cry produced no confusion: the men displayed that perfect self-possession in danger by which English seamen are characterized; they extin- guished the flames on board their own ship, and The Battle of Trafalgar 243 then hastened to extinguish them in the enemy, by throwing buckets of water from the gangway. \Vhen the Redoubtable had struck, it was not practicable to board her from the Victonj; for, though the two ships touched, the upper works of both fell in so much, that there was a great space between their gangways; and she could not be boarded from the lower or middle decks, because her ports were down. Some of our men went to Lieutenant Quilliam, and offered to swim under her bows and get up there; but it was thought unfit to hazard brave lives in this manner. WTiat our men would have done from gallan- try, some of the crew of the Santissima Trinidad did to save themselves. Unable to stand the tremendous fire of the Victory, whose larboard guns played against this great four-decker, and not know^ing how else to escape them, nor where else to betake themselves for protection, many of them leapt overboard, and swam to the Vic- tor?/; and were actually helped up her sides by the English during the action. The Spaniards began the battle with less vivacity than their unworthy allies, but they con- tinued it with greater firmness. The Argonauta and Bahama were defended till they had each lost about four hundred men; the San Juan Ne- pomuceno lost three hundred and fifty. Often as the superiority of British courage has been proved against France upon the sea, it was never more conspicuous than in this decisive conflict. Five of our ships were engaged muzzle to muzzle 244 The Battle of Trafalgar with five of the French. In all five the French- men lowered their lower-deck ports, and deserted tlieir guns; while our men continued deliberately to load and fire, till they had made the victory secure. Once, amidst his sufferings, Nelson had ex- pressed a wish that he were dead; but immedi- ately the spirit subdued the pains of death, and he wished to live a little longer; doubtless that he might hear the completion of the victory which he had seen so gloriously begun. That consola- tion — that joy — that triumph was afforded him. He lived to know that the victory was decisive; and the last guns which were fired at the flying enemy were heard a minute or two before he ex- pired. The total British loss in the battle of Trafalgar amounted to 1,587. Twenty of the enemy struck, — unhappily the fleet did not anchor, as Nelson, almost with his dying breath, had en- joined, — a gale came on from the southwest; some of the prizes went down, some went on shore; one efi'ected its escape into Cadiz; others were destroyed; four only w'ere saved, and those by the greatest exertions. The wounded Span- iards were sent ashore, an assurance being given that they should not serve till regularly ex- changed; and the Spaniards, with a generous feeling, which would not, perhaps, have been found in any other people, offered the use of their hospitals for our w^ounded, pledging the honour of Spain that they should be carefully attended there. When the storm after the action drove The Battle of Trafalgar 245 some of the prizes upon the coast, they declared that the EngHsh, who were thus thrown into their hands, should not be considered as prison- ers of war; and the Spanish soldiers gave up their own beds to their shipwrecked enemies. The Spanish vice-admiral, Alava, died of his wounds. Villeneuve was sent to England, and permitted to return to France. It is almost superfluous to add that all the honours which a grateful country could bestow were heaped upon the memory of Nelson. A public funeral was decreed, and a public monu- ment. Statues and monuments also were voted by most of our principal cities. The leaden cofl&n, in which he was brought home, was cut in pieces, which were distributed as relics of Saint Nelson, — so the gunner of the Victory called them, — and when, at his interment,, his flag was about to be lowered into the grave, the sailors who had assisted at the ceremony, with one accord rent it in pieces, that each might pre- serve a fragment while he lived. The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public calamity: men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. An object of our admiration and affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; and it seemed as if we had never, till then, known how deeply we loved and reverenced him. What the country had lost in its great naval hero — the greatest of our own, and of all former times — was scarcely taken into the account of Vol. IX.-17. ^246 Casabianca grief. So perfectly, indeed, had he performed his part, that the maritime war, after the Battle of Trafalgar, was considered at an end; the fleets of the enemy were not merely defeated, but de- stroyed; new navies must be built, and a new race of seamen reared for them, before the possi- bility of their invading our shores could again be contemplated. CASABIANCA FELICIA HEMANS Note, — Young Casabianca, a boy about thir- teen years old, son of the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the Battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire and all the guns had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder. The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood. As born to rule the storm ; A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form. The flames rolled on; he would not go Without his father's word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. Casabianca ^47 He called aloud, "Say, father, say. If yet my task be done ?" He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. "Speak, father!" once again he cried, " If I may yet be gone ! " And but the booming shots replied. And fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath. And in his waving hair. And looked from that lone post of death In still yet brave despair; And shouted but once more aloud. "My father! must I stay.^" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendor wild. They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child. Like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder sound ; The boy, — Oh ! where was he ? Ask of the winds, that far around With fraerments strewed the sea, — With shroud and mast and pennon fair. That well had borne their part,— But the no])lest thing that perished there Was that young, faithful heart. THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING Little Ellie sits alone 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, By a stream-side on the grass. And the trees are showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow, On her shining hair and face. She has thrown her bonnet by, And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water's flow; Now she holds them nakedly In her hands, all sleek and dripping, WTiile she rocketh to and fro Little Ellie sits alone, And the smile she softly uses Fills the silence like a speech. While she thinks what shall be done, And the sweetest pleasure chooses For her future within reach. Little Ellie in her smile Chooses, "I will have a lover. Riding on a steed of steeds: He shall love me without guile, And to him I will discover The swan's nest among the reeds. 248 LITTLE KLLIE SITS ALONE The Swan's Nest 249 "And the steed shall be red roan. And the lover shall be noble, With an eye that takes the breath. And the liite^ he plays upon Shall strike ladies into trouble, As his sword strikes men to death. "And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure ;^ And the mane shall swim the wind; And the hoofs along the sod Shall flash onward, and keep measure. Till the shepherds look behind. "But my lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he gazes in my face. He will say, * O Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in. And I kneel here for thy grace ! ' **Then, aye, then shall he kneel low. With the red-roan steed anear him. Which shall seem to understand, Till I answer, 'Rise and go! For the world must love and fear him Whom I gift with heart and hand.' 1. It would seem strange to us now if a soldier rode about playing upon a lute; but in the old days of chivalry about which little i^llie had been reaened them by reflected warmth. 10. The foliage of the j'ews is very dark, and because these trees are so often planted about cemeteries they give a hint of sadness to every one. 11. The glass house which protected the trees in the winter and hastened the ripening of the fruit in summer. 12. A small fish resembling our chub — usually seen in schools in still waters. Dream Children: A Revert 275 garden, w^th here and there a great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in silent state, as if it mocked at their impertinent friskings, — I had more pleasure in these busy-idle diversions than in all the sweet flavors of peaches, necta- rines, oranges, and such-like common baits of children. Here John slyly deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes, which, not unobserved by Alice, he had meditated dividing with her, and both seemed willing to relinquish them for the present as irrelevant. Then, in somewhat a more heightened tone, I told how, though their great-grandmother Field loved all her grandchildren, yet in an especial manner she might be said to love their uncle, John L ,^^ because he was so handsome and spirited a youth, and a king to the rest of us; and, instead of moping about in solitary corners, like some of us, he would mount the most mettlesome horse he could get, when but an imp no bigger than themselves, and make it carry him half over the county in a morning, and join the hunters when there were any out, — and yet he loved the old great house and gardens too, but had too much spirit to be always pent up within their boundaries; — and how their uncle grew up to man's estate as brave as he was handsome, to the admiration of everybody, but of their great- grandmother Field most especially; and how he 13. Lamb's Jirotlier John — twelve years his senior. John was rather a lazy, selfish fellow — at least he never gave up his own pleasures and comforts to assist his iamily, even in thair gravest need "^TG Dream Children: A Revert used to carry me upon his back when I was a hi me- footed'^ boy — for he was a good bit older than I^many a mile when I could not walk for pain; and how in after life he became lame- footed too, and I did not always (I fear) make allowances enough for him when he was im- patient and in pain, nor remember suflSciently ^^ry^ HE WOULD MOUNT A METTLESOME HORSE how considerate he had been to me when I was lame-footed; — and how when he died,^^ though he had not been dead an hour, it seemed as if he had died a great while ago, such a distance there is betwixt life and death; and how I bore 14. This probably alludes to some temporary affliction, for Charles Lamb was not lame. 15. John Lamb died just before this essay was wTitten. Dream Children: A Revery 277 his death, as 1 thought pretty well at first, but afterwards it haunted and haunted me; and though I did not cry or take it to heart as some do, and as I think he would have done if I had died, yet I missed him all day long, and knew not till then how much I had loved him. I missed his kindness, and I missed his crossness, and wished him to be alive again, to be quarrel- ing with him (for we quarreled sometimes), rather than not have him again, and was as uneasy without him, as he their poor uncle must have been when the doctor took off his limb. Here the children fell a-crying, and asked if their little mourning which they had on was not for Uncle John, and they looked up, and prayed me not to go on about their uncle, but to tell them some stories about their pretty dead mother. Then I told how, for seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the fair Alice W — n;'" and, as much as children could understand, I explained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant in maidens. When suddenly turning to Alice, the soul of the first Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of representment, that I became in doubt which of them stood before me, or whose that bright hair was; and while I stood gazing, both IG. It is not known positively whether Alice Warren was a real or an imaginary character. If real, she was probably the Ann Simmons mentioned in the sketch of Lamb. Vol TX.-19. 278 Dream Children: A Revert I AWOKE the children gradually grew fainter to my view, receding, and still receding, till nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the utter- Dream Children: A Revert 2'79 most distance, which, without speech, strangely impressed upon mc the effects of speech: *'Wc are not of AHce, nor of thee, nor eve we children at all. The children of Alice cal» Bartram father. We are nothino;: less th?.n nothing, and dreams. We are only what mi^at have been, and must wait upon the tedioas shores of Lethe^^ millions of ages before we Iw^^e existence, and a name." iVnd immediately awaking, I found myFe'f quietly seated in my bachelor armchair, whcr" f had fallen asleep, with the faithful Bridg^fc-^ unchanged by my side, — ^but John L. (or James Elia) was gone forever. You know Lamb's pathetic history, and yoa can see how Dream Children came right out of his own sad heart, and how it teems with afl'ectionate recollection. The children, too, — do they not seem like living beings.? Can you believe that Alice and John never lived ? Let us go back to the essay and see how little it is that he really says about them. Here it is: ALICE. JOHN. 1. Here Alice put out one of 1. Here John smiled as much her dear motlier's looks, too tender as to say, "that would be foolish to be upbraiding. iiulecd." She thought it very sad that John is quite the boy — wise any one should pull down the beau- enough to sec how ridiculous it tiful mantcl|)icce in the great hall, was to put a fine, rich old carved but she would not find fault with cliininey among a lot of gilt him — she was too gentle, too tender gimcracks — and rather anxious to for that! show his wisdom. 17. Lethe was among the ancient Greeks the name giv(tfi to the rivei of oblivion, of whose waters spirits drank to gain forgelfulnass. 18. Bridget Elia is his sister, Mary Lamb. ^280 Dream Children: A Revert 2. Here John expanded all his eyebrows and tried to look cour- ageous. The tale of the ghostly infants has frightened John a little, but he does not hke to admit any timidity there with his father and sister, so he straightens up, ex- pands his eyebrows and looks very brave and manly. 3. Here John slyly deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes which, not unobserved by Alice, lie had meditated dividing with Iter; and both seemed willing to relinquish tJieni for the present as irrelevant. While the father has been tell- ing of his glorious childhood among the rich fruit on the great estate, John has quietly picked up a bunch of grapes, and his quick-witted father, seeing the act, sneers a little at such-like common baits of children. John, ^\•ishing to be manly, puts the grapes back without a word, though e^'idently he v,-i\\ be glad enough to return to them at the proper time. Not a selfish child at all was John, for he meditated dividing the grapes with Alice, and they would have been so sweet and cool- ing while the children stood there listening to the story. 4. Here the children fell a-crying and asked if their little mourn- ing which tliey had on was not fur Uncle John, and tliey looked vp and prayed me not to go on about their uncle, but to tell them some stories about their pretty dead mother. How tender-hearted they both are, and yet until now they had hardly realized that it was for Uncle John that they were wearing their fresh mourning. This was a new grief too sad to them, but it turned their gentle sympathies to their pretty dead mother, of whom they were alwaj's glad to hear. The father has scarcely begun to speak when he sees in Alice so much resemblance to his dead wife that he almost thinks 2. Here little Alice spread her hands. Don't you think she knew her Psaltery by heart, and a great part of the Testament besides.' "Of course it is very wonderful that grandma knew so much — but then, I know it too." 3. Here Alice's Utile right foot played mi involuntary movement, till, upon my looking grave, it desisted. The mere suggestion of a dance sets the little foot in motion, and you and I know that Alice is a lively girl who would be as proud of being the best dancer in the country as she was of knowing as much Scripture as her grandmother knew. But how quickly she stops when her father looks grave! We do not think that he objects to Alice dancing, but he knows that he is going to tell her the sad part of the story, and that the dancing accom- paniment of AUce's little right foot would be very much out of place. Later, Alice joined with John in wishing for the grapes, but she was equally willing to give them up when it seemed childish to take them. Dream Children: A Revery 281 it is the mothei" who stands beside him. So \'iolent is his emotion that he gradually comes out of his reverie, and as he does so the children fade away and recede into the distance, saying, "We are nothing; less than 7iothing, and dreams." Is it not a wonderful thin<^ that with so few words a wTiter can put his heart so much into yours that you believe almost as much as he does in the reality of the vision ? In the sketch of Lamb we said that his char- acter was very strongly reflected in his writings, and this essay shows the fact wonderfully well. Imagine the man, lonely, heartbroken, weary from the awful task he had set himself, sitting in his bachelor armchair by the fire, dreaming his evening away. Who are the people that come to him in his dreams and what are the incidents ? First his grandmother Field, with whom he had spent a great deal of his childhood; then his sweetheart Alice, now married to another, with children of her own; then his brother, by no means a pleasing character, but a lazy and selfish man who, however, in the rich, loving heart of his brother stands out as hand- some, affectionate, noble and brave. How keenly he feels the bitter loss which comes to him with tenfold severity when he aAvakens, and which he makes the closing thought in the essay! Lastly, the faithful Mary, unchanged, appears at his side, — his waking companion, his greatest burden and his greatest joy. Besides these evidences of his devotcid and affectionate disposition, we find proof of his vivid imagination when as a child he gazes upon the old busts of the twelve Coesars that had been emperors of Rome, till the old marble heads 282 Dream Children: A Revert would seem to live again y or I to be turned into marble with them. In his busy-idle amusements at the great house he shows the innocence and simphcity of his pleasures, and in the dehcate way in Avhich he reproves AHce and John, his genial, sympathetic disposition as w^ell as his abundant good humor. How much finer it was to say, ^'and such-like common baits of children'' than to have said, "John, put the grapes back on the plate." READING SHAKESPEARE |HE greatest author the world has known is WilHam Shakespeare, and his writings will afford more pleasure, instruction and information than those of any other author. They may be read again and again, for so charged are they with living knowledge and so full of literary charm, that no one can exhaust them in a single reading. Not every reader of Shake- speare loves him, but that is because not every reader appreciates him. He wrote in the Eng- lish of his times, and used many words and ex- pressions that have since dropped out of the language, changed their meaning, or become unfamiliar in common speech. Then again, his knowledge of life is so profound and his in- sight into human nature so keen and penetrating, that the casual reader is liable not to follow his thought. In other Avords, Shakespeare must be studied to be appreciated; but if he is studied and appreciated, he gives a pleasure and exerts an influence that cannot be equaled. Young people are liable to think that study is laborious and uninteresting, a nuisance and a bore. Nothing of that sort is true of the study of Shakespeare, because for every effort there is a present reward, there is no waiting to sec re- sults. Of course there are right ways and wrong ways to study, just as there are right ways 283 284 Reading Shakespeare and wrong ways of doing anything. Sometimes teachers fail entirely to interest their classes in Shakespeare, and parents say they cannot make their children like Shakespeare. None of this is the fault of the poet or of the children; the fault lies in the methods used to create an in- terest. If a person begins properly and pro- ceeds as he should, there will never be a lack of interest. Teachers are not needed, and parents may leave their children to learn to be happy in reading by themselves, if the books are prepared properly for them. In the first place, one of the wonders of Shake- speare is the great variety in his plays. In fact, they cover the whole range of human activities, and introduce characters from almost every w alk in life. The stories they tell run from the light and gay to those of more somber hue, from comedy to deepest tragedy. Wit and humor, pathos and sublimity may sometimes be found in the same play, and smiles and tears may be drawn from the same page, ^AQiat play to select for a beginner becomes then a question of some moment. We have decided that The Tevipest is one of the best, for it is not difficult to read, is an interesting story, has amusing characters, carries good food for thought and leaves the reader in a pleasant frame of mind. Will you then, our young readers, go hand in hand with us into the reading of Shakespeare ? Do as we say this one time, and read as we ask you to, even if it does take some time from your play. If, w^hile you are doing it, you do not en- Reading Shakespeare 285 joy yourselves, or if at the end you do not feel repaid, then take your own course in your read- ing thereafter. It will be a better course for having studied one great play carefully. However, before we begin the play, let us read the charming tale written by Charles and Mary Lamb. It will give us briefly the story of The Tempest, though a wealth of incidents is omitted. THE TEMPEST A TALE FROM SHAKESPEARE BY CHARLES AND MARY LAMB [HERE was a certain island in the sea, the only inhabitants of which were an old man, whose name was Pros- pero, and his daughter Miranda, a very beautiful young lady. She came to this island so young, that she had no memory of haying seen any other human face than her father's. They liyed in a caye or cell, made out of a rock; it was diyided into seyeral apartments, one of which Prospero called his study; there he kept his books, which chiefly treated of magic, a study at that time much afiected by all learned men: and the knowledge of this art he found very use- ful to him; for being thrown by a strange chance upon this island, which had been enchanted by a Avitcli called Sycorax, who died there a short time before his arrival, Prospero, by virtue of his art, released many good spirits that Sycorax had imprisoned in the bodies of large trees, be- cause they had refused to execute her wicked commands. These gentle spirits were ever after obedient to the will of Prospero. Of these, Ariel was the chief. The lively little sprite Ariel had nothing mis- chievous in his nature, except that he took rather too much pleasure in tormenting an ugly mon- 2S6 The Tempest 287 ster called Caliban, for he owed him a grudge because he was the son of his old enemy Sycorax. This Caliban, Prospero found in the woods, a strange misshapen thing, far less human in form than an ape: he took him home to his cell, and taught him to speak; and Prospero would have been very kind to him, but the bad nature which Caliban inherited from his mother Sycorax, would not let him learn anything good or useful : therefore he was employed like a slave, to fetch wood, and do the most laborious offices; and Ariel had the charge of compelling him to these services. Wlien Caliban was lazy and neglected his work, Ariel (who was invisible to all eyes but Prospero's) would come slily and pinch him, and sometimes tumble him down in the mire; and then Ariel, in the likeness of an ape, would make mouths at him. Then swiftly changing his shape, in the likeness of a hedgehog, he would lie tumbling in Caliban's way, who feared the hedgehog's sharp quills would prick his bare feet. With a variety of such hke vexatious tricks Ariel would often torment him, whenever Caliban neglected the work which Prospero com- manded him to do. Having these powerful spirits obedient to his will, Prospero could by their means command the winds, and the waves of the sea. By his orders they raised a violent storm, in the midst of which, and struggling with the wild sea-waves that every moment threatened to swallow it up, he showed his daughter a fine large ship, which 288 The Tempest he told her was full of living beings like them- selves. *'0 my dear father," said she, "if by your art you have raised this dreadful storm, have pity on their sad distress. See! the vessel will be dashed to pieces. Poor souls! they will all perish. If I had power, I would sink the sea beneath the earth, rather than the good ship should be destroyed, with all the precious souls within her." "Be not so amazed, daughter Miranda," said Prospero; "there is no harm done. I have so ordered it, that no person in the ship shall receive any hurt. What I have done has been in care of you, my dear child. You are ignorant who you are, or where you came from, and you know no more of me, but that I am your father, and live in this poor cave. Can you remember a time before you came to this cell ? I think you cannot, for you were not then three years of age." "Certainly I can, sir," replied Miranda. "By what.