TALES OF THE CHESAPEAKE

by

GEO. ALFRED TOWNSEND

"GATH. "

 A fruity smell is in the school-house lane; The clover bees are sick with evening heats; A few old houses from the window-pane Fling back the flame of sunset, and there beats The throb of oars from basking oyster fleets, And clangorous music of the oyster tongs Plunged down in deep bivalvulous retreats, And sound of seine drawn home with negro songs. 

New York:American News Company, 39 and 41 Chambers Street. 1880. Copyright, 1880, Geo. Alfred Townsend. 

TO MY FATHER, REV. STEPHEN TOWNSEND, M. D. , PH. D. , WHOSE ANCESTORS EXPLORED THE CHESAPEAKE BAY IN 1623, AND WERE SETTLED ON THE POCOMOKE RIVER ALMOSTTWO HUNDRED YEARS, NEAR HIS BIRTHPLACE;

WITH

THE AFFECTION OF

_HIS ONLY SURVIVING SON. _

Of the following pieces, two, "Kidnapped, " and "Dominion over theFish, " have been published in _Chambers's Journal_, London. The poem"Herman of Bohemia Manor" is new. All the compositions illustrate thesame general locality. 

INTRODUCTION. 

MOTHERNOOK. 

THE EASTERN SHORE OF MARYLAND. 

 One day, worn out with head and pen, And the debate of public men, I said aloud, "Oh! if there were Some place to make me young awhile, I would go there, I would go there, And if it were a many a mile!" Then something cried--perhaps my map, That not in vain I oft invoke-- "Go seek again your mother's lap, The dear old soil that gave you sap, And see the land of Pocomoke!"

 A sense of shame that never yet My foot on that old shore was set, Though prodigal in wandering, Arose; and with a tingled cheek, Like some late wild duck on the wing, I started down the Chesapeake. The morning sunlight, silvery calm, From basking shores of woodland broke, And capes and inlets breathing balm, And lovely islands clothed in palm, Closed round the sound of Pocomoke. 

 The pungy boats at anchor swing, The long canoes were oystering, And moving barges played the seine Along the beaches of Tangiers; I heard the British drums again As in their predatory years, When Kedge's Straits the Tories swept, And Ross's camp-fires hid in smoke. They plundered all the coasts except The camp the Island Parson kept For praying men of Pocomoke. 

 And when we thread in quaint intrigue Onancock Creek and Pungoteague, The world and wars behind us stop. On God's frontiers we seem to be As at Rehoboth wharf we drop, And see the Kirk of Mackemie: The first he was to teach the creed The rugged Scotch will ne'er revoke; His slaves he made to work and read, Nor powers Episcopal to heed, That held the glebes on Pocomoke. 

 But quiet nooks like these unman The grim predestinarian, Whose soul expands to mountain views; And Wesley's tenets, like a tide, These level shores with love suffuse, Where'er his patient preachers ride. The landscape quivered with the swells And felt the steamer's paddle stroke, That tossed the hollow gum-tree shells, As if some puffing craft of hell's The fisher chased in Pocomoke. 

 Anon the river spreads to coves, And in the tides grow giant groves. The water shines like ebony, And odors resinous ascend From many an old balsamic tree, Whose roots the terrapin befriend; The great ball cypress, fringed with beard, Presides above the water oak, As doth its shingles, well revered, O'er many a happy home endeared To thousands far from Pocomoke. 

 And solemn hemlocks drink the dew, Like that old Socrates they slew; The piny forests moan and moan, And in the marshy splutter docks, As if they grazed on sky alone, Rove airily the herds of ox. Then, like a narrow strait of light, The banks draw close, the long trees yoke, And strong old manses on the height Stand overhead, as to invite To good old cheer on Pocomoke. 

 And cunning baskets midstream lie To trap the perch that gambol by; In coves of creek the saw-mills sing, And trim the spar and hew the mast; And the gaunt loons dart on the wing, To see the steamer looming past. Now timber shores and massive piles Repel our hull with friendly stroke, And guide us up the long defiles, Till after many fairy miles We reach the head of Pocomoke. 

 Is it Snow Hill that greets me back To this old loamy _cul-de-sac_? Spread on the level river shore, Beneath the bending willow-trees And speckled trunks of sycamore, All moist with airs of rival seas? Are these old men who gravely bow, As if a stranger all awoke, The same who heard my parents vow, --Ah well! in simpler days than now-- To love and serve by Pocomoke?

 Does Chincoteague as then produce These rugged ponies, lean and spruce? Are these the steers of Accomac That do the negro's drone obey? The things of childhood all come back: The wonder tales of mother day! The jail, the inn, the ivy vines That yon old English churchside cloak, Wherein we read the stately lines Of Addison, writ in his signs, Above the dead of Pocomoke. 

 The world in this old nook may peep, And think it listless and asleep; But I have seen the world enough To think its grandeur something dull. And here were men of sterling stuff, In their own era wonderful: Young Luther Martin's wayward race, And William Winder's core of oak, The lion heart of Samuel Chase, And great Decatur's royal face, And Henry Wise of Pocomoke. 

 When we have raged our little part, And weary out of strife and art, Oh! could we bring to these still shores The peace they have who harbor here, And rest upon our echoing oars, And float adown this tranquil sphere, Then might yon stars shine down on me, With all the hope those lovers spoke, Who walked these tranquil streets I see And thought God's love nowhere so free Nor life so good as Pocomoke. 

TALES AND IDYLS. 

KING OF CHINCOTEAGUE

HAUNTED PUNGY

TICKING STONE

THE IMP IN NANJEMOY

FALL OF UTIE

LEGEND OF FUNKSTOWN

JUDGE WHALEY'S DEMON

A CONVENT LEGEND

CRUTCH, THE PAGE

HERMAN OF BOHEMIA MANOR

KIDNAPPED

THE JUDGE'S LAST TUNE

DOMINION OVER THE FISH

THE CIRCUIT PREACHER

THE BIG IDIOT

A BAYSIDE IDYL

SIR WILLIAM JOHNSON'S NIGHT

PHANTOM ARCHITECT

THE LOBBY BROTHER

POTOMAC RIVER

TELL-TALE FEET

UPPER MARLB'RO'

PREACHERS' SONS IN 1849

CHESTER RIVER

OLD WASHINGTON ALMSHOUSE

OLD ST. MARY'S

KING OF CHINCOTEAGUE. 

The night before Christmas, frosty moonlight, the outcast preachercame down to the island shore and raised his hands to the stars. 

"O God! whose word I so long preached in meekness and sincerity, " hecried, "have mercy on my child and its mother, who are poor as wereThine own this morning, eighteen hundred and forty years ago!"

The moonlight scarcely fretted the soft expanse of Chincoteague Bay. There seemed a slender hand of silver reaching down from the sky totremble on the long chords of the water, lying there in light andshade, like a harp. The drowsy dash of the low surf on the bar beyondthe inlet was harsh to this still and shallow haven for wreckers andoystermen. It was very far from any busy city or hive of men, betweenthe ocean and the sandy peninsula of Maryland. 

But no land is so remote that it may not have its banished men. Theoutcast preacher had committed the one deadly sin acknowledged amongstthose wild wreckers and watermen. It was not that he had knocked adrowning man in the head, nor shown a false signal along the shore todecoy a vessel into the breakers, nor darkened the lighthouse lamp. These things had been done, but not by him. 

He had married out of his race. His wife was crossed with despisedblood. 

"What do you seek, preacher?" exclaimed a gruff, hard voice. "Has theCanaanite woman driven you out from your hut this sharp weather, inthe night?"

"No, " answered the outcast preacher. "My heart has sent me forth tobeg the service of your oyster-tongs, that I may dip a peck ofoysters from the cove. We are almost starved. "

"And rightly starved, O psalm-singer! You were doing well. Preaching, ha! ha! Preaching the miracle of the God in the manger, the baby ofthe maid. You prayed and travelled for the good of Christians. Thetime came when you practised that gospel. You married the daughter ofa slave. Then they cast you off. They outlawed you. You were mademeaner, Levin Purnell, than the Jew of Chincoteague!"

The speaker was a bearded, swarthy, low-set man, who looked out fromthe cabin of a pungy boat. His words rang in the cold air likedropping icicles articulate. 

"I know you, Issachar, " exclaimed the outcast preacher. "They say thatyou are hard and avaricious. Your people were bond slaves once toevery nation. This is the birth night of my faith. In the name ofJoseph, who fed your brethren when they were starving, with theirfather, for corn, give me a few oysters, that we may live, and notdie!"

The Jew felt the supplication. He was reminded of Christmas eve. Thepoorest family on Chincoteague had bought his liquor that night for acarouse, or brought from the distant court-house town something forthe children's stockings. Before him was one whose service had beenthat powerful religion, shivering in the light of its natal star onthe loneliest sea-shore of the Atlantic. He had harmed no man, yet allshunned him, because he had loved, and honored his love with areligious rite, instead of profaning it, like others of his race. 

"Take my tongs, " replied the Jew. "Dip yonder! It will be your onlyChristmas gift. "

"Peace to thee on earth and good-will to thee from men!" answered theoutcast. 

The preacher raised the long-handled rakes, spread the handles, anddropped them into the Sound. They gave from the bottom a dull, ringingtingle along their shafts. He strove to lift them with their weightof oysters, but his famished strength was insufficient. 

"I am very weak and faint, " he said. "Oh, help me, for the pity ofGod!"

The Jew came to his relief doggedly. The Jew was a powerful, bow-legged man, but with all his strength he could scarcely raise theburden. 

"By Abraham!" he muttered, "they are oysters of lead. They willneither let go nor rise. "

He finally rolled upon the deck a single object. It broke apart as itfell. The moonlight, released by his humped shadow, fell uponsomething sparkling, at which he leaped with a sudden thirst, andcried:

"Gold! Jewels! They are mine. "

It was an iron casket, old and rusty, that he had raised. Within it, partly rusted to the case, the precious lustre to which he had devotedhis life flashed out to the o'erspread arch of night, sown thick withstar-dust. A furious strength was added to his body. He broke theobject from the casket and held it up to eyes of increased wonder andawe. Then, with an oath, he would have plunged it back into the sea. 

The outcast preacher interposed. 

"It is your Christmas gift, Issachar. _It is a cross. _ Curse not! Itcannot harm you nor me. Dip again, and bring me a few oysters, or mywife may die. "

"I know the form of that cross, " said the oyster-man. "It is Spanish. Many a year ago, no doubt, some high-pooped galleon, running close tothe coast, went ashore on Chincoteague and drifted piecemeal throughthe inlet, wider then than now. This mummery, this altar toy, destinedfor some Papist mission-house, has lain all these years in thebrackish Sound. Ha! ha! That Issachar the Jew should raise a cross, and on the Christian's Christmas eve! But it is mine! My tongs, myvessel, myself brought it aboard!"

He seized the preacher's skinny arm with the ferocity of greed. 

"I do not claim it, Issachar. My worship is not of forms and images. Dip again, and help me to my hut with a few oysters, for I am veryfaint. Then all my knowledge and interest in this effigy I willsurrender to you. "

"Agreed!" exclaimed the Jew, plunging the tongs to the bottom againand again, in his satisfaction. 

They walked inland across the difficult sands, the Jew carrying thecrucifix jealously. Lights gleamed from a few huts along the levelisland. At the meanest hut of all they stopped, and heard within ababy's cry, to which there was no response. The preacher staggeredback with apprehension. The Jew raised the latch and led the way. 

The light of some burning driftwood and dried sea-weed filled the lowroof and was reflected back to a cot, on which a woman lay with aliving child beside her. Something dread and ineffable was conveyed bythat stiffened form. The Jew, familiar with misery and all itsindications, caught the preacher in his arms. 

"Levin Purnell, " he said, "thy Christmas gift has come. Bear up! Thereis no more persecution for thee. She is dead!"

The outcast preacher looked once, wildly, on the woman's face, andwith a cry pressed his hands to his heart. The Jew laid him down upona miserable pallet, and for a few moments watched him steadily. Neither sound nor motion revealed the presence of the cold spark oflife. The husband's heart was broken. 

"Poor wretch!" exclaimed the Jew. "Mismated couple; in death asobstinate as in life. Lie there together, befriended in the closinghour by the Jew of Chincoteague, a present--to-morrow's Christmas--forthy neighbors of this Christian island!"

He stirred the fire. Death had no terrors for him, who had seen it byland and sea, in brawls and shipwrecks, by hunger and by scurvy. Helaid the bodies side by side, and warmed the infant at the fire. Looking up from the living child's face, he caught the sparkle of thecrucifix he had discovered, where it stood in the narrow window-sill. There were gems of various colors in it, and they reflected thefirelight lustrously, like a slender chandelier, or, as the Jewremembered in the version of the Evangels, like the gifts thosebearded wise men, of whom he might resemble one, brought to the mangerof the infant Christ--gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Struckby the conceit, he looked again at the baby's face--the baby but a fewdays or weeks old--and he felt, in spite of himself, a softness andpity. 

"It might be true, " he muttered, "that a Jewish man, a tricked andunsuspecting husband of a menial, like her who has perished with thispreacher, _did_ behold a new-born baby in the manger of an inn, eighteen hundred and forty years ago. "

He looked again at the cross. In the relief of the night against thewindow-pane its jewels shone like the only living things in the hovel. A figure was extended upon this cross, and every nail was a preciousstone; the crown of thorns was all diamonds. 

"It might be true, " he said again, "that on a cross-beam like that, the manger baby perished for some audacity--as I might be put to deathif I mocked the usages of a whole nation, as this preacher has done. "

The cross, an object as high as one of the window-panes, and suffusedwith the exuding dyes of its jewels, took now a dewy lustre, as ifweeping precious gum and amber. The Jew felt an instant's sense ofsuperstition, which he dashed away, and placing the child, alreadysleeping, before the fire, awakened rapacity led him to hunt the hovelover. He found nothing but a few religious books, and amongst them aleather-covered Testament, which he opened and read withinsensibility--passing on, at length, to interest, then tofascination, at last to rage and defiance--the opening chapters andthe close of the story of Jesus. 

"Now, by the sufferings of my patient race! I will do a thing unlikemyself, to prove this testimony a libel. Here is a child more homelessthan this carpenter, Joseph's, without the false pretence of comingof David's line. Its mother tainted with negro blood, like the slavesI have imported. Its father the obscurest preacher of his sect. I willrob the shark and the crab of a repast. It shall be my child and aHebrew. Yea, if I can make it so, a Rabbi of Israel!"

Issachar looked again at the cross. Day was breaking in the windowbehind it, and the rich light of its gems was obscurer, but its formand proportions seemed to have expanded--perhaps because he had wornhis eyes reading by the firelight--and the outstretched figure lookedlarge as humanity, and the cross lofty and real, as that which it wasmade to commemorate. He hid it beneath his garment, and walked forthinto the gray dawn of Christmas. One star remained in mid-heaven, whiter than the day. It poised over the hovel of the dead likesomething new-born in the sky, and unacquainted with its fellow orbs. 

"Christmas gift!" shouted a party of lads and women, rushing upon theJew. "Christmas gift! You are caught, Issachar. Give us a present, oldmiser!"

It was the custom in that old settled country that whoever should beearliest up, and say "Christmas gift!" to others, should receive somelittle token in farthings or kind. 

"Bah!" answered the Jew. "Look in yonder, where the best of yourreligion lie, perished by your inhumanity, and behold your Christmasgift to them!"

There, where no friendly feet but those of negroes and slaves hadentered for months, the strengthening morning showed a young wife, almost white, and the most beautiful of her type, with comelyfeatures, and eyes and hair that the proudest white beauty might envy. The gauntness of death had scarcely diminished those charms which hadbrought the pride of the world's esteem and the prudence of religionto her feet, and lifted her to virtuous matrimony, only to banish herlover from the hearthstones of his race and make them both outcasts, the poorest of the creatures of God, even on Chincoteague. A slightsense of self-accusation touched the bystanders. 

"He was a good preacher, " said one, "and I was converted under him. Hebaptized my children. That he should have married a darkey!"

"She was a pious girl, " added another, "and from her youth up was intemptation, which she resisted, like a white woman. That she shouldhave ruined this preacher!"

"He was a poet, " said a third. "'Peared like as if he believed everything he preached. But, my sakes! we can't have sich things in _our_church. "

"She loved him, too, the hussy!" exclaimed a fourth. "She would havebeen his slave if he had asked her. Oh! what misery she felt when sheknew that his passion for her was starving him, body and soul!"

They slipped away, with a feeling that, somehow, two very guiltypeople had been punished in those two. The negroes made the funeralprocession. The Jew walked amongst the negroes. 

"O Father Abraham, " he said, chuckling to himself, "forgive me that Istand here, no renegade to my faith, yet the only white Christian onChincoteague!"

Issachar was oyster-man, sailor, and sutler in one. He advanced moneyto build pungy boats, knit nets, and make huts. He kept a tradingplace, packed fish, and dealt with the Eastern port cities by aschooner whose crew he shipped himself and sometimes commanded her. Hewas a wrecker, too, prompt and enterprising; passed middle life, butfull of vitality; bold and cunning in equal degree; and he had been, it was guessed, a slaver, and some said a pirate. He was called by thenegroes the King of Chincoteague. His schooner was named The Eli. 

Chincoteague is the principal inhabited island along the one hundredmiles of coast between the capes of the Delaware and of theChesapeake--a coast of low bars, divided into long and slender islandsby a dozen inlets, which, almost filled with sand, permit onlylight-draught vessels to enter; and it is destruction to any ship togo ashore on that coast, where five successive lighthouses warn thecommerce of the Atlantic off, but are unable to intimidate the stormswhich sweep the low shores and almost threaten to leap over thepeninsula and submerge it. Chincoteague lies like a tongue between twoinlets, and partly protrudes into the sea, but is also sheltered inpart by the bar of Assateague, whose light has flamed for years. Chincoteague is about ten miles long, and behind it an inland baystretches continuously, under various names, for thirty miles, protected from the ocean, and scarcely flavored with its salt, exceptnear the outlet at Chincoteague, where the oysters lie in the brackishsluices, and all sorts of fish, from shrimps to sharks, hover aroundthe oyster beds. In the green depths they can be seen, and there thecrab darts sidewise, like a shooting star. In the sandy beach growsthe mamano, or snail-clam, putting his head from his shell at hightide to suck nutrition from the mysterious food of the sea, and givingback such chowder to man as makes the eater feel his stomach topossess a nobility above the pleasures of the brain. The bay ofChincoteague is five or six miles wide, and the nearest hamlet is inVirginia, as is Chincoteague island also. The hamlet takes the name ofHorntown, and not far from there is the old court-house seat of SnowHill, in Maryland. Every soul on Chincoteague was native there orthereabout, except Issachar the Jew. 

He had appeared amongst them after a sudden storm, the solitarysurvivor of a wreck that had partly drifted ashore, and, as he said, gone down with all his fortune. The mild air and easy livelihood ofthe spot pleased the Jew, after his first despair, and he set aboutmaking another fortune. Capable, solitary and active, he soonoutstripped all the people of the islands, and neither beloved norunbeloved, lived grimly, as chance ordained, and until now, had nevershown more than business benevolence. It was a surprising thing to thepeople of Chincoteague, when the news went round that he had been overto court at Drummond-town and given his recognizance to bring up theorphan boy--whom he named Abraham Purnell--so that the county shouldnot be at the expense of him, and he also brought out from New York, on the Eli's next trip, a Hebrew woman to be the boy's matron. Suckledat a negro's breast, Abraham grew to a vigorous youth, resembling hisguardian's race and his mother's as well, in the curling nature of hishair and the brightness of his eyes. The Old Testament Scripturesalone were taught him, and Issachar himself joined the family circleat daily prayer to encourage the faith of Israel in the stranger. Thefinest of the lean, tough ponies, bred only on Chincoteague, andrenowned throughout the peninsula for their endurance, was bought forthe boy, as he grew older. He was made Issachar's companion, and, incourse of time, passed in fireside talk for a Jew, like his protector. 

Only once the superior comfort and clothing of Issachar's _protégé_provoked the remark from one of a group of men that Abraham was "onlya stuck-up nigger, anyway;" and then, like a maniac, Old Issachardashed from his store with a boat-hook and struck down the offenderlike a dead man. 

But the boy was of such docile and beautiful nature that he excited nogeneral antagonism. He was four removals from pure African blood, andas his mother had been a freed girl, he was a citizen, or might be ifhe pleased. The certain heir of Issachar's possessions, the only thingexcept gold that Issachar loved, and of a parentage which linkedmisfortune with piety, his mysterious nativity gave him with thenegroes a sacred character. They believed that he would become theirking and priest and lead them out of bondage to a promised land; andthis involuntary homage so pleased old Issachar that his heartinclined toward the black race above the Christian whites around him. If an aged negro fell sick, the Jew sent, by his ward, medicine andfood. If a very poor negro was buried, the Jew contributed to theexpenses. He gave the first counsel of worldly wisdom to the negrofreedmen, and gave them faithful interest on their savings. One slavethat he possessed he set free, saying:

"By Jacob's staff! I will not hold as cattle the blood people of myson!"

His enlarged benevolence made no difference in his business. It grewto the widest limits of that humble society, and by the accident of ayounger life coming forward to bear his honor up, Issachar grew intosympathy with the social life of all the lower peninsula. If theywanted money for public enterprise on the mainland, the Jew ofChincoteague was first to be thought of. His credit, Masonic in itsreach, extended to his compatriots in distant cities, and thepoliticians crossed the Sound to bring him into alliance with theirparties. To personal flattery he was obtuse, except when it reachedhis ward, and then a melting mood came over him. At every Christmas heled himself the eloquent Oriental prayer, young Abraham respondingwith even a richer imagery, for his mind was alert, his schooling hadbeen private and unintermittent, and his father's enthusiasm and hismother's docility made him a poet and a son together. 

"My son, " said the Jew, as Abraham's fifteenth Christmas approached, "the time is at hand when we must part for years. I am growing old, and the loss of thee, O my love! is harder than thou canst know. Thesands of life are running out with me, as from an hour-glass. Withthee the heavens are rosy and the world is new. Thou beautiful Samuel, Jehovah's selected one! Wilt thou remember me when far away?"

"Father, " answered Abraham, "what besides thee can I love? Everymorning, and at noon, and again at night, I will face from the East topray toward thee; for God will not listen unless I am grateful to myfather. "

"Thou art going to Amsterdam, " said Issachar. "There, amongst thenoblest Jews of Europe, the descendants of the Jewish Portuguese, theHebrew tongue in its purity, the law of Moses in its majesty, our lorein its plenitude, thou wilt learn. I look to thee, adopted child ofIsrael! to give the promise of thy youth to the study of our grand oldreligion, and, like the infant Moses, discovered amongst thesebulrushes of Chincoteague, to be the reviver of our faith, thestatesman of our sect. Yea! the rebuilder of our Zion. It has beenordained that these things will be done, and, by the stars of Abraham;it shall be so!"

"My father, " said young Abraham, "God will keep all His promises. "

The Jew took from a chest of massive cedar wood, empty of all besides, the precious crucifix. 

"Look on that, " he exclaimed. "Dost thou know what it represents?"

"No, " answered Abraham. 

"It is the symbol of the faith in which thy father died. A Hebrewimpostor, one Jesus, was nailed by the Roman conquerors of Jerusalemto a cross-piece of wood. He affected to be the son of David and theSaviour of men. My son, in the name of his punishment the children ofIsrael have been burned at the stake, dispersed abroad among thenations, and hated of mankind. Preaching his imposture thy father andthy mother were suffered to die for their consistency. See what I havedone with the bauble! The years I have expended on thy mind andcomfort have cost me money. From that crucifix, one by one, I haveplucked the precious stones for thy education. Here, from the side, where they say the soldier's spear was thrust, I have sold the costlyruby. The nail in the feet, a sapphire, paid thy Jewish matron. Theemerald in this right hand purchased thy books. I send thee abroadwith the price of the diamonds in the crown. "

"Father, " said young Abraham, "the image is hallowed to me for thypiety. It is Humanity, O my father! that has made me devoutly a Jew, and thee, unsuspectingly, a Christian. "

He sailed away upon the Eli. His parting words had affected oldIssachar so much that his mind returned along the course of years tothe Christmas night he had passed in the outcast preacher's hut, andthe curious story of Jesus he had read there in the New Testament andin the presence of the dead. 

"To-morrow is Christmas, " said the Jew; "a hallowed day to me, becauseit brought me a son whose obedience and piety have gratified the exileof my old age. Although these Christians have covered him with theirdespite, his excellent charity remembers it not. I will be no lessmagnanimous, and I will cross the bay and attend the Methodist worshipat Snow Hill on Christmas morning, that I may communicate itsfrivolity to my son. "

He kept his word; and for fear thieves might discover and steal thevaluable crucifix, he hid it beneath his vesture and carried it to themainland. The little plank meeting-house at the edge of Snow Hill wasfilled with whites on the floor, but in the end gallery, amongst thenegroes, Issachar haughtily took his seat, an object of wonder to bothraces, for his face and reputation were generally recognized. Perhapsit was for this reason that the young preacher, a gentle, gracefulperson, adapted his sermon to the sweetness of the Christian storyrather than bear upon those descriptions which might antagonize hisJewish auditor. 

He told the story of the world's selfishness when Christ appeared; howthe Jews, living in the straitest of sectarian aristocracies, invitingand receiving no accessions, had finally fallen under the dogmatism ofthe uncharitable Pharisees, who esteemed themselves the only righteousdevotees and doctrinaires amongst the millions of people on the earth. Jesus, a youth of good Jewish extraction, and honorable family, hadbeen bold enough to denounce Phariseeism and make its votariesridiculous. He was scorned by them, if for no other crime, for thecheap offence, in a bigoted age, denominated blasphemy. Here thepreacher, looking toward the Jew, paid a tribute to the antiquity andloyalty of the better class of Jews, and said that it was well knownthat one of his own forerunners in the Christian ministry, dying inpenury from the consequences of a marital mistake, had been befriendedin his death and in his posterity by a gallant follower of the Houseof Israel. 

The congregation, facing about to look at the Jew in the gallery, amongst the negroes, were surprised to see tears on his grayeyelashes, and the colored elders, who loved Issachar exceedingly, exclaimed, in stentorian chorus:

"Praise God for dat Israelite, in whom dar is no guile! Hallelujah!"

Then, as if the Christmas frost had melted, these gratefulexclamations made warmth at once in both races, and encouraged theorator in his extemporization. Issachar began to appreciate thepossibility of the founder of a more liberal sect of Jews, whosecharitable hand should be extended to Gentiles also, and whose heavenshould comprehend all the posterity of Adam. Perhaps his son'sportrait was in his mind--that loving son who had but just departed inthe interests of the law of Moses and the restoration of the Temple. At the end of the sermon alms were invited for the support of theminister and the propagation of such a gospel as he had preached. Witha mixture of pride and humility old Issachar descended the gallerystairs and walked up the aisle, and, taking the crucifix from hisbreast, planted it upon the altar. 

"There, " he said, "if your sect asserts the sentiments of this sermon, you are entitled to this rich image. I am repaid for its possession bya son of Gentile parentage whose obedience has been the delight of myold years, and for the gift God has given me in him, I tender youthis counterfeit of Jesus nailed on the Roman scaffold. "

The congregation gazed a minute at the golden cross. Ireful laughterbroke forth, followed by rage. 

"The pagan! The papist! The Turk! The idolater!" they exclaimed. "Hemocks the memory of our Saviour on Christmas morning! Out with him!"

The Jew recovered the crucifix and put it beneath his mantle. Hevouchsafed no reply except a scornful "Ha! ha! ha!" and with this hestrode out of the Methodist meeting, rejoined his boatmen, andreturned to the island of Chincoteague. 

Years passed, and the Jew grew very feeble. He had lasted hisfourscore and ten years, and prosperity had attended him through all, and children loved him; but, true to his first and only fondness, hisheart was ever across the sea, where gentle Abraham, studiously intentamongst the Rabbis, communicated with his father by every mail andraised the old man's mind to a height of serious appreciation whichgreed and commerce had never given him. Although hungering for hisboy, Issachar forebore to disturb young Abraham's studies until abitter illness came to him, and in his gloom and solitude his greatwant burst from his lips, and he said aloud:

"Almighty Father! What will it avail to these old bones if the Templebe rebuilded, and I die without placing my hands on the eyelids of myboy and blessing him in Thy name? I will pluck from this Christianimage the last jewel and dispose of it, that he may return and placehis hands in mine, and receive my benediction, and gladden me with hisgratitude. "

The image was therefore wholly separated from the cross. Nothingremained but the figure in gold of that bloody Pillory on which Hedied on whom two hundred millions of human beings rely forintercession with their Creator and Destiny. 

The days seemed months to the Jew of Chincoteague. The negroesgathered round his cabin to be of assistance if he should require it;for they also looked for young Abraham as the Shiloh of their race, and would have died for old Issachar, unredeemed as they thought him, except by his goodness to their prince and favorite. 

A high tide, following a series of dreadful storms, arose on the coastof the peninsula, as if the Gulf Stream, like a vast ploughshare, hadthrown the Atlantic up from its furrow and tossed it over the beach ofAssateague. 

The sturdy ponies were all drowned. The sea was undivided from thebay. Pungy boats and canoes drifted helplessly along the coast, andthe Eli alone was out of danger in the harbor of New York, waiting toreceive young Abraham. At last the freshet crept over the house-tops, and nothing remained but the cottage of the Jew, planted on piles, which lifting it higher than the surrounding houses, yet threatened itthe more if the water should float it from its pedestal and send it tosea. Every effort was made to induce the Jew to abandon it, but he wasobdurate. 

"By the tables of the law!" he said, "living or dead, here will Iabide until my son returns. "

The bravest negro left the island of Chincoteague at last, placingfood beside old Issachar, and there he lay upon his pallet, withnothing to pierce the darkness of his lair except that sacred cross hehad raised from the depths of the ocean. That object, like a sentient, overruling thing, still shed its lustre upon the wretched interior ofthe deserted hut, and, day by day, repeated its story to the neglectedoccupant. 

The mighty storm increased in power as Christmas approached, in theyear one thousand eight hundred and fifty----. Wrecks came ashore onthe submerged shoal of Chincoteague, but there were now no wreckers tolabor for salvage. The Eli, too, was overdue. One night a familiar gunwas heard at sea, thrice, and twice thrice, and Issachar raised up andsaid, in anguish:

"It is my schooner. My son is at hand and in danger. Oh! for a day'sstrength, as I had it in my youth, to go to his relief through thesurf. But, miserable object that I am! I cannot rise from my bed. Whathelp, what hope, in the earth or in heaven can I implore?"

The naked cross beamed brightly all at once in the darkness of thecabin. Issachar felt the legend it conveyed, and with piety, notapostacy, he uttered:

"O Paschal Lamb! O Waif of God! Die Thou for me this night, and giveme to look upon the countenance of my son!"

The Jew, intently gazing at the cross, passed into such a stupor orecstasy that he had no knowledge of the flight of time. He only knewthat, after a certain dreamy interval, the door of his house yieldedto a living man, and, nearly naked with breasting the surf andfighting for life, young Abraham staggered into the hut and recognizedhis father. 

"O son!" cried Issachar, "I feel the news thou hast to tell. The Eliis wrecked and thou only hast survived. The moments are precious. Hark! this house is yielding to the buoyant current. Stay not for me, whose sands are nearly run. I am too old to try for life or fear todie, but thou art full of youth and beauty, and Israel needs thee inthe world behind me. Let me bless thee, Abraham, and commit thee toGod. "

The water entered the cracks of the cabin; a pitching motion, as if itwere afloat, made the son of the negro cling closer to the Jew. 

"Father, " he said, "I have passed the bitterness of death. When thevessel struck and threw me into the surf, I cried to God and foughtfor life. The waves rolled over me, and the agony of dying so youngand happy grew into such a terror that I could not pray. In my despaira something seemed to grasp me, like tongs of iron, and my eyes werefilled with light, bright as the face of the I AM. Behold! I am here, and that which saved me has made me content to die by thee. "

The old man drew the dripping ringlets of the younger one to hisvenerable beard. The house rocked like a sailing vessel, and thestrong sea-fogs seemed to close them round. 

"We are sailing to sea, " whispered the Jew. "It is too late to escape. The next billow may fling us apart, and our bones shall descendamongst the oyster-shells to build houses for the nutritious beings ofthe water. Thence, some day, my son, from the heavens God may drop Histongs and draw us up to Him, as on this night thy father and I drewthe casket, many years ago. Look there! Look there!"

The heads of both were turned toward the spot where the finger of theold man pointed, and they saw the denuded cross shining in the lightof the agitated fire, so large and bright that it reduced all otherobjects to insignificance. 

"It was a light like that, " exclaimed Abraham, "which shone in my eyesthrough the darkness of the billows. "

"It was on that, " whispered Issachar, "that I called for help, my son, when thou wert dying. From the hour I dipped it from the water myheart has been warmer to the world and man. Is there, in all the hoarytraditions of our church, a reason why we should not beseech itsillumination again before it returns to the ocean with ourselves? Dothou decide, who art full of wisdom; for I am ignorant in thy eyes, and heavy with sins. "

The cross, resplendent, seemed to wear a visible countenance. Wrappedin Issachar's arms, like a babe to its mother, young Abraham extendedhis hands to the effigy, and in its beams a wondrous consolation oflove and rest returned to those poor companions, reconciling them totheir helplessness in the presence of the Almighty awe. 

"Child of God!" exclaimed the Jew, "thou beauty of the Gentiles, Igave thee life but for a span, and thou seemest to bring to me thelife immortal. "

The morning broke on the shore frosty and clear after the subsidedstorm, and the earliest wreckers, seeking in the drift for Christmasgifts to give their children, found well-remembered parts of the Eliand portions of the tenement of its proprietor. A wave rolled higherthan the rest and cast upon the shore two bodies--a young man of thecomely face and symmetry of a woman, without a sign of pain in hisfeatures and dark, oriental eyes, and an old man, venerable as aninhabitant of the ocean and mysterious as a being of some raceanterior to the deluge. In his rugged face the marks of that antiquitywhich has something stately in the lowest types of the Jew, and inthis one an almost Mosaic might, were softened to a magnanimity wheredeath had nothing to contribute but its silence and respect. Layingthem together, the fishermen and idlers looked at them with asuperstition partly of remorse and mild remembrance, and the star ofChristmas twinkled over them in the sky. None felt that they wereother than father and son, and black men and white, indifferent thatday to social prejudices, followed the child of Hagar and the Hebrewpatriarch to the grave. 

HAUNTED PUNGY. 

 They hewed the pines on Haunted Point To build the pungy boat, And other axes than their own Yet other echoes smote; They heard the phantom carpenters, But not a man could see; And every pine that crashed to earth Brought down a viewless tree. 

 They launched the pungy, not alone; Another vessel slipped Down in the water with their own, And ghostly sailors shipped; They heard the rigging flap and creak, And hollow orders cried. But not a living man could seek, And not a boat beside. 

 They sailed away from Haunted Point, Convoyed by something more: A boatswain's whistle answered back, And oar replied to oar. No matter where the anchor dropped, The fiends would not aroint, And every morn the pungy boat Still lay off Haunted Point. 

 They hailed; and voices as in fog Seemed half to speak again-- A devilish chuckling rolled afar, And mutiny of men. The parson of the islands said It was the pirate band, Whose gold was lost on Haunted Point And hid with bloody hand. 

 Until what time a kidnapped boy, By ruffians whipped and stole, Should in the groves of Haunted Point Convert his stealer's soul! They stole the island parson's child, He said a little prayer: Down sank the ground; a gliding sound Went whispering through the air. 

 And in the depths the pungy sank; And, as the divers told, They sought the wreck to lift again, And found the pirates' gold. And in a chapel close at hand The pious freedmen toil; No slaves are left in all the land, Nor any pirates' spoil. 

TICKING STONE. 

People say that a certain tombstone in the London Tract "Hardshell"Baptist graveyard, near Newark, Delaware, will give to the ear placedflat upon it the sound of a ticking like a watch. The London TractChurch, as its name implies, was the worshipping place of certainsettlers who either came from London, or chose land owned by a Londoncompany. It is a quaint edifice of hard stone, with low-bent bevelledroof, and surrounded by a stone wall, which has a shingle coping. Thewall incloses many gravestones, their inscriptions showing that verymany of the old worshippers of the church were Welsh. Some large andhealthy forest trees partly shade the graveyard and the grassy andsandy cross-roads where it stands, near the brink of the pretty WhiteClay Creek. 

I climbed over the coping of the graveyard wall last spring, andfollowed my companion, the narrator of the following story, to whatappeared to be the very oldest portion of the inclosure. Thetombstones were in some cases quite illegible as to inscriptions, wornbare and smooth by more than a century's rains and chipping frosts, and others were sunken deep in the grass so as to afford only partialrecompense for the epitaph hunter. 

"This is the Ticking Stone, " said my companion, pointing to arecumbent slab, worn smooth and scarcely showing a trace of formerlettering; "put your ear upon it while I pull away the weeds, and thennote if you hear any thing. "

I laid my ear upon the mossy stone, and almost immediately felt anaudible, almost tangible ticking, like that of a lady's watch. 

"You are scratching the stone, Pusey, " I cried to my informant. 

"No! Upon my honor! That is not the sound of a scratch that you hear. It cannot be any insect nor any process of moving life in the stone orbeneath it. Can you liken it to any thing but the equal motion of arather feeble timepiece?"

I listened again, and this time longer, and a sort of superstitiongrew over me, so that had I been alone, probably I would haveexperienced a sense of timid loneliness. To stand amidst those silentmemorial stones of the early times and hear a watch beat beneath oneof them as perfectly as you can feel it in your vest pocket, and thento feel your heart start nervously at the recognition of thisdisassociated sound, is not satisfying, even when in human company. 

"This is the best ghost I have ever found, " I said. "Perhaps some onehas slipped a watch underneath, for it is somebody's watch; there _is_something real in it. "

"I took the stone up once myself, " said Pusey, "and the ticking thenseemed to come up from the ground. While I deliberated, an old mancame out of yonder old sexton-looking house, and warned me not todisturb the dead. He crossed the wall, and assisted me to replace thestone, and then bade me sit down upon it, ancient mariner-like, whilehe disclosed the cause of the phenomenon. "

Here my companion stopped a minute--and in the pause we could hear theold trees wave very solemnly above us, and a nut, or burr, or sycamoreball, came rattling down the old kirk roof as we stood there in thegraves, to startle us the more, and then he said:

"It is just as queer as the tale he told me--the disappearance of thatold man. Nobody about here can recognize him from my descriptions. Hewalked toward the old mill down the Newark road, and the next time Ilooked up he was gone. The people in the house there think I amflighty in my mind for insisting upon his appearance to me at all. "

"Go on with the tale right here, my flesh-creeping friend, " I said. "It will do us good to feel occasionally solemn. "

 * * * * *

"This stone, young man, " said my Quakerly rebuker, in a hard countryfarmer's voice; "this stone is the London Tract Ticking Stone. It isthe oldest preacher and admonitor in this churchyard. It is older thanthe graves of any of the known pastors or communicants round about it. 

"In the year 1764 the comparative solitude of this region was brokenby a large party of chain-bearers, rod-men, axe-men, commissaries, cooks, baggage-carriers, and camp-followers. They had come by order ofLord Baltimore and William Penn, to terminate a long controversybetween two great landed proprietors, and they were led by CharlesMason, of the Royal Observatory, at Greenwich, England, and byJeremiah Dixon, the son of a collier discovered in a coalpit. Forthree years they continued westward, running their stakes overmountains and streams, like a gypsy camp in appearance, frighteningthe Indians with their sorcery. But, near this spot, they haltedlongest, to fix with precision the tangent point, and the point ofintersection of three States--the circular head of Delaware, theabutting right angle of Maryland, and the tiny pan-handle ofPennsylvania. 

"The people of this region were sparse in number, but of strong, sober, and yet wild characteristics. The long boundary quarrel hadmade them predatory, and though God-fearing people, they would fightwith all their religious intensity for their right in the land and thedominion of their particular province. They suspended their feuds whenthe surveying battalion came into their broken country, and lookedwith curious interest upon all that pertained to the distinguishedforeign mathematicians. Around their camp of tents and pack-mules, peddlers and preachers called together their motley congregations, andthe sound of axes clearing the timber was accompanied by fiddling andharanguing, the fighting of dogs, and the coarse tones of religious orbusiness oratory. It was in the height of the era of the great periodof the Dissenters in England, and Methodist, Baptist, and Calvinisticzealots were piercing to the boundaries of English-speaking people, wild forerunners of those organized bands of clergy which werespeedily to make our colonies sober-minded, and prepare them forself-government. 

"Charles Mason was the scientific spirit of the party--a cool, observing, painstaking, plodding man, slow in his processes andreliable in his conclusions, and the bond of friendship betweenhimself and Dixon was that of two unequal minds admiring thesuperiorities of each other. They had already proceeded together tothe Cape of Good Hope on two occasions to study an eclipse and anoccultation. Mason liked Dixon for his ready spirits, almostimprovident courage, speed with details, and worldly bearing. Thoughlittle is known of their memories now, because they left us noprolific records and spent much of the period of service among us inthe midst of the wilderness or in the reticence required formathematical calculation, yet they were the successors of Washingtonin the surveying of the Alleghany ridges. Their survey was reliable;the line was true. How much superior does it stand to-day to the lineof thirty degrees thirty minutes, which is the next great politicalparallel below it, and was partly run only a few years afterwards! Upto their line for the next hundred years flowed the waters of slavery, but sent no human drop beyond, which did not evaporate in the freelight of a milder sun. God speed the surveyor, whoever he be, whoplants the stakes of a tranquil commonwealth and leaves them to bethe limit of bad principles, the pioneer line of good ones!

"Charles Mason had spent many years of his life, up to his old age, experimenting with timepieces of his own invention. Many years before, Sir Isaac Newton had called the attention of the British Government tothe necessity for an accurate portable time-keeper at sea, todetermine longitude, and in 1714 Parliament offered a reward of 20, 000pounds sterling for such a chronometer. Thenceforward for fifty yearsthe inventive spirits of England and the Continent were secretly atwork to produce a timepiece which would deserve the large reward, amongst them Charles Mason, who labored with such perfect discretionand uncommunicative self-reliance that none knew, none will ever know, the motive principle he employed or the enginery he devised. While hewas working at this survey, near the spot at which we stand, the Boardof Award gave the £20, 000 to one John Harrison, almost at the veryinstant when Mason and Dixon's line was begun. This you can confirm byany history of Horology. Charles Mason lived down to the year 1787, surviving Dixon, who had died in England ten years previously, and hewas known to say to the end of his days, to people resident inPhiladelphia, that a child had eaten up £20, 000 belonging to him at asingle mouthful. 

"The child whom the neighborhood at that time accused of this act wasknown in later life as Fithian Minuit, babe of a woman of mixedEnglish and Finnish-Dutch descent, who came from the fishermen's townof Head of Elk, a few hours jog to the southward, to sell fish to thesurveying camp. She was a woman of mingled severity of features andbodily obesity, uniting in one temper and frame the Scandinavian andthe Low Dutch traits, ignorant good-humor, grim commerce, and stolidappetite. Her baby was the fattest, quaintest, and ugliest in thecountry; ready to devour any thing, to grin at any thing, go to thearms of everybody, and, in short, it represented all the traits ofthe Middle State races--the government of the members, including thebrain, by the belly. 

"One day this Finnish-Dutch baby--aged perhaps two years--was pickedup by one of the assistant surveyors and carried into the tent ofCharles Mason. The great surveyor was at that instant bending downover a small metallic object which he was examining through the mediumof a lens. He recognized the child, and seemed glad of the opportunityto dismiss more serious occupation from his mind, so he instantlyleaped up and poked the fat urchin with his thumb, tempting the biteof its teeth with his forefinger, and was otherwise reducing his tiredfaculties to the needs of a child's amusement, when suddenly the voiceof its mother at the tent's opening drew him away. 

"'Fresh fish, mighty surveyor! Fall shad, and the most beautifulyellow perch. Buy something for the sake of Minuit's baby!'

"The celebrated surveyor, who seemed in an admirable humor, steppedjust outside the tent to look at the fish, and in that little intervalhis assistant, seized with inquisitiveness, stole up to his table, andpicked up the tiny object lying there under the magnifying glass. 

"'This is the little ticking seducer which absorbs my master's time, 'he said. 'Why, it isn't big enough for an infant to count the minutesof its life upon it!'

"At this the fat, good-humored baby, anticipating something to eat, reached out its hands. The surveyor's assistant, in a moment ofmischief, put the object in the child's grasp. The child clutched it, bit at it, and swallowed it whole in an instant. 

"Before the assistant surveyor could think of any other harm done thanthe possible choking of the child, the child's mother and the greatsurveyor entered the tent. The arms of the first reached for heroffspring, and of the second for the subject of his experiment. 

"'My chronometer!'

"'The child of the fish-woman ate it!'

"The fish-woman screamed, and reversed the urchin after the manner ofmothers, and swung him to and fro like a pendulum. He came up a triflered in the face, but laughing as usual, and the ludicrousinappositeness of the great loss, the unconscious cause of it, thebaby's wonderful digestion, the assistant's distress, and thesurveyor's calm but pallid self-control, made Jeremiah Dixon, droppingin at the minute, roar with laughter. 

"'Dixon, ' said Mason, 'the work of half my life, my everlastingtimepiece, just completed and set going, has found a temperature whereit requires no compensation balance. '

"'I am glad of it, ' said his associate, 'for now we can proceed withMason and Dixon's line, and nothing else!'

"A look, more of pity than of reproach, passed over Mason's scarcelyruffled face--the pity of one man solely conscious of a great objectlost, for another, indifferent or ignorant both of the object and theloss. He took the smiling urchin in his hands, and raising it upon hisshoulder, placed his ear to its side. Thence came with faintregularity the sound of a simple, gentle ticking. They all heard it byturns, and, while they paused in puzzled wonder and humor, theundaunted infant looked down as innocent as a chubby, cheery facepainted on some household clock. The innocent expression of the childtouched the mathematician's heart. He filled a glass with good Madeirawine, and drank the devourer's health in these benignant words:

"'May Minuit's baby run as long and as true as the article on which hehas made his meal!'

"Next day they set the great stone in the corner of the State ofMaryland, and, breaking camp, vanished westward through the cleft oflight opened by their pioneers, pursued yet for many miles by a motleymultitude. 

"Before many years this fertile country filled up with hamlets, mills, and churches; the War of Independence scarcely interrupted itsprosperity, because the Quaker element adhered with constancy toneither side, and only one campaign was fought here. The story of theboy who ate a watch passed out of general knowledge and remark; he wasknown to have been a drummer at the battle of Chadd's Ford, and tohave buried his mother before the close of the war, at the Delawarefishing hamlet of Marcus Hook, amongst her Finnish progenitors. 

"But soon after the peace, the short, fat body and queer, merry Dutchface of Fithian Minuit were known all along the roads of Chester, Cecil, and Newcastle counties, by parts of the people of three States, as components of one of the least offensive, most industrious, andmost lively and popular young chaps around the head of the Chesapeake. 

"He was respectful with the old and congenial with the young--alwaysgoing and never tired, up early and late, of a chirruping sort ofaddress and an equal temper, and while he appeared to be thrifty andmoney-making, he did all manner of good turns for the high and thehumble; and, although everybody said he was the homeliest young man inthe region, yet more village girls went to their front doors to seehim than if he had been a showman coming to town to do feats of magic. He was not unintelligent either, and could play on the violin, computeaccounts equal to the best country book-keeper, and as he was ofreligious turn, although attached to no particular denomination, themeeting-houses on every side, hardly excepting the Quakers themselves, delighted to see him drive up on Sundays and tell an anecdote to thechildren and sing a little air, half-hymn sort, half stave, but alwaysgiven with a good countenance, which apologized for the worldly notesof it. If any severe interpreter of Christian amusements took thepeople to task for tolerating such a universal and desultorycharacter, there were others to rise up and ask what evil orpassionate word or act of sorry behavior in Fithian Minuit could beinstanced. The severe Francis Asbury himself raised the question onceon the Bohemia Manor amongst the Methodists, and got so little supportthat he charged young Minuit with the possession of some devilish artor spell to entrap the people; but Fithian once, when the gooditinerant's horse broke down on the road, met Mr. Asbury, won hisaffections, and mended his big silver watch. 

"This mending of clocks, watches, and every description oftime-keepers was the occupation of Minuit. He had picked up the art, some said, from a Yankee in the army at the close of the war, andcertainly no man of his time or territory had such good luck withtimepieces. Residing in the little village of Christina (by thepretentious called Christi-anna, and by the crude, with nearerrectitude, called Crist_ene_), Fithian kept a snug little shop full ofall manners and forms of clocks, dials, sand-glasses, hour-burningcandles, water-clocks, and night tapers. He had amended and improvedthe new Graham clock, called the 'dead scapement, ' or 'dead-beatescapement' (the origin of our modern word _dead-beat_, signifying aman who does not meet his engagements, whereas the original'dead-beat' was the most faithful engagements-keeper of its time. Perhaps a dead-beat nowadays is a time-server; for this would be acorrect derivation). From this shop the young Minuit, in a plain butreliable wagon, with a nag never fast and never slow, and indifferentto temperatures, travelled the country for a radius of fortymiles--not embarrassed even by the Delaware, which he crossed once amonth, and attended fully to the temporal and partly to the spiritualneeds of all the Jerseymen betwixt Elsinborough and Swedesboro. 

"Over the door of Minuit's whitewashed cabin on the knoll of Christinawas the sign of a jovial, fat person, bearing some resemblance tohimself, in the centre of whose stomach stood a clock inscribed, 'Mytime is everybody's. ' Past this little shop went the entire longcaravan and cavalcade by land between the North and South, stage-coaches, mail-riders, highwaymen, chariots, herdsters, andtramps; for Christina bridge was on the great tide-water road and atthe head of navigation on the Swedish river of the same name, so thathere vessels from the Delaware transferred their cargo to wagons, anda portage of only ten miles to the Head of Elk gave goods andpassengers reshipment down the Chesapeake. This village declined onlywhen the canal just below it was opened in 1829 and a little railwayin 1833. It was nearly a century and a half old when Minuit set hissign there, before General Washington went past it to be inaugurated. From Fithian's window the pleasant land was seen spread out below himbeyond the Christina; and the Swedish, Dutch, and English farms smiledfrom their loamy levels on sails which moved with scarcely perceptiblemotion through the narrow dykes planted with greenest willows. Beforehis door the teamsters, ill-tempered with lashing and swearing attheir teams in the ruts of Iron Hill, schoolboys from Nottingham, millers' men from Upper White Clay, and bargemen and stage passengers, recovered temper to see the sign of the great paunch with a timepieceset so naturally in it indicating the hour of dinner. Within theyfound the clock-maker, with face beaming as if reflected from awatch-case, working handily amongst a hundred ticking pieces, of whichhe looked to be one. There were large sundials for the outer walls ofbarns and farm-houses, very popular in the Pennsylvania hills;sand-glasses for the Peninsula, where it cost nothing to fill them;and hour-burning candles, much affected by the Chesapeake gentry, which gave at once light and time. There were ancient striking clocks, such as the monks may have used to disturb them for early prayers, which, with a horrible rattle of wheels and clash of heavy weights, hammered the alarm. There were the tremendous watches of rivercaptains who had aspired to go to sea, and old crutch escapementwatches which Huygens himself had perhaps handled in Holland. Thewindow was filled with trains of wheels and pinions, snails and racks, crystals, and faces and watches, cackling at each other. There werestriking clocks which rung chimes or rocked like little vessels onapparent billows, or started off with notes like grasshoppers. Ahundred of the most musical tree-frogs shut up in a piano might give afeeble notion of the tunes and thrummings assembled in this shop. Itwas the same day or night, and the power of Fithian Minuit overtime-keepers was nearly miraculous. He appeared to be able to smile anold watch into action. Transferred to his hand, some spent and rustysentinel, long silent and useless, seemed to feel the warmth of themender and resumed the round of duty. He would buy from the old estatehalls on the Sassafras and the Chester rivers, tall, solemn clocks, dead to the purpose of their creation, their stately learned faceslost to former automatic expressions or waggery, and when exposed tothe infectious influences of his shop, a gurgle of sound as of theinhalation of air into their lungs had been heard, according to somepeople, and next day the carcass of the clock would be found resonantand its faculties recovered. One day the great patriots, JohnDickinson and Cæsar Rodney, riding past Christina together, stoppedfor dinner, and sent their watches in to be cleaned meantime. 