^" asked Prospero; "by any other house or person ? Tell me what you can remem- ber, my child." Miranda said, "It seems to me like the recol- lection of a dream. But had I not once four or five women who attended upon me ? " Prospero answered, "You had, and more. How is it that this still Hves in your mind ? Do you remember how you came here ? " "No, sir," said Miranda, "I remember noth- ing more." "Twelve years ago, Miranda," continued Prospero, "I was duke of Milan, and you were The Tempest 289 a princess, and my only heir. I had a younger brother, whose name was Antonio, to whom I trusted everything; and as I was fond of retire- ment and deep study, I commonly left the man- agement of my state affairs to your uncle, my false brother (for so indeed he proved). I, neglecting all worldly ends, buried among my books, did dedicate my whole time to the better- ing of my mind. ]\Iy brother Antonio being thus in possession of my power, began to think himself the duke indeed. The opportunity I gave him of making himself popular among my subjects awakened in his bad nature a proud ambition to deprive me of my dukedom: this he soon effected with the aid of the king of Naples, a powerful prince, who was my enemy." *' Wherefore," said Miranda, "did they not that hour destroy us ? " "My child," answered her father, "they durst not, so dear was the love that my people bore me. Antonio carried us on board a ship, and when we were some leagues out at sea, he forced us into a small boat, without either tackle, sail, or mast: there he left us, as he thought, to perish. But a kind lord of my court, one Gonzalo, who loved me, had privately placed in the boat, water, provisions, apparel, and some books which I prize above my dukedom." "O my father," said Miranda, " what a trouble must I have been to you then ! " "No, my love," said Prospero, "you were a little cherub that did preserve me. Your inno- cent smiles made me to bear up against my mis- 290 Xhe Tempest fortunes. Our food lasted till we landed on this desert island, smce when my chief delight has been in teaching you, Miranda, and well have you profited by my instructions." "Heaven tianl? you, my dear father," said Miranda. '*.Now pray tell me, sir, your reason for raising this sea»storm ? " " Know then/' said her father, "that by means of this storm, loay enemies, the king of Naples, and my cruel brother, are cast ashore upon this is^ando'' Having so said, Prospero gently touched his daughter with his magic wand, and she fell fast asleep; for the spirit Ariel just then presented himselt before his master, to give an account of the tempest, and how he had disposed of the ship's company, and though the spirits were always invisible to Miranda, Prospero did not choose she should hear him holding converse (as would seem to her) with the empty air. "Well, my brave spirit," said Prospero to Ariel, "how have you performed your task.^" Ariel gave a lively description of the storm, and of the terrors of the mariners; and how the king's son, Ferdinand, was the first who leaped into the sea; and his father thought he saw his dear son swallowed up by the waves and lost. "But he is safe," said Ariel, "in a corner of the isle, sitting with his arms folded, sadly lamenting the loss of the king, his father, whom he concludes drowned.. Not a hair of his head is injured, and his princely garments, though drenched in the sea-waves, look fresher than before." The Tempest 291 "That's my delicate Ariel/' said Prospero. "Bring him hither: my daughter must see this young prince. Where is the king, and my brother?" "I left them," answered Ariel, "searching for Ferdinand, whom they have little hopes of find- ing, thinking they saw him perish. Of the ship's crew not one is missing; though each one thinks himself the only one saved: and the ship, though invisible to them, is safe in the harbor." "Ariel," said Prospero, '*thy charge is faith- fully performed; but there is more work yet." "Is there more work.^" said Ariel. "Let me remind you, master, you have promised me my liberty. I pray, remember, I have done you worthy service, told you no lies, made no mis- takes, served you without grudge or grumbling." "How now!" said Prospero. "You do not recollect what a torment I freed you from. Have you forgot the wicked witch Sycorax, who with age and envy was almost bent double? Where was she born? Speak; tell me." "Sir, in Algiers," said Ariel. "O was she so?" said Prospero. "I must recount what you have been, which I find you do not remember. This bad witch, Sycorax, for her witch-crafts, too terrible to enter human hearing, was banished from Algiers, and here left by the sailors; and because you were a spirit too delicate to execute her wicked commands, she shut you up in a tree, where I found you howling. This torment, remember, I did free you from." ^292 The Tempest "Pardon me, dear master," said Ariel, ashamed to seem ungrateful; "I will obey your commands." "Do so," said Prospero, "and I will set you free." He then gave orders what further he would have him do; and away went Ariel, first to where he had left Ferdinand, and found him still sitting on the grass in the same melancholy posture. "O my young gentleman," said Ariel, when he saw him, "I will soon move you. You must be brought, I find, for the Lady Miranda to have a sight of your pretty person. Come, sir, follow me." He then began singing, "Full fathom five thy father lies: Of his bones are coral made ; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade. But doth suffer a sea-change Into somethino; rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them, — Ding-dong, bell." This strange news of his lost father soon roused the prince from the stupid fit into which he had fallen. He followed in amazement the sound of Ariel's voice, till it led him to Prospero and Miranda, who were sitting under the shade of a large tree. Now INIiranda had never seen a man before, except her own father. "Miranda," said Prospero, "tell me w'hat you are looking at yonder." The Tempest 293 "O father," said Miranda, in a strange sur- prise, "surely that is a spirit. Lord! how it looks about! Believe me, sir, it is a beautiful creature. Is it not a spirit ? " "No, girl," answered her father: "it eats, and sleeps, and has senses such as we have. This young man you see was in the ship. He is some- what altered by grief, or you might call him a handsome person. He has lost his companions, and is wandering about to find them." Miranda, who thought all men had grave faces and gray beards like her father, was de- lighted with the appearance of this beautiful young prince; and Ferdinand, seeing such a lovely maiden in this desert place, and from the strange sounds he had heard, expecting nothing but wonders, thought he was upon an enchanted island, and that Miranda was the goddess of the place, and as such he began to address her. She timidly answered, she was no goddess, but a simple maid, and was going to give him an account of herself, when Prospero interrupted her. He was well pleased to find they admired each other, for he plainly perceived they had (as we say) fallen in love at first sight: but to try Ferdinand's constancy, he resolved to throw some difficulties in their way: therefore advanc- ing forward, he addressed the prince with a stern air, telling him, he came to the island as a spy, to take it from him who was the lord of it. "Follow me," said he, "I will tie you neck and feet together. You shall drink sea-water; shell- fish, withered roots, and husks of acorns shall Vol. IX.-20. 294 The Tempest be your food." "Xo," said Ferdinand, "I will resist such entertainment, till I see a more power- ful enemy," and drew his sword; but Prospero, waving his magic wand, fixed him to the spot where he stood so that he had no power to move. Miranda hung upon her father, saying, *'Why are you so ungentle.^ Have pity, sir; I will be his surety. This is the second man I ever saw, and to me he seems a true one." "Silence," said the father; "one word more will make me chide you, girl! What! an advo- cate for an impostor! You think there are no more such fine men, having seen only him and Caliban. I tell you, foolish girl, most men as far excel this, as he does Caliban." This he said to prove his daughter's constancy; and she replied, "My affections are most humble. I have no wish to see a goodlier man." "Come on, young man," said Prospero to the prince; "you have no power to disobey me." "I have not indeed," answered Ferdinand; and not knowing that it was by magic he was deprived of all power of resistance, he was as- tonished to find himself so strangely compelled to follow Prospero: looking back on Miranda as long as he could see her, he said, as he went after Prospero into the cave, "My spirits are all bound up, as if I were in a dream; but this man's threats, and the weakness which I feel, would seem light to me if from my prison I might once a day behold this fair maid." -Prospero kept Ferdinand not long confined within the cell : he soon brought out his prisonei; The Tempest 295 and set him a severe task to perform, taking care to let his daughter know the hard labor he had imposed on him, and then pretending to go into his study, he secretly watched them both. Prospero had commanded Ferdinand to pile up some heavy logs of wood. Kings' sons not being much used to laborious work, Miranda soon after found her lover almost dying Avith fatigue. "Alas!" said she, "do not Avork so hard; my father is at his studies, he is safe for these three hours; pray rest yourself." "O my dear lady," said Ferdinand, "I dare not. I must finish my task before I take my rest." "If you vdW sit down," said Miranda, "I will carry your logs the while." But this Ferdinand would by no means agree to. Instead of a help Miranda became a hindrance, for they began a long conversation, so that the business of log- carrying went on very slowly. Prospero, who had enjoined Ferdinand this task merely as a trial of his love, was not at his books, as his daughter supposed, but was stand- ing by them invisible, to overhear what they said. Ferdinand inquired her name, which she told, saying it was against her father's express com- mand she did so. Prospero only smiled at this first instance of his daughter's disobedience, for having by his magic art caused his daughter to fall in love so suddenly, he was not angry that she showed her love by forgetting to obey his commands. And 206 The Tempest he listened well pleased to a long speech of Ferdinand's, in which he professed to love her above all the ladies he ever saw. In answer to his praises of her beauty, which he said exceeded all the women in the world, she replied, "I do not remember the face of any woman, nor have I seen any more men than you, my good friend, and my dear father. How features are abroad, I know not; but, believe me, sir, I w^ould not wish any companion in the w orld but you, nor can my imagination form any shape but yours that I could like. But, sir, I fear I talk to you too freely, and my father's pre- cepts I forget." At this Prospero smiled, and nodded his head, as much as to say, "This goes on exactly as I could wish; my girl wdll be queen of Naples." And then Ferdinand, in another fine long speech (for young princes speak in courtly phrases), told the innocent Miranda he was heir to the crown of Naples, and that she should be his queen. "Ah! sir," said she, "I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of. I will answer you in plain and holy innocence. I am your wife if you will marry me." Prospero prevented Ferdinand's thanks by appearing visible before them. "Fear nothing, my child," said he; "I have overheard and approve of all you have said. And, Ferdinand, if I have too severely used you, I wdll make you rich amends, by giving you my daughter. AH your vexations were but trials The Tempest 297 of your love, and you have nobly stood the test. Then as my gift, which your true love has worthily purchased, take my daughter, and do not smile that I boast she is above all praise.'* He then, telling them that he had business which required his presence, desired they would sit down and talk together till he returned ; and this command Miranda seemed not at all disposed to disobey. When Prospero left them, he called his spirit Ariel, who quickly appeared before him, eager to relate what he had done with Prospero's brother and the king of Naples. Ariel said he had left them almost out of their senses with fear, at the strange things he had caused them to see and hear. When fatigued with wandering about, and famished for want of food, he had suddenly set before them a delicious banquet, and then, just as they were going to eat, he ap- peared visible before them in the shape of a harpy, a voracious monster with wings, and the feast vanished away. Then, to their utter amazement, this seeming harpy spoke to them, reminding them of their cruelty in driving Pros- pero from his dukedom, and leaving him and his infant daughter to perish in the sea; saying, that for this cause these terrors were suffered to afflict them. The king of Naples, and Antonio the false brother, repented the injustice they had done to Prospero; and Ariel told his master he was cer- tain their penitence was sincere, and that he, though a spirit, could not but pity them. 298 The Tempest *'Then bring them hither, Ariel," said Pros- pero: *'if you, who are but a spirit, feel for their distress, shall not I, who am a human being like themselves, have compassion on them? Bring them quickly, my dainty Ariel.'* Ariel soon returned with the king, Antonio, and old Gonzalo in their train, who had followed him wondering at the wild music he played in the air to draw them on to his master's presence. This Gonzalo was the same who had so kindly provided Prospero formerly with books and provisions, when his wicked brother left him, as he thought, to perish in an open boat in the sea. Grief and ten-or had so stupefied their senses, that they did not know Prospero. He first dis- covered himself to the good old Gonzalo, calling him the preserver of his life; and then his brother and the king knew that he was the injured Pros- pero. Antonio with tears, and sad words of sorrow and true repentance, implored his brother's forgiveness, and the king expressed his sincere remorse for having assisted Antonio to depose his brother: and Prospero forgave them; and, upon their engaging to restore his dukedom, he said to the king of Naples, *'I have a gift in store for you too;" and opening a door, showed him his son Ferdinand playing at chess with Miranda. Nothing could exceed the joy of the father and the son at this unexpected meeting, for they each thought the other drowned in the storm. "O wonder!" said Miranda, '*what noble The Tempest ^299 creatures these are I It must sui'ely be a brave world that has such people in it." The king of Naples was almost as much as- tonished at the beauty and excellent graces of the young Miranda, as his son had been. "WTio is this maid.^" said he; "she seems the goddess that has parted us, and brought us thus to- gether." "No, sir," answered Ferdinand, smil- ing to find his father had fallen into the same mistake that he had done when he first saw Miranda, "she is a mortal, but by immortal Providence she is mine ; I chose her when I could not ask you, my father, for your consent, not thinking you were alive. She is the daughter to this Prospero, who is the famous duke of Milan, of whose renown I have heard so much, but never saw him till now: of him I have received a new life: he has made himself to me a second father, giving me this dear lady." "Then I must be her father," said the Idng; "but oh! how oddly will it sound, that I must ask my child forgiveness." "No more of that," said Prospero: "let us not remember our troubles past, since they so happily have ended." And then Prospero embraced his brother, and again assured him of his for- giveness; and said that a wise overruling Provi- dence had permitted that he should be driven from his poor dukedom of Milan, that his daughter might inherit the crown of Naples, for that by their meeting in this desert island, it had happened that the king's son had loved Miranda. These kind words which Prospero spoke. 300 The Tempest meaning to comfort his brother, so filled Antonio with shame and remorse, that he wept and was unable to speak; and the kind old Gonzalo wept to see this joyful reconciliation, and prayed for blessings on the young couple. Prospero now told them that their ship was safe in the harbor, and the sailors all on board her, and that he and his daughter would accom- pany them home the next morning. "In the meantime," says he, "partake of such refresh- ments as my poor cave affords; and for your evening's entertainment I will relate the history of my life from my first landing in this desert island." He then called for Cahban to prepare some food, and set the cave in order; and the company were astonished at the uncouth form and savage appearance of this ugly monster, who (Prospero said) was the only attendant he had to wait upon him. Before Prospero left the island, he dismissed Ariel from his service, to the great joy of that lively little spirit; who, though he had been a faithful servant to his master, was always longing to enjoy his free hberty, to wander uncontrolled in the air, like a wild bird, under green trees, among pleasant fruits, and sweet-smelUng flow- ers. "My quaint Ariel," said Prospero to the little sprite when he made him free, "I shall miss you; yet you shall have your freedom." "Thank you, my dear master," said Ariel; "but give me leave to attend your ship home with prosperous gales, before you bid farewell to the assistance of your faithful spirit; and then, master, when I am The Tempest free, ho^v merrily I shall live ! " this pretty song : 301 Here Ariel sung ""VMiere the bee sucks there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie: There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." Prospero then buried deep in the earth his magical books and wand, for he was resolved never more to make use of the magic art. And having thus overcome his enemies, and being reconciled to his brother and the king of Naples, nothing now remained to complete his happiness, but to revisit his native land, to take possession of his dukedom, and to witness the happy nup- tials of his daughter and Prince Ferdinand, which the king said should be instantly cele- brated with great splendor on their return to Naples. At which place, under the safe convoy of the spirit Ariel, they, after a pleasant voyage, soon arrived. THE TEMPEST WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE INTRODUCTORY NOTE jAVING read Lamb's version of the tIh story, we are ready for the play as ■^ Shakespeare wrote it. To begin with, we will read it through from beofinnino; to end with as little hesita- tion and delay as possible. We will not expect to understand it all, and will pass over the more difficult passages without attempting to master them. If at times we are unable to go on intelligently, we will look at the notes at the bottom of the pages and get the help we need. This reading, however, is intended merely to give us a general idea of the play. We are spy- ing out the land as a general might do it, trjdng to see what Idnd of a country we are invading, and to locate the places where we are liable to meet with resistance. We will stop a moment now and then to shudder at CaUban, to admire Pros- pero, to love the sweet Miranda or to laugh at the nonsense of the jester and the drunken butler, but we will hasten on to the end nevertheless, knowing that we will become better acquainted with the people at another time. Ha\ang finished the play, we will return to the beginning for a second, a slower, more careful reading. Xow many things that at first seemed 302 The Tempest 303 obscure will have cleared themselves by our greater knowledge of the play. This time, how- ever, we must read every sentence carefully and try to understand the meaning of all. The foot- notes should all be read, because it often happens that when we think we understand what a sen- tence signifies, we give the wrong meaning to a word or phrase, and hence change the whole sense. However, there are in this play some few passages that no one has ever explained in a perfectly satisfactory manner, but they are so few, and placed in such a position, that our in- ability to understand them perfectly does not interfere with our enjoyment of the play. The notes call attention to these passages and offer a plausible explanation, but do not attempt to discuss the possible meanings thoroughly. When this second reading has been completed, we will have a good understanding of the play, a more intimate acquaintance with the char- acters, and be ready for the more interesting studies which follow the play. THE PERSONS Alonso, King of Naples. Sebasti.vn, his Brother. Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan. AxTO.Nio, his Brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. P'erdix.vxd, Son to the King of Naples. Goxz.\LO, an honest old Counsellor of Naples. ^°«'-^-^-' [Lords. TRAXCISCO, ) Calibax, a savage and deformed Slave. Trinculo, a Jester. Stephano, a drunken Butler. Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. ]\IiRANDA, Daughter to Prospero. Ariel, an airy Spirit. Other Spirits attending on Pros- pero. Iris, Ceres. Jcxo, ) presented by Spirits. Nymphs, Reapers, Scene, a Ship at Sea; afterwards an uninhabited Island. ACT I Scene 1. — On a Ship at sea. A Storm, icith Thunder and Lightning. Enter Master and Boatswain severally. OATSWAIN! Boats. Here, master: what cheer ? Mast. Good,^ speak to the mar- iners: fall to't yarely,^ or we run ourselves a-ground: bestir, bestir. [Exit. Enter Mariners. Boats. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle. [Exeunt Mariners.] — Blow till thou burst thy wind,^ if room enough!^ Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdi- nand, GoNZALO, and O titers. Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master ? Play the men.^ 1. Good was often used in Shakespeare's time as we use the word well, to introduce a sentence. 2. Fall to't yarclij means (jcl to work briskly. 3. Shakespeare may have had in liis mind the pictures which represent the wind as a little old man with cheeks puHod out till they were nearly- bursting. Perhaps, too, the line should read, "Blow till thou burst thee, wind." 4. If there is sea-room enough. The boatswain is not alarmed if he can have room to handle his ship. 5. We still say "play the man" when we wish to encourage any one to be brave and manly. 305 306 The Tempest BoaU. I pray now, keep below. Anto. '\^^lere is the master, boatswain ? Boats. Do you not hear him ? You mar our hibour: keep your cabins; you do assist the storm. Gonza. Nay, good, be patient. Boats. WTien the sea is. Hence! What care these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not. Gonza. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boats. None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present,® we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.' — Cheerly, good hearts! — Out of our way, I say. [Exit. Gonza. I have great comfort from this fellow : methinks he hath no drowning-mark upon him; his complexion^ is perfect gallows. — Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging! make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advan- tage! If he be not born to be hang'd, our case is miserable. [Exeunt. Re-enter Boatswain. Boats. Down with the top-mast! yare; lower, 6. The word time may be understood after present. The boatswain infers that they cannot make peaceful weather of the present storm. 