"'Minuit, ' said Rodney, 'you are a devil with a time-keeper!'

"'Nay, Minuit, ' said Dickinson, 'thou art the gentlest custodian oftime in our parts. I would some one could regulate these States andtimes like thee. '

"The country round resorted to Minuit for repairs, but he generallycame himself along the roads fortuitously about the time anybody'sdials stood still. He was almost equal as a weather prophet to hisfame as a mechanic, and as his broad, fat face, blue eyes, and portlybody passed some farmer's gate, the cheery cry would go up, perhaps:

"'Make hay--the wind's right!' or again: 'Time enough, farmer, withanother pair of hands. But it's coming from the east!'

"Had it been possible to suggest any superstition about a manuniversally popular, people would have said that this henchman of timeand minute-hand of diligence drew his power from doubtful sources. Further north, where there was less superstition than amongst thesemingled unspiritualized populations, Minuit might have been burnt as awizard. A little doctor in the Deutsch hills, who once prescribed forthe clock-mender, reported that his pulse had a metallic beat, and, looking suddenly up, he saw, where Minuit's face had been, a roundclock face looking down and ticking at him. This doctor was aworthless fellow, however, and loose of tongue. Minuit, it wasobserved, never used a tuning-fork in church, like all leaders ofreligious music, but cast his eyes down a moment towards his heart, and tapped his foot, and then, as if catching the pitch somewhere fromwithin, he raised the tune and carried it forward with an exquisitesense of rhythm. 

"A very old man and a cripple, who lived across the way from Minuit's, affected to observe extraordinary changes in his stature according tothe weather changes, elongating as the temperature rose, and in verycold weather sinking into himself; this man also observed, on the dayof a solar eclipse, that for the period there was nothing at all inthe place where the clock-mender's head had been except a ring oflight which enlarged as the disk of the sun was released. But whocould rely upon the vagaries of an old man, who could do nothing butmake memoranda out of his window upon the doings of his neighbors?

"If anybody knew more than that Fithian Minuit was an obliging, neighborly man, and a model for mechanics, it must have been thesubject of his romance. He was related to have told all that he knewupon the mystery of his being to his clergyman, and there is nothingnow to confirm the gossip; for the preacher himself has gone to sleepin the old Shrewsbury graveyard in Maryland. 

"At Port Penn, where the last island in the channel of the lowerDelaware now raises its flaming beacon, and the belated collier steerssafely by Reedy Island light, lived the daughter of an old West Indiaand coasting captain, who would permit his chronometers to be repairedand cleaned by nobody but Minuit. His cottage stood where now there isa broad and sandy street leading to a wooden pier and tobathing-houses on a pleasure beach. The few people near at hand werepilots, captains of bay craft, and grain-buyers; although the Dutchand Swedish farms, alternating with long marshes, musical with birds, had lined the wide Delaware at this point many a year. In calm, sunnyweather, the broad beauty of the river and its low gold and emeraldshores, with bulky vessels swinging up on the slow full tide, combinedthe sceneries of America and the Netherlands; but when a gale blewover the low shores, scattering the reed-birds like the golden pollenof the marsh lilies, and cold white gulls succeeded, diving andcareening like sharks of the sky, the ships and coasters felt noserenity in these wide yeasty reaches of the Delaware bay, and theylabored to drop anchor behind the natural breakwater of Reedy Island. There, clustering about as thickly in that olden time as they now seekfrom all the ocean round the costly shelter of Henlopen breakwater, coaster and pirate, fisherman and slaver, sent up the prayer abeneficent government has since granted in the fullest measure, for aperfect Coast Survey and a vigilant Lighthouse Board. 

"The daughter of Captain Lum was named Lois, and she was the junior ofFithian Minuit by several years, a slender, beautiful girl, with hairand eyes of the softest brown, and household ways, daughterly andendearing. 

"The old sea-captain, who made five voyages a year to the nearerIndies, and sent ashore to Port Penn as he passed, returning, the bestof rum and the freshest of tropical fruits, looked with a jealous eyeupon any possible suitor to his daughter, and had, perhaps, embarrassed her prospects for a younger protector, if such she hadever wished. But he loved to see the clock-maker come to the cottage, who had never shown partiality for any woman, while popular with all. 

"'Minuit, ' he used to say, 'the best man on watch by land or sea, thouNorth Star; look to my girl as to my chronometer, and I'll pay theetwice the cost of thy time!'

"It was the captain's delight, while ashore, to have every timepiece, stationary or portable, taken apart in the presence of his daughterand himself, while he told his sailor yarns, and Lois stood ready toserve his punch, or pass to the fat, smooth-faced, cheerful Minuit thepieces of mechanism: brass gimbals, chronometer-boxes, wheels andsprings, ship-glasses, compasses, the manifold parts of little thingsby which men grope their way out of sight of land, hung between ahuman watch and the crystal shell of the embossed heaven. Chronometerswere with Minuit attractive and yet awe-giving subjects. The legend ofhis childhood, well forgotten by all else, said that he had swalloweda chronometer, so small that a sea-captain could swim with it in hismouth. And now the sailors of all the navies cruised by the aid ofclumsy watches, big as house-clocks, which to look at made Minuitsmile with pity. 

"'Captain Lum, ' he said aloud, on the eve of a voyage in the winterseason, 'I have often yearned to go to sea. The sight of it makes me alittle wild. I think I could guess my way over it and about it, byinherent reckoning. '

"He saw the pair of white hands holding something before him tremble alittle, and he looked up. The spiritual face of Lois was looking athis with wistful apprehension and interest. If ever his pulse beat outof time it was now--for in that exchange of glances he felt what shedid not understand--that he was beloved. 

"Pain and joy, not swiftly, but softly, filled Minuit--pain, becausehe had loved this girl and wished never to have her know it, but wouldkeep it an unbreathed, a holy mystery; and joy, like any lover'srecognizing himself in the dear heart he had never importuned. 

"Next day the good ship Chirpland came off Port Penn. The jollycaptain saying adieu to Minuit, clasped his hand. 

"'I saw thy look and my daughter's yesterday, ' he said. 'It is weak ofme to deny her a man like thee, thou sailor's friend. My ship is old. These coasts are dangerous. Nights and days come when we get no sightof lights ashore or in heaven. If thy chronometer fail, fail not thou, but be to her repairer and possessor!'

"The discovery and the trust embarrassed Minuit, but he had neverdenied the request of any man. His time, as his sign affirmed, waseverybody's. Yet a thrill, a twang, a twinge of delicious fear passedthrough him now. He loved this girl dearly, but he feared to love atall. He had now both the parental and the womanly recognition, and hisdays were lonely even with his garrulous timepieces, but he felt alonelier sense of the possibility of turning her affection to awe. Those queer legends of his birth, his affinity for fixed luminariesand motions, and his conscious knowledge that he stood in some wayrelated to spheres and orbits, and the laws of revolution and period, had never disturbed his mind in its calculations. But if he did standexceptional in these respects to his fellow-men, might another and abeloved one comprehend what he himself did not? Yet the kindly regardof his neighbors, the composure of a conscience well consulted, andthe hope that he was worthy of human love, made him resolve to keepthe captain's admonition, though he hoped the occasion to obey itmight never arrive. 

"In the absence of the good ship, however, love could not be deceived. It spoke in waitings and longings, and in tender glances andconsiderateness. She knew the rattle of his carriage-wheels, and hecould feel her in the air like the breath of a beautiful day soon toappear in distance. Time, toward which he stood in such naturalharmony, was dearer that it contained this passion and life moreexquisite, and himself more questionable for it all. 

"It was a stormy winter. Ships strewed the coast between Hatteras andNavesink, and the capes of the Delaware received many a tatteredbarque. The ice poured down and wedged itself between Reedy Island andthe shores, and crushed to pieces many that had escaped the oceangales. One night in a raging storm the door of Captain Lum's cabin wasthrown open, and a sailor appeared fresh from the water. He bore inhis hand a chronometer, which Minuit recognized in a moment, and hedrew his arm for the first time around the maiden's form. 

"'The Chirpland went down on Five Fathom Shoal, and the captain stoodby her. He bade us return his chronometer, and say that he perished inthe assurance that his daughter was left to the guidance of anotherfully as sure. '

"'My child, ' said Minuit, 'I accept thee wholly, sharing thy griefs!Weep, but on the breast of one who loves thee!'

"The village of Christina rejoiced when its broad-faced, dimpledfriend came home with a bride so fair and well-descended. They dressedthe sign before his door with flowers. Only the groom wore an anxiousface as he led her into his tidy home, now for the first time blessedwith a mistress. 

"The night of the nuptials came softly down, as nowhere else exceptupon the skies of the Delaware and Chesapeake, and Minuit was happy. The thrumming clocks in the shop below mingled their tones andtickings in one consonant chorus, scarcely heard above the long droneand low monotonies of the insects in the creeks and woods, whichassisted silence. The husband slept, how well beloved he could notknow. 

"In the dreams of the night he was awakened. In the pale moonshine hesaw his wife, clad in her garments of whiteness, standing by his bedall trembling. 

"'Tell me, ' she said, 'what it is that I hear? I have listened till Iam afraid. As I lay in this room perfectly silent, with my head, myhusband, nearest your heart, I felt the ticking of a watch. At firstit was only curious and strange. Now it haunts me and terrifies me. Iam a simple girl, new and nervous to this wedded life. Is this noisenatural? What is it?'

"Minuit trembled also. 

"'Lois, my bride, my heaven!' he said. 'Oh! pity me, who have tried topity all and make all happy, if I cannot myself explain away the causeof your alarm. I have kept myself lonely these many years, aware thatI was not like other men, but that my heart--no evil monitor tome--gave a different sound. There is nothing in its beat, my wife, tomake you fear it. Return and lay your head upon it, and you will hearit say this only, if you listen with faith: _love_!'

"Thus the watch-maker turned superstition to assurance, and theadmonition of his heart was a source of joy instead of fear to thelistener at its side. It ticked a few bright years with constancy, andwas the last benediction of the world to her ere she was ushered intothat peace which passeth understanding. 

"At the death of his wife Minuit felt a deeper sense of hisresponsibility to time, and the finite uses of it expanded to acheerful conception of the infinite. The country round was generallysettled by a religious people, and the many meeting-houses ofdifferent sects had his equal confidence and sympathy. Pursuing hiscraft with unwearied diligence, and delighting the homestead with hisviolin as of old, a more pensive and wistful expression replaced hissmile, and love withdrawn beckoned him toward it beyond the boundariesof period. Hard populations, which would not listen to preachers, heard with delight the amiable warnings of this friendly man, and ashis own generation grew older, a new race dawned to whom he appearedin the light of a pure-spirited evangelist. 'Improve the time! watchit! ennoble it! It is a part of the beautiful and perpetual circle ofeverlasting duty. It is to the great future only the little disk of asecond-hand, traversed as swiftly, while the great rim of heavenaccepts it as a part of the eternal round!' Such was the burden of hissermon. 

"He could ride all along the roads, and hear his missionariespreaching for him wherever a clock struck, or a dial on the gable of agreat stone barn propelled its shadows. His tracts were in everyfarmer's vest pocket. Whatever he made he consecrated with a paragraphof counsel. 

"The old sign faded out. The clock-maker's sight grew dim, but hisapprehensions of the everlasting love and occupation were clearer andmore confident to the end. 

"One day they found him in the graveyard of the London Tract, by theside of the spot where his wife was interred, worn and asleep at theripe age of three-score. 

"The mill teams and the farm wagons stopped in the road, and thecountry folks gathered round in silence. 

"'Run down at last, ' said one. 'If there are heavenly harps and bells, he hears them now!'"

And there they hear the ticking, the preaching of this faithful life, under the old stone, sending up its pleasant message yet. The stone isperishing like a broken crystal, but the memory of the diligent anduseful man beneath it rings amongst the holy harmonies of the country. Though dead, he yet speaketh!

THE IMP IN NANJEMOY. 

 Dull in the night, when the camps were still, Thumped two nags over Good Hope Hill; The white deserter, the passing spy, Took to the brush as the pair went by; The army mule gave over the chase; The Catholic negro, hearing the pace, Said, as they splashed through Oxon Run: "Dey ride like de soldiers who speared God's Son!" But when Good Friday's bells behind Died in the capital on the wind, He who rode foremost paused to say: "Herold, spur up to my side, scared boy! A word has rung in my ears all day-- Merely a jingle, 'Nanjemoy. '"

 "Ha!" said Herold, "John, why that's A little old creek on the river. Surratt's Lies just before us. You halt on the green While I slip in the tavern and get your carbine!" The outlaw drank of the whiskey deep, Which the tipsy landlord, half asleep, Brought to his side, and his broken foot He raised from the stirrup and slashed the boot. "Lloyd, " he cried, "if some news you invite-- Old Seward was stabbed in his bed to-night. Lincoln _I_ shot--that long-lived fox-- As he looked at the play from the theatre box; And it seemed to me that the sound I heard, As the audience fluttered, like ducks round decoy, Was only the buzz of a musical word That I cannot get rid of--'Nanjemoy. '"

 "Twenty miles we must ride before day, Cross Mattawoman, Piscataway, If in the morn we would take to the woods In the swamp of Zekiah, at Doctor Mudd's!" "Quaint are the names, " thought the outlaw then, "Though much I have mingled with Maryland men! I have fever, I think, or my mind's o'erthrown. Though scraped is the flesh by this broken bone, Every jog that I take on this road so lonely, With thoughts, aye bloody, my mind to employ, I can but say, over and over, this only-- The drowsy, melodious 'Nanjemoy. '"

 Silent they galloped by broken gates, By slashes of pines around old estates; By planters' graves afield under clumps Of blackjack oaks and tobacco stumps; The empty quarters of negroes grin From clearings of cedar and chinquopin; From fodder stacks the wild swine flew, The shy young wheat the frost peeped through, And the swamp owl hooted as if she knew Of the crime, as she hailed: "Ahoy! Ahoy!" And the chiming hoofs of the horses drew The pitiless rhythm of "Nanjemoy. "

 So in the dawn as perturbed and gray They hid in the farm-house off the way, And the worn assassin dozed in his chair, A voice in his dreams or afloat in the air, Like a spirit born in the Indian corn-- Immemorial, vague, forlorn, And disembodied--murmured forever The name of the old creek up the river. "God of blood!" he said unto Herold, As they groped in the dusk, lost and imperilled, In the oozy, entangled morass and mesh Of hanging vines over Allen's Fresh: "The chirp of birds and the drone of frogs, The lizards and crickets from trees and bogs Follow me yet, pursue and ferret My soul with a word which I used to enjoy, As if it had turned on me like a spirit And stabbed my ear with its 'Nanjemoy. '"

 Ay! Great Nature fury or preacher Makes, as she wists, of the tiniest creature-- Arming a word, as it floats on the mind, With the dagger of wrath and the wing of the wind. What, though weighted to take them down, Their swimming steeds in the river they drown, And paddle the farther shore to gain, Chased by gunboats or lost in rain? Many a night they try the ferry And the days in haggard sleep employ, But every raft, or float, or wherry, Drifts up the tide to Nanjemoy. 

 "Ho! John, we shall have no more annoy, We've crossed the river from Nanjemoy. The bluffs of Virginny their shadows reach To hide our landing upon the beach!" Repelled from the manse to hide in the barn, The sick wretch hears, like a far-away horn, As he lies on the straw by the snoring boy, The winding echo of "N-a-n-j-e-m-o-y. " All day it follows, all night it whines, From the suck of waters, the moan of pines, And the tread of cavalry following after, The flash of flames on beam and rafter, The shot, the strangle, the crash, the swoon, Scarce break his trance or disturb the croon Of the meaningless notes on his lips which fasten, And the soldier hears, as he seeks to convoy The dying words of the dark assassin, A wandering murmur, like "Nanjemoy. "

THE FALL OF UTIE. 

The reception at Secretary Flake's was at its height. Bland Van, thePresident of the nation, had departed with his boys; the punch-bowlhad been emptied nine times; and still the cry from our republicansociety was, "Fill up!"

A pair of young men, unacquainted with each other, pressed at the sametime to the punch-bowl, and Jack, the chief ladler, turning from theyounger, a clerk in civil dress, helped the elder, a tall navalofficer, to a couple of glasses. The clerk, young Utie, who wassomewhat flushed, addressed the chief ladler and remarked:

"You dam nigger, didn't you see my glass?"

"See it, sah? Yes! I've seen it seval times afo, dis evening. "

Black Jack then received the current allowance of curses for his colorand his impudence, all of which he took meekly, till the officer, Lieutenant Dibdo, interrupted on the negro's behalf. 

"It's none o' yo affair, I reckon!" cried Utie sullenly. 

"The man had no intention of slighting you, " said Dibdo. "You havebeen drinking too much, boy, and your coarseness is coming out. "

A fresh crowd of thirsty people pressing up at this point gave Jackhis opportunity to cry: "Room around de punch-bowl!"

And the disputants were separated and squeezed by the promenadingtides into different rooms. 

The officer presently forgot all about it, but not so young Utie, whowas partly drunk, entirely vain, not a gentleman by nature, andoutraged that anybody had dubbed him "a boy. " He sought the side of afine young girl, the daughter of the chief of the bureau where he wasemployed, and with whom he was in love. She was attired in the freecostume of republican receptions--bare arms, a low dress giving ampledisplay to the whitest shoulders in the room, and fine natural hairdressed with flowers. Every gentleman who passed her during theevening had looked his homage freely--old beaux, dignitaries, officers, foreign deputies, _roués_--and as she had been two or threewinters in that kind of society, nothing discomposed her. 

"Robert, " she said, with part of a glance, as Utie rejoined her, "yougo to the punch-bowl too much. You reflect upon me, sir. Besides, Iheard you quarrelling with that handsome officer. I am dying to knowhim. Who is he?"

Utie looked viciously up, anger and jealousy inflaming his heatedface, for, although he had no engagement with Miss Rideau, heconceived himself her future suitor. But some rash words that he saidagainst the officer were scarcely heard by the self-possessed beautyof official society, because, just then, the young officer and afriend were approaching them. She dropped her eyes when she metLieutenant Dibdo's bold glance of admiration, perhaps in order not tobe privy to the more searching look with which, like a gentleman ofthe world, he ran over the fine points of her plump body as he passed. But young Utie, seeing the offender of a moment ago taking such ardentand leisurely survey of the girl under his care, turned pale withhate. The officer did not notice him at all, absorbed in the finecolors, eyes, and proportions of Miss Rideau, and this furtheroutraged Utie who--to his credit be it said--had only modest thoughtsfor her. When he saw, however, that she looked after the manly figureand naval gilt of him of the profane eyes, as if to return hisadmiration, the intoxicated boy dropped an oath. 

"I will horsewhip that powder-monkey!" he said. 

"Robert, " said the girl placidly, "you won't. You have no horse and nohorsewhip, but you have been drinking. Go from me, sir! Some one elseshall see me home to-night. "

"I will kill the man who takes my place! Do you dare to speak that wayto me?"

He had raised his voice, in his rage, so that some others heard it. There was a little pause of pressing people, for that was a chivalrousage as to the manner of men to women, and the young officer, just thenreturning, availed himself of a pretty girl's dilemma to say:

"May I assist you, miss? I presume you are not in very agreeablecompany. "

"Thank you, sir, " answered Miss Rideau. "I would be obliged to havesome one find my aunt for me; she is here somewhere. "

"Will you accept a stranger's arm?"

"In this misfortune, I will. "

Dibdo took off the pretty girl, and one of his naval companions, looking after him, exclaimed, "What a genius Dib. Is with the ladies!"But the companion, feeling a trembling, unsteady hand upon his arm, turned about and met young Utie's desperate face. "I want to know thename of that fellow!" said Utie. 

"That is Charles Dibdo, " said the naval companion, "lieutenant of theUnited States frigate Fox, and I recommend you, my boy, to address_him_ in a civil tone. For me, I never mind a drunken man. "

Thoroughly demonized now, young Robert Utie turned blindly about forsome implement of revenge. He found it in Tiltock, a fellow-clerk, anovitiate and a ninny, who was visible in the crowd. 

"Tiltock, are you a man of honor?"

"I hope so, Bob. "

"Can you carry a challenge?"

"Oh yes! I guess so, to 'blige a ole friend. "

"Can you write it?"

"I'm afraid not. "

"Then take it by word of mouth. That scoundrel there, LieutenantDibdo, has insulted a lady, and me too. I must have his blood. Followhim up, and meet me at Gadsby's with his answer. "

Full of self-importance at this first and safe opportunity to standupon what is known as "the field of honor, " Tiltock kept thelieutenant in his eye, and took him finally aside and demanded ameeting in the name of Utie. The naval officer answered that he hadsimply relieved a lady from a drunken boy; but Tiltock, in thedramatic way common to halcyon old times, refused to accept either"drunken" or "boy" as terms appropriate to "the code, " and pressed foran answer. In five minutes the naval officer replied, through hisnaval companion, that having ascertained Mr. Utie to be a gentleman'sson, and he as an United States officer not being able to decline achallenge, the latter was accepted. The weapons were to be pistols, the place the usual ground at Bladensburg, and the time the afternoonof the next day. 

There was a good deal of drinking and boasting at the hotels thatnight, Utie and Tiltock telling everybody, as a particular secret, that there was to be "an 'fah honah, " otherwise a "juel, " at"Bladensburg, sah!" The gin-drinking, cock-fighting, sporting elementof the town was aroused, and Utie and Tiltock were invited on allsides to imbibe to the significant toast of "The Field. " Very noisy, very insolent, nuisances indeed, these two mere lads--the offspring ofa vain and ignorant social period of which some elements yetremain--borrowed the money to hire a carriage, and at midnight theyset out with some associates by the old, rutty, clay road for theMaryland village of Bladensburg. That night they caroused untilNature, despite her revolt, put them to bed. In the morning, with aswollen and sallow face, dry hair, unsteady hands, aching eyes anddim vision, Robert Utie awoke to the recollection of his folly and hisrashness, and he realized the critical period which he had provoked. His clerkship lost, his self-pride poignant, his pockets nearly empty, his respectable career irretrievably terminated, his sweetheartinsulted, and his life in danger! There was no escape either fromdespair or fate. Tiltock was strutting about below stairs with adrunken old doctor, misnamed a surgeon, who deposited behind the bar arusty case of surgical instruments, and who took a deep potation tothe toast of "The fawchuns of waw. " The Bladensburg people were wellaware of the occasion, and the old tavern was surrounded by loafersand gossips, many of whom were boys who had walked out from the cityas we go to prize-fights in our day. To fill up the time a dog-fightand a chicken-fight were improvised by the enterprising stable-boys inthe back yard, on the green slopes of the running Branch. WhileTiltock strutted out of town at an imposing pace to examine "TheField, " Robert Utie retired to his room, sought with an emetic torelieve his stomach, and then sat down to write some letters and anepitaph. The paper was thin, and the pen and ink matched it, but thedrunken boy's eyes marred more than all; for suddenly the secretfountains of his lost youth were touched as by the prick of his pen, and the drops gushed out upon the two words he had written:

"Dear mother--"

Not his sweetheart, who was nothing to him now; not his "honor, " whichhad been only vain-glory and deceit; not any thing but this earliest, everlasting faith which is ours forever, whether we be steadfast or goastray: the tie of home, of childhood, and of our mother's prayer andkiss--this was the soft reproach which glided between a wasted youthand the "field of valor" he had tempted. He wept. He sobbed. He threwhimself upon the bed, and pressing his temples into the ragged quilt, felt the panorama of childhood pass across his mind like somethingcool, sorrowful, and compassionate. The sickness _she_ had cured, thebad words _she_ had taken from his undutiful lips, the whipping shehad saved him from at the cost of her deceit, the lie she had nevertold _him_, the tears he had found her shedding upon her knees whenfirst he had been drinking, the money he had never given her out ofhis salary but had spent with idlers, his ruined soul which to thatmother's thought was pure as a baby's still, and watched by all theangels of God: these were admonitions from the green meadows ofchildhood. Before was the barren field of honor. 

How short is the struggle betwixt youth and selfishness, that sum ofall diseases and crimes; that selfishness out of which wars arise andhell is habitated!

A poor, overworked Christian negro, a slave in the tavern, hearing thesobbing of Robert Utie and aware that one of the duellists occupiedthat room, lifted the latch, and wakened the wretched boy from hisremorse. 

"Young moss, " he said, "doan you fight no juels! Oh! doan do it, forde bressed Lord's sake! It's nuffin but pride and sin. Yo's only apore, spilt boy, but you got a soul, young moss! Doan you go git kiltin dat ar bloody gully wha' so many gits hurt amoss to deff!"

Utie arose from the dream of home, and kicked the poor slave out ofthe room. He then drank, speculated upon his chances, practised withan imaginary pistol at the wall, and meditated running away, alternately, until Tiltock's business-step rang in the hall. 

"Bob, " he said, "we've picked you a beautiful piece of ground, and theother party's waiting. It's the most popular juel of the season. "

They walked up the sandy village street, under the old hip-roofedhouses, crossed the Branch bridge, and proceeded a quarter of a mileon the road to Washington. There, where a rivulet crossed the roadamongst some bushes, they descended by a path into a copse, and on toa green meadow-space cleared away by former rain freshets. Farm boys, town boys, and intruders of all sorts were lurking near. The field ofhonor resembled a gypsy camp. 

Lieutenant Dibdo's companion came up to Tiltock and said that hisfriend did not wish to fight, and would make any manly apology, eventhough unconscious of offence, if the challenge was withdrawn. Thecrowd was ardent for the fight, and Tiltock, who was punctilious abouthonor, particularly where he could cut a safe figure, repelled thecompromise, as "unwarranted by the code. " He knew as much about thecode as about honor, and more about both than about getting a living. 