7. Hap means happen. 8. The word complexion here means bent or inclination.. Gonzalo says the boatswain Is born to be hung; he cannot be drowned- The Tempest 307 lower! Bring her to try ^^'i' th' main-course." [A cry within.] A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office.^" — Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er, and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? Sebas. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, inchari table dog! Boats. Work you, then. Anto. Hang, cur, hang! you insolent noise- maker, we are less afraid to be drown'd than thou art. Gonza. I'll warrant him for drowning,'* though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell. Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses!*^ off to sea again; lay her off! Re-enter Mariners, wet Mariners. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! [Exeunt Boats. What, must our mouths be cold ? Gonza. The King and Prince at prayers! let us assist them. For our case is as theirs. Sebas. I'm out of patience. 9. The boatswain finds he has not sea-rooin enough so he calls upon the sailors to take down the topmast and to bring the ship as close into the wind as possible and hold her there with the main sail. 10. This sentence means tfwy are noisier than the kmjiest and the Citmmandjt of our officers. 11. Gonzalo still thinks the boatswam was born to be hanged, and warrants that he will not be drovsiicd. 12. The Ixtutswain is still trying to bring her to the wind, so she may get out to sea- TTio courses are the largest lower sails. 308 The Tempest AiiL lost! all lost! Anto. We're merely^^ cheated out of our lives by drunkards. 13. Merely, here, means entirely or absolutely. The Tempest 309 This wide-chopp'd rascal — would thou mightst lie drowning, The washing of ten tides ! Gonza. He'll be hang'd yet. Though every drop of water swear against it, And gape at widest to glut^^ him. {A confused noise within.) Mercy on us! We split, we split! — Farewell, my wife and children ! — Farewell, brother! — We split, we split, we split! [Exit Boatswain. Anto. Let's all sink wi' th' King. [Exit. Sebas. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. Go7iza. Now would I give a thousand fur- longs of sea for an acre of barren ground; ling, heath, broom, furze,' ^ anything. The wills'^ above be done! but I would fain die a dry death. [Exit. Scene II. — The Island: before the Cell o/ Pros- PERO. Enter Prospero and Miranda. Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, 14. Glut means swallow. 15. These are all plants that grow in England, and were to Shake- speare the familiar signs of barren ground. 16. The vnlls above be done means tlic will of tlie Powers above be done. Gonzalo interests us from the start liv his rather humorous view of everything. Vol. IX. -21. 310 The Tempest But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's eheek,' Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd With those that I saw suti'er! a brave^ vessel, ^Mio had no doubt some noble creatures in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart ! Poor souls, they perish'd ! Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er^ It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and The fraughtino:^ souls within her. Pros. Be collected; No more amazement:^ tell your piteous heart There's no harm done. Mira. O, woe the day ! Pros. No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, — Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, — who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am; nor that I am more better^ Than Prospero, master of a full-poor cell, And thy no greater father. Mira. More to know Did never meddle' with my thoughts. Pros. 'Tis time 1. Welkin means sky. 2. Brave means fine. 3. Or e'er means before or sooner than. 4. Fraughting means freighting. The hmnan souls were the freight of the ship. 5. Amazement means anguish and deep distress rather than as- tonishment. 6. In the time of Shakespeare it was not considered inelegant English to use two forms of the comparative and superlative degrees. More better, most best are good examples. 7. MeddU means mix. Miranda says she never thought of knowmg more about herself or her father. The Tempest 311 I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. — So: [Lays down his robe. Lie there, my art.^ — Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such prevision in mine art So safely order'd, that there is no soul^— No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel Wliich thou heard 'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down; For thou must now know further. Mini. You have often Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd. And left me to a bootless inquisition,^" Concluding, Stay, not yet. Pros. The hour's now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear: Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell ? I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not Out" three years old. Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. Pros. By what? by any other house or per- son ? 8. Prospero means that with his garment he lays his magic arts aside and becomes the loving, human father. 9. Prospero does not complete his sentence, but expresses the same thought in tlifFcrent form. 10. Bootless inquisitiim means fruitless questioning. The father has Ijefore begun to tell Miranda who she is, but has interrupted bimsell and said, "Stay, not yet." 11. Out means fully. 312 The Tempest Of any thing the image tell me that Hath kept with thy remembrance. Mira. 'Tis far off, And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once that tended me ? Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thy mind ? AVhat see'st thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time ? If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here, How thou camest here, thou mayst.*^ Mira. But that I do not. Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and A prince of power. Mira. Sir, are you not my father.? Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Milan; thou his only heir, A princess — no worse issued. Mira. O the Heavens! What foul play had we, that we came from thence .'* Or blessed was't we did ? Pros. Both, both, my girl: By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence ; 1-2. Prospero says, in these ttvo lines, "If you can remember any- thing that happened before we came here, you may remember how we came here." The Tempest 313 But blessedly holp'^ hither. Mira. O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen^^ that I have turn'd you to, Wliich is from my remembrance! Please you, further. ^^ Pros. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd An- tonio, — I pray thee, mark me; — that a brother should Be so perfidious! — he whom, next thyself, Of all the world I loved, and to him put The manage^® of my State; as, at that time. Through all the signiories^^ it was the first. And Prospero the prime^^ Duke; being so re- puted In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel : those being all my study. The government I cast upon my brother. And to my State grew stranger, being transportec/ And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle, — Dost thou attend me ? Mira. Sir, most heedfully. Pros. — Being once perfected how to grant suits. How to deny them; who^^ t' advance, and who To trash^° for over-topping^* — new-created 13. IIolp is an old iomx of helped. 14. Teen is an old word that means IroMe or anxiety. 15. Please you, further, means. Please you, tell me further. 16. Manage means managemerU. 17. Signiories is a name for principalities. 18. Prime mo3,ns first or leading. 19. Wfio is used for whom, as it was not considered ungrammatical in Shakespeare's day. 20. Trash means cheok or set hack. 21. O rer-topping means rising too high. Prospero means that liis brother knew what persons to check when they tried to rise too high, to gain too much power. 314 The Tempest The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em. Or else new-form'd 'em; having both the key" Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the State To what tune pleased his ear; that^' now he was The ivv which had hid my princely trunk. And suck'd the verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. Mira. O good sir, I do. Pros. I pray thee, mark me. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness,^* and the bettering of my mind With that which, but'^ by being so retired, O'er-prized all popular rate,'^ in my false brother Awaked an evil nature; and my trust. Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood, in its contrary as great As my trust w^as; which had indeed no limit, A confidence sans^^ bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded. But w^hat my power might else exact, — like one Who having unto truth, by falsing of it,^ ]\Iade such a sinner of his memory 22. Toe brother understood the key that kept officer and office in tune, and so set the minds ot" all Prospero's subjects thinking as the usurper wished. That is, Antonio took Prospero's friends away from him. 23. We would say so that instead of merely that. 24. To closemss means to privacy, to studies in his own home. 25. But in this sense means except. 26. This is a difficult clause to understand. What Prospero means is probably that his studies would have exceeded all popular estimate in value, but that they (if they had not) kept him so retired from public life. Prospero sees the mistake he made, but cannot give up the idea that his studies were valuable. 27. San.t is a French word that means without. 28. By falsing it means by falsifying it or forging it. The Tempest 315 To^ credit his own lie, — he did believe He was indeed the Duke; out o' the substitution,^*^ And executing the outward face of royalty. With all prerogative: hence his ambition grow- ing,— Dost thou hear ?^^ Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pros. To have no screen between this part he play'd And them he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. ^^ Me,^^ poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough : of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable; confederates — So dry he was for sway^^ — wi' th' King of Naples To give him annual tribute, do him homage. Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom, yet unbow VI, — alas, poor Milan I^^'^ To most ignoble stooping. ^^ 29. Shakespeare omits the word as before to. Antouio made so great a sinner of liis memory unto truth as to credit his own He. 30. Out of the substitution may be understood to mean because of his being my substitute. 31. Prospero's tale is not clearly told. He is evidently thinking of other thinfjs, and his sentences are often imperfect. His mind wanders to the thin<(s he intends doinj,', to the storm, the stran The Tempest .1//. Pardon, master: 1 will 1)0 rorrespondent^^ to command, And do mv spritino- (rentlv. Pros. Do so; and after two days T will discharge thee. Ari. That's my noble master! ^Miat shall I do? say what; what shall I dor Pros. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea: Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible To every eyeball else. Go take this shape, And hither come in't: hence, with diligence!— [Exit Ariel. Awake, dear heart, aw^ake! thou hast slept well; Awake ! Mira. [Waking.] The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. Pros. Shake it off. Come on; We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never Yields us kind answer. Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on. Pros. But, as 'tis, We cannot miss him:^" he does make our fire. Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices That profit us. — What, ho! slave! Caliban! Thou earth, thou ! speak. Cal. [Within.] There's wood enough within. Pros. Come forth, I say! there's other busi- ness for thee: ^5. Correspondent means obedient. 86. Miss means spare. The Tempest 327 Come forth, thou tortoise! when!^^ — Re-enter Ariel, like a Water-nymph. Fine apparition! My quaint^'' Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. Pros. Thou poisonous slave, come forth' Enter Caliban. Cal. iVs wicked^'' dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye. And blister you all o'er!'"^ Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps. Side-stitches"' that shall pen thy breath up; urchins"^ Shall, for that vast"*^ of night that they may work, All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em. Cal. I must eat m\' dinner This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother. Which thou takest from me. When thou camest here first, 87. WIie)i was often used us an t-xelanialion of impatience. 88. Old iricaninc^s for quaint are arlfitl, iiujcnious. 89. Wicked dew probably means poigonons dew. 90. Caliban, in cursing his master, alludes to the common beliei of that lime that a southwest wind was unwholesome. 9L Side stitches are stitches or pains in the side. 92. Urchiihs were troublesome sprites or fairies. 93. Vast alludes u the middle hours of nij^hl whe-i in the stiilru-ss and vucuncy e\ni s,piiils can 'lo their work. 3!28 Thi-: Tkmpest Thou strokedst ine. and madest iniicli of me; wouldst give me Water with berries iii't'^' and teach me how To name the bigger Hght, and how the less, That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee. And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle. The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fertile. Cursed be I that did so! All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! For I am all the subjects that you have, Wliich first Avas mine own king: and here you sty^^ me In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest o' the island. Pros. Abhorred slave. Which any print of goodness wilt not take. Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning,^^ but wouldst gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known. But thy vile race. Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures 94. Just what Caliban means here is uncertain. 95. Sty here means confine, as in a sty. 96. This clause means ditrst not, savage, know the meaning of thine own words. The Tempest 329 Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou Deservedly confined into this rock, Who hadst deserved more than a prison. Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid"^ you For learning me your language! Pi'os. Hag-seed, hence! Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, To answer other business. Shrugg'st thou, malice? If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old^^ cramps. Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar, That beasts shall tremble at thy din. Cal. No, pray thee.— [Aside.] I must obey: his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. Pros. So, slave; hence! [Exit Caliban. Re-enter Ariel invisible, playing and singing; Ferdinand folloiving. Ariel's Song Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd The wild waves whist, ^" 97. Rid means dcstroij. 98. Old here, as often in tlie writinp;s of Sliakcs|H'aro's lime, is useiJ merely to make stronger the meaning of the word llial follows it. 99. Kiss'd the wild waves whisf. means mtoihi'd Ihr wild irarrs into pcMce. SiM) Thk Tkmpest Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the bnrden bear. (7/ u nieti di.sper.sedly Bow-wow. Bow-wow. Hark, hark! I hear j The strain of strutting | chantieleer. \ Coek-a-diddle-dow. Ferd. Where should this music be ? i' the air, or th' earth ? It sounds no more: and, sure, it waits upon Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank, AVeeping again the King my father's wreck. This music crept by me upon the waters. Allaying both their fury and my passion'"" With its sweet air: thence I have follow 'd it. Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. Xo, it begins again. Ariel sings. Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change^ °^ Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Burden. Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them, — Ding-dong, bell. 100. Ferdinand was suffering, and Shakespeare used the word passion to express the idea as we use it in speaking of the Passion of Christ. 101. This Hne means witfioiit suffering a change from the effects of the sea. The Tempest 331 Ferd. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes.^"- I hear it now above me. Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye ad- vance ,^'^'' And say what thou see'st yond. Mini. What is't.^ a spirit.^ Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave^"^ form. But 'tis a spirit. Pros. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses As we have, such. This gallant which thou see'st Was in the wreck; and, but he's something staiu'd With grief, that's beauty's canker,^"^ thou mightst call him A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows. And strays about to find 'em. Mira. I might call him A thing divine; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. '"" Pros. [Aside.] It goes on,"*' I sec. As my soul promj^ts it. — Spirit, fine spiriti Til free thee Within two days for this. 102. Owes here means possesses. 103. Prospero speakiiij,' to Miranda says, "I.il't up your eyelids and tell me what you see yonder." 104. In this connection brare means //«<> or noble. 105. rfl»At'r means rn.sf or taniixli. Prospero says, " Except lor the fact that he's somewhat stained witii ^nief. which tarnishes hennly, you might call him a fjoodly ixtsihi." 10(i. Miranda, it must be remenihercd, lias never seen any oilier man than her lather. 107. Prospero .sees his plaJi ;,'oin;; on well and f,'ives .\ricl cre'" Heavens! — T am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. Pros. How! the best.^ What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee ? Ferd. A single thing,^^^ as I am now% that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me ; And that he does I weep: myself am Naples ;^^^ Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld The King my father wreck'd. Mira. Alack, for mercy! Ferd. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan And his brave son^^^ being; twain. 108. Ferdinand speaks somewhat aside when he sees the beautiful Miianda, and then directly addresses her. He is embarrassed, calls her a goddess, asks her how he shall behave, calls her a wonder, but above all, wishes to know if she is mortal or not. 109. The word Miramla means wonderful. 110. "She speaks my language!" 111. A single thing means a iveak and companionless thing. 112. Myself am Naples means / am now tfie King of Naples. 113. Notice that this is the eople have taken in each other, and as this furthers his [)lan he feels more grateful t<> Ariel. IIG. What Prospero says is, "I fear that in claiming to be the King of Naples you have done some wrong to your character." 117. Prospero wishes to test the love he sees in Ferdinand, and make him earn his prize. So ho charges the young man witli deceit and threatens him. :V.i4 The Tempest Mira. There's nothint;- ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good thinc;s will strive to dwell with't. Pros. [To Ferd.] Follow me. — Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. — Come; ril manacle thy -neck and feet together: Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, withered roots, and husks Wherein the acorn cradled: follow. Ferd. No; I will resist such entertainment, till Mine enemy has more power. [He draios, and is charmed from moving. Mira. O dear father. Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle, and not fearful. ^^^ Pros. What, I say. My fool my tutor! — Put thy sword up, traitor; Wlio makest a show, but darest not strike, thy conscience Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward;''** For I can here disarm thee with this stick, And make thy weapon drop. Mira. Beseech you, father! — Pros. Hence! hang not on my garments. Mira. Sir, have pity; I'll be his surety. Pros. Silence! one word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! 118. Fearful here means timid. 119. Ward is his position of defen.se to ward off a blow. The Tempest 335 "I'll UK IU3 SURETY. An advocate for an iinpostor? husli! Tliou think'st llicrc aiv no more sucli sliajH'sas lie. Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench ! :J3(> The Tempest To til* most of men this is a Caliban, And they to him are angels. Mira. My affections Are, then, must humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. Pros. [To Ferd.] Come on; obey: Thy nerves^ ^^ are in their infancy again, And have no vigour in them. Ferd. So the}- are: My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, and this man's threats To whom I am subdued, are light to me, ]\Iight I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid: all corners else o' the Earth Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison. Pros. [Aside.] It works. — [To Ferd.] Come on. — Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! — Follow me. — [To Ariel.] Hark, what thou else shalt do me. Mira. Be of comfort; My father's of a better nature, sir. Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted Which now came from him. Pros. [To Ariel.] Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of mv command. Ari. ' To th' syllable. Pros. Come, follow. — Speak not for him. [Exeunt. 120. Nerves is here used for muscles and simics. The Tempest 337 ACT II Scene I. — Another part of the Island. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and Others. — Gonzalo speaks. ESEECH you, sir, be merry: you have cause — So have we all — of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe ..s common; every day some sailor's wife. The master of some merchant,' and the merchant, Have just our theme of woe : but for the miracle — I mean our preservation — few in millions Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort. Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Sebas. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Afito. The visitor^ will not give him o'er so. Sebas. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by-and-by it will strike. Gonza. Sir, — Sebas. One: — tell.^ Gonza. — When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd. Comes to the entertainer — 1. This word means a ship — the mcrdiaatiimii. 2. A visitor in this sense is one who visits the sick to comfort I hem. Antonio and SeVjastian are ridiculing Goni^alo for liis efforts to cheer and console them. .'{. Tell means keeji tall;/. Sf-bastian means llial the clock of (Jon- zaio's wif has struck one. :LSS The Tempest Seba^. A dollar. Gonza. Dolour' comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed. Sebas. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. Gonza. Therefore, my lord, — Anto. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue ! Alon. I pr'ythee, spare me. Gonza. Well, I have done: but yet — Sebas. He will be talking. Anto. ^Miich, of he or Adrian,^ for a good wager, first begins to crow ? Sebas. The old cock.* Anto. The cockerel. Sebas. Done ! The wager ? Anto. A laughter. Sebas. A match !^ Adri. Though this island seem to be desert, — Sebas. Ha, ha, ha I — So, you're paid.^ Adri. — uninhabitable, and almost inaccess- ible, — Sebas. Yet — Adri. — yet — Anto. He could not miss't. Adri. — it must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.® 4. Dolour means grief or sadness. 5. Instead of of he or Adrian, we would say merely he or Adrian. Antonio offers to bet a good sum on which will speak first, Gonzalo or Adrian. 6. Gonzalo. 7 A match means I take the bet. 8. Sebastian has lost his bet, and he pays with a laugh. 9. Adrian means temperature when he says temperance. The Tempest 339 Anto. Temperance was a delicate wench. '" Sebas. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered. Adri. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Sebas. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. Anto. Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. Gonza. Here is every thing advantageous to life. Anto. True; save means to live. Sebas. Of that there's none, or little. Gonza. How lush^^ and lusty the grass looks ! how green! Anto. The ground, indeed, is tawny, Sebas. With an eye^^ of green in't. Anto. He misses not much. Sebas. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gonza. But the rarity of it is, — which is indeed almost beyond credit, — Sebas. As many vouch'd rarities are. Gonza. — that our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the mar- riage of the King's fair daughter Claribel to the Kin": of Tunis. Sebas. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. Adri. Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to^^ their Queen. 10. People often ntimed their girls Temperance, PnuUnce, Faith, etc. It is to this fact that Antonio jokinj^ly ulhules. 11. Lush means jiiicj/. 12. Ki/e hero means tint or shade. 13. We would now say for instead of to. iJ40 The Tempest Oonzd. Not since widow Dido's time.'^ Anio. Widow? a pox o' that! How came that widow in/ Widow Dido! Sebas. What if he had said widower ^Eneas too? Good Lord, how yon take it! .idri. Widow Dido, said you ? you make me study of that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gonza. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. Adri. Carthage! Gonza. I assure you, Carthage. Anto. His word is more than the miraculous harp.^° Sebas. He hath raised the wall and houses too. Anto. WTiat impossible matter will he make easy next? Sebas. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Anto. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Alon. Ah ! Anto. Why, in good time. Gonza. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen. Anio. And the rarest that e'er came there. Sebas. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Anto. O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido. 14. Tunis is near the supposed site of Carthage. The story of Dido and JEneas is told in Virgil's /Eneid. 1.5. One of the stories of the god Mercury is that he gave to Aiuphiou, King of Thebes, a magic harp upon wliich the king played and so chariuird the stones that they .sprang into place to make the walls of his city. The Tempest 341 Gonza. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it, at your daughter's marriage ? Alon. You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense. ^^ Would I had never Married my daughter there! for, coming thence. My son is lost; and, in my rate,^^ she too, Who is so far from Italy removed, I ne'er ag-ain shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee? Fran. Sir, he may live: I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water. Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To th' shore, that o'er his^^ wave-worn basis bow'd, As^** stooping to relieve him: I not doubt He came alive to land. Alon. No, no; he's gone. Sebas. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless uur Euro[)e with your daughter, 16. The meaiiiiifj of stomack in lliis line is a/>i>ctilf or denire. Alon.so says they crowd tlieir words iiifn lijs oars wlicn his foelinps do not relish such nonsense. 17. Rale means enliiiialiiin. 18. //?.» is used for iln and refers to uliore. 1 9. I''or a.i, will I a.i if. Vol. IX.-2.3. 342 The Tempest But rather lose her to an African; Where she at least is banish'd from your eye, Who-" hath cause to wet the grief on't. Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Sehas. You were kneel'd to, and importuned otherwise. By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weio-h'd, between loathness and obedience, at Which end the beam should bow.^^ W>'ve lost your son. I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business' making Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's Your own. Alon. So is the dear'st^^ o' the loss. Gonza. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in : you rub the sore. When you should bring the plaster. Sebas. Very well. Anto. And most chirurgeonly.^^ Gonza. It is foul weather in us all, good sir. When you are cloudy. ^^ Sehas. Foul weather! 20. WJio is used for which. This is but anottier illustration of the changes that have taken place in the use of words since Shake- speare's time. 21. Sebastian tells the King that he alone is resjxjnsible for the loss. Even his daughter weighed her wish to be obedient against her loathing of the match. 22. Dearest here means the same as heaviest or worst. 23. Chirimfeon is the old word for surgeon. Antonio says, "And in the most surgeon-like manner." 24. Gonzalo says, literally. "When you are sad. we all share your sorrow." The Tempest 343 Anto. Very foul. Gonza. Had I plantation""^ of this isle, my lord, — Anto. He'd sow't with ncttlc-seed. Sebas. Or docks, or mallows. Gonza. — x\nd were the King on't, what would Ido.^ Sebas. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. Gonza. I' the commonwealth I would by con- traries Execute all things; for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, ^^ Bourn, ^"^ bound of land, tilth, -'^ vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation; all men idle, all. And women too, but innocent and pure; No sovereignty: — Sebas. Yet he would be king on't. Anto. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the Vjeginning. Gonza. — All things in common Nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony. Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,-" Would I not have; but Nature should bring forth, 25. "Had I the colonizing" is what (ionzalo means. Antonio makes it appear that Gonzalo was speaking of plantiiuj the island. 26. Succession means inheritance, as a son muxeeds to his father's property. 27. Bourn means brook, hence boumlary, as of laud. 28. Tilth means tillage or cultivation, as of land. 29. He probably means any engine of irar. 344 The Tempest Of its own kind, all foison,'" all abundance, To feed my innocent people, Scbas. No marrying 'mong his subjects ? Auto. None, man; all idle. Gonza. I would with such perfection govern, sir, T' excel the golden age.^* Sebas. God save his Majesty! Anto. Long live Gonzalo! Gonza. And — do you mark me, sir? — Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. Gonza. I do well believe your Highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible^^ and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing. Anto. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. Gonza. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you :^^ so you may continue, and laugh at nothing; still. Anto. What a blow was there given! Sebas.. An it had not fallen flat-long.^* Gonza. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the Moon out of her sphere, if she would^^ continue in it five weeks without changing. 30. Foison means plenty of grain or fruits. 31. The Golden Age is that period of the world's history when there was no sin, sorrow or suffering, and when all mankind was so good that there was no need of government of any sort. The Greeks, especi- ally, but other peoples to some e.xtent, have mythical tales of such a time. 32. Sensible is here used for sensitive. 33. Gonzalo admits that in witty talk he is nothing in comparison to Antonio and Sebastian. 34. A blow with the flat of a sword is harmless; so is Gonzalo's wit. 35. We would say sliould instead of would in this case. The Tempest 345 Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn mu»ic. Sebas. We would so, and then go a-bat- fowling.^^ Anto. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gonza. No, I warrant you; I will not adven- ture^' my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep ? for I am very heavy. Anto. Go sleep, and hear us not. [All sleep^^ but Alon., Sebas., and Anto. Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find They are inclined to do so. Sebas. Please you, sir. Do not omit^** the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. Anto. We two, my lord, Will guard your person while you take your rest, And watch your safety. Alon. Thank you. — Wondrous heavy. ^" 36. When they used to hunt birds in the nif,dit, they called it bat- fowling. Sometimes at night they took a li{,'ht into the woods, and while one of the hunters held a net in front of the light, the others would beat the bushes round about. Some of the frightened birds would fly directly at the light and become entangled in the net. 37. Adventure here means put in peril. 38. Ariel is at work again, and in carrying out the plans of Pros|)ero, he causes some to fall asleep that the others may plot. 39. Omit here means ncijlect. Sebastian suggests that it will be better for Alonso to go to sleep while he can. He has reasons for wishing the King asleep. 40. Alonso grows more sleepy under Ariel's influence, and in these words alludes to what Sebastian has just said — "It is a wondrous heavy offer of sleep." 346 The Tempest [Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. Sebas. What a strange drowsiness possesses them ! Auto. It is the quaUty o' the dimate. Sebas. Why Doth it not, then, our eyeUds sink? I find not Myself disposed to sleep. Anto. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. They*^ fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might. Worthy Sebastian, O, what might !^^ No more: And yet methinks I see it in thy face. What thou shouldst be : th' occasion speaks thee ;^^ and IMy strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. Sebas. What, art thou waking ? Anto. Do you not hear me speak ? Sebas. I do; and surely It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say ? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, mov- ing, And yet so fast asleep. Anto. Noble Sebastian, Thou lett'st thy fortune sleep, — die rather; wink'st 41. They refers to the other men. 4:2. Probably we must understand Antonio to mean, "What might you be!" In this way Antonio begins to tempt Sebastian, whom he finds ready to Hsten. 43. Speaks means proclaims. The Tempest 347 Whiles thou art waking/* Sebas. Thou dost snore distinctly; There's meanino- in thy snores. Anto. I am more serious than my custom : you Must be so too, if heed^^ me; which to do Trebles thee o'er.^^ Sebas. Well, I am standing water/' Anto. I'll teach you how to flow. Sebas. Do so: to ebb Hereditary sloth instructs me. Anto. O, If you but knew how you the purpose cherish Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, You more invest it!^^ Ebbing men,*** indeed. Most often do so near the bottom run By their own fear or sloth. Sebas. Pr'ythee, say on: The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim A matter^" from thee; and a birth indeed Which throes thee much to yield. ^^ Anto. Thus, sir: 44. Antonio says in effect, "You close your eyes when you are awake. You are blind to your opportunity. " 45. "If ymi heed me." 46. Antonio means, "Which if you do, you shall be three times as great as you are now." 47. By 7 am standhuj water, Sebastian means that he is like the 2 Ttik Tkmi'kst ^ ^^ ^ ^- ** <^ 1^ ^ -- "awake! awake!" [ To Sebas. and Anto. ] Why are you drawn V^ wherefore this ghastly looking V'' 74. That is, Why are your swords drawn? 75. This means. Why do you look so ghastly? The Tempest 353 Alon. \}Vakincj.'\ What's the matter? Sebas. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, E i^en now, we heard a hollow burst of bellow- Like bulls, or rather lions: did't not wake you? It struck mine ear most terribly. Alon. I heard nothing. Anto. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, To make an earthquake! sure, it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions. Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo ? Gonza. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming. And that a strange one too, which did awake me: I shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn : there was a noise. That's verity. 'Tis best we stand u]3on our guard. Or that we quit this place: let's draw our wea- pons. Alon. Lead oft' this ground; and let's make further search For my poor son. Gonza. Heavens keep him from these beasts! For he is, sure, i' the island. Alon. Lead away. [Exit witli the ot/icr.s-. Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done: — So, King, go safely on to seek thy son. [K.rit. S.)4 The Tempest Scene II. — Artother pari of the Island. Enter Caliban, ivith a burden of wood. A noise of Thunder heard. The Tempest 355 Cal. x\ll the infections that the Sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meaP a disease! His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, Fright me with urchin-shows,^ pitch me i' the mire, Nor lead me, like a fire-brand,^ in the dark Out of my way, unless he bid 'em : but For every trifle are they set upon me; Sometime^ like apes, that mow^ and chatter at me And after bite me; then like hedgehogs, which Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount Their pricks** at my foot-fall; sometime am I All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues Do hiss me into madness. Lo, now, lo! Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat: Perchance he will not mind me.' Enter Trixculo. Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to beai oft*** any weather at all, and another storm brew- 1. Inch-meal means piece-meal. i. Urchin-shows are fairy-shows. 3. Fire-hraiul refers to vAW o' the wisp, or (lanciiif,' balls of light seen soruetinics at night in swampy places. People used to think these lights were tended by naughty sprites who lured men into trouble. 4. We would now say sometimes. .5. Mow means mahe mouths or (jrin. (). Pricks, here, means their prickles or sharp quills. 7. Caliban is a monster, part brute, ])art liinnan, more fisli-like than man-like, probably. lie works only when l*ros[)ero drives him lo il, and he hales his master Ijitlerly in s])ite of all that the latter has done for him. Now Caliban is under ])unishmenl for his wickedness. 8. To hear off means to keep off. .'^.-lO Tin; Tkmpest ino;; I hear it sin"- i' tlie wind: vond same blaek cloud, yoiid Inline one. looks like a foid bombard" I hat would shed his hquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head : yond same eloud eannot ehoose but fall by pailfuls. — What have we here ? a man or a fish ? Dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not-of- the-newest ])oor-john.^^' A strange fish! Were I in Enoland now, as once I was, and had but this fish j^ainted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man:'^ when they wdll not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man I and his fins like arms ! Warm, o' m\' troth ! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder- bolt. [Thunder.] Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to creep under his gaberdine;'" there is no other shelter hereabout: misery ac- ([tiaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. [Creeps under Caliban's garvient. Enter Stkphano, singing; a bottle in his hand. Stepli. / shall no more to sea, to sea. Here shall I die ashore; — 9. A bombard is a black jar or jug to hold liquor. 10. Foor-john is ari old name for dried and salted hake, a kind of fish. 11. Trinculo means that any strange beast could be exhibited and make a man's fortime. 12. A gaberdine was a coar.se tauter garment or frock. The Tempest 357 This IS a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral: well, here's my comfort. [Drinks. [Sings.] Thr master^ the swabbei\^^ the boat- .sivain, and i. The gunner, and his mate. Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us cared for Kate; For she had a tongue with a tang,^ ' Would cry to a sailor. Go hang ! She loved not the savour of tar nor of jntcJi: Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang! This is a scurvy tune too: but here's my comfort. [Drinks. Cal. Do not torment me: — O! Steph. What's the matter.? Have we devils here ? Do you put tricks upon's with savages and men of Inde,^'^ ha ? I have not 'scaped drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground ; and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at's nostrils. Cal. The spirit torments me: — O! Steph. This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the Devil should he learn our language ? 13. A swabber is a man who scrubs tlic docks of a ship. 14. Tang means sharp taste; here it lueaiis tliat Kate spoke sharply. 15. Inde may mean India as we understanrl it, t)r West IncHa, that is, America. Stephano probal)ly alhides to the sham wonders from AnKTihano may l>e a ghost. 24. Con.ilanI liere means .irfl/nl, t'lDrii liis recent experiences in the sea. 360 The Tempest Cal. [Aside.] These be fine things, an iP^ they be not sprites. That's a brave god, and bears celestial hquor: I will kneel to him. Step/i. How didst thou 'scape ? How earnest thou hither.^ swear, by this bottle, how thou earnest hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack,^^ which the sailors heaved o'erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore. Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy True subject; for the liquor is not earthly. Steph. Here; swear, man, how thou escap- edst. Trin. Sw^am ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. Steph. Here, kiss the book. [Gives liim drink.] Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this ? Steph. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. — How now, moon-calf! how does thine ague t Cal. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven .^ Steph. Out o' the Moon, I do assure thee: I was the Man-i'-the-moon when time was. Cal. I've seen thee in her, and I do adore thee : 25. The word an may he omitted from before if without altering the meaning. Caliban fears the men may l>e e^^l spirits, but thinks Stephano must he a god. 26. Sack is an old-fashioned intoxicating drink. \ butt is a big cask holding about two hogsheads. The Tempest 361 My mistress show'd me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush." Steph. Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish it anon with new contents: swear. [Gives Caliban drink. Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster! — I afeard of him! — a very weak monster! — The Man-i'-the-nwonl — a most poor credulous monster! — Well drawn, ^** monster, in good sooth. Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island; And I will kiss thy foot: I pr'ythee, be my god. Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster! when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. Cal. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy subject. Steph. Come on then; down, and swear. Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy mon- ster! I could find in my heart to beat him, — Steph. Come, kiss. [Gives Caiaba's drink. Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink: an abominable monster! Cal. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! 27. All these things the fant-iful used to fliiiik fhey ronld sor in the face of the moon. '28. Tliis probably means that r'aliban luul taken a lonjf li<'aily draught at the bottle. IK)'^ The Tempest I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wondrous man. Triu. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard! Cal. I pr'ythee. let me bring thee where crabs grow; And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;-" Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmozet: I'll brino- thee To clustering filberts, and sometimes I'll get thee Young staniels^*' from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? Steph. I pr'ythee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company else being drown'd, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle: fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by-and-by again. Cal. [Sijigs driinkenhj.] Farewell, master; farewell, farewell. Trin. A howling monster; a drunken mon- ster! CaL No more dams I'll make for fish; Nor fetch in firing at requiring; Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: 'Ban, 'Ban, Ca — Caliban Has a new master; get a new man. Freedom, hey-day, hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey-day, freedom! Steph. O brave monster! lead the way. [Exeunt. 29. Pig-nuts were probably ground-nuts, the small bulbous growths on the roots of certain vines. 30. A staniel is a Icbutril, a beautiful hawk. The Tempest 363 ACT III Scene I. — Before Prospero's Cell. Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. IHERE be some sports are painful, and their labour Delight in them sets ofi':^ some kinds of baseness' Are nobly undergone; and most □ n^^V^ poor matters I kdU Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be As heavy to me as 'tis odious, but The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead. And makes my labours pleasures:^ O, she is Ten times more g-entle than her father's crabbed. And he's composed of harshness. 1 must remove Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up. Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress Weeps when she sees me work; and says such baseness Had never like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labour; Most busy when I do it least. ^ 1. Ferdinand sajs, "Some sports are painful, and the delifjht we take in them offsets the labor." 2. Baseness here means lowliness, rather than anything base or evil. 3. Prospero has set Ferdinand to carrying logs, a hard task and a lowly one, to test his love for Miranda, to find out how manly he really is. 4. The meaning of this line })robably is that when he works the least he is really most wearied V)e(ause he does not have Miranda's sympatlietie words to cheer him, or the sweet thought that he is work- ing for her. 364 The Tempest Enter Miranda; and Prospero hehiiid. Mira. Alas, now, pray you, Work not so hard: I would the Ughtning had Burnt up those logs that you're enjoin'd to pile! Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns, 'Twill weep for having ^vearied you. My father Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself: He's safe for these three hours. Ferd. O most dear mistress, The Sun will set before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. Mira. If you'll sit down, I'll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that; I'll carry't to the pile. Ferd. No, precious creature; I'd rather crack my sinews, break my back. Than you should such dishonour undergo. While I sit lazy by. Mira. It would become me As well as it does you: and I should do it With much more ease; for my good will is to it. And yours it is against. Pros. [Aside.] Poor worm, thou art infected! This visitation shows it. Mira. You look wearily. Ferd. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do beseech you, — Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers, — What is your name ? Mira. Miranda — O my father, I've broke your hest to say so! Ferd. Admired Miranda! The Tempest 365 Indeed the top of admiration; worth What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady I've eyed with best regard; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bond- age _ Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues Have I liked several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, And put it to the foil:^ but you, O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best! Mira. I do not know One of my sex; no woman's face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen More that I may call men, than you, good friend. And my dear father: how features are abroad, I'm skilless of; but, by my modesty, — The jewel in my dower, — I would not wish Any companion in the world but you; Nor can imagination form a shape. Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father's j)ro('cpts I therein do forget. Ferd. I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king, — I w^ould, not so!^ — and would no more endure This wooden slavery than to sufTer 5. Put it to the foil, means put it on the defensive. Foil was a <,'«'iioral name for swords. 6. Ferdinand tliinks liis father lias hocn drowncfl, h\\\ wishes it wore not so, even though he is thereby made King. 366 The Tempest The flesh-fly })low^ my mouth. Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, To make me slave to it; and for your sake Am I this patient log-man. Mira. Do you love me ? Ferd. O Heaven, O Earth, bear witness to this sound. And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true! if hollowly,'^ invert What best is boded me to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else** i' the world, Do love, prize, honour you. Mira. I am a fool To weep at what I'm glad of. Pros. [Aside.] Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between them! Ferd. Wherefore weep you ? Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not oft'er What I desire to give; and much less take What I shall die to want.^" But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! 7. The flesh-fly is the blow-fly, which lays its eggs in meat and helps its decay. 8. Hollowly here means falsely. 