"Then, " said the lieutenant, "I am authorized to say that my principalwill take Mr. Utie's first fire. Let him improve the generous chanceas he will. The second time we will make business of it. "

The interlopers fell back. The word was given: "Ready--Aim--Fire!"Robert Utie, sustained by braggadocio, that quality which makesmurderers die on the scaffold heroically, fired full at the body ofLieutenant Dibdo. That officer fired into the air and remained unmovedand unharmed. 

"Is another shot demanded?"

"Yes, " said Tiltock, "our honor is not yet satisfied. "

He waved the crowd back in an imperious way--they having rushed inafter the first shot--and he gave the word himself like a dramaticreading. 

Robert Utie looked, and this time with a livid, sobered face, into theopen pistol of the man he had provoked, the professional officer ofdeath. The fine, cool face behind the pistol was concise, grave, andeloquent now as a judge's pronouncing the last sentence of the law. The next instant the boy was biting and clawing at the ground inmortal agony. The impatient crowd rushed in. A faint voice was heardto gasp for what some said was "water" and some thought was "mother. "Then a figure with a dissipated face a little dignified by death, andwith some of the softness of childhood glimmering in it, like thebright footfall of the good angel whose mission was done and whoseflight was taken--this figure lay upon its back amongst the bushes, under the sunshine, peeped at by distant hills, contemplated by idlersas if it were the body of a slain game-chicken, and the drunken"surgeon" was idiotically feeling for its heart. 

"Gentlemen, " said Tiltock with a flourish, "we are all witnesses thatevery thing has been honorably conducted. "

The city had its little talk. The newspapers in those days were modelsof what is called high-toned journalism, and printed nothing on purelypersonal matters like duels when requested to respect the feelings offamilies. As if "the feelings of families" were not the main cause ofduels! There was a mother somewhere, still clinging with her prayersto the footstool of God, hoping for the soul of her boy even afterdeath and wickedness. This was all, except the revolution of theworld, and the wedding in due time upon it of Lieutenant Dibdo andMiss Rideau. It was what was called a romantic wedding. 

LEGEND OF FUNKSTOWN. 

I. 

 Nick Hammer sat in Funkstown Before his tavern door-- The same old blue-stone tavern The wagoners knew of yore, When the Conestoga schooners Came staggering under their load, And the lines of slow pack-horses Stamped over the National Road. 

 Nick Hammer and son together, Both blowing pipe-smoke there, Like a pair of stolid limekilns, In the blue South Mountain air; And the mills of the Antietam, Grinding the Dunker's wheat So oldly and so slowly, Groaned up the deserted street. 

 "What think'st thou, Nick, my father?" Said Nick, the old man's twin. "This whole year thou art silent. Let a little speech begin. Thou think'st the bar draws little; That the stables are empty yet, And the growing pride of Hagerstown, Thou can'st not that forget. "

 "Thou liest, Nick, my little boy; For Hager's bells I hear Like the bells of olden travel, Forgot upon mine ear. In a wonderful thing once asked him Thy dear old daddy is sunk-- I have sot here a year and wondered Who the devil was Mr. Funk!"

II. 

 "A year ago I was smoking, When a strange young fellow came by. He was taking notes on paper, And the rum in his'n was _rye_. Says he: 'I'm a writin' a hist'ry'-- 'Twas then I thought he was drunk-- 'And I want to see your graveyard, And the tomb of your founder, Funk!'

 "I think if he'd sot there, sonny, I'd looked at him a week; But he wanished tow'rd the graveyard, Before your daddy could speak. Directly back he tumbled, Before I had quit my stare, And he says: 'I'm disappinted! No Funk is buried in there. '

 "'The Funks is all up-country'-- That's all I could think to say, 'There never was Funks in Funkstown, And there ain't any Funks to-day. ' 'Why man, ' he says, 'the city That stands on Potomac's shores Was settled by Funk, the elder, Who afterward settled yours!

 "'The Carrols, they bust him yonder; Old Hager, he bust him here; But my heart will bust till I find him, And make a sketch of his bier. Oh shame on the Funkstown spirit That in Maryland does dwell! _He_ wouldn't consent to be buried Where you can keep a hotel. '"

III. 

 "There's John Stocklager, daddy, " Said young Nick, thinking much; "A hundred years he's settled Amongst the mountain Dutch. Ask _him_!" "Nay, young Nick Hammer, You young fellows run too fast: I shall set out here a thinking, And maybe Funk'll go past!"

IV. 

 He drank and smoked and pondered, And deep in the mystery sunk; And the more Nick Hammer wondered The duller he grew about Funk. The wagoners talked it over, And a new idea to trace Enlivened the dead old village Like a new house built in the place. 

V. 

 One day in June two wagons Came over Antietam bridge And a tall old man behind them Strode up the turnpike ridge. His beard was long and grizzled, His face was gnarled and long, His voice was keen and nasal, And his mouth and eye were strong. 

 One wagon was full of boxes And the other full of poles, As the weaver's wife discovered While the weaver took the tolls. Two young men drove the horses, And neither the people knew; But young Nick asked a question And that old man looked him through. 

 A little feed they purchased, And their teams drank in the creek, And to and fro they travelled As silently for a week-- Went southward laden heavy, And northward always light, And the gnarled old man aye with them, With the long beard flowing white. 

 From Sharpsburg up to Cavetown The story slowly rolled-- That old man knew the mountains Were filled with ore of gold. The boxes held his crucibles; 'Twas haunted where he trod; And every shafted pole he brought Was a divining rod!

 And none knew whence he came there, Nor they his course who took, Down the road to Harper's Ferry, In a shaggy mountain nook; But Nick the Sire grew certain, While from his eye he shrunk, That old man was none other Than the missing Mr. Funk:

 The famous city-builder Who once had pitched upon The sunny ledge of Funkstown, And the site of Washington. Again he was returning To the Potomac side, To found a temple in the hills Before he failed and died!

 And Nick laughed gently daily That he alone had guessed The mystery of the elder Funk That had puzzled all the rest. And younger Nick thought gently: "Since that chap asked for Funk There's been commotion in this town, And daddy's always drunk. "

VI. 

 But once the ring of rapid hoofs Came sudden in the night, And on the Blue Ridge summits flashed The camp-fire's baleful light. Young Nick was in the saddle, With half the valley men, To find that old man's fighting sons Who kept the ferry glen. 

 And like the golden ore that grew To his divining rod, The shining, armed soldiery Swarmed o'er the clover sod; O'er Crampton's gap the columns fought, And by Antietam fords, Till all the world, Nick Hammer thought, At Funkstown had drawn swords. 

VII. 

 Together, as in quiet days Before the battle's roar, Nick Hammer and his one-legg'd son Smoked by the tavern door. The dead who slept on Sharpsburg Heights Were not more still than they; They leaned together like the hills, But nothing had to say;

 Save once, as at his wooden stump The young man looked awhile, And damned the man who made that war-- He saw Nick Hammer smile. "My little boy, " the old man said, "Think long as I have thunk-- You'll find this war rests on the head Of that 'air Mister Funk!"

JUDGE WHALEY'S DEMON. 

In the little town of Chester, near the Bay of Chesapeake, lived anelegant man, with the softest manners in the world and a shadowforever on his countenance. He bore a blameless character and anhonored name. He had one son of the same name as his own, PerryWhaley. This son was forever with him, for use or for pleasure; theycould not be happy separated, nor congenial together. A destiny seemedto unite them, but with it also a baleful memory. The negroeswhispered that in the boy's conception and birth was a secret ofshame; he was not this father's son, and his mother had confessed it. 

That mother was gone--fled to a distant part of the world with herbetrayer--and the divorce was recorded while yet young Perry Whaleywas a babe. But the boy never knew it: his origin reposed in thesensitive memory of his father only, and every day the father lookedat the son long and distantly, and the son at the father with a mostaffectionate longing. 

"Papa, " he would say, "can't you try to love me? Do I disobey you? Iam sure I am always unhappy out of your sight. "

The father could not do without that boy, but could only hate him. "Myson, " he would reply, "you are obedient, but a demon! I could not loveyou if I would!"

"Never mind then, father, I can wait. There is plenty of time in lifeto make you love me!"

Judge Whaley--for he had been on the bench--was the highest example inMaryland of honor and pride. A General of militia, often in theLegislature, and once or twice a Senator at Washington, he had allthe shattered sensibilities of a proud man wounded in the soul. Agewas coming untimely upon his high temples and shadowed countenance, and as he walked along the market-place and green court-house yard, polite to men, boys, and negroes, they said in low tones, "Pity such areal gentleman can't be happy!"

In public affairs Judge Whaley was not silent: he led his party withintrepid utterances, and his prejudices, like his intellect, werestrong; but though the election sometimes hung by a few votes, and hisinfluence then gave every temptation on the part of low speakers andwriters to allude to his domestic dishonor, the vile reminiscence wasnever mentioned. A profound respect for the man permeated society, andin his unsmiling way he was kind to whites and blacks. A slaveholder, and at the head of the principal slave-holding connection, and theparticular champion in that region of slavery privileges, he wouldtake his Bible and visit the cottages of his negroes and read to themeven when sick of contagious fevers. He defended poor clients freelyin the courts, and fought for the lives of free negroes under capitalindictments. He was of the vestry of the aged Episcopal Church, whichdominated the social influence of the town, and never omittedattendance on all the services, but with the shadow forever on hisbrow. Young Perry went everywhere with his father, and chattered andwas active to oblige him, and sometimes by his boyish humor made alittle light weaken the strong edges of that paternal shadow; but in afew minutes, looking up into the Judge's face, he would see thatdistant, accusing look returned again. 

A great desire sprang up in the boy's heart to be fully loved by hisfather. He looked at other boys and saw that they received from theirfathers a treatment not more gentle, but more real, as if a deep wellof feeling lay in those parents which could send up cool water ortears, either in disagreement or sympathy. Young Perry had his ownhorse and his negro, and was the only inhabitant, besides the Judge, of the old black brick, square, colonial house on the brink of theriver--that house whence the light had gone in lurid flight when theyoung wife, in the bravado of her shame, departed forever. 

Judge Whaley was able, with his intellectual sympathy, to observe thathis boy was apt and right-minded. 

Perry read law precociously, and liked it. He was the best juveniledebater in the little old college on the slight hill overlooking thetown. His appearance was good, and he had a cheerful nature; yetnowhere, among beautiful girls or riding companions, gunning on theriver, crabbing on the bridge, or skating on the meadows, was he halfso happy as with his father. 

"Well, Perry, " the Judge would say, "how is my demon to-day--what ishe studying now?"

"Studying you, papa; I don't understand you. "

"The time will come, alas for you!" exclaimed the Judge. 

"Do I displease you in any thing I do?"

"No, my son. "

"Do you believe I love you?"

"Yes, I do believe it. I wish, Perry, it could be returned. "

The son, under the influence of this discouraging confidence, becameserious and melancholy. He would take his gun on his shoulder and wadeout into the meadow marshes, as if for game, and there would be seenby other gunners sitting on some old pier or perched on some wormfence, looking straight up at the sky, as if it might answer theriddle of his father's hate and his own unreciprocated affection. Hewould also, on rainy or cold days, when the inmates could not stirabroad, mount his horse and ride to the almshouse beyond the townmill, and, taking a pleasant story or ballad from his pocket, read tothe huddled paupers, as well as to the keeper's family, attracted byhis pleasant condescension. By degrees the boy's face also took theshadow worn by his father. 

"Oh, if they could only love!" remarked the old people around thecourt-house; "or if they only could admit the real love between them!"

The Judge never admitted it; that seemed to be a part of his religion, a duty to himself, if painful, and the son never woke nor retired torest without searching in that paternal shadow for the kindly gleam ofawakened love, yet ever kissed the shadow only, and a brow that wascold. 

One Christmas Day the river was frozen--a rare event in that geniallatitude, and hearing that wild geese were flying down toward the baycreeks and coves, the Judge took his gun and a negro and set off, without waiting for Perry, who was not immediately to be found. Anhour later the boy returned and heard of his father's departure, andstarted on horseback to overtake the carriage. He followed the trackbeyond the mill and almshouse, and across the heads of severalpeninsulas or necks leading into the wide tidal river. A few frostedpersimmons hung yet to their warty branches; the hulls of lastautumn's black walnuts were beneath the spreading boughs; old orchardsof peach-trees where the tints of green and bud smouldered in pinkcontrast to the oft-blackened and sapless branches, set off the purplebeads of the haw on the bushes along the lanes. Fish-hawks, flyingacross the sky, felt the shadow of the flocks of wild ducks flyinghigher; and rabbits crossed the road so boldly in the face of PerryWhaley, that once a raccoon, limping across a cornfield like a lamespaniel, turned too and took both barrels of Perry's gun without otherfright or injury than slightly to hurry its pace. As the young manheard the crows chatter around the corn-shocks and the mocking-bird insome alder-thicket answer and sauce the catbird's scream, he said tohimself:

"Every thing is attached by an inner chord to something else, and thatother thing, free-hearted, carols or quarrels back--except father tome. Can I not, too, find something to love me? There is Marion, theDoctor's daughter, with the chestnut curls falling all round herneck--she loves me, I know; but until I gain my father's love I cannotthink of woman!"

The pine-trees above his head murmured rather than moaned, as if theystrongly sympathized with him and would presently make loud and angrycause against his enemies. "What is it, " asked Perry of hisunsuspecting mind, "which makes my father so unappeasable? What isthere in me which broods upon his just and honorable life, and whichhe cannot drive away though he tries? Has he some learnedsuperstition, some religious vow or mistaken sacrifice?"

Perry turned down a lane and then into the bed of a frozen brook, andcoming in sight of the broad river, espied his father, gun in hand, stealthily creeping under a load of brush and twigs which the Judge'snegro had piled about his back and head, to conceal his figure from aflock of ducks that were bathing and diving in an open place of deepwater, to which the ice had not extended. 

The gliding brush heap, by slow and flitting advances, had progressedabout to within gunshot of the scarce suspecting fowls, and Perry andthe negro, from different sides of the cove, watched with the keenestinterest--when suddenly, with very little noise, the ice gave way andJudge Whaley had sunk in deep water, loaded down with heavy gunningboots, shot-belt, overcoat and gun. The negro stood paralyzed aminute and then fell upon his knees, unknowing what to do. A sense ofjoy started in Perry Whaley's breast as strong as his apprehensivefears. He might be made the instrument of saving that beloved life, and dissipating the spell of its indifference!

Nothing but this ardent passion saved Perry himself from drowning. Hehad crossed the cove ere yet the impulse of parental recognition hadtaken form, and throwing a rein from the carriage around the negroman's armpits, and seizing a long fence-rail, ran rapidly across, pulling both toward the point of danger. 

Judge Whaley had been a powerful man and an accomplished sportsman;and still as resolute as in youth, struggled with all intelligence forhis life. He sank to the bottom on first breaking through the ice, then reaching upward made two or three powerful efforts to catch therim of the ice-field and sank again in each endeavor, weighted downwith leather and iron. He had sunk to rise no more when Perry reachedthe edge of the field, placed the end of the rail over the abyss andplanted the negro's weight upon it, and then he dived, head foremost, into the freezing salt depths--where the tide was running--and withthe carriage rein looped in his right hand. Before he could lay handupon his father, that desperate man had seized him by the hair anddrawn his head to the bottom, and every instant Perry felt that hisremainder of breath was almost run unless he could break that ironhold. Even in that instant of agony, with death painting its awfulpageantry on his interior sight, Perry felt a gladder kind of destiny;that perhaps the arms of a father's love were around him, and inanother sphere, already about to dawn, the shadow might depart fromthat kind face and unyearning heart. 

But with a sense of more human dutifulness, Perry recalled hisresiduum of perception. It was necessary to break that drowning man'sgrapple upon his hair, and taking the only way, if cruel, to assisthis father, the young man struck the elder's knuckles with hisclinched fist. As they released the rein was thrown about JudgeWhaley's shoulders and run through the buckle, and as his rescuer, almost exhausted, swam upward, he made the rein fast to his ankle andseized hold of the rail. Here occurred another agonizing delay. Thenegro could not pull the rail in, between his own fears and the doubleburden; the young man was exhausted and cramped with cold, and everyinstant his father, still submerged, was drowning. At this momentwhen the renewed probability of death brought no compensations of atender sentiment, it pleased the tide to whirl Judge Whaley's bodyinwards, directly beneath the ice-field, and he being now insensible, if alive at all, the negro clutched it effectually. In the awakenedpain and hope of that minute, Perry Whaley supported himself along thepiece of rail to the solid ice, and assisted to draw his father fromthe water, and then swooned dead. They lay together, the unwelcome sonand the repelling father, under the universal pity of the great eye ofHeaven, on the natal day of Him who came into the world alsofatherless, but not disowned. 

A neighboring farmer sent one of his boys to Chester for the doctor, and by rubbing and restoratives, both the Judge and his son werebrought back to circulation and pulsation. Perry soon recovered, butJudge Whaley was saved only with the greatest difficulty. It wasnightfall in the hospitable farm-house before he was able to see orspeak, and then, a little drunken with the spirits which had beenadministered, he asked in a whisper:

"Who saved my life?"

"Who but your son Perry?" answered the cheerful Doctor Voss. "You wereboth wrapped together for a long while in the bottom of the cove!"

"My son!" exclaimed Judge Whaley, scarcely understanding the reply. "Who is my son?"

"Here, father! We are both alive. Thank God!"

"_My_ son?" muttered Judge Whaley. "Brave son! Who is it?"

"Why, Perry Whaley!" answered the good housewife. "His arms are aroundyour neck. Those warm kisses were his!"

The sick man glared about him till his eye fell on the boy. 

"Ha!" he whispered. "By you. Had I awakened in heaven would you havebeen there, too?"

The Judge sank back into a moment's insensibility, and the son satthere sobbing piteously. 

Though saved from the wave Judge Whaley had a long following spell offever, in which his son nursed him for many weeks, and once the sparkof life seemed to have fled; the Judge's pulse stopped still, andwhile they were at solemn prayer--the rector of the Episcopal Churchreading from his book--Perry cried: "He still lives. It is themedicine he needs!"

After the second resuscitation Dr. Voss remarked: "It is not often, Judge Whaley, that a man's life is twice saved by his son!"

Tears were no longer in Perry's eyes; he had heard his father indelirium constantly repeat his name. After the Judge's recovery heplaced in Perry's pocket a fine English watch, and gave him a pair ofhorses and a stylish wagon. 

"Hereafter, " he said, "you shall take charge of the property. My son, look about you and find a wife! In your character you are deserving ofa good one, for I fear the affection you are seeking can never arisein my heart enough to satisfy you. Gratitude and respect are alwayshere, my son, but love has been a stranger to me these many years. Iwish you to marry while I live, and be happy in some good woman'saffection. I may die and you may not become my heir! There is thedoctor's beautiful daughter; she has my decided approval!"

"If it is your wish, father, I will marry. "

The day Perry Whaley was admitted to the bar of Kent County on motionof his father, he stopped with his pair of horses at Doctor Voss'shouse, and asked Miss Marion to take a drive. She was a peerlessbrunette, whose dark brown curls taking the light upon theirluxuriance seemed the rippling of water from the large amber wells ofher eyes. In childhood she had looked with admiration on his straight, trim figure and manly courtesy, and hoped that she might find favor inhis sight. For this she had put by the scant opportunities in a small, old, unvisited town, to be wedded to her equals, and the whisperedimputation that there was a taint in Perry Whaley's blood made noimpression upon her wishes. Her younger sisters were gone before her, but true to the impetuous tendencies of her childhood she waited forPerry, indulging the dream that she was destined to be his wife. 

The happy, supreme opportunity had come. They took the road over theriver drawbridge into another county; the frost was out of the ground, and the loamy road invited the horses to their speed until the breathof spring raised in Marion's cheeks the color that dressed the buddingpeach orchards which spread over the whole landscape, as if Nature wasin maternity and her rosy breasts were full of milk. 

"Do you like these horses, Marion?" said Perry Whaley, when they hadgone several miles. "If you do you can drive them as long as youlive. "

She laughed, more because it was the feminine way than in her feeling. 

"Drive them alone?"

"Only when you do not want me to go. "

"Then it will seldom be alone, Perry. "

They both breathed short in silence, the happy silence of youth'sdesire and assent, until Perry said, "You are sure you love me, then?"

"Must I be frank, Perry?"

"As much as ever in your life!"

"I am very sure. I loved you in my childhood--no more now than then, except that the growth of love has strengthened with my strength. "

"Marion, " said the young man with a thoughtful face, "if I have notlong ago recognized this fidelity, which, to be also frank with you, Ihave suspected--not because of any desert of mine, but love is likethe light which we distinctly feel even with our eyes shut--it hasbeen because with all my soul I was laboring for my father's lovefirst. You have seen the shadow on his brow? How it came there I donot know. I have thought that with my wife to light the dark chambersof our old house, a triple love would bloom there, and what he hascalled the demon in me would disappear beneath your beautifulministrations. Be that angel to both of us, and as my wife touch thefountain of his tears and make his noble heart embrace me!"

Marion Voss felt a great sense of trouble. "Is it possible, " shethought, "that Perry has never suspected the cause of that shadow onthe Judge's life? Perhaps not! It would have been cruel to tell Perry, but crueller, perhaps, to let him grow to manhood in unchallengedpride and find it out at such a critical time. " The rest of the ridepassed in endearments and the engagement vow was made. 

"My dear one, " said Marion, as they rolled on the bridge at Chester, and the few lights of the town and of the vessels and the singlesteamboat descended into the river, "had you not better have anunderstanding with your father on the subject of his affection?Perhaps you have talked in riddles. Something far back may havedisturbed your mutual faith. Whatever it is, nothing shall break mypromise to you. I will be your wife, or no man's. But the shadow thatis on Judge Whaley's face I fear no wife can drive away. "

These words disturbed young Perry Whaley, as he drove his horses intothe hotel stable and slowly pursued his way across the public plot orarea, past the old square brick Methodist church, already lightedbrightly for a special evening service, though it was a week-day. Hepassed next the small, echoing market-house and the Episcopal church, and court-house yard. Every thing he saw had at that moment theappearance of something so very vivid and real that it frightened him. Yonder was the spot where, with other boys, he had burned tar-barrelson election nights; up a lane the jail where he had seen the prisonersflatten their noses against the bars to beg tobacco; a tall Lombardypoplar at a corner stood stolid except at its summit, where a portionof the foliage whispered with a freshening sound. How still; as ifevery thing was in suspense like him--the favorite of the old townfor so many years, and soon to become the possessor of its mostbeautiful and virtuous woman!

He sounded the knocker at the door of the square, solid brick mansion, built while all acknowledged the King of Britain here, and in whosethreshold General Washington had stood more than once. His fatheradmitted him directly into a prim, wainscoted room with asquare-angled stairway in the corner leading above; a thick rag carpetwas on the floor; the furniture was mahogany and hair-cloth; on thewall were portraits of the Whaleys or Whalleys, back to that regicidewho fled from the vengeance of King Charles's sons, and, escaping manyperils in New England, lived unrecognized on this peninsula. 

Judge Whaley had lighted a large oil lamp, and its shade threw theflame upon his strong magisterial face, wherein grief andrighteousness seemed as highly blent as in some indigent republicanMilton or Pym. 

"My father, " said Perry Whaley with the tender tone habitual to him, "I have consulted your wishes as well as my desire. Marion Voss willbe my wife. "

"It is well, my son, " replied Judge Whaley, placing upon his nose hisfirst pair of silver spectacles. "You are entitled to so much beautyand grace on every ground of a dutiful youth and agreeable person, andof talents which will make both of you a comfortable livelihood. "

"Father, with so great a change of relations before me, I desire toobtain your whole confidence. "

Perry's voice trembled; the Judge sat still as one of the brazenandirons where the wood burned with a colorless flame in thefireplace. The father took off the spectacles and laid them down. 

"Confidence in what respect, Perry?"

The young man walked to his father and knelt at his knee and claspedhis hand. Even then Perry saw the shadow gather in that kind man'sbrow, as if he perceived the demon in his son. 

"Before I make a lady my wife, father, I want every mystery of mylife related. I have always heard that my mother died. Where is sheburied?"

There was a long pause. 

"She is not dead, " said Judge Whaley, without any inflection, "exceptto me. "

"Not dead, father?" asked the son, with throbbing temples. "Oh, whyhave I been so deceived? Were you unhappy?"

"I thought I was happy, " said the Judge huskily; "that was long myimpression. "

"And my mother--was she, too, happy when you were so?"

"No. "

The young man rose and walked to the wainscot and back again. "Dearfather, I see the origin of the shadow upon your brow. Why was I nottold before? Perhaps the son of two unhappy parents might have broughtthem together again, if for no other congenial end, than that he wastheir only son!"

The Judge raised his eyes to the imploring eyes of the younger man. The shadow never was so deep upon his brow as Perry saw it now; it wasthe shadow of a long inured agony intensified by a dread judicialsympathy. 

"You are not my son!" he said. 

Perry's mouth opened, but not to articulate. He stretched out hishands to touch something, and that only which he could not reachstruck and stunned him; he had fallen senseless to the floor. 

When Perry returned to knowledge he was lying upon the carpet, a cloakunder his head, and his father, walking up and down, stooped over himfrequently to look into his face with a tender, yet sufferinginterest. The young man did not move, and only revealed hiswakefulness at last by raising his hand to check a relieving flow oftears. 

"My dear boy, " finally said Judge Whaley, himself shedding tears, "Ihad supposed that you already knew something of the tragedy of mylife. "

"Never, " moaned Perry. 

"Then, forgive me; I should myself have gradually told you the tale;it might have come up with your growth, inwoven like a mere ghoststory. Did no playmate, no older intimate, not one of your agestriving for the bar, ever whisper to you that I had been deceived, and that you, my only comfort, were the fruit of the deception?"

"No, sir. " Perry's tears seemed to dry in the recollection. "We wereboth gentlemen--at least, after we reached this world. No one everinsulted me nor you! I humbly thank God that, discredited as I mayhave been, my conduct to all was so considerate that no one couldobtrude such a truth upon me. Is it the truth? O father!--I must callyou so! it is the only word I know--is this, at last, one of thedreadful visions of diseased sleep or of insanity? Who am I? What wasmy mother? I can bear it all, for now I have seen why you never lovedme. "

Perry, pale as death and still of feeble brain, had arisen as he spokeand made this imploration with only the eloquence of haggardforgetfulness. The Judge took Perry's hands and supported him. 