9. We would now say, "Whatsoever else." 10. Instead of to want, we would say /row wanting. The Tempest 367 I AM YOtTR WIFE, IF TOU WIIJ. MAKUY ME. I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, I'll die your maid : lo l)e your fellow'' You mav deny rne; bul I'll he your servant- 11. Fellow here means eqrial. :U)8 The Tk.mpest Whether you will or no. Ferd. My mistress, dearest. And I thus humble ever. Mira. My husband, then ? Ferd. Ay, with a heart as willing As bonda":e'" e'er of freedom: here's mv hand. Mira. And mine, with my heart in't: and now farewell Till half an hour hence. Ferd. A thousand thousand!'^ [Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda. Pros. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who am surprised withal ;^* but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; For yet, ere supper-time, must I perform Much business appertaining. [Exit. Scene II, — Another part of the Island. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, witli a bottle. Steph. Tell not me: when the butt is out, w^e will drink w-ater; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and board 'em.^ — Servant-monster, drink to me. Tri7i. Servant-monster! the folly of this island! They say there's but five upon this isle: 12. Bondman may be rcuil for botidage. He accepts her as williiif^Iy as a slave ever accepted freedom. 13. "A thousand thousand /are we//*." 14- Prospero desires Ferdinand to love aud marry ^liranda and has planned for it, but he is surprised at the suddenness and strength of their love. 1. .\s in a naval battle one ship runs alongside another, and the sailors leap aboard. The Tempest 369 we are three of them; if th' other two be l)raiir(l Hke us, the State totters. Steph. Drink, servant-monster, when I hid thee: thy eyes »re almost set' in thy head. [Caliban drinks. Trin. Where should they be set else ? he were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. Steph. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues, off and on, by this light. — - Thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard.^ Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard.* Steph. We'll not run, Monsieur Monster. Trin. Nor go neither: but you'll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither. Steph. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou be'st a good moon-calf. Cal. How does thy Honour.^ Let me lick thy shoe. I'll not serve him, he is not valiant. Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: T am in case to justle a constal)lc.' Why, thou debosh'd^ fish, thou, was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as 1 to-day f Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster ? 2. Set means fixed and staring. 3. Standard may he read staiidard-lyearer. \. Triiirulo means tlial Caliban is too drunk to stand. 5. Trinculo is always jostinf(, even at liis own p.\|)ctisc. \\r means he is so drnnk lie would |)i(k a (|uarrel with a cotistalilc. li. J)el)<).sh'il Mwnns (Irhaiiclted. J570 The Tempest Cal. Lo, hoAv he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord ? Trin. Lord, quoth he. That a monster should be such a natural ! ' Cal. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. Steph. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, — the next tree.^ The poor monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity. Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased To hearken once again the suit I made thee ? Steph. Marry, will I: kneel, and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. Enter Ariel, invisible. Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant; a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island. Ari. Thou liest.^ Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou : I would my valiant master would destroy thee ! T do not lie. Steph. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. Trin. ^Miy, I said nothing. Steph. Mum, then, and no more. — [To Cal.] Proceed. 7. A natural is a fool or a simpleton. 8. Stephano means "You shall be hanged on the next tree." 9. As Ariel is invisible, each thinks another has spoken. The Tempest 371 Cat. I say, bv sorcery he got this isle; From me he got it. If thy Greatness will Revenge it on him, — for, I know, thou darest. But this thing^" dare not, — Steph. That's most certain. Cal. — Thou shalt be lord of it, and I will serve thee. Steph. How now shall this be compass'd f Canst thou bring me to the party ? Cal. Yea, yea, iny lord; I'll yield him thee asleep. Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. Ari. Thou liest; thou canst not. Cal. What a pied ninny's^^ this! — Thou scurvy patch !^^ — I do beseech thy Greatness, give him blows. And take his bottle from him; when that's gone, He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him Where the quick freshes'^ are. Steph. Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stock-fish" of thee. Trin. Why, what did I .^ I did nothing. I'll go further off. 10. "This thing" is ('alil)aii liiiiLscH". 11. The court fools or jesters of that day wtjie clidhes of many colors — were pied, that is, dappled. 12. Patch is another word referring,' to the parti-c^oloretl clotliiiit4 of the jester. 1.3. The (piick freshes are the nmniiig spring.s of fresh water. 14. Ht(Kk-fish is a word used in the writings , -limi thr jullij .idiiij. !21. While-eri' iiieuns awhile sitice. S'-J. "I will do .iiiythiiig reasonable," says Sti-plian«i. Vol. IX. 25. S74 The Tempest ARIEL PL.\YS THE TUNE Flout 'em and scout 'em, and scout 'em and flout 'em; Thought is free. Cal. That's not the tune. The Tempest 375 [Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe. Steph. Wliat is this same ?-^ Trin. This is the tune of our catch, play'd by the picture of Nobody.-* Steph. If thou be'st a man, show thyself in thy hkeness: if thou be'st a devil, — take't as thou list.-^ Trin. O, forgive me my sins! Steph. He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. — Mercy upon us! Cal. Art thou afeard ? Steph. No, monster, not I. Cal. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises. Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not. Sometime-® a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices, That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dream- ing, The clouds methought would open, and show riches Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked, I cried to dream again. Steph. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing. Cal. Wlien Prospero is destroy 'd. 23. "What is this music I hear?" 24. A common sign in those times was calleose through. 7. A drollery was an amusinfj show of the Punch and Judy kind, where the characters were puppets. In a living droller}-, the characters would be alive instead of puppets. 8. The phcenix was a fal>led bird of anti////. 19. Nature here means brotherly love. 20. The reasonable shore moans the shore of reason. As the tide rises to the shore of the sea, so their clearing thoughts fill their miuda 402 Thf Tempest I will disease me,-' and myself present As I was sometime Milan:- — quickly, spirit; Thou shalt ere long be free. Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero. Ari. WTiere the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie, — There I couch: when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After Summer, merrily.^^ Merrily, merrily shall 1 live now Under the blossom that banos on the bouo-h. Pros. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee; But yet thou shalt have freedom: — so, so, so. To the King's ship, invisible as thou art : There shalt thou find the mariners asleep Under the hatches; the master and the boat- swain Being awaked, enforce them to this place, And presently, I pr'ythee. Ari. I drink the air before me,^* and return Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel. Gonza. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 21. Disease me means remove my disguise. 22. As I was sometime Milan means as I was once, the Duke of Milan. 23. The meaning of the three lines preceding has been much dis- puted. No one knows exactly what the poet meant. Perhaps Ariel sings with this meaning: "When the owls cry and foretell the approach of winter, I fly on the back of a bat in a merry search for summer." 24. Ariel uses this fanciful way of saying that he will go as fast as human thought. The Tempest 403 HEIIOLD llli: UliO.NGKD DUKE OF MIl.A.V. Inhabit here: sunie liejiveiily power guide us Out of this fearful countrv! Pros. 15ehold, sir King, The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero: 404 The Tempest For more assurance that a living prince Does now Speak to thee, I embrace thy body; And to thee and thy company I bid A hearty welcome. Alon. Wier^ thou be'st he or no, Or some enchanted trifle'^ to abuse me, As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, Th' aflfliction of my mind amends, with which, I fear, a madness held me: this must crave — An if this be at alP' — a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs. ^^ But how should Prospero Be living and hv here ':' Pros. First, noble friend,^" Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot Be measured or confined. Gonza. Whether this be Or be not, I'll not swear. Pros. You do yet taste Some subtilties^" o' the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain. — Welcome, my friends all:— [Aside to Seba«. and Anto.] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 1 here could pluck his Highness' frown upon you, 25. Wher is a contraction of whether. 26. Trifle here means 'phantom or spirit. 27. This clause means, if this be at all true. 28. My wrongs means the wrongs I have done. 29. He speaks to Gonzalo. .'50. Taste some suhtilties means feel ,io>iie deceptions. The Tempest 405 And justify you traitors :^^ at this time I'll tell no tales. Sebas. [Aside to Anto.] The Devil speaks in him. Pros. Now, For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brothf-r Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know» Thou must restore. Ahn. If thou be'st Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation; How thou hast met us here, who three hours since Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost — How sharp the point of this remembrance is! — My dear son Ferdinand. Pros. I'm woe^' for't, sir. Alon. Irreparable is the loss; and patience Says it is past her cure. Pros. I rather think You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace. For the like loss I have her sovereign aid. And rest myself content. Alon. You the like loss! Pros. As great to me, as late;^^ and, portable To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you; for I Have lost my daughter. Alon. A daughter! 31. Justify you traitors means prorr that ymt are traitors. 32. Woe here means .i(jrry. 33. As late means ax rccenl. Vol. TX— 27. 406 The Tempest Heavens, that they were Hving both in Naples, The King and Queen there! that they were, I wish ^lyself were mudded in that oozy bed Where my son Hes. \Mien did you lose your daughter ? Pros. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords At this encounter do so much admire,^^ That they devour their reason, and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, these words Are natural breath :^^ but, howsoe'er you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain That I am Prospero, and that very Duke Which was thrust forth of .Milan; who most strangely Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed. To be the lord on't. No more yet^® of this ; For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,^' Not a relation for a breakfast, nor Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; This cell's my Court: here have I few attendants, And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. My dukedom since you've given me again, 1 will requite you with as good a thing; At least bring forth a wonder to content ye As much as me my dukedom. 34. In this place admire means wonder. 35. Are natural breath means are the breath of a human being. The lords are still amazed; they cannot reason, they can scarcely believe their eyes or that the words they hear come from a hv-ing human being. 36. In this connection yet means now, or for the present. 37. That is, it is a storj' to be told day after day. The Tempest 407 The entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers Ferdinand and Miranda 'playing at chess. Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false.^^ Ferd. No, my dear's! love, I would not for the world. Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,^*' And I would call it fair play. Alon. If this prove A vision of the island, one dear son Shall I twice lose."" Sebas. A most hig-h miracle ! Ferd. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful ! I've cursed them without cause. [Kneels to Alon. Alon. Now all the blessings Of the glad father compass thee about ! Arise, and say how thou camest here. Mira. O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't! Pros. 'Tis new to thee. Alo7i. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play.'* Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours: Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, And brought us thus together.? 38. Miranda playfully accuses Ferdinand of cheating Lu llie game. 39. The exact meaning of wrangle lias not been determined, and critics still disagree. However, what Miranda says is, "you might cheat me for a score of kingdoms and yet I would rail it fair l)lay." 40. Alonso means that if this sight of Ferdinand is one of the witch- eries of tb« iilaud. he will feel that lie has Inst his son a second time. 408 TiiK Tempest Ferd. Sir, she's mortal: But by immortal Providence she's mine: I chose her when I could not ask my father For his advice, nor thought I had one. She Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, Of whom so often I have heard renown. But never saw before; of whom I have Received a second life; and second father This lady makes him to me/' Alon. I am hers: But, O, how oddly will it sound that I Must ask mv child forgiveness! Pros. There, sir, stop: Let us not burden our remembrance with A heaviness that's gone. Gonza. I've inly wept. Or should have spoke ere this. — Look down, you gods. And on this couple drop a blessed crown! For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way Which brought us hither. Alon. I say, iVmen, Gonzalo! Gonza. Was Milan thrust from IVIilan, that his issue Should become Kings of Naples ! O, rejoice Beyond a common joy! and set it down With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife WTiere he himself was lost; Prospero, his duke- dom, 41. And thLs lady by becoming my wife makes him a second father to me. The Tempest 409 In a poor isle; and all of us, ourselves, When no man was his own/^ Alon. [To Ferd. a7id Mira.] Give me your hands : Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart That doth not wish you joy! Gonza. Be't so! Amen! — Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain amazedly Jollowing. O, look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us: I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, This fellow could not drown."^ — Now, blasphemy, That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore ?*' Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news ? Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found Our King and company; the next, our ship — Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split — Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when We first put out to sea. Ari. [Aside to Pros.] Sir, all this service Have I done since I went. Pros. [Aside to Ariel.] My tricksy*^ spirit! 42. That is, "all of us have found our senses, when no man was in possession of his own." 43. See Act I — Scene I. 44. This sentence means, "Now you blasphemous man who sworr .to on board the ship that we could be saved, have you not an oath to swear on shore?" \5. Tricksy means clever. 410 The Tempest Alo7i. These are not natural events; they strengthen From strange to stranger. — Say, how came you hither ? Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, And — how we know not — all clapp'd under hatches; Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking, howding, jingling chains. And more diversity of sounds, all horrible. We were awaked; straightway, at liberty: When w^e, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master Capering to eye her:^*^ on a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them. And were brought moping^ ^ hither. Ari. [Ande to Pros.] Was't well done ? Pros. [Aside to Ari.] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free. Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; And there is in this business more than Nature Was ever conduct of :^* some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. ^^ Pros. Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on^" 46. Capering to eye Iter means dancing with joy at seeing her. 47. Moping here means bewildered. 48. Conduct of is used for comluctor or leader of. 49. That is, "some wise man must make it clear to us." 50. This sentence means "Do not trouble your mind by hammer- ing away at the strangeness of these happenings. " The Tempest 411 The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure,"^ Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve^- you — Which to you shall seem probable — of every These happen'd accidents :^ till when, be cheerful, And think of each thing well. — [Aside to Ariel.] Come hither, spirit: Set Caliban and his companions free; Untie the spell. [Exit Ari.] — How fares my gracious sir ? There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads that you remember not. Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, in their stolen aj^parel. Steph. Every man shift for all the rest,^* and let no man take care for himself; for all is but fortune. — Coragio,"^ bully-monster, coragio ! Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my head,^® here's a goodly sight. Cat. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed ! How fine my master is! I am afraid He will chastise me. Sebas. Ha, ha! What things are these, my Lord Antonio ? Will money buy 'em ? 51. At pick'd leisure is at a chosen time wfien we have the oppor t unity. 52. Single Vll resolve means / will explain sinyly. 53. Of every these happen'd accidents means liow every one of thest things happened. 54. Stephano is still a little drunk and his tongue uncertain in its speech. He means, Let every man shift far himself. 55. Coragio is used for courage/ 56. Trinculo means, "If my eyes do nol deceive me." 41^2 Thk Tempest A)ito. Very like; one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. Pros. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords. Then say if they be true. This mis-shaped knave, — His mother was a witch; and one so strong That could control the ]\Ioon, make flows and ebbs. And deal in her command without^' her power. These three have robb'd me; and this demi- de\dl — For he's but half a one — had plotted with them To take my life: two of these fellows you Must know and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine. Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler ? Sebas. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded^^ 'em ?-^^ How camest thou in this pickle.^ Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last, that I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.^^ 57. Without here means outside of or beyond. 58. Gilded is a word that was commonly applied to a man who was drunk. 59. Meat that is infested with maggots which have hatched from ^gs laid by flies is said to be fly-blowii. These will not lay their eggs in pickled meat. Trinculo says he has been so pickled, that is drunk, that the flies will not blow him. WHAT THINGS ARE THKSi:.' The Tempest 413 Sebas. Why, how now, Stephaiio! Steph . O, touch me not ! I am not Stephano, but a cramp. Pros. You'd be king o' the isle, sirrah ? Sfeph. I should have been a sore^" one, then. Alon. [Poiniing to Cal.] This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on. Pros. He is as disproportion'd in his manners As in his shape. — Go, sirrah, to my cell; Take with you your companions; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise here- after, And seek for grace. What a thrice double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god. And worship this dull fool! Pros. Go to; away! Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Sebas. Or stole it, rather. [Exeunt Cal., Steph., and Trin. Pros. Sir, 1 invite your Highness and your train To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away, — the story of my life. And the particular accidents gone by. Since I came to this isle: and in the morn I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial 00. Stephano is sore from his lorL'ieiils, but as lh(> woril -lurr uIsd riif-ans har.th nncl severe, he makes a good pun in his spporli. 414 The Tempest Of these our dear-beloved solemnized; And thence retire me^^ to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. ^" Alon. 1 long To hear the story of your life, a\ liich must Take the ear strangely. Pros. I'll deliver all; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious, that shall catch Your royal fleet far off. — [Aside to Ari.] My Ariel, chick. That is thy charge: then to the elements Be free, and fare thou well! — Please you, draw near. [Exeunt. EPILOGUE^^ SPOKEN BY PROSPERO Now^ my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own, — *^ Wliich is most faint: now, 'tis true, I must be here confined by you,^'^ Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, 61. Retire me means witJulraw myself. 62. Prospero has accomplished his pm-poses: he has recovered his dukedom, has found a suitable husband for his daughter, and now feels that life has little in store for him. So every third thought will be in preparation for his death. 83. The Epilogue is a part s[X)ken by one of the actors after the play is over, and is addressed to the audience. Here Prospero steps forward and speaks. 64. He has dismissed Ariel and laid aside all his magic arts. 65. The audience may hold him on the island or send him to Naples, for he is still under a spell. The Tempest 415 And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell; But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands.®® Gentle breath of vours mv sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please: now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be. Let your indulgence set me free. tfi. He asks the audience to applaud, to clap their hands, for noise always breaks charms, and will release him from the enchantment so that be may return to his dukedom. STUDIES FOR THE TEMPEST IHE AUTHOR. Many times we have had occasion to say that an acquaint- ance with an author has much to do with our Hking for his Avorks, and as wa read the great plays of our great- est poet, we wish we might know him more intimately. However, when we look for in- formation concerning him, we quickly find that comparatively little is known of the man beyond what we can draw from his writings, and few authors have shown themselves less viAidly. After doing our best, we can find only a great, shadowy Author who must have had a broad knowledge, a rare invention, a profound insight into human nature, a penetrating sympathy and a marvelous power of expression. As seen through his works, he appears more than human, but when we look into our histories, we wonder that so great a man could have lived and died, and left so light an impression on his times. In fact, some wise men have felt that the William Shakespeare we know could never have written the great plays that bear his name. That is a question, however, we need not discuss; it is better to leave the credit where it has rested for centuries, and believe that the plays are better evidence of Shakespeare's greatness than his own life is evidence of his ability to write them. 416 \vilma:m siiakkspkakk The Tempest 417 William Shakespeare was born in Stratford - on- A von, April 23, 1564. His father, John Shakespeare, was a respectable citizen, a wool- dealer and a glover, who at one time possessed considerable means, and was an alderman and a bailiff in the little town, but w^ho later on lost most of his property and ceased to be prominent in the affairs of the village. William's mother was Mary Arden, a gentle, tender woman of Norman descent, who exerted a powerful influ- ence over the lives of her children. Until William was about fourteen years old he attended the free school in Stratford, and though there are many legends concerning his boyhood pranks and his gift for learning, we know practically nothing for a certainty. In one of the desks at the school, they still show the initials he is sup})osed to have cut during some idle moment. Of his youth we know still less, except that at about eighteen he married Ann Hathaway, a farmer's daughter who lived in the village of Shottery, a mile or two from Stratford. Ann was eight years older than William, but they seem to have lived happily and to have loved the children that were born to them. The next thing we can be really certain of is, that about the time William was twenty-three he went to London and soon became connected with a company of actors. Here tlie genius of the poet began to make itself felt. He wrote some plays, he recast others, and by the time he had been five years in the city, he was promi- nent among the bright men of his time, and was 418 The Tempest recognized as a rising man. Unlike most actors and Avriters of that period, Shakespeare was not a dissipated man, but attended carefully to his duties, saved his money, and ten years after he left Stratford was able to rcturn to his native town and buy a fine estate, to which he added from time to time. His money had not all come from his writings and his acting, however, for he owned a large part of the stock in the two lead- ing theaters in London. About 1604 he ceased to be an actor, although he continued to write for the stage, and in fact produced his greatest plays after that date. Seven years later he returned finally to Strat- ford, and there lived a quiet and delightful home life until 1616, when on the anniversary of his birth he died suddenly of a fever. He was buried in the little parish church at Stratford, w^here his re- mains rest beside those of his wife. On the flat stone that covers his body is inscribed this epitaph: "Good frend for lesus sake forbeare, To digg the dvst encloased heare: Blesse be ye man yt spares thes stones, And Cvrst be he yt moves my bones." Such are the principal facts that we know con- cerning the great man, and a simple biography it certainly is. We must not, however, think that he was not popular among his fellows, or that he was merely a successful business man. He counted among his friends the wisest and best men of his time, and some of them have The Tempest 419 written their impressions of him. Ben Jonson, a rough but sincere and honest man, says: "I loved the man, and do honor his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was in- deed honest, and of an open, free nature; had an excellent phantasy, brave notions and gentle expressions." ]HE PLAY. The Tempest was one of the last of the poet's dramas, though not the last, as some writers have con- tended. It was not printed until 1623, after the poet's death, but it was written, according to Hudson, between 1603 and 1613, and probably between 1610 and 1613. The story seems to have been original with Shakespeare; at least no satisfactory evidence has been given to show that he borrowed it. This is rather unusual, for Shakespeare showed a fine contempt for originality, and borrowed the plots of his plays from a great variety of sources. His own version of each story, how- ever, was so masterly that no one regrets that he availed himself of all the assistance he could get. The scene of the play is laid on an island; what island we do not know. Pr()V)ably it is as mythical as the events that happened on it, and never had any existence outside the poet's mind. The Tempest is one of Shakespeare's most perfect plays. In form it is perfect, and follows, more closoiy than was cuslomarv with him, the strict laws of the old (ireek dramas, the laws 4^20 The Tempest which critics still uphold as those governing the highest art. The three unities are here ob- served: The events all occur in a single day; they happen in a single place; from beginning to end there is one continuous line of thought. Only the last characteristic is still generally observed by dramatic writers. Beside perfection in form. The Tempest shows the greatest nicety in the way the natural and supernatural move along together without a single interference. It is difficult to think of the magic art of Prospero as more marvelous than the coarse plotting of Sebastian, or to consider the delicate Ariel and the mis-shapen Caliban less human than the manly Ferdinand, or the honest old Gonzalo. Only a great writer could accomplish this, and none but a genius could make of his work a piece so fine that we delight in every line of it. It would be unfair too not to mention the beautiful expressions that abound in it, the high sentiments that prevail, and the great renunciation that Prospero makes when he has in his hands every means for swift and terrible revenge. HARACTERS. In reading the drama we become acquainted with the char- acters, and begin to be indifferent toward some, to have admiration for others and contempt for others. In real life we must not be governed by our first impressions of people. We must study their appearance, their speech, their actions, and The Tempest 4'^>1 make up our mind as to their characters before we decide to make them our friends. It is verv unwise to trust every agreeable person we meet, and especially unwise to be suspicious of every person who at first impresses us unfavorably. The older we grow, the keener becomes our power to read character, and the less liable we are to be deceived if we try always to use our best judg- ment. One of the o-reat benefits literature can offer us is the opportunity to study character, and Shakespeare had such a remarkable insight into human nature, and so great a power of drawing character that in his plays we can see before us almost every type of human being, and from a study of them we can gain a knowl- edge of humanity that will help us every day of our lives. Accordingly, let us take up, one after another, the principal characters in The Tempest and study them in such a way that we shall be able to read other plays with greater ease and quick- ened intelligence. 1. Prospero, The hero of the drama is a man well advanced in years, grave, dignified and serene. As Duke of ^lilan he was a prince of power, "without a parallel in dignity and knowl- edge." He was popular with his subjects, foi* so dear was the love his people bore him, that the conspirators did not dare to destroy him. Yet he was not inclined to rule his dukedom, for he grew a stranger to his state, so transported and wrapt was he in secret studies. Tie con- fesses that his librarv was duke'dom enouii[h for Vol. 1X.-28. {^2^2 The Tempest liim, and that lie had vf)liinie.s that he prized above his dukedom. This was his weakness, and upon this his false brother preyed, until one night in the dead of darkness the Duke and the crying Miranda were set adrift in the rotten carcass of a boat, which the very rats instinctively had quit. On the island, with the books Gonzalo had preserved for him, he continued his studies and played the schoolmaster to his gentle child until she was better educated and more highly cul- tured than other princesses that spend more time in vain enjoyments and have less careful tutors. Prospero's love for his daughter is the strong, central trait in his character. He has raised her judiciously, guarded her zealously, and now when he finds, brought to his very door, all the actors in the traoedv of his life, his one great care is to provide for ^Miranda's happiness. All his plans lead to that end, and when he has achieved it, the labors of his life are over. The supernatural powers that Prospero has acquired seem natural to the studious, dignified old gentleman, and amazing as they are, we can discredit none of them. He tells us he caused the storm, and Miranda begs him to save the passengers on the doomed ship with perfect confidence in his ability to do it. He causes sleep to fall on Miranda, and he summons the gentle Ariel, who enters as naturally as a human being, and admits the marvelous acts that he has seen Prospero perform. Caliban testifies to the power of Prospero so convincingly that The Tempest 423 we know the magician has control of the destinies of every human being on the island, and can wreak a terrible vengeance if he is determined to do it. \Mien Ferdinand draws his sword, the magician by a word makes him powerless as he stands. We see the magic banquet appear and disappear, and Iris, Ceres, Juno, the nymphs and the reapers come and converse, as a proof positive of his more than mortal power. How has he used this power and how will he continue to use it ? When first he came upon the island it was full of evil, and the powers of darkness ruled. He has imprisoned and punished the evil spirits; freed the gentle and the good, ban- ished all discord, and filled the island "full of noises, sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not." That in the future he will use his vast power only for good, we feel assured. Only Caliban hates and abuses him, only Cali- ban attributes evil designs to him, but the testi- mony of that incarnation of wickedness rather proves the gentleness, wisdom and justice of the magician. Prospero's passionate love for his daughter makes him cunning and wise. Before he ^ill trust his daughter to Ferdinand, he tests both the character and the love of the latter most severely. He even feigns anger and appears to be cruel and unjust. That he is feigning, neither suspect, but Miranda says: "Never till this day saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd," and "My father's a better nature, sir, than he appears by speech." When he is 4*24 The Tempest assured of Ferdinand's worthiness, of the sin- cerity of his love for Miranda and of her devo- tion to her young lover, he is delighted, and becomes so interested in the entertainment he is giving them, that he forgets the plot against his life, although the hour of his danger has arrived. It is true the father stoops to listening, but his pur- pose is so worthy, no one is inclined to cavil at his watchfulness, and, in any event, his ex- ceeding care but justifies the feeling that his love for ]VIiranda is the mainspring of his every act. On this small island Prospero is little less than a god, and controls affairs with almost super- natural justice and wisdom. Caliban, the un- grateful, terribly wicked monster, who has offended all the laws of decency and right, is punished unsparingly but with justice, for in the end with repentence he is forgiven, and the tortures cease. Ariel and the other obedient spirits, though reproved at times, are rewarded by freedom and placed beyond the reach of the evil powers of earth, and air. - The sufferings Prospero has endured, the in- tensity of his studies, and the fierceness of his struggles with the supernatural powers of e\il, have given a tinge of sadness to his thought, and have led him to feel that the result of all his labors may amount to little. The world is to him but an insubstantial pageant that shall dissolve and fade, lea\qng not the trace of the thinnest cloud behind. And as for our- selves. Thp: Tempest 425 "We are such stiifV As dreams are raade on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep." Yet no sooner does he give way to this feeling than he sees how unkind it is to trouble the young with such musings, and says pathetically to Ferdinand, "Sir, I am vex'd; Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled : Be not disturbed with my infirmity." It is, however, at the end of the play, when aH his plans have been carried out successfully, and enemies and friends are alike at his mercy, that the character of Prospero shines out most glori- ously. Rejoicing at the fruition of his hopes, he asks from his enemies only a sincere repentance, and then nobly resigning the great arts which have rendered the plotters powerless, he forgives them one and all: his brother Antonio; the scheming Sebastian; Caliban, the evil spirit; and the two weak but wicked ones, Stephano and Trinculo. Then with generosity unparalleled he restores Ferdinand to his father, the King, who has joined with Antonio, and promises to all "calm seas, auspicious gales and sail so ex- peditious that shall catch your royal fleet far off." Remembering to set Ariel free, he lays aside his magic gown, breaks his staff, buries it fathoms deep in the earth, and drowns his magic l)ook deeper than did ever plummet sound. Thus he loaves us, onlv a man once 4:^() Thi: Tempest more, but a loving father, a wise and gentle ruler. 2. Miranda. We have seen that the master feehng in Prospero's soul is his love for his daughter. Is she worthy of so great an affec- tion ? Let us draw our answers from the drama. (a) She is beautiful. Ferdinand says: "Most sure, the godde.ss On whom these airs attend!" And: "O you wonder! If you be maid or no ? " Caliban says: "And that most deeply to consider is The beauty of his daughter; he himself Calls her a nonpareil: I ne'er saw woman But only Sycorax my dam and she; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax As great'st does least." Alonso says: "Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. And brought us thus together.^" (b) She is educated, cultured and refined. Prospero says: "And here Have T. thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit The Tempest 427 Than other princesses can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful." (c) She is tender-hearted, sympathetic and compassionate. She says: "O, I have suffer'd With those that I saw suffer!" And: "O, the cry did knock Against my very heart!" Prospero speaks of these traits: "Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, " Speaking of the trials which Prospero puts upon Ferdinand, she says: "Make not too rash a trial of hiui, for He's gentle and not fearful." When she learns of her helplessness at the tim«.- they were set adrift, she says: *'0, my heart Ijleeds To think o' the teen tlwit I have turnVl yoj to.' Wlien Miranda hears how her father was treated bv her false uncle, she exclaims: 428 The Tempest "Alack, for pity I I, not rememberinfj how I cried on't then, \\'ill crv it o'er again: it is a hint That wrings mine eyes to't." (d) She is brave. Prospero says of her childhood : "O, a cherubin Thou wast that did preserve me! Thou didst smile. Infused ^\-ith a fortitude from Heaven." (e) She is innocent and unacquainted with mankind and hates the sight of evil. "\Mien she first sees Ferdinand, she asks: "^Miat is't .- A spirit.^ Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit." Again: "I do not know One of my sex; no woman's face remember, Sa.ve, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen More that I may call men, than you, good friend." And finally: "How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't." She savs of Caliban: The Tiimpest 4i9 *''Tis a villain, dr, I do not love to look on." {D She is grateful. When she is told of Gonzalos services to her and her father, she exclaims: ''Would I might But ever see that mani " ( ff) She is a loving, faithful woman : While Ferdinand is at work she pleads: "Alas. now. pray von. Work not so hard. Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns. 'T^Nnll weep for having wearied you." -\gain : "If you'll sit down. I'll bear your logs the while." Later Ferdinand asks. " '^Tierefor^? weep you.'" Miranda answers: "At mine unworthiness. -Hence, bashful cunnino:! .\nd prompt me. plain and holy innocem-e! I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, rU die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me; but Fll be your servant. \Miether you will or no." (h) Lover and father both bestow unqualitied praise upon her. Ferdinand says: 430 Till. Tempest "Admired ^Miranda! Indeed the top of admiration; worth What's dearest to the world! -but you, O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best!" Her father savs: "O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me that I boast her ofif. For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise. And make it halt behind her." 3. Ferdinand. The quotations we have made from the text seem to have answered our question as to Miranda's worthiness. Upon what sort of a man has she set her affections ? Will she find in her husband the man she thinks she is to marry ? Answer these questions for yourselves by reading the text and setting down the proofs as we did while studying Miranda. 4. Ariel. Prospero's agent Ariel is an in- teresting study, for the poet has drawn him with lines so clear and exact that he seems a veritable person. Will you not seek to know him, and in doing so follow these suggestions ? (a) Ariel appears in the following scenes: Act I Scene II (three times) Act II Scene I (t\\ice) Act III Scene II (once) Scene III (once) Act IV Scene I (three times) Act V Scene I (five times) The Tempest 431 How many scenes are there in the play ? In how many does Ariel appear? In what scenes does he make no appearance ? ^Vhat characters appear more times ? What characters appear more prominently in the play ? (b) Ariel does many different things. Make a list of the things Ariel does in this play, and a second list of the things that it appears Ariel has done elsewhere. (c) Ariel appears in different forms. What are these forms ? Is Ariel ever visible to any of the characters besides Prospero ? Does Ariel ever appear visibly to Prospero ? If the play were to be acted on the stage, would be it neces- sary at any time to have a person come upon the stage to represent him ? (d) Ariel has human characteristics. What acts like those of a human being does Ariel com- mit ? What does Ariel say that shows him to have human traits ? (e) Ariel is a spirit. What supernatural things does Ariel do ? What does Ariel say that makes him seem more than human ? (f) Ariel has a many-sided character. Find in the play where the following questions arc answered : Is he faithful ? Does he do his duties well ? Does Ariel love music ? Does he feel gratitude ? Does he always favor the right ? Is Ariel merry ? Does he love fun ? Does he jjlay practical jokes .'' Does he love warmth and light, or cold and darkness ? Is he sympathetic ? Does he lessen the grief of any one .^ Does he lead any one to remorse for evil deeds 'f Does he 485 The Tempest assist love in the hearts of Ferdinand and Mi- randa ? Do you tliink Prospero always treats him fairly ? Does he seem so light and incon- stant that he needs some discipline ? What will he do when he is released from Prospero's control ? Finally, does Ariel seem lovable to you, would you like him as a friend and com- panion as well as a powerful servant ? .5. Calihan. It is difficult to tell just what the slave of Prospero looked like, and it is not at all unlikely that the poet intended we should not see him very clearly. He is a hideous spectacle, scarcely human, yet resembling a man in some respects. He is called in various places villain, slave and tortoise; a moon-calf, that is, a shape- less lump; a fish, with legs like a man and fins like arms; a puppy-headed monster; a man monster; half a fish and half a monster; a plain fish; a mis-shaped knave; "as strange a thing as e'er I looked upon;" and it is said of him tha- his manners are as disproportioned as his shape Is the character of Caliban apparent^i} in keeping with his appearance ? What does Pros- pero say of him .^ Do you place confidence in .the opinion of such a man as Prospero, and do you feel that he is not unnecessarily severe If Does Caliban do anything to justify the bad character Prospero gives him early in the play f Why do you suppose Shakespeare introduces into the play such a character.^ Does such a character heighten the effect of the others r 6. Other Characters. Classify the other char- acters as good or bad. ^liere did you place The Tempest 433 iVlonso ? Is there any doubt at all as to where Gonzalo should be placed ? Are there any re- deeming traits in Stephano? Do you think Trinculo's jesting is really funny ? Would you like the play better if Stephano and Trinculo were left out of it? AMiat can you find in the boatswain's words to justify the opinion Gonzalo holds of him? Which is the greater scoundrel, Sebastian or Antonio ? ]HE STORY OR PLOT. A certain duke has been by treachery driven from his principality with his infant daughter, and has found refuge on an uninhabited _ island. After many years those who plotted against him are thrown into his power, he recovers his dukedom and marries his daughter to the son of his king. Such, in brief, is the plot of The Tempest, but how wonderfully it is ex- panded, and how many characters have been created, how many incidents created to give interest and truthfulness to the narrative. Let us follow the play through, and by studying the relation of the incidents, one to another, learn to appreciate more fully the art of the great magician who wrote the play. Act I — Scene I. P^irpose : To introduce the enemies of Prospero. Do we know at the time of such a person as Prospero? Do we know why the persons are on the ship, where they intended to go or where they are now ? When do w c find out these things? What idea do you get of Gonzalo in the first scene ? A\1iy is 434 The Tempest his conversation with the boatswain put into the play ? Act I — Scene II. Purpose: To bring before us all the leading characters in the play, and to tell us enough about them to secure our interest; also to give us the history necessary to an under- standing of the plot. When do we first learn that there are miracles and magic in the play ? How do we learn what has happened to Prospero be- fore the time of the storm ? How do we learn Ariel's history.^ How are we made acquainted with Caliban ? How do we learn that Prospero raised the storm ? How were the mariners con- fused, and by whom were all saved ? \Miat did Prospero whisper in the ear of Ariel when the latter came in after Prospero has called Caliban ? What incident followed as a result of this com- mand ? How did Ariel lead Ferdinand ? Are there other places in the play where Ariel leads people in the same way ? What do you call the three most important incidents in this scene ? What incidents could be left out of this scene without interfering with the development of the plot ? Act II — Scene I. Purpose: To account for the presence of the plotters, and to show the character of the men. Is it necessary to the development of the main plot that Sebastian and Antonio should scheme to kill the king;.^ Do any of the incidents of this scene have any direct bearing on the main plot.^ Could any of the incidents of this scene be omitted without injury to the play ? The Tempest 435 Act II — Scene II. Purpose: To create amusement, lighten the play and by contrast make the fme parts more beautiful. Is any char- acter in the scene absolutely essential to the com- ])letion of the story ? Would you understand tlie story as well if the entire scene were omitted ? Act III — Scene I. Purpose: To disclose Prospero's purpose more fully, and to secure our interest in Ferdinand and ^Miranda. Act III — Scene II. What is the purpose of this scene ? What bearing do the incidents of this scene have upon the main plot ? Act III — Scene III. What effect is the magic banquet to have on the persons who saw it.^ What was Prospero's purpose in showing it ? Did it contribute in any way to the success of his general plan ? Act IV — Scene I. What incidents in this scene are necessary, and what are introduced to give light and beauty to the play ? What is the effect of introducing Caliban and his companions right after Ariel and the spirits have been enter- taining Ferdinand and INIiranda.'^ What arc Moiuitain, Silver, Fury and Tyrant, mentioned in this scene .'' Act V — Scene I. What is the purpose of this scene ? Is the plot brought to a satisfactory conclusion ? Are there any characters left un- accounted for.^ Does every character in the play appear in this scene .'' Are they all on the stage when the curtain falls ? Make a list of the incidents which to you seem unnecessarv, which could be left out without 436 Thk Tempest injury to the real storx . Make another list of in- cidents that could not he omitted without spoiling the story. Find t\yo little plots that make com- plete stories in themselves, but that help only in a moderate degree to make the main story clearer. ,OETRY AND PROSE. Do any of the characters speak always in prose ? Do any speak always in poetry ? Do some speak partly in prose and partly in poetry ? Can you see any con- nection between each character and his method of speech ? How many songs are sung in the play ? Who sings them ? Do you like any of the songs ? What effect do the songs have upon the plav ? Can vou find rhyming: lines anywhere excepting in the songs ? Does any character speak in rhyme ? CONCLUSION. If we study a play too long or continue to read it after our interest ceases for a time, we are liable to be prejudiced against it, and to feel that it is not worth a the labor we have put upon it. If, however, a person will stop study- ing when he begins to lose interest and work seems a drudgery, he will come back a little later with renewed interest. Again, when we study a play minutely as we have been doing, and view it from many sides, we may lose sight for a time of the unity and beauty of the whole composition. This is peculiarly unfortunate, for the poet The Tempest 437 intends us to view his work as a whole, and to produce his effect with the whole. It is TJic Tempest that we will remember as a work of art, and, if our studies are fruitful, that will draw us back to it at intervals for many years to come. Before we leave it, we must take it and read it through in a leisurely manner, pausing merely to enjoy its beauty, to smile at its playfulness and to feel our hearts expand under the benign influence of the grand old man Prospero. Now Miranda, Ferdinand and Ariel have passed the line of mere acquaintances, and have become to us fast friends, who, though they may be forever silent, have yet given us a fragment of their lives to cheer us on our way. ITHER Plays of Shakespeare. Shakespeare wrote a great many plays, and all are not equally good; a few seem so inferior that many w^ho study them think they were not written by the same hand that penned TJie Tempest. Some of the plays are more difficult than others, and some cannot be comprehended until the reader has had some experience in life. There arc several, on the other hand, that may be read with great interest and profit by almost any one, while those who have read Tlie Tempest as we have recommended, should find some measure of enjoyment in all. ".1 Midsummer Night's Dream is a charming fairy story; The Merchant oj Venice is a good story, contains fine characters and shows some of Shakespeare's most beautiful thoughts, Vol. IX.— eo. 438 Thj: Tempest although some people are inclined to believe he has dealt too severely with the Jew. Much Ado About Xotliing is a jolly comedy to match with The Comedy of Errors. Julius CwsaVy Richard III and Coriolanus are interesting historical plays, and Hamlet, Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet are among the best of his tragedies. If a person would read just the plays mentioned in the thoughtful way we have indicated here, he would gain a benefit whose great value never can be estimated, and thereafter all reading would seem easier and more delightful. THE IMPEACHMENT OF WARREN HASTINGS THOMAS BABINGTON MACAU LAY INTRODUCTORY NOTE ARREN HASTINGS, the remarkable man whose trial is described in this selection, was born on the sixth of De- cember, 1732. As he was in his childhood dependent on his grandfather, a poor man, early advantages were no greater than those of the peasant children of the neighbor- hood. He had, however, from his earliest years, an indomitable will, and the determination, made when he was but seven years old, to regain possession of the estate of Daylesford, which had passed out of the hands of the family, he kept before him all his life. 1. Thomas Babington Macaulay, English statesman and author, was bom in 1800. That he was a remarkably precocious child is shown by the fact that he read widely at the age of three, that he wrote a history of the world at seven, and that by the time he was ten, he had written poems, metrical romances and treatises on various subjects. Both at school and at college he showed that the precocity of his childhood was no false promise. He first attracted wide attention in 18'-25, when he published his famous Essay on Milton, and he iujmeiliatoly found himself popular in the social as well as the literary world. Shortly after he left college, the financial reverses of liis father made it necessary that he should do something to earn his own living, and to help his family. IVoiii this time on he showed the most tireless energy, writing essays, |)oems and lirstorical articles, which constantly increased his fame. In 1830 he entered Parlia- ment and was a most active and influential member. At times hi.s 439 440 Impeachment of Warren Hastings At the age of ten he was sent by an uncle to Westminster School, where he received an excellent education, and at seventeen he was sent to India as a clerk in the service of tlie East India Company. In 1764 he returned to Eng- land, and five years later he went back to India as member of the Council at Madras. In 1774 he was made governor-general of India, and it was while in this position that he committed those acts for which he was impeached. The chief of these were the rendering of military assistance to Sujali Dowlah, Nabob of Oude, in his successful attempt to subdue the pro\ince of Katahr, occupied by the Rohillas; his acquiescence in the condemnation and execution of Nuncomar, an intriguing Brah- min; the deposition of Cheyte Sing, Rajah of Benares, for alleged disloyalty, and the enrich- ment of Asaph-ul-Dowlah, son and successor of Sujah Dowlah, at the expense of the Begums, or Princesses, of Oude — the mother and the grand- mother of Asaph-ul-Dowlah. It is but just to Hastings to state that these things were done not to enrich himself, but to satisfy the constant speeches were so powerful that they changed the vote of the House of Commons. His greatest work was his History of England from tiie Accession of James II. The fascinating descriptions and exciting episodes made this work instantly popular on both sides of the Atlantic, despite the fact that its most ardent admirer could not claim for it the merit of im- partiality. Macaulay's life was too laborious; by 1852 his health broke down, and seven years later he died. The essay on Warren Hastings, from which this selection is taken, is one of his historical essays, and shows very clearly many of the peculiar characteristics of his style. Impeachment of Warren Hastings 441 demands of the East India Company for funds; and that when he left India in 1785, his great empire was in a prosperous and tranquil state. The selection from Macaulay begins with the arrival of Hastings in England. HE voyage was, for those times, very speedy. Hastings was little more than four months on the sea. In June, 1785, he landed at Plymouth, posted to London, ap- peared at Court, paid his respects to LfCadenhall Street, and then retired with his wife to Cheltenham. Within a week after he landed at Plymouth, Burke gave notice in the House of Commons of a motion seriously affecting a gentleman lately returned from India. Hastings, it is clear, was not sensible of the danger of liis position. A man who, having left England when a boy, returns to it after thirty or forty years passed in India, will find, be his talents what they may, that he has much both to learn and to unlearn before he can take a place among English statesmen. This was strikingly the case with Hastings. In India he had a bad hand but he was master of the game, and he won everj^ stake. In England he held excellent cards, if he had known how to play them; and it was chiefly Ijy his own errors that he was brought to the verge of ruin. Of all his errors the most serious was perhaps the choice of his champion, Major Scott. In spite, how- 44'2 Impeachment of Warren Hastings ever, of this unfortunate choice the general aspect of ati'airs was favorable to Hastings. The King was on his side; the Company and its servants were zealous in his cause; among public men he had many ardent friends. The ministers were gcnerallv believed to be favorable to him. Mr. Dundas was the only important member of the administration who was deeply committed to a different view of the subject. The Opposition was loud and vehement against him. But the Opposition, though formidable from the wealth and influence of some of its members, and from the admirable talents and eloquence of others, was outnumbered in Parliament, and odious throughout the coun- tr}\ Nor, as far as w^e can judge, was the Opposition generally desirous to engage in so serious an undertaking as the impeachment of an Indian Governor. Such an impeachment must last for years. It must impose on the chiefs of the party an immense load of labor. Yet it could scarcely, in any manner, affect the event of the great political game. The followers of the coalition were therefore more inclined to revile Hastings than to prosecute him. But there were two men whose indignation was not to be so appeased, Philip Francis and Edmund Burke. Francis had recently entered the House of Commons, and had already established a char- acter there for industry and ability. He labored indeed under one most unfortunate defect, want of fluency. But he occasionally expressed liim- self with a dignity and energy worthy of the Impeachment of Wakke.x Hastings 448 greatest orators. Before he had been many days in Parhament, he incurred the bitter disUke of Pitt,^ who constantly treated him with as much asperity as the laws of debate would allow. Neither lapse of years nor change of scene had mitigated the enmities which Francis had brought back from the East. After his usual fashion, he mistook his malevolence for virtue, nursed it, as preachers tell us that we ought to nurse our good dispositions, and paraded it, on all occa- sions, with Pharisaical ostentation. The zeal of Burke was still fiercer, but it was far purer. ]\Ien unable to understand the eleva- tion of his mind have tried to find out some dis- creditable motive for the vehemence and perti- nacity which he showed on this occasion. But they have altogether failed. The idle story that he had some private slight to revenge has long been given up, even by the advocates of Has- tings. The plain truth is that Hastings had committed some great crimes, and that the thought of those crimes made the blood of Burke boil in his veins. For Burke was a man in whom compassion for suft'ering, and hatred of injustice and tyranny, were as strong as in Las Casas^ or '=>. William Pitt (1759-1800), often called the yoiiiiiifor Pitt, to dis- tinguish him from his father, was at this time prime minister. He had been advanced to this high office when but twenty-four years of age, and he was, as one UTiter says, "the most powerful sul>jclitical restrictioas of the Catholics. He favore(ll l({'2r»), was a great I'nglish |)hilo.soj>her and stalr-snian. lie cnlcrcfl l'ar!iarn<-nt at Ihirtv-funr, held Vol. IX. -:50. 4o4 l.Ml'KACILME.NT OF WaKKEX HASTINGS just absolution of Souiers,'- the hall where the eloquence of Strall'ord''* had for a moment awed and melted a victorious party inflamed with just resentment, the hall where Charles'* had con- fronted the High Court of Justice with the placid courage which has half redeemed his fame. Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting. The avenues were lined with grenadiers. Tlie streets were kept clear by cavalry. The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were marshalled by the heralds under Garter King-at-arms. The judges in their vestments of state attended to give advice on points of law. Near a hundred and seventy lords, three-fourths of the Upper House as the Upper House then was, walked in solemn order from their usual place of assembling to the various offices, and in 1618 was made lord high chancellor. Accused of corruption as a judge, he pleaded guilty, was fined $!iOO,000, and sen- tenced to imprisonment. Although the sentence was afterward practi- cally remitted, he was disgraced for life. Bacon is known now chiefly through his Essays. li. John Somers (1651-1716) was an English lawyer and statesman, lie held offices of increasing importance, and in 1697 was raised to the peerage and made lord chancellor of England. Three years later he was removed from office, and impeachment proceedings were begim against him. They were, however, soon dropped. 13. Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford (1593-1641) was an English statesman, chief sujjportcr of Charles I in his absolutist policy. Early in his career he sided with Parliament and attempted to check Charles, but feeling that Parliament was going too far, he joined Charles. In Ireland, as lord deputy, he made himself intensely unpopular, and after his return to England he drew upon himself, by his arbitrary character, the hatred of Parliament. At length a bill of attainder was passed against him, and was signed by Charles I, who had assured Strafford that no harm should ever come to him by reason of his al- legiance to the king. In May, 1641, he was beheaded. 14. This was, of course, Charles I, who when condemned to death met his fate with such dignity and composure that many who had been in favor of hLs execution regarded him afterward as a martyr and a saint. Impeachment of Warren Hastings 455 tribunal. The junior Baron present lead the way, George Eliott, Lord Heathfield, recently ennobled for his memorable defense of Gibraltar against the fleets and armies of France and Spain. The long procession was closed by the Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the realm, by the great dignitaries, and by the brothers and sons of the King. Last of all came the Prince of Wales, conspicuous by his fine person and noble bearing. The gray old walls were hung with scarlet. The long galleries were crowded by an audience such as has rarely excited the fears or the emulations of an orator. They were gathered together, from all parts of a great, free, enlightened, and prosperous empire, grace and female loveliness, wit and learning, the representatives of every science and of every art. There were seated round the Queen the fair-haired young daughters of the House of Brunswick. There the Am- bassadors of great Kings and Commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle which no other country in the world could present. There Siddons,'^ in the prime of her majestic beauty, looked with emotion on a scene sui-passing all the imitations of the stage. There the historian of the Roman Empire thought of the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily against Verres,'" 15. Mrs. Sarah Siddous (1755-1831) was one of tlie greatest, iRM-liaps the greatest, of J^ngli.-ih tragir acfrfsscs. 16. Verrcs wa.s a Roman Politifian, governor of Sicily. Affiiscd l>y the Sicilians of oppression and rol>l)cry, he was Ijrouglit to trial, Cicero managing tlie prosecution, f'icero i)rei)ared six orations, hut after the first, Verres, .seeing that liis gnilt would he cle;irly eslaljiished, (led from Italy. 4.56 Impeachmknt of Warren Hastings and when, before a senate which still retained some show of freedom, Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of Africa. ^^ There were seen side by side the greatest painter and the greatest scholar of the age. The spectacle had allured Reynolds'^ from that easel which pre- served to us the thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, and the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons. It had induced Parr'" to suspend his labors in that dark and profound mine from which he had extracted a vast treasure of erudition, a treasure too often buried in the earth, too often paraded with injudicious and in- elegant ostentation, but still precious, massive, and splendid. There appeared the voluptuous charms of her to whom the heir of the throne had in secret plighted his faith. -° There were the members of that brilliant society which quoted, criticized, and exchanged repartees, under the rich peacock-hangings of Mrs. Montagu.'^ And there the ladies whose lips, more persuasive than those of Fox himself, had carried the West- minster election against palace and treasury, shone around Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire. 17. The "oppressor of Africa" was Marius Priscus, who was suc- cessfully prosecuted by Tacitus and his friend Pliny the Younger. 18. Sir Joshua RejTiolds (1723-1792), the most famous English portrait painter. 19. Samuel Parr (1747-1825), a once noted English scholar. 20. This was Mrs. Fitzherbert, whom the Prince of Wales, afterward George I\', had secretly married in 1785. Later, wishing to obtain help from Parliament for the payment of his debts, he allowed the marriage to be denied in Parliament. 21. Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu (1720-1800) was an English society leader, who numbered among her regular visitors Horace Walpole, Dr. Johnson, Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds. Impeachment of Warren Hastings 457 The Serjeants made proclamation. Hastings advanced to the bar, and bent his knee. The culprit was indeed not unworthy of that great presence. He had ruled an extensive and popu- lous country, had made laws and treaties, had sent forth armies, had set up and pulled down princes. And in his high place he had so borne himself, that all had feared him, that most had loved him, and that hatred itself could deny him no title to glory, except virtue. He looked like a great man, and not like a bad man. A person small and emaciated, yet deriving dignity from a carriage which, while it indicated deference to the court, indicated also habitual self-possession and self-respect, a high and intellectual forehead, a brow pensive, but not gloomy, a mouth of in- flexible decision, a face pale and worn, but serene, on which was written, as legibly as under the picture in the council-chamber at Calcutta, Mens oequa in ardiiis;^^ such was the aspect with which the great Proconsul presented himself to his judges. His counsel accompanied him, men all of whom were afterwards raised by their talents and learn- ing to the highest posts in their profession. But neither the culprit nor his advocates attracted so much notice as the accusers. In the midst of the blaze of red drapery, a space had been fitted up with green benches and tables for the Commons. The managers, with Burke at their head, ap- peared in full dress. The collectors of gossip did not fail to remark that even Fox, generally so 22. That is, a mind calm in dijficulties. 458 Impeachment of Wakrex Hastings regardless of his appearance, had paid to the ilhistrious tribunal the compliment of wearing a bag and sword. Pitt had refused to be one of the conductors of the impeachment; and his commanding, copious, and sonorous eloquence was wanting to that great muster of various tal- ents. Afje and blindness had unfitted Lord Xorth for the duties of a public prosecutor; and his friends were left without the helf) of his ex- cellent sense, his tact, and his urbanity. But, in spite of the aVjsence of these two distinguished members of the Lower House, the box in which the managers stood contained an array of speak- ers such as perhaps had not appeared together since the great age of Athenian eloquence. There were Fox and Sheridan, the English Demos- thenes and the English H^'perides.-^ There was Burke, ignorant indeed, or negligent of the art of adapting his reasonings and his style to the capacity and taste of his hearers, but in ampli- tude of comprehension and richness of imagina- tion superior to everv orator, ancient or modern. There, with eyes reverentially fixed on Burke, appeared the finest gentleman of the age, his form developed by ever}' manly exercise, his face h>eaming with intelligence and spirit, the ingeni- ous, the chivalrous, the high-souled Windham. Xor, though surrounded by such men, did the youngest manager pass unnoticed. At an age 23. Hyperides was a celebrated Athenian orator, who lived in the fourth century- B. C. He was, throuj^h part of his life, a friend and associate of Demosthenes, whom some critics c-onsidered that he sur- passed in oratory. Impeachment of ^\arrex Hastings 459 when most of those who distinguish themselves in hfe are still contending for prizes and fellow- ships at college, he had won for himself a con- spicuous place in Parliament. Xo advantage of fortune or connection was wanting that could set off to the height his splendid talents and his unblemished honor. At twenty-three he had been thought worthy to be ranked with the veteran statesmen who appeared as the delegates of the British Commons, at the bar of the British nobility. All who stood at that bar, save him alone, are gone, culprit, advocates, accusers. To the generation which is now in the vigor of life, he is the sole representative of a great age which has passed away. But those who. within the last ten years, have listened with delight, till the morning sun shone on the tapestries of the House of Lords, to the lofty and animated elo- quence of Charles Earl Grey,-^ are able to form some estimate of the ])owers of a race of men among whom he was not the foremost. The charixes and the answers of Ilastiniis were first read. The ceremony occupied two whole days, and was rendered less tedious than it would otherwise have been by the silver voice and just emphasis of Cowper, the clerk of the court, a near relation of the amiable poet. On the third H. Charles, Karl Grey (1764-1845'), had, as Macaulay here intimates, hut just lx'j,niii his i>olitical career. It was a loiif; aiul hrilliant oue. anil throughout it, lie was concemeci chiefly with the ()ueslioii of rnrlianieiitary reform. Several times he |»reseiiteeen twcnty-thrcT years in the Hf>u>e of Ixmis, that he s\icTeelh hoiises of rarliament the hill whirl) ^ ^[ik ^ A DISSERTATION UPON ROAST PIG CHARLES LAMB ANKIND, says a, Chinese man- uscript, which my friend M. was obHging enough to read and explain to me,^ for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw, clawing or biting it from the living animal, just as they do in A.byssinia to this day. This period is not obscurely hinted at by their great Confucius in the second chapter of his Mundane Mutations, where he designates a kind of golden age by the term Cho-fang, literally the Cook's Holiday. The manuscript goes on to say, that the art of roasting, or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder brother), was accidentally discovered in the manner following: The swineherd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son. Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, who being fond of playing with fire, as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks escape into a bundle of straw, which kindling quickly, spread the conflagration over 1. A friend who had traveled extensively in China and Thibet told Lamb this story of the origin of cooking. We do not know that the friend found the story current in China, but we are certain that it is found in very old writings. Of course the quaint, fanciful form of the story is Lamb's own. 466 Upon Roast Pig 467 every part of their poor mansion, till it was reduced to ashes. Too-ether with the cottage (a sorry antediluvian makeshift of a building, you may think it), what was of much more importance, a fine litter of new-farrowed pigs, not less than nine in number, perished. China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all over the East, from the remotest period that we read of. Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which his father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and the labor of an hour or two, at any time, as for the loss of the pigs. While he was thinking Avhat he should say to his father, and wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely sufferers, an odor assailed his nostrils, unlike any scent which he had before experienced. What could it proceed from ? — not from the burnt cottage, — he had smelt that smell before, — indeed this was by no means the first accident of the kind which had occurred through the negligence of this unlucky young firebrand. Much less did it resemble that of any known herl), weed, or flower. A premonitory moisten- ing at the same time overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think. He next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. He burnt his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his booby fashion to his mouth. Some of the crumbs of the scorched skin liad come away with his fingers, and for the first time in his life (\u tlw world's Iif(^ 468 Upon Roast Pig indeed, for before him no man had known it) he tasted — crackling ! Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now, 'still he licked his fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length broke into his slow under- standing, that it was the pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted so delicious; and surrendering himself up to the new-born pleasure, he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with retributory cudgel, and finding how aft'airs stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue's shoulders, as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo heeded not any more than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure, which he experienced in his lower regions, had rendered him quite callous to any inconveniences he might feel in those remote quarters. His father might lay on, but he could not beat him from his pig, till he had fairly made an end of it, when, becoming a little more sensible of his situation, something like the following dialogue ensued : "You graceless whelp, what have you got there devouring ? Is it not enough that you have burnt me down three houses with your dog's tricks, and be hanged to you! but you must be eating fire, and I know not what; what have you got there, I say .