"My son, have I not earned the name of father? Yes, I have plucked thepoison-arrow from my heart and sucked its venom. I have taken theoffspring of my injurer and warmed it in my bosom. Every morning whenyou arose I was reminded of my dishonor. Every night when we kissedgood-night, I felt, God knows, that I had loved my enemies and donegood to them which injured me!"

The young man, looking up and around in the impotence of expression, saw the portraits of the dead Whaleys in unbroken linealrespectability, bending their eyes upon him--the one, the onlyimpostor of the name!

"Perry, " continued the Judge, "I am not wholly guilty of keeping youblind. I have told you many times that between us was a gap, a rift ofsomething. I have sometimes said, as your artless caresses, mixedwith the bitter recollection of your origin, almost dispossessed myreason, that you were 'my demon. '"

"Yes, father; but I was so anxious to love you that I never brooded onthat. I see it all! Every repulse comes back to me now. You havesuffered, indeed, and been the Christian. But I must hear the talebefore I depart. "

"Depart! Where?"

"To find my mother, if she lives. To find my name! I cannot bear thisone. It would be deceit. "

"Not even the name of My Son?"

"Alas! no. Just as I am I must be known. My putative father, if helives, must give me another name. "

"Thank God, Perry, he is dead!"

"But not his name. I can make honorable even my--"

"Say it not!" exclaimed the Judge, placing his hand upon Perry'smouth. "Pure as all your life has been, you shall not degrade it withsuch a word. Oh, my son!--my orphan son!--dear faithful prattleraround my feet for all these desolate and haunted years, I havedoubted for your sake every thing--that wedlock was good, that prideof virtuous origin was wise, that human jealousy was any thing but atiger's selfishness. I did not sow the seed that brought you forth;too well I know it! Yet grateful and fair has been the vine as ifwatered by the tears of angels; and when I sleep the demon in youfades, and then, at least, your loving tendrils find all my nature anarbor to take you up!"

"Would to God!" said Perry bitterly, "that in the sleep of everlastingdeath we laid together. O my God! how I have loved you--father!"

The Judge enfolded the young man in his arms and like a child Perryrested there. The lamp, previously burning very low, went out for wantof oil, as the old man nursed like his own babe the serpent'soffspring, not his own but another's untimely son, bred on the honorof a husband's name. As they sat in the perfect darkness of the oldriverside mansion, Judge Whaley told his tale. 

He had neglected to marry until he had become of settled legal andbusiness habits, and more than forty-five years of age when he chosefor a wife a young lady who professed to admire and love him. They hadno children. The wife was a coquette, and began to woo admirationalmost as soon as the nuptials were done. Judge Whaley thought nothingill of this; he was in the heyday of his practice and willing to letone so much his junior enjoy herself. Among his law students was ayoung man from South Carolina, of brilliant manners and insidiousaddress. This person had already become so intimate with Mrs. Whaleyas to draw upon the Judge anonymous letters notifying him that he wastoo indifferent, to which letters he gave no attention, only bestowingthe more confidence and freedom upon her, when, happily, as it wasthought, the wife showed signs of maternity. Perry was born, to thejoy of his father. The young mother, however, hastened to recover herhealth and gayety. The favor she expressed for the student's societywas revived and not opposed by her husband. Judge Whaley returnedunexpectedly one day to his residence; he came upon a scene that in aninstant destroyed faith and rendered explanation impossible. His wifewas false. The student passionately avowed himself her seducer. TheJudge went through the ordeal like a magistrate. 

"Take her away with you, " he said. "That is the only reparation youcan do her, until she is legally divorced, and after that, ifnecessary, I will give her an allowance, but she cannot rest underthis roof another night. It has been the abode of chaste wives sinceit was builded. My honor is at stake. This day she must go. Make heryour wife and let neither ever return. "

They departed by carriage, unknown to any, and never had returned. But a few weeks after they disappeared a letter was received by JudgeWhaley, admonishing him that his son was the offspring of the sameillegal relations. It was signed and written by his wife. The wretchedman debated whether he should send the infant to an asylum or keep itupon his premises. Through procrastination, continued for twentyyears, the child had derived all the advantages of legitimacy, andstill the demon of the husband's peace was the test of the gentleman'sreligion. 

As this story had proceeded toward its final portions, the young manhad detached himself from his father's arms. When Judge Whaleyconcluded in the darkness he waited in vain for a response. The oldman lighted the lamp and peered about the room wistfully. Perry wasgone. 

That night, in the happiness of her engagement, Marion Voss had a gladunrest, which her mother noticed. "Dear, " said the mother, "let us goover to the Methodist church. It is one of their protracted meetingsor revivals, as they call it. If Perry comes he will know where tofind us, as I will leave word. "

The Methodists were second in social standing, but a wide gapseparated them from the slave-holding and family aristocracy, who wereEpiscopalians. The sermon was delivered by one of their most powerfulproselytizers, an old man in a homespun suit, high shoulders, lean, long figure, and glittering eyes. He was a wild kind of orator, striking fear to the soul, dipping it in the fumes of damnation, lifting it thence to the joys of heaven. Terrible, electricalpreaching! It was the product of uncultured genius and humandisappointment. Marion sat in awe, hardly knowing whether it wasimpious or angelic. In a blind exordium the old zealot commanded thosewho would save their souls to walk forward and kneel publicly at thealtar, and make their struggle there for salvation. 

The first whom Marion saw to walk up the dimly lighted aisle and kneelwas Perry Whaley. All in the church saw and knew him, and athunderous singing broke out, in which religious and meredenominational zeal all threw their enthusiasm. 

"Judge Whaley's son--Episcopalian--admitted to the barto-day--wonderful!"

Marion heard these whispers on every hand; and as the singing ceased, and the congregation knelt to pray, Marion's mother saw her turningvery pale, and silently and unobserved led her out of themeeting-house. 

It was one o'clock in the morning when Judge Whaley heard Perry enterthe door. He was preceded by the beams of a lamp, as his step camealmost trippingly up the stairs. The Judge looked up and saw the faceof his demon, streaked with recent tears and shaded with dishevelledhair, but on it a look like eternal sunshine. 

"Glory! glory! glory!" exclaimed the young man hoarsely. He rushedupon his aged friend, and kissed him in an ecstacy almost violent. 

"My boy! Perry! What is it? You are not out of your mind?"

"No! no! I have found my father, our father!"

"Who is it?" asked the Judge, with a rising superstition, as if thiswere not his orphan, but its preternatural copy; "you have found yourfather? What father?"

"God!" exclaimed young Perry, his countenance like flame. "My fatheris God and He is love!"

The town of Chester and the whole country had now a serious of rapidsensations. Judge Whaley and his son were turned lunatics, and behavedlike a pair of boys. Marion Voss had broken her engagement with PerryWhaley because he insisted that he was not the Judge's son. YoungPerry was exhorting in the Methodist church, and studying and starvinghimself to be a preacher. The Methodists were wild with social anddenominational triumph: the Episcopalians were outraged, and meditatedsending Perry to the lunatic asylum. Finally, to the great joy ofnervous people, the last sensation came--Perry Whaley had leftChester to be a preacher. 

Judge Whaley now grew old rapidly, and meek and careless of hisattire. In an old pair of slippers, glove-less and abstracted, hecrossed the court-house green, no longer the first gentleman in thecounty in courteous accost and lofty tone. He read his Bible in theseclusion of his own house, and fishermen on the river coming in aftermidnight saw the lamp-light stream through the chinks of his shutters, and said: "He has never been the same since Perry went away. " But heread in the religious papers of the genius and power of the absentone, roving like a young hermit loosened, and with a tongue of flameover the length and breadth of the country, producing extraordinaryexcitement and adding thousands to his humble denomination. 

On Christmas Day the Judge was sitting in his great room reading thesame mystic book, and listening, with a wistfulness that had neverleft him, to every infrequent footfall in the street. There came aknock at the door. He opened it, and out of the darkness into which hecould not see came a voice altered in pitch, but with rememberedaccents in it, saying:

"Father, mother has come home!"

Stepping back before that extraordinary salutation, Judge Whaley saw aman come forward leading a woman by the hand. The Judge receded untilhe could go no farther, and sank into his chair. The woman knelt athis feet; older, and grown gray and in the robes of humility, yet incountenance as she had been, only purified, as it seemed, by sufferingand repentance, he saw his wife of more than twenty years before. 

Looking up into the face of the son he had watched so long for, theold man saw a still more wonderful transformation. The elegant younggentleman of a few months before was a living spectre, his bright eyesstanding out large and consumptive upon a transparent skin, andglittering with fanaticism or excitement. 

"Perry Whaley, " said the woman firmly, but with sweetness, "it istwenty-two years since I left this house with hate of me in your heartand a degraded name; I was in thought and act a pure woman, though theevidence against me was mountain-high. My sin was that of manywomen--flirtation. Nothing more, before my God! I trifled with one ofyour students, a reckless and hot-blooded man, and inspired him with atyrannous passion. He swore if I would not fly with him to destroy me. One day, the most dreadful of my life, he heard your foot upon thestairs ascending to my chamber, and threw himself into it before youand avowed himself your injurer. Then rose in confirmation of himevery girlish folly; I saw myself in your mild eyes condemned, in thiscommunity long suspected, and by my own family discarded for yoursake. Where could I go but to the author of my sorrows? He became myhusband and I am a widow. "

Judge Whaley stretched out his hand in the direction of his eyes, notupon the old wife at his feet, but toward his son, who had settledinto a chair and closed his eyes as if in tired rapture. 

"Hear me but a moment more, " said the kneeling woman. "I was the slaveof an ever-jealous maniac; but my heart was still at this firesidewith your bowed spirit, and this our son. My husband told me that theway to recover the child was to claim it as his. His motive, I fear, was different--to place me on record as confessedly false and preventour reunion forever. But I was not wise enough to see it. I onlythought you would send my son to me. I waited in my lonely home inCharleston years on years. He came at last, but not too late; myfrivolous soul, grown selfish with vanity and disappointment, bentitself before God through the prayers of our son. I am forgiven, PerryWhaley. _I have felt it!_"

The old man did not answer, but strained his eyes upon his son. "Seethere!" he slowly spoke, "Perry is dying. Famished all these years forhuman love, this excess of joy has snapped the silver cord. Wife, Mary, we have martyred him. "

It was the typhoid fever which had developed from Perry's wastingvitality. He sank into delirium as they looked at him, and was carriedtenderly to his bed. Marion Voss came to nurse him with his mother. She, too, after Perry's departure, had grown serious and followed hisexample, and was a Methodist. The young zealot sank lower and lower, despite science or prayers. Both churches prayed for him. Negroes andwhites united their hopes and kind offices. One morning he was ofdying pulse, and the bell in the Episcopal church began to toll. Atthe bedside all the little family had instinctively knelt, and Perry'smother was praying with streaming eyes, committing the worn-out natureto Heavenly Love, when suddenly Judge Whaley, who had kept his hand onPerry's pulse, exclaimed:

"It beats! He lives again. The stimulant, Marion!"

Father and son had rescued each other's lives. One day as Perry hadrecovered strength, Judge Whaley said:

"My son, are you a minister, qualified to perform marriages?"

"Yes. "

"When you are ready and strong, will you marry your mother and meagain?"

"Very soon, " said Perry; "but not too soon. Here is Marion waiting forme, as she has waited, like Rachel for Jacob, these many years. Ishall preach no more, dear father, except as a layman. I see by youreyes that the demon is no longer in our home, and the remainder of mylife will be spent in returning to you the joy my presence for yearsdispelled. "

"O Perry, my patient son, " exclaimed the father, "they who entertainangels unawares have nothing to look to with regret--exceptunkindness. "

A CONVENT LEGEND. 

 The General Moreau, that pure republican, Who won at Hohenlinden so much glory, And by Bonaparte hated, crossed the sea to be free. And brought to the Delaware his story. World-renowned as he was, unto Washington he strayed. Where Pichegru, his friend, had contended, And to Georgetown he rode, in search of a church, To confess what of good he offended. 

 The Jesuits' nest beckoned up to the height Where pious John Carroll had laid it, And the General knelt at the cell but to tell His offence; yet or ever he said it, A voice in the speech of his Bretagny home, From within, where the monk was to listen, Exclaimed like a soldier: "Ah me! _mon ami_, Take my place and a sinful one christen!

 "For mine was the band that brought exile to you; Cadoudal, the Chouan, my master, Broke my sword and my heart, and I lost when I crost, Both honor and love to be pastor. A knight of the king and my lady at court, At the call of Vendée the despised, Into Paris I stole with a few, one or two, As assassins, to murder disguised. 

 "On the third of Nivose, in the narrowest street, And never a traitor one to breathe it, We prepared to blow up Bonaparte with a cart, And a barrel of powder beneath it. He came like a flash, dashing by, but behind, Poor folks and his escort in feather, And the child that we put, _sans_ remorse, by the horse, Were torn all to pieces together. "

 "To the guillotine both of my comrades were sent, But the Church, saving me for the tonsure, Hid me off in the wilds, and my dame, to her shame, To be _Père_ sold me out from a _Monsieur_; And now she is clad in the silk of the court, And I in the wool of confessor, -- Hate me not, ere hence you go, Jean Victor Moreau! And with France be my fame's intercessor!"

 "Limoelan! priest! is it you that I hear In this convent by Washington's river? Ah! France, how thy children are hurled round the world, Like the arrows from destiny's quiver! Take shrift for thy crime! Be thou pardoned with peace, Poor exile of Breton, my brother!" And the cannon of Dresden Moreau gave release, The bells of the convent the other. 

CRUTCH, THE PAGE. 

I. --CHIPS. 

The Honorable Jeems Bee, of Texas, sitting in his committee-room halfan hour before the convening of Congress, waiting for his negrofamiliar to compound a julep, was suddenly confronted by a small boyon crutches. 

"A letter!" exclaimed Mr. Bee, "with the frank of Reybold on it--thatYankeest of Pennsylvania Whigs! Yer's familiarity! Wants me to appointone U--U--U, what?"

"Uriel Basil, " said the small boy on crutches, with a clear, bold, butrather sensitive voice. 

"Uriel Basil, a page in the House of Representatives, bein' an infirm, deservin' boy, willin' to work to support his mother. Infirm boy wantsto be a page, on the recommendation of a Whig, to a Dimmycraticcommittee. I say, gen'lemen, what do you think of that, heigh?"

This last addressed to some other members of the committee, who hadmeantime entered. 

"Infum boy will make a spry page, " said the Hon. Box Izard, ofArkansaw. 

"Harder to get infum page than the Speaker's eye, " said the orator, Pontotoc Bibb, of Georgia. 

"Harder to get both than a 'pintment in these crowded times on aopposition recommendation when all ole Virginny is yaw to be tuk careof, " said Hon. Fitzchew Smy, of the Old Dominion. 

The small boy standing up on crutches, with large hazel eyes swimmingand wistful, so far from being cut down by these criticisms, stoodstraighter, and only his narrow little chest showed feeling, as itbreathed quickly under his brown jacket. 

"I can run as fast as anybody, " he said impetuously. "My sister saysso. You try me!"

"Who's yo' sister, bub?"

"Joyce. "

"Who's Joyce?"

"Joyce Basil--_Miss_ Joyce Basil to you, gentlemen. My mother keepsboarders. Mr. Reybold boards there. I think it's hard when a littleboy from the South wants to work, that the only body to help him findit is a Northern man. Don't you?"

"Good hit!" cried Jeroboam Coffee, Esq. , of Alabama. "That boy wouldrun, if he could!"

"Gentlemen, " said another member of the committee, the youthfulabstractionist from South Carolina, who was reputed to be a great poeton the stump, the Hon. Lowndes Cleburn--"gentlemen, that boy puts thething on its igeel merits and brings it home to us. I'll ju my juty inthis issue. Abe, wha's my julep?"

"Gentlemen, " said the Chairman of Committee, Jeems Bee, "it 'pears tome that there's a social p'int right here. Reybold, bein' the onlyWhig on the Lake and Bayou Committee, ought to have something if hesees fit to ask for it. That's courtesy! We, of all men, gentlemen, can't afford to forget it. "

"No, by durn!" cried Fitzchew Smy. 

"You're right, Bee!" cried Box Izard. "You give it a constitutionalset. "

"Reybold, " continued Jeems Bee, thus encouraged, "Reybold is (to speakout) no genius! He never will rise to the summits of usefulness. Helacks the air, the swing, the _pose_, as the sculptors say; he won'ttreat, but he'll lend a little money, provided he knows where yougoin' with it. If he ain't open-hearted, he ain't precisely mean!"

"You're right, Bee!" (General expression. )

"Further on, it may be said that the framers of the govment neverintended _all_ the patronage to go to one side. Mr. Jeffson put _that_on the steelyard principle: the long beam here, the big weight ofbeing in the minority there. Mr. Jackson only threw it considabul moreon one side, but even he, gentlemen, didn't take the whole patronagefrom the Outs; he always left 'em enough to keep up the courtesy ofthe thing, and we can't go behind _him_. Not and be true to ourtraditions. Do I put it right?"

"Bee, " said the youthful Lowndes Cleburn, extending his hand, "you putit with the lucidity and spirituality of Kulhoon himself!"

"Thanks, Cleburn, " said Bee; "this is a compliment not likely to beforgotten, coming from you. Then it is agreed, as the Chayman of yo'Committee, that I accede to the request of Mr. Reybold, ofPennsylvania?"

"Aye!" from everybody. 

"And now, " said Mr. Bee, "as we wair all up late at the club lastnight, I propose we take a second julep, and as Reybold is coming inhe will jine us. "

"I won't give you a farthing!" cried Reybold at the door, speaking tosome one. "Chips, indeed! What shall I give you money to gamble awayfor? A gambling beggar is worse than an impostor! No, sir!Emphatically no!"

"A dollar for four chips for brave old Beau!" said the other voice. "I've struck 'em all but you. By the State Arms! I've got rights inthis distreek! Everybody pays toll to brave old Beau! Come down!"

The Northern Congressman retreated before this pertinacious mendicantinto his committee-room, and his pesterer followed him closely, nothing abashed, even into the privileged cloisters of the committee. The Southern members enjoyed the situation. 

"Chips, Right Honorable! Chips for old Beau. Nobody this ten-year hasrun as long as you. I've laid for you, and now I've fell on you. JudgeBee, the fust business befo' yo' committee this mornin' is aassessment for old Beau, who's away down! Rheumatiz, bettin' on theblack, failure of remittances from Fauqueeah, and other casualties bywind an' flood, have put ole Beau away down. He's a institution of hiscountry and must be sustained!"

The laughter was general and cordial amongst the Southerners, whilethe intruder pressed hard upon Mr. Reybold. He was a singular object;tall, grim, half-comical, with a leer of low familiarity in his eves, but his waxed mustache of military proportions, his patch of goateejust above the chin, his elaborately oiled hair and flaming necktie, set off his faded face with an odd gear of finery and impressiveness. His skin was that of an old _roué's_, patched up and calked, but thefeatures were those of a once handsome man of style and carriage. 

He wore what appeared to be a cast-off spring overcoat, out of seasonand color on this blustering winter day, a rich buff waistcoat of anembossed pattern, such as few persons would care to assume, save, perhaps, a gambler, negro buyer, or fine "buck" barber. The assumptionof a large and flashy pin stood in his frilled shirt-bosom. He worewatch-seals without the accompanying watch, and his pantaloons, thoughfaded and threadbare, were once of fine material and cut in a style ofextravagant elegance, and they covered his long, shrunken, butaristocratic limbs, and were strapped beneath his boots to keep themshapely. The boots themselves had been once of varnished kid or finecalf, but they were cracked and cut, partly by use, partly forcomfort; for it was plain that their wearer had the gout, by hisaristocratic hobble upon a gold-mounted cane, which was not the leastinconsistent garniture of his mendicancy. 

"Boys, " said Fitzchew Smy, "I s'pose we better come down early. There's a shillin', Beau. If I had one more sech constituent as you, Ishould resign or die premachorely!"

"There's a piece o' tobacker, " said Jeems Bee languidly, "all I canafforde, Beau, this mornin'. I went to a chicken-fight yesterday andlost all my change. "

"Mine, " said Box Izard, "is a regulation pen-knife, contributed by theUnited States, with the regret, Beau, that I can't 'commodate you witha pine coffin for you to git into and git away down lower than youever been. "

"Yaw's a dollar, " said Pontotoc Bibb; "it'll do for me an' LowndesCleburn, who's a poet and genius, and never has no money. This buys meoff, Beau, for a month. "

The gorgeous old mendicant took them all grimly and leering, and thenpounced upon the Northern man, assured by their twinkles and winksthat the rest expected some sport. 

"And now, Right Honorable from the banks of the Susquehanna, ColonelReybold--you see, I got your name; I ben a layin' for you!--come downhandsome for the Uncle and ornament of his capital and country. What'syore's?"

"Nothing, " said Reybold in a quiet way. "I cannot give a man like youany thing, even to get rid of him. "

"You're mean, " said the stylish beggar, winking to the rest. "You hateto put your hand down in yer pocket, mightily. I'd rather be ole Beau, and live on suppers at the faro banks, than love a dollar like you!"

"I'll make it a V for Beau, " said Pontotoc Bibb, "if he gives him arub on the raw like that another lick. Durn a mean man, Cleburn!"

"Come down, Northerner, " pressed the incorrigible loafer again; "itdon't become a Right Honorable to be so mean with old Beau. "

The little boy on crutches, who had been looking at this scene in astate of suspense and interest for some time, here cried hotly:

"If you say Mr. Reybold is a mean man, you tell a story, you nastybeggar! He often gives things to me and Joyce, my sister. He's justgot me work, which is the best thing to give; don't you think so, gentlemen?"

"Work, " said Lowndes Cleburn, "is the best thing to give away, and themost onhandy thing to keep. I like play the best--Beau's kind o'play. "

"Yes, " said Jeroboam Coffee; "I think I prefer to make the chips flyout of a table more than out of a log. "

"I like to work!" cried the little boy, his hazel eyes shining, andhis poor, narrow body beating with unconscious fervor, half suspendedon his crutches, as if he were of that good descent and natural spiritwhich could assert itself without bashfulness in the presence of olderpeople. "I like to work for my mother. If I was strong, like otherlittle boys, I would make money for her, so that she shouldn't keepany boarders--except Mr. Reybold. Oh! she has to work a lot; but she'sproud and won't tell anybody. All the money I get I mean to give her;but I wouldn't have it if I had to beg for it like that man!"

"O Beau, " said Colonel Jeems Bee, "you've cotched it now! Reybold'seven with you. Little Crutch has cooked your goose! Crutch is righteloquent when his wind will permit. "

The fine old loafer looked at the boy, whom he had not previouslynoticed, and it was observed that the last shaft had hurt his pride. The boy returned his wounded look with a straight, undaunted, spiritedglance, out of a child's nature. Mr. Reybold was impressed withsomething in the attitude of the two, which made him forget his owninterest in the controversy. 

Beau answered with a tone of nearly tender pacification:

"Now, my little man; come, don't be hard on the old veteran! He'sdown, old Beau is, sence the time he owned his blooded pacer and dinedwith the _Corps Diplomatique_; Beau's down sence then; but don't callthe old feller hard names. We take it back, don't we?--we take _them_words back?"

"There's a angel somewhere, " said Lowndes Cleburn, "even in aWashington bummer, which responds to a little chap on crutches with aclear voice. Whether the angel takes the side of the bummer or thelittle chap, is a p'int out of our jurisdiction. Abe, give Beau ajulep. He seems to have been demoralized by little Crutch's last. "

"Take them hard words back, Bub, " whined the licensed mendicant, witheither real or affected pain; "it's a p'int of honor I'm a standin'on. Do, now, little Major!"

"I shan't!" cried the boy. "Go and work like me. You're big, and youcalled Mr. Reybold mean. Haven't you got a wife or little girl, ornobody to work for? You ought to work for yourself, anyhow. Oughtn'the, gentlemen?"

Reybold, who had slipped around by the little cripple and was holdinghim in a caressing way from behind, looked over to Beau and was evenmore impressed with that generally undaunted worthy's expression. Itwas that of acute and suffering sensibility, perhaps the effervescenceof some little remaining pride, or it might have been a twinge of thegout. Beau looked at the little boy, suspended there with the weakback and the narrow chest, and that scintillant, sincere spiritbeaming out with courage born in the stock he belonged to. Admiration, conciliation, and pain were in the ruined vagrant's eyes. Reybold felta sense of pity. He put his hand in his pocket and drew forth adollar. 

"Here, Beau, " he said, "I'll make an exception. You seem to have somefeeling. Don't mind the boy!"

In an instant the coin was flying from his hand through the air. Thebeggar, with a livid face and clinched cane, confronted theCongressman like a maniac. 

"You bilk!" he cried. "You supper customer! I'll brain you! I hadrather parted with my shoes at a dolly shop and gone gadding the hoof, without a doss to sleep on--a town pauper, done on the vag--than tohave made been scurvy in the sight of that child and deserve his wordsof shame!"

He threw his head upon the table and burst into tears. 

II. --HASH. 

Mrs. Tryphonia Basil kept a boarding-house of the usual kind onFour-and-a-Half Street. Male clerks--there were no female clerks inthe Government in 1854--to the number of half a dozen, two old bureauofficers, an architect's assistant, Reybold, and certain temporaryvisitors made up the table. The landlady was the mistress; the slavewas Joyce. 

Joyce Basil was a fine-looking girl, who did not know it--a fact soastounding as to be fitly related only in fiction. She did not knowit, because she had to work so hard for the boarders and her mother. Loving her mother with the whole of her affection, she had sufferedall the pains and penalties of love from that repository. She wasto-day upbraided for her want of coquetry and neatness; to-morrow, forproposing to desert her mother and elope with a person she had neverthought of. The mainstay of the establishment, she was not aware ofher usefulness. Accepting every complaint and outbreak as if shedeserved it, the poor girl lived at the capital a beautiful scullion, an unsalaried domestic, and daily forwarded the food to the table, ledin the chamberwork, rose from bed unrested and retired with all herbones aching. But she was of a natural grace that hard work could notmake awkward; work only gave her bodily power, brawn, and form. Thoughno more than seventeen years of age, she was a superb woman, her chestthrown forward, her back like the torso of a _Venus de Milo_, her headplaced on the throat of a Minerva, and the nature of a child mouldedin the form of a matron. Joyce Basil had black hair and eyes--verylong, excessive hair, that in the mornings she tied up with haste soimperfectly, that once Reybold had seen it drop like a cloud aroundher and nearly touch her feet. At that moment, seeing him, sheblushed. He plead, for once, a Congressman's impudence, and withouther objection, wound that great crown of woman's glory around herhead, and, as he did so, the perfection of her form and skin, and theoverrunning health and height of the Virginia girl, struck him sothoroughly that he said:

"Miss Joyce, I don't wonder that Virginia is the mother ofPresidents. "

Between Reybold and Joyce there were already the delicate relations ofa girl who did not know that she was a woman, and a man who knew shewas beautiful and worthy. He was a man vigilant over himself, and thepoverty and menial estate of Joyce Basil were already insuperableobstacles to marrying her, but still he was attracted by herinsensibility that he could ever have regarded her in that light ofmarriage. "Who was her father, the Judge?" he used to reflect. TheJudge was a favorite topic with Mrs. Basil at the table. 

"Mr. Reybold, " she would say, "you commercial people of the Nawthcan't hunt, I believe. Jedge Basil is now on the mountains of Fawquearhunting the plova. His grandfather's estate is full of plova. "

If, by chance, Reybold saw a look of care on Mrs. Basil's face, heinquired for the Judge, her husband, and found he was still shootingon the Occequan. 

"Does he never come to Washington, Mrs. Basil?" asked Reybold one day, when his mind was very full of Joyce, the daughter. 

"Not while Congress is in session, " said Mrs. Basil. "It's a littletoo much of the _oi polloi_ for the Judge. His family, you may notknow, Mr. Reybold, air of the Basils of King George. They married intothe Tayloze of Mount Snaffle. The Tayloze of Mount Snaffle have Inginblood in their veins--the blood of Poky-huntus. They dropped the nameof Taylor, which had got to be common through a want of Ingin blood, and spelled it with a E. It used to be Taylor, but now it's Tayloze. "

On another occasion, at sight of Joyce Basil cooking over the fire, against whose flame her moulded arms took momentary roses upon theirivory, Reybold said to himself: "Surely there is something above thecommon in the race of this girl. " And he asked the question of Mrs. Basil:

"Madame, how was the Judge, your husband, at the last advices?"

"Hunting the snipe, Mr. Reybold. I suppose you do not have the snipein the North. It is the aristocratic fowl of the Old Dominion. Itsbill is only shorter than its legs, and it will not brown at the fire, to perfection, unless upon a silver spit. Ah! when the Jedge andmyself were young, before his land troubles overtook us, we went tothe springs with our own silver and carriages, Mr. Reybold. "

Looking up at Mrs. Basil, Reybold noticed a pallor and flushalternately, and she evaded his eye. 

Once Mrs. Basil borrowed a hundred dollars from Reybold in advance ofboard, and the table suffered in consequence. 

"The Judge, " she had explained, "is short of taxes on his Fawquearlands. It's a desperate moment with him. " Yet in two days the Judgewas shooting blue-winged teal at the mouth of the Accotink, and hisentire indifference to his family set Reybold to thinking whether theVirginia husband and father was any thing more than a forgetfulsavage. The boarders, however, made very merry over the absentunknown. If the beefsteak was tough, threats were made to send for"the Judge, " and let him try a tooth on it; if scant, it was suggestedthat the Judge might have paid a gunning visit to the premises andinspected the larder. The daughter of the house kept such an eventemper, and was so obliging within the limitations of theestablishment, that many a boarder went to his department withoutcomplaint, though with an appetite only partly satisfied. The boy, Uriel, also was the guardsman of the household, old-faced as if withthe responsibility of taking care of two women. Indeed, the childrenof the landlady were so well behaved and prepossessing that, comparedwith Mrs. Basil's shabby _hauteur_ and garrulity, the legend of theJudge seemed to require no other foundation than offspring of suchgood spirit and intonation. 

Mrs. Tryphonia Basil was no respecter of persons. She kept boarders, she said, as a matter of society, and to lighten the load of theJudge. He had very little idea that she was making a mercantile matterof hospitality, but, as she feelingly remarked, "the old families aremisplaced in such times as these yer, when the departments are filledwith Dutch, Yankees, Crackers, Pore Whites, and other foreigners. " Hermanner was, at periods, insolent to Mr. Reybold, who seldom protested, out of regard to the daughter and the little Page; he was a man ofquite ordinary appearance, saying little, never making speeches orsoliciting notice, and he accepted his fare and quarters with littleor no complaint. 

"Crutch, " he said one day to the little boy, "did you ever see yourfather?"

"No, I never saw him, Mr. Reybold, but I've had letters from him. "

"Don't he ever come to see you when you are sick?"

"No. He wanted to come once when my back was very sick, and I laid inbed weeks and weeks, sir, dreaming, oh! such beautiful things. Ithought mamma and sister and I were all with papa in that old home weare going to some day. He carried me up and down in his arms, and Ifelt such rest that I never knew any thing like it, when I woke up, and my back began to ache again. I wouldn't let mamma send for him, though, because she said he was working for us all to make ourfortunes, and get doctors for me, and clothes and school for dearJoyce. So I sent him my love, and told papa to work, and he and Iwould bring the family out all right. "

"What did your papa seem like in that dream, my little boy?

"Oh! sir, his forehead was bright as the sun. Sometimes I see him nowwhen I am tired at night after running all day through Congress. "

Reybold's eyes were full of tears as he listened to the boy, and, turning aside, he saw Joyce Basil weeping also. 

"My dear girl, " he said to her, looking up significantly, "I fear hewill see his great Father very soon. "

Reybold had few acquaintances, and he encouraged the landlady'sdaughter to go about with him when she could get a leisure hour orevening. Sometimes they took a seat at the theatre, more often at theold Ascension Church, and once they attended a President's reception. Joyce had the bearing of a well-bred lady, and the purity of thoughtof a child. She was noticed as if she had been a new and distinguishedarrival in Washington. 

"Ah! Reybold, " said Pontotoc Bibb, "I understand, ole feller, whatkeeps you so quiet now. You've got a wife onbeknown to the Kemittee!and a happy man I know you air. "

It pleased Reybold to hear this, and deepened his interest in thelandlady's family. His attention to her daughter stirred Mrs. Basil'spride and revolt together. 

"My daughter, Colonel Reybold, " she said, "is designed for the army. The Judge never writes to me but he says: 'Tryphonee, be careful thatyou impress upon my daughter the importance of the militaryprofession. My mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother married intothe army, and no girl of the Basil stock shall descend to civil lifewhile I can keep the Fawquear estates. '"

"Madame, " said the Congressman, "will you permit me to make thesuggestion that your daughter is already a woman and needs a father'scare, if she is ever to receive it. I beseech you to impress thissubject upon the Judge. His estates cannot be more precious to hisheart, if he is a man of honor; nay, what is better than honor, hisduty requires him to come to the side of these children, though he beever so constrained by business or pleasure to attend to more worldlyconcerns. "

"The Judge, " exclaimed Mrs. Basil, much miffed, "is a man ofhereditary ijees, Colonel Reybold. He is now in pursuit ofthe--ahem!--the Kinvas-back on his ancestral waters. If he should hearthat you suggested a pacific life and the grovelling associations ofthe capital for him, he might call you out, sir!"

Reybold said no more; but one evening when Mrs. Basil was absent, called across the Potomac, as happened frequently, at the summons ofthe Judge--and on such occasions she generally requested a temporaryloan or a slight advance of board--Reybold found Joyce Basil in thelittle parlor of the dwelling. She was alone and in tears, but thelittle boy Uriel slept before the chimney-fire on a rug, and his pale, thin face, catching the glow of the burning wood, looked beautified asReybold addressed the young woman. 

"Miss Joyce, " he said, "our little brother works too hard. Is therenever to be relief for him? His poor, withered body, slung on thosecrutches for hours and hours, racing up the aisles of the House withstronger pages, is wearing him out. His ambition is very interestingto see, but his breath is growing shorter and his strength is frailerevery week. Do you know what it will lead to?"

"O my Lord!" she said, in the negrofied phrase natural to herlatitude, "I wish it was no sin to wish him dead. "

"Tell me, my friend, " said Reybold, "can I do nothing to assist youboth? Let me understand you. Accept my sympathy and confidence. Whereis Uriel's father? What is this mystery?"

She did not answer. 

"It is for no idle curiosity that I ask, " he continued. "I will appealto him for his family, even at the risk of his resentment. Where ishe?"

"Oh, do not ask!" she exclaimed. "You want me to tell you only thetruth. He is _there_!"

She pointed to one of the old portraits in the room--a picture fairlypainted by some provincial artist--and it revealed a handsome face, alittle voluptuous but aristocratic, the shoulders clad in a martialcloak, the neck in ruffles and ruffles, also and a diamond in theshirt bosom. Reybold studied it with all his mind. 

"Then it is no fiction, " he said, "that you have a living father, oneanswering to your mother's description. Where have I seen that face?Has some irreparable mistake, some miserable controversy, alienatedhim from his wife? Has he another family?"

She answered with spirit:

"No, sir. He is my father and my brother's only. But I can tell you nomore. "

"Joyce, " he said, taking her hand, "this is not enough. I will notpress you to betray any secret you may possess. Keep it. But ofyourself I must know something more. You are almost a woman. You arebeautiful. "

At this he tightened his grasp, and it brought him closer to her side. She made a little struggle to draw away, but it pleased him to seethat when the first modest opposition had been tried she sat quitehappily, though trembling, with his arm around her. 

"Joyce, " he continued, "you have a double duty: one to your mother andthis poor invalid, whose journey toward that Father's house not madewith hands is swiftly hastening; another duty toward your noblerself--the future that is in you and your woman's heart. I tell youagain that you are beautiful, and the slavery to which you arecondemning yourself forever is an offence against the creator of suchperfection. Do you know what it is to love?"

"I know what it is to feel kindness, " she answered after a time ofsilence. "I ought to know no more. You goodness is very dear to me. Wenever sleep, brother and I, but we say your name together, and ask Godto bless you. "

Reybold sought in vain to suppress a confession he had resisted. Thecontact of her form, her large dark eyes now fixed upon him inemotion, the birth of the conscious woman in the virgin and heraffection still in the leashes of a slavish sacrifice, tempted himonward to the conquest. 

"I am about to retire from Congress, " he said. "It is no place for mein times so insubstantial. There is darkness and beggary ahead for allyour Southern race. There is a crisis coming which will be followed bydesolation. The generation to which your parents belong is doomed! Iopen my arms to you, dear girl, and offer you a home never yetgladdened by a wife. Accept it, and leave Washington with me and withyour brother. I love you wholly. "

A happy light shone in her face a moment. She was weary to the bonewith the day's work, and had not the strength, if she had the will, toprevent the Congressman drawing her to his heart. Sobbing there, shespoke with bitter agony:

"Heaven bless you, dear Mr. Reybold, with a wife good enough todeserve you! Blessings on your generous heart. But I cannot leaveWashington. I love another here!"

III. --DUST. 

The Lake and Bayou Committee reaped the reward of a good action. Crutch, the page, as they all called Uriel Basil, affected thesensibility of the whole committee to the extent that profanity almostceased there, and vulgarity became a crime in the presence of a child. Gentle words and wishes became the rule; a glimmer of reverence and athought of piety were not unknown in that little chamber. 

"Dog my skin!" said Jeems Bee, "if I ever made a 'pintment that giveme sech satisfaction! I feel as if I had sot a nigger free!"

The youthful abstractionist, Lowndes Cleburn, expressed it evenbetter. "Crutch, " he said, "is like a angel reduced to his bones. Themair wings or pinions, that he might have flew off with, being a pairof crutches, keeps him here to tarry awhile in our service. But, gentlemen, he's not got long to stay. His crutches is growing tooheavy for that expandin' sperit. Some day we'll look up and miss himthrough our tears. "

They gave him many a present; they put a silver watch in his pocket, and dressed him in a jacket with gilt buttons. He had a bouquet offlowers to take home every day to that marvellous sister of whom hespoke so often; and there were times when the whole committee, seeinghim drop off to sleep as he often did through frail and weary nature, sat silently watching lest he might be wakened before his rest wasover. But no persuasion could take him off the floor of Congress. Inthat solemn old Hall of Representatives, under the semicircle of graycolumns, he darted with agility from noon to dusk, keeping speed uponhis crutches with the healthiest of the pages, and racing into thedocument-room; and through the dark and narrow corridors of the oldCapitol loft, where the House library was lost in twilight. Visitorslooked with interest and sympathy at the narrow back and body of thisinvalid child, whose eyes were full of bright, beaming spirit. Hesometimes nodded on the steps by the Speaker's chair; and these spellsof dreaminess and fatigue increased as his disease advanced upon hiswasting system. Once he did not awaken at all until adjournment. Thegreat Congress and audience passed out, and the little fellow stillslept, with his head against the Clerk's desk, while all the otherpages were grouped around him, and they finally bore him off to thecommittee-room in their arms, where, amongst the sympathetic watchers, was old Beau. When Uriel opened his eyes the old mendicant was lookinginto them. 

"Ah! little Major, " he said, "poor Beau has been waiting for you totake those bad words back. Old Beau thought it was all bob with hislittle cove. "

"Beau, " said the boy, "I've had such a dream! I thought my dearfather, who is working so hard to bring me home to him, had carried meout on the river in a boat. We sailed through the greenest marshes, among white lilies, where the wild ducks were tame as they can be. Allthe ducks were diving and diving, and they brought up long stalks ofcelery from the water and gave them to us. Father ate all his. Butmine turned into lilies and grew up so high that I felt myself goingwith them, and the higher I went the more beautiful grew the birds. Oh! let me sleep and see if it will be so again. "

The outcast raised his gold-headed cane and hobbled up and down theroom with a laced handkerchief at his eyes. 

"Great God!" he exclaimed, "another generation is going out, and hereI stay without a stake, playing a lone hand forever and forever. "

"Beau, " said Reybold, "there's hope while one can feel. Don't go awayuntil you have a good word from our little passenger. "

The outstretched hand of the Northern Congressman was not refused bythe vagrant, whose eccentric sorrow yet amused the SouthernCommitteemen. 

"Ole Beau's jib-boom of a mustache 'll put his eye out, " said PontotocBibb, "ef he fetches another groan like that. "

"Beau's very shaky around the hams an' knees, " said Box Izard; "he'sbeen a good figger, but even figgers can lie ef they stand up toolong. "

The little boy unclosed his eyes and looked around on all thosekindly, watching faces. 

"Did anybody fire a gun?" he said. "Oh! no. I was only dreaming that Iwas hunting with father, and he shot at the beautiful pheasants thatwere making such a whirring of wings for me. It was music. When can Ihunt with father, dear gentlemen?"

They all felt the tread of the mighty hunter before the Lord very nearat hand; the hunter whose name is Death. 

"There are little tiny birds along the beach, " muttered the boy. "Theytwitter and run into the surf and back again, and am I one of them? Imust be; for I feel the water cold, and yet I see you all, so kind tome! Don't whistle for me now; for I don't get much play, gentlemen!Will the Speaker turn me out if I play with the beach birds just once?I'm only a little boy working for my mother. "

"Dear Uriel, " whispered Reybold, "here's Old Beau, to whom you oncespoke angrily. Don't you see him?"

The little boy's eyes came back from far-land somewhere, and he sawthe ruined gamester at his feet. 

"Dear Beau, " he said, "I can't get off to go home with you. They won'texcuse me, and I give all my money to mother. But you go to the backgate. Ask for Joyce. She'll give you a nice warm meal every day. Gowith him, Mr. Reybold! If you ask for him it will be all right; forJoyce--dear Joyce!--she loves you. "

The beach birds played again along the strand; the boy ran into thefoam with his companions and felt the spray once more. The MightyHunter shot his bird--a little cripple that twittered the sweetest ofthem all. Nothing moved in the solemn chamber of the committee but thevoice of an old forsaken man, sobbing bitterly. 

IV. --CAKE. 

The funeral was over, and Mr. Reybold marvelled much that the Judgehad not put in an appearance. The whole committee had attended theobsequies of Crutch and acted as pall-bearers. Reybold had escortedthe page's sister to the Congressional cemetery, and had observed evenOld Beau to come with a wreath of flowers and hobble to the grave anddeposit them there. But the Judge, remorseless in death as frivolousin life, never came near his mourning wife and daughter in theirseverest sorrow. Mrs. Tryphonia Basil, seeing that this singular wantof behavior on the Judge's part was making some ado, raised her voiceabove the general din of meals. 

"Jedge Basil, " she exclaimed, "has been on his Tennessee purchase. These Christmas times there's no getting through the snow in theCumberland Gap. He's stopped off thaw to shoot the--ahem!--the wildtorkey--a great passion with the Jedge. His half-uncle, GineralJohnson, of Awkinso, was a torkey-killer of high celebrity. He was aDeshay on his Maw's side. I s'pose you haven't the torkey in the Dutchcountry, Mr. Reybold?"

"Madame, " said Reybold, in a quieter moment, "have you written to theJudge the fact of his son's death?"

"Oh yes--to Fawquear. "

"Mrs. Basil, " continued the Congressman, "I want you to be explicitwith me. Where is the Judge, your husband, at this moment?"

"Excuse me, Colonel Reybold, this is a little of a assumption, sir. The Jedge might call you out, sir, for intruding upon his incog. He'svery fine on his incog. , you air awair. "

"Madame, " exclaimed Reybold straightforwardly, "there are reasons whyI should communicate with your husband. My term in Congress is nearlyexpired. I might arouse your interest, if I chose, by recalling toyour mind the memorandum of about seven hundred dollars in which youare my debtor. That would be a reason for seeing your husband anywherenorth of the Potomac, but I do not intend to mention it. Is heaware--are you?--that Joyce Basil is in love with some one in thiscity?"

Mrs. Basil drew a long breath, raised both hands, and ejaculated:"Well, I declaw!"

"I have it from her own lips, " continued Reybold. "She told me as asecret, but all my suspicions are awakened. If I can prevent it, madame, that girl shall not follow the example of hundreds of herclass in Washington, and descend, through the boarding-house or thelodging quarter, to be the wife of some common and unambitious clerk, whose penury she must some day sustain by her labor. I love hermyself, but I will never take her until I know her heart to be free. Who is this lover of your daughter?"

An expression of agitation and cunning passed over Mrs. Basil's face. 

"Colonel Reybold, " she whined, "I pity your blasted hopes. If I was awidow, they should be comfoted. Alas! my daughter is in love with oneof the Fitzchews of Fawqueeah. His parents is cousins of the Jedge, and attached to the military. "

The Congressman looked disappointed, but not yet satisfied. 

"Give me at once the address of your husband, " he spoke. "If you donot, I shall ask your daughter for it, and she cannot refuse me. "

The mistress of the boarding-house was not without alarm, but shedispelled it with an outbreak of anger. 

"If my daughter disobeys her mother, " she cried, "and betrays theJedge's incog. , she is no Basil, Colonel Reybold. The Basils repudiateher, and she may jine the Dutch and other foreigners at her pleasure. "

"That is her only safety, " exclaimed Reybold. "I hope to break everystring that holds her to yonder barren honor and exhausted soil. "

He pointed toward Virginia, and hastened away to the Capitol. All theway up the squalid and muddy avenue of that day he mused and wondered:"Who is Fitzhugh? Is there such a person any more than a Judge Basil?And yet there _is_ a Judge, for Joyce has told me so. _She_, at least, cannot lie to me. At last, " he thought, "the dream of my happiness isover. Invincible in her prejudice as all these Virginians, Joyce Basilhas made her bed amongst the starveling First Families, and there shemeans to live and die. Five years hence she will have her brood aroundher. In ten years she will keep a boarding-house and borrow money. Asher daughters grow up to the stature and grace of their mother, theywill be proud and poor again and breed in and out, until the race willperish from the earth. "

Slow to love, deeply interested, baffled but unsatisfied, Reybold madeup his mind to cut his perplexity short by leaving the city for thecounty of Fauquier. As he passed down the avenue late that afternoon, he turned into E Street, near the theatre, to engage a carriage forhis expedition. It was a street of livery-stables, gambling dens, drinking houses, and worse; murders had been committed along itssidewalks. The more pretentious _canaille_ of the city harbored thereto prey on the hotels close at hand and aspire to the chanceacquaintance of gentlemen. As Reybold stood in an archway of thisstreet, just as the evening shadows deepened above the line of sunset, he saw something pass which made his heart start to his throat andfastened him to the spot. Veiled and walking fast, as if escapingdetection or pursuit, the figure of Joyce Basil flitted over thepavement and disappeared in a door about at the middle of thisAlsatian quarter of the capital. 

"What house is that?" he asked of a constable passing by, pointing tothe door she entered. 

"Gambling den, " answered the officer. "It used to be old PhilPendleton's. "

Reybold knew the reputation of the house: a resort for the scions ofthe old tide-water families, where hospitality thinly veiled theparamount design of plunder. The connection established the truth ofMrs. Basil's statement. Here, perhaps, already married to thedissipated heir of some unproductive estate, Joyce Basil's lot wascast forever. It might even be that she had been tempted here by somewretch whose villainy she knew not of. Reybold's brain took fire atthe thought, and he pursued the fugitive into the doorway. A negrosteward unfastened a slide and peeped at Reybold knocking in the hall;and, seeing him of respectable appearance, bowed ceremoniously as helet down a chain and opened the door. 

"Short cards in the front saloon, " he said; "supper and faro back. Chambers on the third floor. Walk up. "

Reybold only tarried a moment at the gaming tables, where the silent, monotonous deal from the tin box, the lazy stroke of the markers, andthe transfer of ivory "chips" from card to card of the sweat-cloth, impressed him as the dullest form of vice he had ever found. Treadingsoftly up the stairs, he was attracted by the light of a door partlyajar, and a deep groan, as of a dying person. He peeped through thecrack of the door, and beheld Joyce Basil leaning over an old man, whose brow she moistened with her handkerchief. "Dear father, " heheard her say, and it brought consolation to more than the sick man. Reybold threw open the door and entered into the presence of Mrs. Basil and her daughter. The former arose with surprise and shame, andcried:

"Jedge Basil, the Dutch have hunted you down. He's here--the Yankeecreditor. "

Joyce Basil held up her hand in imploration, but Reybold did not heedthe woman's remark. He felt a weight rising from his heart, and theblindness of many months lifted from his eyes. The dying mortal uponthe bed, over whose face the blue billow of death was rollingrapidly, and whose eyes sought in his daughter's the promise of mercyfrom on high, was the mysterious parent who had never arrived--theJudge from Fauquier. In that old man's long waxed mustache, crimpedhair, and threadbare finery the Congressman recognized Old Beau, theoutcast gamester and mendicant, and the father of Joyce and UrielBasil. 

"Colonel Reybold, " faltered that old wreck of manly beauty and ofpromise long departed, "Old Beau's passing in his checks. The chantcoves will be telling to-morrow what they know of his life in thepapers, but I've dropped a cold deck on 'em these twenty years. Notone knows Old Beau, the Bloke, to be Tom Basil, cadet at West Point inthe last generation. I've kept nothing of my own but my children'sgood name. My little boy never knew me to be his father. I tried tokeep the secret from my daughter, but her affection broke down mydisguises. Thank God! the old rounder's deal has run out at last. Forhis wife he'll flash her diles no more, nor be taken on the vag. "

"Basil, " said Reybold, "what trust do you leave to me in your family?"

Mrs. Basil strove to interpose, but the dying man raised his voice:

"Tryphonee can go home to Fauquier. She was always welcomethere--without me. I was disinherited. But here, Colonel! My last dropof blood is in the girl. She loves you. "

A rattle arose in the sinner's throat. He made an effort, andtransferred his daughter's hand to the Congressman's. Not taking itaway, she knelt with her future husband at the bedside and raised hervoice:

"Lord, when Thou comest into Thy kingdom, remember him!"

HERMAN OF BOHEMIA MANOR. 

(_See note at end of poem. _)

I. --THE MANOR. 

 "My corn is gathered in the bins, " The Lord Augustin Herman said; "My wild swine romp in chincapins; Dried are the deer and beaver skins; And on Elk Mountain's languid head The autumn woods are red. 

 "So in my heart an autumn falls; I stand a lonely tree unleaved; And to my hermit manor walls The wild-goose from the water calls, As if to mock a man bereaved: My years are nearly sheaved. 

 "Go saddle me the Flemish steed My brother Verlett gave to me, What time his sister did concede Her dainty hand to hear me plead! Poor soul! she's mouldering by the sea And I with misery. "

 The slave man brought the wild-maned horse All wilder that with stags he grazed-- Bred from the seed the knightly Norse Rode from Araby. Like remorse The eyes in his gray forehead blazed, As on his lord he gazed. 

 "Now guard ye well my lands and stock; Slack not the seine, ply well the axe; The eagle circles o'er the flock; The Indian at my gates may knock: The firelock prime for his attacks; I ride the sunrise tracks. "

 Swift as a wizard on a broom, The strong gray horse and rider ran, Adown the forest stripped of bloom. By stump and bough that scarce gave room To pass the woodman's caravan, Rode the Bohemian. 

 "Lord Herman, stay, " the brewer cried, "And Huddy's friendly flagon clink!" And martial Hinoyossa spied The horseman, moving with the tide That ebbed from Appoquinimink, Nor stopped to rest or drink. 

 "Where rides old Herman?" Beekman mused; "That railing wife has turned his head. " "He keeps the saddle as he used, In younger days, when he enthused Three provinces, " Pierre Alricks said, "And mapped their landscapes spread. "

 Broad rose Zuydt River as the sail Above his periauger flew; Loud neighed the steed to snuff the gale; But Herman saw not, swift and pale, Two carrier pigeons, winging true North-east, across the blue. 

 They quit the cage of Stuyvesant's spy, And lurking Willems' message bore: ("This morn rode Herman rapid by, Tow'rd Amsterdam, to satisfy Yet wider titles than he tore From shallow Baltimore!")