^" "O father, the pig, the pig! do come and taste how nice the burnt pig eats." Upon Roast Pig 469 The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his son, and he cursed himself that ever he should beget a son that should eat burnt pig. Bo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig, and fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into the fists of Ho-ti, still shout- ing, "Eat, eat, eat the burnt pig, father, only taste; O Lord!" — with such-like barbarous ejac- ulations, cramming all the while as if he would choke. Ho-ti trembled in every joint while he grasped the abominable thing, wavering whether he should not put his son to death for an unnatural young monster, when the crackling scorching his fingers, as it had done his son's, and applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn tasted some of its flavor, which, make what sour mouths he would for a pretense, proved not altogether displeasing to him. In conclusion (for the manuscript here is a little tedious) both father and son fairly sat down to the mess and never left off until they had dispatched all that remained of the litter. Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape, for the neighbors would certainly have stoned them for a couple of abominable wretches, who could think of improving upon the good meat which God had sent them. Nevertheless, strange stories got about. It was observed that Ho-ti 's cottage was Ijurnt down now more frequently than ever. Nothing but fires from this time forward. Some would Vol, IX -31. 470 Upon Roast Pig break out in broad day, others in the night time. As often as the sow farrowed, so sure was the house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze; and Ho-ti him- self, which was the more remarkable, instead of chastising his son, seemed to grow more in- dulgent to him than ever. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery discovered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at Pekin, then an inconsiderable assize town. Evi- dence was given, the obnoxious food itself produced in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when the foreman of the jury begged that some of the burnt pig, of which the culprits stood accused, might be handed into the box. He handled it and they all handled it; and burning their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father had done before them, and nature prompting to each of them the same remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the clearest charge which judge had ever given, — to the surprise of the whole court, townsfolk, strangers, reporters, and all present, — without leaving the box, or any manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous verdict of Not Guilty. The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the manifest iniquity of the decision; and when the court was dismissed, went privily, and bought up all the pigs that could be had for love or money. In a few days his Lordship's town- house was observed to be on fire. The thing took wing, and now there was nothing to be seen but fire in every direction. Fuel and pigs grew enormously dear all over the district. The Upon Roast Pig 471 insurance offices one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and slighter every day, until it was feared that the very science of architecture would in no long time be lost to the world. Thus this custom of firing houses continued, till in process of time, says my manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, who made a discovery, that the flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked (burnt, as they called it) without the necessity of consuming a whole house to dress it. Then first began the rude form of a gridiron. Roasting by the string or spit came in a century or two later; I forget in whose dynasty. * * * * Thus do the most useful arts make their way among mankind. Without placing too implicit faith in the account above given, it must be agreed, that if a worthy pretext for so dangerous an experi- ment as setting houses on fire (especially in these days) could be assigned in favor of any culinary object, that pretext and excuse might be found in ROAST PIG. Of all the delicacies in the whole mundus edihilis,^ I will maintain it to be the most delicate — princeps ohsoniorum.^ I speak not of your grown porkers — things between pig and ])ork — those hobbydehoys — but a young and tender suckling — under a moon old — guiltless as yet of the sty — with no original speck of the amor immunditiw,* the hereditary 2. MuTidiis cdibilis is a T«'ifiii expression inrauin<; cdihlr wnrLI. 3. Princeps (jfj.foniorum means chief of rianiii. 4. This is a Latio phrase mcaninj^ love of fillh. 47^2 Upon Roast Pig failing of the first parent, yet manifest — his voice as vet not broken, but something: between a childish treble and a grumble — the mild fore- runner, or proeludiurrv' of a grunt. He must he roasted. I am not ignorant that our ancestors ate them seethed, or boiled, — but what a sacrifice of the exterior tegument! There is no flavor comparable, I will contend, to that of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted, crackling, as it is well called, — the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance, — with the adhesive oleagi- nous — O call it not fat! but an indefinable sweetness growing up to it, — the tender blossom- ing of fat — fat cropped in the bud — taken in the shoot — in the first innocence — the cream and quintessence of the child-pig's yet pure food, — the lean, no lean, but a kind of animal manna, — or, rather, fat and lean (if it must be so) so blended and running into each other, that both together make but one ambrosian result, or common substance. Behold him, while he is "doing" — it seemeth rather a refreshing warmth, than a scorching heat, that he is so passive to. How equably he twirleth round the string! Now he is just done. To see the extreme sensibility of that tender age! he hath wept out his pretty eyes — radiant jellies — shooting stars. See him in the dish, his second cradle, how meek he lieth! — wouldst thou have had this 6. ProEludium means prelude. Upon Roast Pig 473 innocent grow up to the grossness and indocility which too often accompany maturer swinehood ? Ten to one he would have proved a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal — wallowino: in all manner of filthy conversa- tion,— from these sins he is happily snatched away, — Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, Death came with timely care* — his memory is odoriferous, — no clown curseth, while his stomach half rejecteth, the rank ba- con, — no coal-heaver bolteth him in reeking sausages, — he hath a fair sepulcher in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure, — and for such a tomb might be content to die. He is the best of sapors. Pineapple is great. She is indeed almost too transcendent — a delight, if not sinful, yet so like to sinning that really a tender conscienced person would do well to pause — too ravishing for mortal taste, she wound- eth and excoriateth the lips that approach her — like lovers' kisses she biteth — she is a ])lcasuro bordering on pain from the fierceness and insan- ity of her relish — ])ut she stoppetli al the palate — she meddleth not with the appetite — and the coarsest hunger might barter her consistently for a mutton chop. Pig — let me speak his praise — is no less pro- vocative of the apj)etite, than he is satisfactory to the criticaliicss of the consorious palate. Tlu^ 0. From Coleridge's Epilai'h on an Infant. 474 Upon Roast Pig strong man may batten on him, and the weakHng refiiseth not his mild juices. Unhke to mankind's mixed characters, a bundle of virtues and vices, inexplicably inter- twisted, and not to be unraveled without hazard, he is — good throughout. No part of him is better or worse than another. He helpeth, as far as his little means extend, all around. He is the least envious of banquets. He is all neighbor's fare. I am one of those, who freely and ungrudgingly impart a share of the good things of this life which fall to their lot (few as mine are in this kind) to a friend. I protest I take as great an interest in my friend's pleasures, his relishes, and proper satisfactions, as in mine own. "Presents," I often say, "endear Absents." Hares, pheasants, partridges, snipes, barn-door chickens (those "tame villatic fowl,") capons, plovers, brawn, barrels of oysters, I dispense as freely as I re- ceive them. I love to taste them, as it were, upon the tongue of my friend. But a stop must be put somewhere. One would not, like Lear, "give everything." I make my stand upon pig. Methinks it is an ingratitude to the Giver of all good flavors, to extra-domiciliate, or send out of the house, slightingly, (under pretext of friend- ship, or I know not what,) a blessing so particu- larly adapted, predestined, I may say, to my individual palate — it argues an insensibility. I remember a touch of conscience of this kind at school. My good old aunt, who never parted from me at the end of a holidav without stuffing; a sweetmeat, or some nice thing, into my pocket. Upon Roast Pig 475 had dismissed me one evenino- with a smokincr pkim cake fresh from the oven. In my way to school (it was over London bridge) a grayheaded old beggar saluted me (I have no doubt, at this time of day, that he was a counterfeit). I had no pence to console him with, and in the vanity of self-denial, and the very coxcombry of cliarity, schoolboy-like, I made him a present of — the whole cake! I walked on a little, buoyed up, as one is on such occasions, with a sweet soothing of self-satisfaction; but before I had got to the end of the bridge, my better feelings returned, and I burst into tears, thinking how ungrateful I had been to my good aunt, to go and give her good gift away to a stranger that I had never seen before, and who might be a bad man for aught I kncvr ; and then I thought of the pleasure my aunt would be taking in thinking that I— I myself, and not another — Avould eat her nice cake, — and what should I say to her the n(>xt time I saw her, — how naughty I was to part with her pretty present! — and the odor of that spicy cake came back upon my recollection, and llu^ pleasure and the curiosity I had taken in seeing her make it, and her joy when she sent it to tlie oven, and how disappointed she would feci that I had never had a bit of it in my moutli at last, — and I blamed my impertinent s|)irit of alms- giving, and out-of-placc hypocrisy of goodness; and above all I Avished never to see the face airain of that insidious, irood-for-iiothiiiL!,", old gray impostor. Our ancestors were nice in tlicii" niclliod of 476 Upon Uoast Pig sacrificing these tender victims. We read of pigs Avliipped to death with something of a shock, as we hear of any other obsolete custom. The age of disciphne is gone by, or it would be curious to inquire (in a philosophical light merely) what effect this process might have towards intenerating and dulcifying a substance, naturally so mild and dulcet as the flesh of young J3igs. It looks like refining a violet. Yet we should be cautious, while we condemn the in- humanity, how we censure the wisdom of the practice. It might impart a gusto. I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young students, when I was at St. Omer's, and maintained with much learning and pleas- antry on both sides. ''Whether, supposing that the flavor of a pig who obtained his death by whipping (per flagellationem extremam,'') super- added a pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering w^e can con- ceive in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting the animal to death ? " I forget the decision. His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few bread-crumbs done up with his liver and brains, and a dash of mild sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbecue your whole hogs to your palate, steep them in shallots, stuff them out with plantations of the rank and guilty garlic; you cannot poison them, or make them stronger than they are, — but consider, he is a weakling — a flower. 7. Per flagellationem extremam means hy a terrible heating. THE PRAISE OF CHIMNEY SWEEPERS CHARLES LAMB LIKE to meet a sweep — under- stand me — not a grown sweeper, — old chimney sweepers are by no means attractive, — but one of those tender novices, blooming through their first nigritude, the maternal washing's not yet efl'aced from the cheek, — such as come forth with the dawn, or somewhat earlier, with their little professional notes sounding like the ^^eep 2?eep of a young sparrow; or liker to the matin lark should I pronounce them, in their aerial ascents not seldom anticipating the sunrise ? I have a kindlv vearnino; toward these dim specks — poor blots — innocent blacknesses — I reverence these young Africans of our own groW'th — these almost clergy imps, who sport their cloth^ without assumption; and from their little pulpits (the tops of chimneys), in the nipping air of a December morning, })reach a lesson of patience to mankind. When a child, what a mysterious pleasure il was to witness their ojK'ration! to see a chit no bigger than one's self, enter, one knew not by what process, into what seemed the fuurcs 1. Distinctive dress of llie eler^y. the chimneys. 'I'lie "swef'ps" itre lioy.s who clean 477 47S Tin: Phaisio of Chimney Sweepers Averni,^ to pursue him in imagination, as he went soundino- on through so many dark stifling caverns, horrid shades! to shudder with the idea that "now, surely, he must be lost forever!" — to revive at hearing his feeble shout of discovered daylight — and then (O fulness of delight!) run- ning out of doors, to come just in time to see the sable phenomenon emerge in safety, the bran- dished weapon of his art victorious like some flag waved over a conquered citadel! I seem to re- member having been told that a bad sweep was once left in a stack with his brush, to indicate which way the wind blew. It was an awful spectacle, certainly; not much unlike the old stage direction in Macbeth, where the "Appari- tion of a child crowned, with a tree in his hand, rises." Reader, if thou meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to give him a penny. It is better to give him twopence. If it be starving weather, and to the proper troubles of his hard occupation, a pair of kibed heels (no unusual accompaniment) be superadded, the demand on thy humanity will surely rise to a tester.^ There is a composition, the groundwork of which I have understood to be the sweet wood yclept sassafras. This wood, boiled down to a kind of tea, and tempered with an infusion of 2. Fauces Averni means throat of the lower world. Avernus was a lake in Italy whose waters it was believed poisoned the birds that flew over them and through which Ulysses made his entry into the lower world . 3. A tester is about a sixpence — twelve cents. The Praise of Chimxky Sweepers 479 milk and sugar, hath to some tastes a dehcacy beyond the China hixury.^ I know not how thy palate may relish it; for myself, with every deference to the judicious Mr. Read, who hath time out of mind kept open a shop (the only one he avers in London) for the vending of this * 'wholesome and pleasant beverage," on the south side of Fleet Street, as thou approachest Bridge Street — the only Salopiaiv' house — I have never yet ventured to dip my own particular l^p in a basin of his commended ingredients — a cau- tious premonition to the olfactories constantly whispering to me, that my stomach must in- fallibly, with all due courtesy, decline it. Yet I have seen palates, otherwise not uninstructed in dietetical elegancies, suf) it up with avidity. I know not by what particular conformation of the organ it happens, but I have always found that this composition is surprisingly gratifying to the palate of a young cliimncy sweeper, — whether the oily particles (sassafras is slightly oleaginous) do attenuate and soften the fuligi- nous concretions, which are sometimes found (in dissections) to adhere to the roof of the mouth in these unfledged practitioners; or whether Na- ture, sensible that she had mingled too nnich of bitter wood in the lot of these raw vicliiiis, caused to grow out of the earth her sassafras for a sweet lenitive; — but so it is, lluit no possiljlc taste or odor to the senses of a young chimney 4. The "(Miina luxury" is ten. .5. Suloop was a drink prciMircd frDiii .s;i.s.safrii.s Iciik ;iii'' and resting place. By no other theory than by this sentiment of a pre- existent state (as I may call it), can I explain a deed so venturous, and indeed, upon any other 7. Incunabula means cradle. The Praise of Chimney Sweepers 485 system so indecorous, in this tender, but un- seasonable, sleeper. My pleasant friend Jem White was so im- pressed with a belief of • metamorphoses like this frequently taking place, that in some sort to reverse the wrongs of fortune in these poor changelings, he instituted an annual feast of chimney sweepers, at which it was his pleasure to officiate as host and waiter. It was a solemn supper held in Smithfield, upon the yearly return of the fair of Saint Bartholomew.^ Cards were issued a week before to the master-sweeps in and about the metropolis, confining the invitation to their younger fry. Now and then an elderly stripling would get in among us, and be good- naturedly winked at; but our main body were infantry. One unfortunate wight, indeed, who, relying upon his dusky suit, had intruded him- self into our party, but by tokens was provi- dentially discovered in time to be no chimney sweeper (all is not soot which looks so) was quoited out of the presence with universal indignation, as not having on the wedding gar- ment; but in general the greatest harmony pro- vailed. The place chosen was a convenient spot among the pens, at the north side of the fair, not so far distant as to be impervious to the agreeable hubbub of that vanity; but remote enough not to be obvious to the interruption of every gaping spectator in it. The guests assembled about seven. In those little temporary parlors three tables were spread with napery, not so fine as 8. A festival of the Roman church held in August. Vol. IX.— 32. 486 The Praise of Chimney Sweepers substantial, and at every board a comely hostess presided with lier })an of hissing sausages. The nostrils of the young rogues dilated at the savor. James White, as head waiter, had charge of the first table; and myself, with our trusty compan- ion Bigod, ordinarily ministered to the other two. There was clambering and jostling, you may be sure, who should get at the first table, — rfor Rochester in his maddest days could not have done the humors of the scene with more spirit than my friend. x\fter some general expression of thanks for the honor the company had done him, his inaugural ceremony was to clasp the greasy waist of old dame Ursula (the fattest of the three), that stood frying and fretting, half- blessing, half-cursing "the gentleman," and imprint upon her chaste lips a tender salute, whereat the universal host W'Ould set up a shout that tore the concave, while hundreds of grinning teeth startled the night with their brio;htness. O it was a pleasure to see the sable younkers lick in the unctuous meat, with his more unctuous sayings, — how^ he would fit the titbits to the puny mouths, reserving the lengthier links for the seniors, — how he would intercept a morsel even in the jaws of some young desperado, de- claring it ' 'must to the pan again to be browned, for it was not fit for a gentleman's eating," — ^how he W' ould recommend this slice of w^hite bread, or that piece of kissing-crust,^ to a tender juvenile, advising them all to have a care of cracking their 9. The "kissbg crust" is that portion of the upper crust of a loaf of bread that has touched another in baking. The Praise of Chimney Sweepers -187 teeth, which were their best patrimony, — how genteelly he would deal about the small ale, as if it were wdne, naming the brewer, and protest- ing, if it were not good, he should lose their custom; with a special recommendation to wipe the lip before drinking. Then we had our toasts— " the King ! "— " the Cloth "—which, whether they understood or not,- was equally diverting and flattering; — and for a crowning sentiment which never failed, "May the Brush supersede the Laurel!" All these and fifty other fancies, which were rather felt than com- prehended by his guests, would he utter, standing upon tables, and prefacing every sentiment with a "Gentlemen, give me leave to propose so and so," which was a prodigious comfort to those young orphans; every now and then stuffing into his mouth (for it did not do to be squeamish on these occasions) indiscriminate pieces of those reeking sausages, which pleased them mightily, and was the savoriest part, you may believe, of the entertainment. Golden lads and lassies must. As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. — James White is extinct, and with him these suppers have long ceased. He carried away with him half the fun of the world when he died — of my world at least. His old clients look for him among the pens; Mud, nu'ssiiig him, r(*|)r():i(li the altered feast of Saint Hartliolomew, jiikI IIk* glory of Smithfield departed forever. PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES Note, — The pronunciation of diflScult words is indicated by respelling them phonetically. N is used to indicate the French nasal sound; K sound of ch in German; u the sound of the German ii and French u; b the sound of o in foreign languages. Aboukir, ah boo keef Achilles, a kiV leez Acis, ay' sis Ajax Telamox, ay' jacks teV a mon Alamo, al' a mo Alameda, ah la may' da Alava, ah' la va Algiers, al jeerz' Algonquin, al gon' kwin Allouez, a loo ay' Alonzo, a Ion' zo Alpuxarras, ahl" poo hahr' ras Aphrodite, af ro di' tee Ardennes, ahr den' Argonauta, ahr go naw' ta Ariel, ay' ry el Asaph-ul-dowlah, ah' saf ool dow' lah Ayacanora, i a kahn o' ra Balaklava, bah lah klah' va Boabdil, bo ahb deel' Begums, bee' gumz Cadiz, kay' diz Canova, kah no' va 488 Pronunciation of Proper Names 489 Casabianca, kas" a bee an' ka Chamouni, shah moo nee' Charlevoix, shahr" lev wah' Charybdis, ka rib' dis Cicero, sis' e ro CoMMUNiPAW, kom mun' y paw Confucius, konfu' she us Coriolanus, kor y o lay' nus Coromantees, ko ro mahn' teez CuNDiNAMARCA, kooTi" dee nam ahr' kah Damfreville, dahNfreh veeV Demosthenes, dee mos' the neez Dent Blanc, dahN bloN' Diogenes, di oj' ee neez Discobolus, dis kob' o lus Elia, ee' ly a EuRYALUs, u ri' a lus Ferrol, fer role' Finisterre, Jin" is tayr' Fliedner, fleet' ner Frontenac, fron' te nak Galatea, cjal a tee' a Gonzales, gon zah' leez GoNZALO, (J071 zah' lo Granada, gran alt' da Greve, gray' ve Herve Riel, Jier vay" ree eV Hypatia, hy pay' she a Hyperides, hy per' y deez Jardin, zhar daN' Joliet, zho lee yay' Jungfrau, yoong' frow Koran, ko' ran, or ko rahn' 490 Pronunciation of Proper NaxMEs La Chine, lah sheen' Las Casas, Bartolome de, lahs kas' sas, bar toV o may day Lauterbrunnen, low" ter hroon' en Leigh, Amyas, lee, a mi' as Lethe, lee' thee LocHiEL, lo keeV Louvre, loo' vr Malouins, mah loo aN' Mere de Glace, mayr day glahs' MiAMis, mi ah' miz Michillimackinac, mee" shil y mack' in ak Milan, mil' an, or mil an' Mont Blanc, moN hloN NoMBRE DE Dios, nom' bray day de os' NuNCOMAR, 7ioon' ko mar Nyack, ni' ak OuDE, owd Pedrillo, pay dreel' yo Pere Marquette, payr mar kef Phoenicians, fee nish' anz PiCARDY, pik' ar dy PiZARRO, pee zahr' ro Plantagenets, plati taj' e netz Plutarch, plu' tark Prospero, pj'os' pe ro Rajah of Benares, rah' jah of ben ah' reez RocHEFORT, rosh for' Salopian, sal o' py an San Antonio de Bexar, day bay Jiahr' San Jacinto, ^so7i ja sin' to Santa Fe, san" tafay' Sault Sainte Marie, soo saint may' ry Pronunciation of Proper Names 491 Scutari, sku tah' rij SCYLLA, siV la Seguin, se geen' Stuyvesant, sW ves ahni SujAH DowLAH, soo' jail dow' lah Temeraire, tern e rayr' Teneriffe, ten" ur if Thermopylae, thur mop' y lee TouRViLLE, toor veeV Trafalgar, traj al gahr\ or trafaV gar Tyrolese, tir ol ees' Verres, ver' reez Vigo, vee' go Villeneuve, veel neuv' Wilhelmus Kieft, vil heV mus keeft' Xenil, hay' neel THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara 7^ THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. i Series 9482 -'21