II. --REPLEVIN. 

 The second sunset at his back From Navesink Highlands threw the shade Of horse and Herman, long and black, Across the golden ripples' track, Where with the Kills the ocean played A measured serenade;

 There where to sea a river ran, Between tall hills of brown and sand, A mountain island rose to span The outlet of the Raritan, And made a world on either hand, Soft as a poet planned:

 Fair marshes pierced with brimming creeks, Where wild-fowl dived to oyster caves; And shores that swung to wooded peaks, Where many a falling water seeks The cascade's plunge to reach the waves, And greenest farmland laves:

 Deep tide to every roadstead slips, And many capes confuse the shore, Yet none do with their forms eclipse Yon ocean, made for royal ships, Whose swells on silver beaches roar And rock forevermore. 

 Old Herman gazed through lengthening shades Far up the inland, where the spires, Defined on rocky palisades, Flung sunset from their burnished blades, And with their bells in evening choirs Breathed homesick men's desires:

 "New Amsterdam! 'tis thine or mine-- The foreground of this stately plan! To me the Indian did assign Totem on totem, line on line-- Both Staten and the groves that ran Far up the Raritan. 

 "By spiteful Stuyvesant long restrained, Now, while the English break his power, Be Achter Kill again regained And Herman's title entertained, Here float my banner from my tower, Here is my right, my hour!"

III. --THE SQUATTERS. 

 He scarce had finished, when a rush, Like partridge through the stubble, broke, And armed men trod down the brush; A harsh voice, trembling in the hush, As it must either stab or choke, Imperiously spoke:

 "Ye conquered men of Achter Kill, Whose farms by loyal toil ye got, True Dutchmen! give this traitor will-- And he is yours to loose or kill-- All that ye have he will allot Anew--field, cradle, cot. 

 "Years past, beyond our Southern bounds, On States' commission sent by me, He mapped the English papists' grounds, And like a Judas, o'er our wounds, Our raiment parted openly: This is the man ye see!

 "Yet followed by my sleepless age, Fast as he rode my pigeons sped-- Straight as the ravens from their cage, Straight as the arrows of my rage, Straight as the meteor overhead That strikes a traitor dead. "

 They bound Lord Herman fast as hate, And bore him o'er to Staten Isle; Behind him closed the postern gate, And round him pitiless as fate, Closed moat and palisade and pile: "Thou diest at morn, " they smile. 

IV. --STUYVESANT. 

 Morn broke on lofty Staten's height, O'er low Amboy and Arthur Kill; And ocean dallying with the light, Between the beaches leprous white, And silent hook and headland hill, And Stuyvesant had his will;

 One-legged he stood, his sharp mustache Stiff as the sword he slashed in ire; His bald crown, like a calabash, Fringed round with ringlets white as ash, And features scorched with inner fire; Age wore him like a briar. 

 "Bring the Bohemian forth!" he cried; "Old man, thy moments are but few. " "So much the better, Dutchman! bide Thy little time of aged pride, Thy poor revenges to pursue-- Thy date is hastening, too. 

 "No crime is mine, save that I sought A refuge past thy jealous ken, And peaceful arts to strangers taught, And mine own title hither brought, Before the laws of Englishmen, A banished denizen. 

 "Yet that thy churlish soul may plead A favor to a dying foe, I'll ask thee, Stuyvesant, ere I bleed, Let me once more on my gray steed Thrice round the timbered _enceinte_ go: Fire, when I tell thee so!"

 "What freak is this?" quoth Stuyvesant grim. Quoth Herman, "'Twas a charger brave-- Like my first bride in eye and limb-- A wedding-gift; indulge the whim! And from his back to plunge, I crave, A bridegroom, in her grave. "

 Then muttered the uneasy guard: "We rob an old man of his lands, And slay him. Sure his fate is hard, His dying plea to disregard!" "Ride then to death!" Stuyvesant commands; "Unbind his horse, his hands!"

V. --THE LEAP. 

 The old steed darted in the fort, And neighed and shook his long gray mane; Then, seeing soldiery, his port Grew savage. With a charger's snort, Upright he reared, as young again And scenting a campaign. 

 Hard on his nostrils Herman laid An iron hand and drew him down, Then, mounting in the esplanade, The rude Dutch rustics stared afraid: "By Santa Claus! he needs no crown, To look more proud renown!"

 Lame Stuyvesant, also, envious saw How straight he sat in courteous power, Like boldness sanctified by law, And age gave magisterial awe; Though in his last and bitter hour, Of knightliness the flower. 

 His gray hairs o'er his cassock blew, And in his peak'd hat waved a plume; A horn swung loose and shining through High boots of buckskin, as he drew The rein, a jewel burst to bloom: The signet ring of doom. 

 'Thrice round the fort! Then as I raise This hand, aim all and murder well!' His head bends low; the steed's eyes blaze, But not less bright do Herman's gaze, As circling round the citadel, He peers for hope in hell. 

 Fast were the gates; no crevice showed. The ramparts, spiked with palisades, Grew higher as once round he rode; The arquebusiers prime the load, And drop to aim from ambuscades; No latch, no loophole aids. 

 But one small hut its chimney thrust Between the timbers, close as they; Twice round and with a desperate trust Lord Herman muttered: "die I must: _There_, CHARGE!" and spurred through beam and clay-- "By heaven! he is away!"

VI. --THE KILLS. 

 In clouds of dust the muskets fire, And volleying oaths old Stuyvesant from: "Turn out! In yonder Kills he'll mire, Or drown, unless the fiends conspire. Mount! Follow! Still he must succumb-- That tide was never swum. "

 Through hut and chimney, down the ditch And up the bank, plunge horse and man; And down the Kills of bramble pitch, Oft-stumbling, those old gray knees which, Hunting the raccoon, led the van; Now, limp yet game he ran. 

 But cool and supple, Herman sat, His mind at work, his frame the horse's, And knew with each pulsation, that Past foe and fen, past crag, and flat, And marsh, the steed he nearer forces To the broad sea's recourses. 

 "Old friend, " he thought, "thou art too weak To try the Kills and drown, or falter, The while from shore their marksmen seek My heart. (Once o'er the Chesapeake I paddled oarless. ) Lest the halter Be mine, I must not palter--

 "Thou diest, though my marriage-gift: I still can swim. Poor Joost, adieu!" Ere ceased the heartfelt sigh he lift, The prospect widened: all adrift, The salty sluice burst into view, Where grappling tides fought through, And sucked to doom the venturous bear, And from his ferry swept the rower-- How wide, how terrible, how fair! Yet how inspiriting the air-- How tempts the long salt grass the mower! How treacherous the shore!

 Far up the right spread Newark Bay, To lone Secaucus wooded rock; Nor could the Kill von Kull convey Passaic's mountain flood away: In Arthur Kill the surges choke, The wild tides interlock. 

 O'er Arthur Kill the Holland farms Their gambril roofs, red painted, show; Beyond the newer Yankee swarms-- His cider-presses spread their arms. Before, the squatter; back, the foe; And the dark waters flow. 

 As that salt air the stallion felt, He whimpers gayly, as if still is Upon his sight his native Scheldt, Or Skagger Rack, or Little Belt, -- Their waving grass and silver lilies, Where browsed the amorous fillies. 

 And o'er the tide some lady nags Blew back his challenge. Scarce could Herman Hold in his seat. "By John of Prague's True faith!" he thought, "thy spirit lags Not, Joost! Thy course thyself determine!" And plunges like a merman. 

 Leander's spirit in the steed Inspired his stroke, not Herman's fear; And fast the island shores recede, Fast rise the rider's spirits freed, The golden mainland draws more near-- "O gallant horse! 'tis here!"

VII. --ELUSION. 

 Across the Kills the muskets crack-- "Ha! ha!" Lord Herman waves his beaver: "Die of thy spleen ere I come back, Old Stuyvesant!" With a noise of wrack The fort blew up of his aggriever!-- But not without retriever. 

 For from the smoke two pigeons fly, One south, one westward, separating, And straight as arrows crossed the sky, With silent orders ("_He must die_ _Who comes hereafter. Lie in waiting!_") Their snowy pinions freighting. 

 They warn the men of Minisink; They warn the Dutchmen of Zuydt River. Now speed to Jersey's farther brink, Old horse, old master, ere ye shrink!-- Or ambushed fall ere moonrise quiver, On paths where ye shall shiver. 

 On went the twain till past the ford That red-walled Raritan led over, And lonely woodland shades explored. Unarmed with firelock or with sword, Free-hearted rode the forest rover, Of all wild kind the drover:

 Fled deer and bear before his coming, The wild-cat glared, the viper hissed; And died the long day's insect-drumming. Where things of night began their humming, And witchly phantoms went to tryst, Was Herman exorcist. 

 "No land so tangled but my eye Can map its confines and its courses; Yet on life's map who can espy Where hides his foe--where he shall die?" So Herman said, and his resources Resigned unto his horse's. 

 All night the steed instinctive travelled-- His weary rider wept for him-- Through unseen gulfs the whirlwind ravelled, Up moonlit beds of streamlets gravelled, Till halting every bleeding limb, He stands by something dim, And will not stir till morning breaks. "What is't I see, low clustering there, Beyond those broadening bays and lakes, That yonder point familiar makes?-- Is it New Amstel, lowly fair, And this the Delaware?"

VIII. --THE ECHO. 

 Lord Herman hugged his horse with pride; He raised his horn and blew so loudly, That more than echoes back replied: Horns answered louder; horsemen cried, And muskets banged, as if avowedly On Stuyvesant's errand proudly!

 "Die, traitor; fleér! though thou 'scape Our ambush on thy devil's racer, Caught here upon this marshy cape, Thy bones the muskrat's brood shall scrape, The sturgeon suck--Death thy embracer!" So shouts each sanguine chaser. 

 To die in sight of Amstel's walls, And gallant Joost to die beside him?-- O foolish blast, such fate that calls! O river that the heart appalls! Dear Joost may live. And _they_ bestride him? "By hell! none else shall ride him!

 "My steed, thy limbs like mine are sore! Few years are left us ere the billows Roll over both. Come but once more, And to the bottom or the shore, Bear me and thee to happy pillows, Or 'neath the water willows!"

 He strokes old Joost. He bends him low. He winds his horn and laughs derision. One spring!--they've cleared the bog and sloe, And down the ebb tide buoyant go-- That stately tide. So like a vision Of home, to Norse and Frisian, Where full a league spread Maas and Rhine, And in the marsh the rice-birds twitter; The long cranes pasture and the kine Loom lofty in the misty shine Of dawn and reedy islands glitter: Yet death all where is bitter. 

 Ere out of range a volley peals, But greed too great made aye a blunder. His horse Lord Herman's self conceals, Yet once his horse and he go under, And rise again. No wound he feels. They hold their fire in wonder!

 Short of the mark the bullets splash: "Now drown thee, wizard! at thy pleasure, " The Dutchmen hiss through teeth they gnash. He answers not; for o'er the plash Of waves he hears Joost's gasping measure Of breath's fast wasting treasure. 

IX. --PEGASUS. 

 The sighs when dying comrades fall, Struck by the foe, are only sad; They leaped the ditch and climbed the wall, And shared the purpose of us all; The fame they have; the joy they had: "Rest in thy tracks, brave lad!"

 But thou, poor beast! unknown to fame, Whose heart is reached while ours is bounding, Amidst the victory's acclaim-- By thee we kneel with more of shame, That bore us through the fight resounding, And dumbly took our wounding!

 Lord Herman saw the blood drops seethe, The nag's neck droop, the nostril bubble, And loosed the bridle from his teeth; Yet swam the old legs underneath, Invincibly. The gap they double; But further swim in trouble. 

 And lovely Nature stretched her aid, Her sympathetic tow and eddy; The oars of air with azure blade, And silent gravities persuade And waft them onward, slow and steady-- On duteous deeds aye ready. 

 High leaped the perch. The hawk screamed joy. Under Joost's belly musically The ripples broke. Bright clouds convoy The brute that man would but destroy, And all instinctive agents rally Strong and medicinally. 

 In vain! The gurgling waters suck That old life under. Herman swimming Seized but the horse tail. Like a buck Breasting a lake in wild woods' pluck, Joost rose, the glaze his bright eyes dimming, And blood his sockets brimming. 

 Then voices speak and women cry. The treading feet find soil to stand. Above them the green ramparts lie, And twixt their shadows and the sky, The wondering burghers crowd the strand, And Herman help to land:

 "Now to Newcastle's English walls, Hail, Herman! and thy matchless stud!" Joost staggers up the bank and falls, And dying to his master crawls. Yields up his long solicitude, And spills his veins of blood. 

 In Herman's arms his neck is prest, With martial pride his dark eye glazes; He feels the hand he loves the best Stroke fondly, and a chill of rest, As if he rolled in pasture daisies And heard in winds his praises:

 "O couldst thou speak, what wouldst thou say? I who can speak am dumb before thee. Thine eyes that drink Olympian day Where steeds of wings thy soul convey, With pride of eagles circling o'er thee: Thou seest I adore thee!

 "Bound to thy starry home and her Who brought me thee and left earth hollow! An honored grave thy bones inter, And painting shall thy fame confer, Ere in thy shining track I follow, Thou courser of Apollo!"

NOTE TO HERMAN OF BOHEMIA MANOR. [1]

The singular incident of this poem was published in 1862, in Rev. JohnLednum's "Personal Rise of Methodism, " and in the following words:

"It is said that the Dutch had him (Herman) a prisoner of war, at onetime, under sentence of death, in New York. A short time before he wasto be executed, he feigned himself to be deranged in mind, andrequested that his horse should be brought to him in the prison. Thehorse was brought, finely caparisoned. Herman mounted him, and seemedto be performing military exercises, when, on the first opportunity, he bolted through one of the large windows, that was some fifteen feetabove ground, leaped down, swam the North River, ran his horse throughJersey, and alighted on the bank of the Delaware, opposite Newcastle, and thus made his escape from death and the Dutch. This daring feat, tradition says, he had transferred to canvas--himself represented asstanding by the side of his charger, from whose nostrils the blood wasflowing. "--Page 277. 

Such a singular and improbable story attracted great local attention, and in 1870, Francis Vincent, publishing his "History of Delaware, "wrote: "The author found this incident in both Lednum and Foot, andhas seen a copy of this painting. It is in the possession of James R. Oldham, Esq. , of Christiana Bridge, the only male descendant of Hermanin Delaware State. He is the seventh in descent from AugustinHerman. "--Page 469. 

In 1875, Rev. Charles P. Mallery, of Chesapeake City, a part of theBohemia Manor, wrote in the Elkton (Md. ) _Democrat_ as follows:"Herman resided on the Manor for more than twenty years, during whichtime he once rode to New York on the back of his favorite horse, toreclaim his long-neglected possessions there. He found his landoccupied by squatters. .. . They secured him, as they thought, for thenight; but he soon found means to escape by leaping his horse througha forced opening, swimming the North River, and continuing his flightthrough New Jersey until he reached the shore opposite Newcastle, where he swam his horse across the Delaware and was safe. .. . Dr. Spotswood, of Newcastle, told me that there was a tradition in histown that the horse was buried there. " Augustin Herman made the firstdrawing of New Amsterdam, and early maps of Maryland and New England. He was the first speculator in city real estate in America. 

[Footnote 1: The Bohemia Manor is a tract of 18, 000 acres of the bestland on the Delaware peninsula. It was granted to Augustine Herman, Bohemian, whose tombstone, now lying in the yard of Richard Bayard, onthe site of Herman's park, bears date 1661. He received the manor formaking an early map of Maryland, and granted a part of the land to thesect of Labadists. In the course of a century it became the homesteadof Senator Richard Bassett, heir of the last lord of the manor, and ofhis son-in-law, Senator James A. Bayard, the first. Herman was theprincipal historic personage about the head of the Chesapeake, and wasPeter Stuyvesant's diplomatist to New England as well as Maryland. Theargument he made for the priority of the Dutch settlement on theDelaware was the basis of the independence of Delaware State. Thelegend of his escape from New York is told in several local books andnewspapers, and it was the subject of one of his paintings, as he wasboth draughtsman and designer. G. A. T. ]

In 1876 I visited the relics of Herman on the Manor, and observed thetopography and foliage. I then undertook to put this legend intoverse, but struck a short, ill-accommodating stanza, in which Inevertheless persevered until the tale was told. I found that Hermanhad bought, in 1652, "the Raritan Great Meadows and the territoryalong the Staten Island Kills from Ompoge, or Amboy, to the PechciesseCreek, and a tract on the south side of the Raritan, opposite StatenIsland" (see Broadhead, page 537). It at once occurred to me to putthe seat of Herman's capture by squatters on this property, and totake Staten Island's bold scenery as a contrast to that of the head ofthe Chesapeake, whence Herman had ridden. He could, besides, morereasonably swim the Kills than the North River with a horse, as agentle prelude to swimming the Delaware. 

One year before buying the above property (see Broadhead's "History ofNew York, " page 526), Peter Stuyvesant vindictively persecuted Herman, Lockerman, and others, who retired to Staten Island to brood. Thesemen belonged to "the popular party. " I therefore had a hint to makeStuyvesant himself the incarcerator of Herman in a fort, and the mostavailable period seemed to be subsequent to the capture of Dutch NewYork by the English, but before the Dutch settlements on the Delawarewere yielded. Stuyvesant surrendered New York September 8th, 1664. Itwas not until October 10th that Newcastle on the Delaware surrendered. The theory of the poem is that Herman, hearing New York to be English, like Maryland where he resided, repaired to his possessions. Stuyvesant rallies the squatters against him and makes use of a forton Staten Island, not yet noticed by the English, as Herman's place ofpunishment. On Herman's escape this fort is blown up. When Hermanreturns to Newcastle, it is no longer Dutch, but English. Four days isthe time of the action. The device of the carrier pigeons is possiblyan anachronism, and also the age of Herman. I have aimed to make thestory reasonable, if not creditable. 

KIDNAPPED. 

A celebrated apostle of the Methodist sect, on the Eastern shore ofMaryland, was the Rev. Titus Bates. He had been twenty-six yearsengaged in the ministry, and was now a bronzed, worn, failing man, consumed by the zeal of his order, but still anxious to continue hiswork and die at his post. Like all his tribe, he was an itinerant, moving from town to town every second year--these towns being hisplaces of abode, while his fields of labor were called "circuits, " andcomprised many houses of worship scattered through the surroundingdistrict. He had chosen his wife with reference to his vocation, andshe was equally earnest with himself. She attended the sick, prayedwith the dying, taught Sabbath-schools, and organized religiousmeetings among the women. They had but one son, Paul, an odd, silentlittle fellow, who was thought to be more bashful than bright; but hisparents loved him tenderly, and argued the highest usefulness from hisstill, sober, thoughtful habits. He was of a singularly darkcomplexion, with fine black eyes and curling hair, and he was now oldenough to ride to and fro with his father upon the long pastoraljourneys. 

Paul's sixth birthday occurred on a raw Sunday in December. He hadbeen promised, as a special treat on that occasion, a visit toHogson's Corner, an old meeting-house near the bay-side, twenty milesdistant. His mother woke him at an early hour, and, while hebreakfasted, the gray pony Bob came to the door in the "sulky. " Hismother bade him to be a good boy, and kissed him; he took his seatupon a stool at his father's feet, and watched the stone parsonagefade quickly out of sight. The last houses of the town vanished; theypassed some squalid huts of free negroes; and when, after an hour, they came to a grim, solitary hill, the snow began to fall. It beatdown very fast, whitening the frozen furrows in the fields, makingpyramids of the charred stumps, and bleaching the sinuous"worm-fences" which bordered the road. After a while, they found agate built across the way, and Paul leaped out to open it. The snowwas deep on the other side, and the little fellow's strength was taxedto push it back; but he succeeded, and his father applauded him. Thenthere were other gates; for there were few public highways here, andthe routes led through private fields. It seemed that he had opened agreat many gates before they came to the forest, and then Paul wrappedhis chilled wet feet in the thick buffalo hide, and watched the drearystretches of the pines moan by, the flakes still falling, and thewheels of the sulky dragging in the drifts. The road was very lonely;his father hummed snatches of hymns as they went, and the little boyshaped grotesque figures down the dim aisles of the woods, andwondered how it would be with travellers lost in their depths. He wasnot sorry when they reached the meeting-house--a black old pile ofplanks, propped upon logs, with a long shelter-roof for horses downthe side of the graveyard. A couple of sleighs, a rough-coveredwagon, called a "dearbourn, " and several saddled horses, were tiedbeneath the roof. Two very aged negroes were seen coming up one of thecross-roads, and the shining, surging Chesapeake, bearing a few palesails, was visible in the other direction. Some boors were gossipingin the churchyard, slashing their boots with their riding-whips; onelean, solemn man came out to welcome the preacher, addressing him as"Brother Bates;" and another led the sulky into the wagon-shed, andtreated Bob to some ears of corn, which he needed very much. 

Then they all repaired to the church, which looked inside like agreat barn. The beams and shingles were bare; some swallows in theeaves flew and twittered at will; and a huge stove, with branchingpipes, stood in the naked aisle. The pews were hard and prim, andoccupied by pinch-visaged people; the pulpit was a plain shelf, withhanging oil-lamps on either side; and over the door in the rearprojected a rheumatic gallery, where the black communicants were boxedup like criminals. A kind old woman gave Paul a ginger-cake, but hisfather motioned him to put it in his pocket; and after he had warmedhis feet, he was told to sit in the pew nearest the preacher on whatwas called the "Amen side. " Then the services began, the preacherleading the hymns, and the cracked voices of the old ladies joining inat the wrong places. But after a while a venerable negro in thegallery tuned up, and sang down the shrill swallows with naturalmelody. The prayers were long, and broken by ejaculations from thepews. The text was announced amid profound silence, after everybodyhad coughed several times, and then the itinerant launched into hissermon. At first it was dry and argumentative, then burdened withdivisions and quotations, but in the end he closed the great book, andmade one of those fierce, feeling appeals--brimming with promises ofgrace and threatenings of hell--in words so homely that all felt themtrue, while the wild, interpolated cries of the believers thrilled andterrified the young. 

Little Paul heard with pale lips these grim, religious revelations, and his child's fancy conjured up awful pictures of worlds beyond thegrave. He wondered that the birds dared riot in the roof: the sky inthe gable window was full of cloudy marvels; and the snow beat underthe door, like a shroud blown out of one of the churchyard tombs. Theclosing prayer was said at last, the unconverted walked away, but fiveor six communicants remained to tell their experience in theclass-meeting. Paul's father gave him permission to go into the yardif he liked, and the boy got into the sulky, beneath the buffalo, andheard the sobs and hymns floating dismally on the wind. Grim shapesthronged his mind again, wherein the Bible stories were mingled withtales of ghosts and strange nursery fables. They chased each other inand out, generating others as they went, and then came drowsiness, andPaul slept. 

The class-meeting lasted an hour. It was very fervent anddemonstrative; and when it was over the kind old lady who had givenPaul the gingerbread asked the preacher home to dinner. She said thatroasted turkey, wild duck, and pumpkin-pie were waiting for them; andMr. Bates thought fondly what a treat it would be for Paul on hisbirthday. He was to preach again that afternoon, seven miles away, andso moved briskly toward the sulky. 

"The poor fellow is asleep, " said the preacher, seeing that thecurling head was not thrust up at his approach. "I wonder of what hedreams?" He drew near as he spoke. Old Bob was munching his cornsedately; the sulky had a saucy air; the robe nestled in the front, with the tiny stool peeping from a corner; but Paul was not there. Thepreacher called aloud; the horses raised their ears in reply, and thewheels crackled in the frozen crust. He called again; somesleigh-bells jingled merrily, and then the pines moaned. He lookedinto the other vehicles; he watched for the little foot-tracks in thesnow; he ran back to the old church, and searched beneath every pew. 

"Brethren--sisters, " he cried, "I cannot find my boy!" and his voice wastremulous. They gathered round him and some said that Paul had riddenaway with the worldly lads; others, that he was hiding mischievously. But one silent bystander looked into the drifts, and traced four greatboot-marks close to the sulky. He followed them across the road into thepines, and out into the road again, where they were lost in themultitude of impressions. "Brother, " he faltered, "God give youstrength! your boy has been stolen--kidnapped!"

The old man staggered, but the kind old lady caught him, and as heleaned upon her shoulder his face grew hard and blanched; then heremoved his hat, and his gray hair streamed over his gaunt features. "Let us pray!" he said. 

The preacher plodded to his next appointment as if he had still achild, and his sermon was as full and straightforward. He announcedhis bereavement from the pulpit when he had done, and the wholecountry was alarmed and excited. He bore the tidings to his desolatehome, and his stricken wife heard it with a stern resignation. Thenceforward he preached more of the burning pit, and less of thegolden city; his eyes were full of fierce light, and his visage grewlong and ghastly. He denied himself all joys and comforts; his prayersrang in the midnight through the gloomy parsonage; and he toiled inthe ministry as if reckless of life, and anxious to lose it in hisMaster's service. The end came at last; the world closed over the grimcouple, and they hoped through the grave's portal to find their child. 

When Paul awoke from his nap in the sulky, he found himself far in theforest, and moving swiftly forward. A huge negro, with bloodshot eyes, was transferring him to an evil-looking white man, and he struggled inthe latter's arms, crying for his papa. 

The negro drew a long knife from his breast and flourished it beforePaul's face. "Hold um jaw, or I kill um dead!" he muttered. "Got umgrave dug out yer. "

"O yer young yerlin!" said the other man, boxing Paul's ears, "yerdon't know yer own father, don't yer? I'm yer parpa!"

"You are not, " cried Paul. "Where are you taking me? Where is thechurch, and the sulky, and old Bob?"

The negro drove his knife so close to Paul's throat that the boyflinched and shrieked. 

"You dare to say fader to anybody, " yelled the negro, "and I cut yo'heart out! You dare to tell yer name, or yer fader's name, or wha yocome from, and I cut yo' eyes out! I cut yo' heart and eyes out--doyo' yar?"

The lad was cowed into cold, tearless terror; he shrank from theglittering edge, and trembled at the giant's murderous expression. Hethought they had brought him to this lonely spot to slay him, and heembraced silence as the only chance for his young life. He wondered ifthis were not one of his wild imaginings, or if it had not somethingto do with the punishment pronounced in the morning's fierce sermon. 

The two men came to a ruined cabin after awhile; it was buried in deepshade; the logs were worm-eaten, and the clay chimney had fallen down. They climbed by a creaking ladder into the loft and laid Paul upon aragged bed. A young negro woman and her child were there, and the boysaw that her foot was shackled to the floor, for the chain rattled asshe moved. They gave him a piece of beef and a corn-cake, andstripping him of his tidy clothes, dressed him in the coarse bluedrilling worn by slaves. The two men drank frequently from the samebottle, talking in low tones, and after a time both of them lay downand slept. The woman dandled her child to and fro, for it moanedpainfully, and the pines without made a deep dirge. No birds trilledor screamed in this desert place, but a roaring as of loud waters wasborne now and then on the twilight; it was the bay close below them, making thunder upon the beach. 

When Paul woke from his second sleep he was on the deck of a vessel. The shore lay beneath him, and the waves heaved behind. It was night;the snow-flakes still filtered through the profound darkness, and thewind whistled in the rigging. A red lantern moved along the beach;some voices were heard speaking together, and one of them said:"Don't be afraid of the boy; I have sold lots paler than him. Lick himsmartly if he gammons, and he'll tell no tales. "

Then they lifted the anchor aboard; the tide floated off the sloop;they were soon scudding before the wind under a freezing starlight. Two weary days passed over Paul, of travel by land and water. Theycame to the city of Richmond at last, and marched him with five otherunfortunates to the common slave-pen. It was situated in a squalidsuburb, surrounded by a high spiked wall, and entered by an officefrom which a watchman could observe the interior through two grateddoors. The pen consisted of a paved area open to the sky, except onone side, where it was protected by a shelving roof, and of a jail orden. The latter was walled up in a corner, but its inmates could lookout upon the area through a window in the door, and their savagefeatures revealed at the bars so terrified Paul that he retreated tothe opposite corner, afraid to look towards them. Now and then theyhowled and blasphemed; for two were delirious from drunkenness and onewas desperate from rage, and as they moved like tigers to and fro, their irons clanked behind them, dragging on the stone floor. A numberof women were huddled together beneath the roof, some as fair as Paul, others as black as ebony. Some had babes at their breasts, others hadno regard for their offspring, but sat stolidly apart while theirchildren cried for nourishment. In the open place a bevy of thecoarser inmates were holding a rude dance, a large gray-haired manpatted time or "juber" with his feet and hands, calling the figureshuskily aloud; while the women, with bright turbans tied around theirheads, grinned and screamed with glee as they followed the measurewith their large, heavy shoes. 

Their efforts were directed not so much to grace as to strength, forsome kept up the dance for a whole hour, divesting themselves ofparcels of clothing as they proceeded, and breathing hard as if wearyto exhaustion. The men applauded vociferously, coupling the names ofthe performers with wild ejaculations, but subsiding when the keeperappeared at the door occasionally to command less noise. Remote fromthe bacchanals crouched a serious group of negroes, who sang religiousmelodies, quite oblivious of their wild associates; and in stillanother quarter a humorous fellow was enlivening his constituents withodd sayings and stories. Paul's heart sank within him as he lookedupon these scenes. A sense of his degradation rushed over his youngmind, and he threw himself upon the stones with his head in his hands, and wept hot tears of bitterness. Henceforth he should be a creature, a thing, a slave! He must know no ambition but indolence, no bliss butignorance, no rest but sleep, no hope but death! Long leagues mustinterpose between himself and his home; he should never kiss hismother again, or kneel with his father in the holiness of prayer. Therecollections of his childhood would be crushed out by agonizingexperiences of bondage; he would forget his name and the face of hisfriends, and at last preserve only the horrible consciousness that hewas the chattel of his master!

The uproar continued far into the night; one poor creature wasdelivered of a child in the hazy light of the morning. Paul was tooyoung to think much of the matter, for his own sorrows engrossed him;but he often recurred, in his subsequent career, to the romance ofthat bondwoman, and the soul which first felt the breath of life inthe precincts of the slave shamble. What a childhood must it have hadto look back upon--cradled in disgrace, sung to sleep with the simplemelodies of grief, bred for no high purposes, but with the onedistinct and dreadful idea of gain--to be filched from that duskybosom when its little limbs had first essayed motion, that its feeblelips might lisp the accents of servility. Days and weeks passed overPaul, but he found no opportunity to tell his story. They kept himpurposely that he might forget it, or feel the hopelessness ofrelating it. Other wretches came and went, till there remained none ofthe original inmates of his prison, and he learned to mingle with hiscoarse companions, joining sometimes in their gayety, and the highwalls stood forever between his dreams and the sky till the sombreshadows were printed upon his heart. 

The boy's turn came at length. He climbed the auction block before thegaping multitude, and leaped to show his suppleness. They were pleasedwith his still serious manner, the paleness of his skin, histhoughtful eyes, and the shining ringlets of his hair. Bids werebandied briskly upon him, and the auctioneer rattled glibly of therare lot to be sold. 

"Who owns the boy?" cried a bystander. 

"Colonel James Purnell, of the Eastern shore, " answered theauctioneer. "His mother is a likely piece that will be in the marketpresently. "

Tears came to Paul's eyes, but he held down the great sob that startedto his throat, and called lustily: "It is a wicked story! My father iswhite, and my mother is white! I am not a slave, and they have stolenme!"

A loud, long laugh broke from the crowd, and the trader cracked amerry joke, which helped the pleasantry. 

"We may call that a 'white lie, '" he said; "but it is a peart lad, andthe air with which he told it is worth a cool hundred! Going at fourhundred dollars--four hundred, " etc. 

The bidding recommenced. The article rose in esteem, and Paul waspushed from the block into the arms of a tall, angular person, who ledhim into the city. That afternoon he was placed in a railway carriage, and on the third night he was quartered in Mobile, at the dwelling ofhis purchaser. The tall person proved to be the agent of a rich oldlady--a childless widow--who required a handsome, active lad, to waitupon her person, and make a good appearance in the drawing-room. 

She had many servants; but Paul was not compelled to associate withthem, and his duties were light, though menial. When his mistress wentout to walk, he must carry her spaniel in his arms. He must standbehind her at dinner, wielding a fly-brush of peacock's feathers. Hemust run errands, and be equally ready to serve her whims and satisfyher wants. She was not harsh, but very petulant; and had Paul beenhasty or high-tempered, his lot might have been a bitter one. On thecontrary, he was quiet, docile, and bashful, and he pleased hermarvellously. If he sometimes wept for the happy past, or felt achild's strong yearning for something to love, he hid his grief fromthose about him, and sought that consolation which the world cannottake away in the simple prayers he had conned from his mother. He wasa slave, but not a negro. His pleasures were not theirs, for he hadquick intelligence, and he shrank from their loud, lewd glee. Theirblood had thickened through generations of bondage, and trained in theharness of beasts, they had become creatures of draught. His hadrippled bright and brisk through generations of freedom, and a yearcould not drag him to their level. He had learned to read and write, and it was his habit to stand at the window in his leisure moments, adding to his information from some pleasant book; but his mistresssupposed that he was looking at the pictures merely, till one day, entering the dining-room softly, she heard him reading aloud. He had asweet, boy's voice, which somewhat pacified the anger she felt at suchpresumption in a slave; and though at first rebuking him, shereconsidered the matter during the evening, and bade him read to herfrom a new novel. Henceforward Paul gained favor, and his mistressfound it convenient to employ him as an amanuensis. She released himfrom menial duties, and gave him neat attire, and it was wonderful howwell these accessories became him. He was unassuming, as before, submitting with patience to his lot; and at length he becameindispensable to Mrs. Everett. Her attachment to books of fictionamounted to dissipation, and the part that he bore in their perusalfilled his warm imagination till his fancies were brighter thanromance--they became poetry. The one great grief of his life touchedhis whole face with a pensive melancholy, but he forebore to tell themhis true history again, preferring to wait for some golden moment whenhe might be believed and emancipated. 

From the beginning Mrs. Everett's agent disliked him. Wait was aNorthern adventurer, cool, courageous, and ambitious, who had settledin the South with the resolution of becoming rich, and he had pursuedhis purpose with steady inflexibility. He was not a bad man, but abitter one, and Paul had in some sort divided Mrs. Everett's esteemfrom him. Previously he had been her sole and undisputed adviser, andas she was readily influenced, he hoped, in course of time, to beacceptable as her second husband. He was young and manly, and she wasgiddy and middle-aged. Her relatives held him in contempt, but he hadproved his courage, and they did not care to cross him. But with thecoming of Paul he had lost somewhat of her regard, and he had laid itto the boy's charge. Paul read his calm purpose in his keen eyes, andhe shuddered at the thought of some day falling into his relentlesshands. He labored to conciliate his enemy, but with little effect, until one afternoon, Wait told him to obtain permission from Mrs. Everett and come to the office. He dictated some ambiguous letters toPaul, and gave him many papers to burn, meanwhile inspecting a pair oflong pistols which he took from a portmanteau. It was late in theafternoon when he had done, and then he bade Paul take the case ofpistols, slip quietly into the street, and walk straight on till hewas overtaken. He obeyed, not without suspicion, and when he reachedthe city limits found the agent, to his great surprise, seated in acarriage. Two other persons attended him, and one, who was bald andwore glasses, had a case of surgical instruments lying at his feet. Paul climbed to the driver's box, and they dashed along by thewater-side, meeting a second carriage on their way. The last rays ofsunset were streaming over the low landscape when both carriagesstopped, their occupants dismounted, and Wait came to the front andreached up his hand to Paul. 

"Good-by, boy, " he said in a tone of unwonted tenderness; "remain herea moment and you will see me again!"

They filed along a dyke separating two swamps, and turning down to thebeach, were hidden behind a line of cypress trees. For a few momentsPaul only heard the roar of the surf, the noise of the distant town, and the short breathing of the sedate negro beside him. Then therewere shouts, as of a person counting rapidly, and two reports so closethat one seemed the echo of the other. A few minutes afterward theagent appeared, leaning upon the arms of his attendants. He wasdivested of coat and vest, and as he came nearer, bareheaded, Paul sawthat his face was colorless and working as from deadly pain. His shirtwas perforated close to the collar, and the blood flowing beneath hadstained it to his waist, and dripped in a runnel from his boots. Hefainted when he had taken his seat; and as the carriage rolled away, Paul looked back toward the duelling-ground, and beheld two menbearing upon their shoulders a stiff, straight burden, wrapped in acloak. 

The second carriage passed him, driven swiftly, and it seemed to emita chill draught upon Paul like the damp wind from a tomb; it was thepresence of death, at whose very mention we grow cold. 

Wait had vindicated his courage, but at the expense of his life. Helingered on in agony many days; and Paul so pitied him that he stoleinto his darkened chamber and begged to do him kindnesses. The grimman lay implacable, waiting for death; but one night as he writhedwith the dew upon his forehead, Paul heard him mutter, "My God! mymother!"

The boy remembered a quaint text of Scripture: "Save me, O God! forthe waters have come in unto my soul;" and he repeated it in thestrong man's ear. "Go on, " cried Wait, rising upon his elbow; "I haveheard that before: tell me the rest. "

"I have the good book here, " replied Paul. "I am sure it will bepleasant to you, sir, if you will let me read. "

"Do so, boy; I used to know it well. An old friend taught thosestrange words to me, but I have forgotten them now. "

Paul read some soothing and beautiful Psalms, which took hiscompanion's mind back to his native mountains, and the white spire ofthe village church where he had worshipped with his mother. The hardlines melted in his face as he listened, but Paul fell upon a bitterverse, and the agent's conscience began to trouble him. He could notlook into the boy's eyes, for they seemed to rebuke him, and at lasthe commanded Paul to stop. 

It was midnight. They heard the great clock in the hall strike twelve, and all the household slumbered. 

"Go to your mistress's room, " said Wait; "tell her that I must see her_now_--she must come at once. The morning may never come to me. Go;God bless you!"

He called Paul back when he had got to the door, and addedfalteringly:

"My boy, do you say your prayers?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Would you mind thinking of me when you say them to-night?"

"I do so every night, sir. "

"Good-night!"

Paul heard the agent sobbing as he stole away; but when he knocked atMrs. Everett's door she answered petulantly, and at first she refusedto rise. She had little self-denial; it would pain her to enter adying chamber; and she would have left Wait to perish, had not somestrange passage from the romance entered her head of dead folk, withsecrets on their minds, haunting the living. It would be very terribleto be haunted, and the old woman was frightened into obedience. Whenshe returned her mind was disquieted, and she made Paul stay in herroom to compose her with cheerful talk. Finally she fell asleep, andhe hastened to the agent's chamber. It was very dark within, and hewaited a moment that the other might recognize him. Wait seemed to bein deep slumber, though Paul could not hear him breathe; but as thelad ventured to place his head upon the quilt, it encountered a handso cold and hard that it seemed to be marble. Paul knew that he needno longer remember his enemy in his prayers. 

What transpired between his mistress and her agent at this dyinginterview Paul could not surmise, but he believed that it concernedhimself. He perceived that Mrs. Everett treated him more consideratelyafterward; and many times, as he looked up from a long silence, hefound her regarding him inquisitively. She asked him strange questionsonce, bearing upon his early life, and he was almost encouraged toreveal the secret of his birth; but she seemed to divine his purpose, and changed the theme. Something troubled her, he knew; and when heapplied himself to conciliate and cheer her, at those moments shesuffered most. Had she loved the stern, ambitious man whose closedchamber still chilled her mansion? Was it because she was childless, and travelling graveward? Or did she cherish a mother's feeling forPaul, and wish that he was of her race, and worthy to be her son?Toward each of these theories he inclined, favoring the last, andfinally he concluded that she did not love, but feared him. He hadgrown tall and manly. An individual beauty, rather of mind than offace, developed in him, and his mistress had been prodigal of favors, so that his dress and ornaments corresponded with his person. Hemight have ruled, rather than served in her dwelling; but content withthe recognition of his equality, he maintained the same modest guise, and his mistress felt an uneasy pride in his promotion. One day hefound her weeping, and when he spoke she answered bitterly:

"Paul, you have ceased to love me; you are ungrateful; you wish to befree--you would leave me!"

He responded pleasantly--for he had become familiar with suchmoods--that he had found a new romance which he would read. It was nota long story, but a thrilling one, and based upon the simple narrativeof Joseph in bondage. The outline was true, the details were fabulous, and the old lady marvelled that a theme so trite could be so wellembellished. He read far into the night, and she bade him leave thebook upon her table, that she might peruse it again. 

"It is manuscript, " he said, "and this is the only copy. "

"Why, Paul, " she said, "how came you by it?"

"I wrote it myself. "

Paul was indeed the author, having filled in the sorrows of his herofrom his own experiences. Mrs. Everett was loud in its praises; shewas sure that it indicated genius, and she lay awake that nightmeditating an act of charity and of justice. She would make a free manof Paul, and he should find in far lands that equality which he couldnot obtain in his own. They would journey together. He should havemeans and advantages, and become her protégé and heir. But the strongself-love defeated this resolve. If Paul were not bound to her by law, he might forsake her, and she could not bear to lose him, for he hadbecome a part of her heart; but when she broached the matter, Paulgave his parole never to leave her without consent. 

He was still a slave, with the taint of a trampled race in his blood, and he said nothing to Mrs. Everett of his origin. They crossed theseas; they dwelt in pleasant places, beneath soft skies; and Paul grewin knowledge. But his patron was still harassed by some deep remorse. She hurried him from city to city like the fabled apostate, and atlength fell sick in London, on the eve of their return to America. Paul gleaned from her ravings in delirium the cause of her unrest. Wait had made known to her on the night of his decease the secret ofthe young man's origin, and had conjured her to do justice to the lad. Her self-love had deterred her in consummating this duty, andconscience had therefore tortured her. She was enabled to reach NewYork, where she left the preacher's son the bulk of her property, andreceived his gratitude and forgiveness before she died. 

Paul was free--haunted no longer by premonitions of future suffering;and his first impulse was to return to the Eastern shore and discoverhis desolate parents. His recollections of them were imperfect. Hepreserved many trifling circumstances, though more important eventswere forgotten; but as he made his way to the old village his heartbeat high. There were the negro quarters, the cornfields, the twistingfences, and, at last, the shady stone parsonage--recollections theyseemed of objects beheld in a foggy dream. They directed him to theMethodist Church--a prim, square structure in the centre of thevillage--a tavern on one side, a court-house and market on the other;and when the sexton threw open a window, the bleared light fell upon amarble slab set in the wall:

 "Near this spot lie the remains of REV. TITUS BATES, for two years Pastor of this Congregation, and of PEGGY, his Wife. 'They have ceased from their labors, and their works do follow them. '"

Paul's hopes fell. He walked through the village friendless, and, impelled by his swift-coming fancies, strolled far into the suburbs. A crowd was collected round a squalid negro cabin, and, less byinterest than by instinct, he bent his steps toward it. 

"What is the matter, friend?" he asked of a bystander. 

"The boys hez scented kidnappers to this shanty, " answered the man;"and by doggy! they going to trap 'em!"

The mob seemed to be fearfully incensed as Paul pushed close to thescene. There were said to be two of the man-stealers, both of whom hadbeen very daring and successful. He heard their names called as PeterGettis and Dave Goule, and the opinion was expressed that thefirst-named would not yield without a desperate struggle. The mob washot and clamorous, and while a selected committee entered the den tosearch it, the rest brandished clubs and knives, and yelled forjustice and blood. Word came at length that the kidnappers wereconcealed beneath the floor of the cabin; and at the hint, a score ofstalwart fellows began to pull up the planks, while their associatesformed a wide circle around, prepared to prevent escape. 

Finally, the cry arose: "Here they air! This is them! Drag 'em out!Whoo-oop!"

The men within the cabin rushed through the doors and windows as ifpursued, and a stalwart negro, with bloodshot eyes, almost naked, andflourishing a huge knife, staggered to the threshold, and glaredfiercely round him. 

The circle stood firm; some were clubbing their cudgels, otherslifting their blades, and here and there along the line rang out theclick of a pistol. 

"Come, Pete, " cried one of the ringleaders; "you're treed, Pete! Don'tbe a fool, but give yourself in. "

The negro gnashed his teeth, and his wild eyes glared like coals offire. 

"Do you give me faih-play?" he bellowed, extending the knife. 

"Yes, Pete, yes, " answered the multitude. 

"Then look heah, " answered the wretch, drawing his knife across histhroat. He staggered into the air like an ox, cursing as he came. Theyparted to avoid him, and as he reached a fence, a few rods from thecabin, he leaned upon it, and swaying to and fro, raised his horribleeyes to the sky. 

Paul recognized his ancient captor with a thrill and a silent prayer. Vengeance had come in His own good time, and Paul felt no bitternesstoward the poor fellow, but prayed forgiveness for his slipping soul. 

The second offender burrowed so remotely that the mob could not draghim from his covert. They struck at him with knives, and hired dogs tocreep beneath the logs and rend him, but in vain. At length one of theringleaders obtained a torch, and the cabin was fired in severalplaces. The flames spouted into the night, bursting from the smallwindows, and the roof fell in with a crash, scattering ashes andred-hot coals. They could hear the shriek of the victim now, and hewas seen dancing among the fire-brands, for the blaze encircled himlike an impassable wall. He made a desperate rush at length tooverleap the fire, and his figure, magnified by the red light, lookedgigantic as he sprang high in the air. A dozen pistols clatteredtogether--the man fell heavily forward, tossing up his scorched hands, and the frizzing, cracking timbers closed darkly above him to thethunder of his executioners' huzzas. 

Paul did not reveal himself. He left the village stealthily, andjourneyed northward. Years afterwards a name was added to the tabletin the old church:

 "Here lie also the Remains of the REV. PAUL BATES. 'He went about doing good. '"

THE JUDGE'S LAST TUNE. 

 The Judge took down his fiddle, And put his feet on the stove, And heaved a sigh from his middle That might have been fat, or love; He leaned his head on the mantel, And bent his ear to the strings, And the tender chords awakened The echoes of many things. 

 The Bar had enjoyed the measure, The Bench and Senate had been Amused at the simple pleasure He drew from his violin; But weary of power and duty, He had laid them down with a sigh, Exhausted of life the beauty, And he fiddled he knew not why. 

 In the days when passion budded, And she in the churchyard lain Came over his books as he studied With an exquisite pang of pain, He played to his sons their mother's Old favorites ere she wed; Those tunes, like hundreds of others, Were requiems of the dead. 

 They lay in the kirk's inclosure: All three, in the shadows dim, In a cenotaph's cynosure That waited for only him, Who sat with his fiddle tuning On the spot where his fame was won, On the empty world communing, Without a wife or a son. 

 And he drew his bow so plaintive And loud, like a human cry, That the light of the shutter darkened From somebody passing by. A young man peeped at the pensive Great man, so familiar known; His features, if inoffensive, Were like to the judge's own. 

 "Come in, " cried the politician-- "Come not, " his soul would have said-- "Thou bringest to me a vision Of a sin ere thy mother wed, When I, wild boy from college, Her humble desert o'ercame, And we hid the guilty knowledge Beneath thy father's name. "

 The youth delayed no longer, His sense of music strong, Nor knew of his mother's wronger, Nor that she had known a wrong; Deep in the grave the secret Her husband might never guess. He stood before his father With a loyal gentleness. 

 "What tune, fair boy, desirest My old friend's worthy son?-- Say but what thou requirest, And for father's sake 'tis done. " "Oh! Judge, our State's defender, Whose life has all been power, Play me the tune most tender, When thou felt thy greatest hour!"

 The old man thought a minute, Irresolutely stirred, As if his fiddle's humor Changed like a mocking-bird; Then, as his tears came raining Upon the plaintive chords, He played the invitation To the sinner, of his Lord's. 

 "Come, poor and needy sinners, And weak and sick, and sore, The patient Jesus lingers To draw you through the door. " It was a tune remembered From old revival nights, In crowded country churches, Where dimly blew the lights. 

 And boys grew superstitious To hear the mourners wail. The great man, self-degraded, So sighed his contrite tale In notes that failed for sobbing, To feel Heaven's sentence well, That took away his Isaac And blessed the Ishmael. 

 * * * * *

 Low in the tomb of glory The old man's ashes lie-- Unuttered this my story, Unwritten to human eye; And the young man, blessed and blessing, Walks over the shady town, The evil passions repressing, And his head bent humbly down. 

 Perhaps he marvels why treasure Of the judge to his credit is set, And an old revival measure Should have been the statesman's pet. But he hears the invitation, And sees the streaming eyes Of the old man lost to the nation, And forgiven beyond the skies. 

DOMINION OVER THE FISH. 

"A gift-book for Christmas. A poem preferred. Limited text, andprofuse illustration. " What should it be?

As if by invocation, the Ancient Mariner rose before me! He stood inthe doorway of my office, and held me with his glittering eye. Helifted his skinny hand to his long gray beard, and then gravely tippedhis oiled hat. "The reader for Spry, Stromboli, and Smith?"

I had that honor, and handed him a chair. He sat in it after themanner of a flounder, concentrated his eye upon me like a star-fish, and produced a roll of manuscript with the fluttering claws of alobster. Then he stirred and squirmed, like an elderly eel, lookingdistrustfully into the vestibule. I closed the door and begged to beinformed of his business. 

"I have a great work for you, " he said mysteriously, proffering hismanuscript. As he leaned over to do this, I saw a shining something onthe top of his head, but the thick white hair concealed it when heresumed his place. The manuscript smelled as if it had containedmackerel, and looked as if it had come from the bottom of the sea. Ifound, curiously enough, some fish-scales adhering to it, and itstitle very oddly confirmed these testimonies--"Five Years in the GreatDeep. "

I glanced at the author with some surprise. He was the quaintest ofmariners, and if I had met him leagues under the sea, I should havethought him in his proper element. His locks were like dry sea-weed;his cheeks were so swollen that they might have contained gills, butthis was probably tobacco. When he wiped his nose with a handkerchieflike a scoop-net, some shells and pebbles fell from his pocket, andhis ears flapped like a pair of ventrals. I remarked as he pursued thelost articles over the floor, that he wore a microscope strapped in aleathern case, and a geological hammer belted to his side. He walkedas if habituated to swimming, and when he shrugged his shoulders Iexpected to see a dorsal fin burst out of the back of his jacket. Hemight have been sixty years of age, but looked much older, and behavedlike a well-born person, though, superficially judged, he might havelived in Billingsgate. 

"A good title for a fiction, " I said encouragingly. 

"I never penned a line of fiction in my life, " exclaimed my visitorsternly. 

Referring to the copy again, I saw that it purported to be the work of"Rudentia Jones, Fellow of the Palæontologic Society, Entomologist tothe Institute for Harmonizing the Universes, and Ruler of SubaqueousCreation, excepting the Finny Mammalia. "

"Ah! I see, " said I; "a capital title for a satire!"

"Life is too grave, and science too sacred, " replied my visitor, "forthe indulgence of idle banterings. The work is mine; I am its hero;and it is all true. " He wore so earnest a face, and looked so directlyand intelligently at me, that I forebore to smile. "I have travelledin strange countries, " he said; "Nature has been bountiful in herrevelations to me, indeed; my experiences have been so individual, that I sometimes discredit them myself. I do not complain that othersridicule them. "

He spoke in the manner of one devoted to his species; and an easydignity, which some trace to high birth and the consciousness ofdominion, became him very naturally. The eldest of the admirals, orold Neptune himself, could not have seemed more kingly; but once ortwice he started at a noise from the publishing-house, as if longingto get back to his legitimate brine. I told him to leave themanuscript in my hands for a fortnight, that I might form an opinionas to its claims for publication. 

"No!" he said quickly. "It is not a girl's romance, or a boy's poem, or the strollings of a man-errant: it is of such rare value that goldcannot purchase it; it is so priceless that I cannot own it myself; itis like the air, or the water, or the light, or the magnet--theproperty of all the peoples. It must not leave my sight. I must readit to you now!"

He literally held me with his eye. He stood erect dilating, until heseemed to reach the height of a mainmast, as long and lank and brownas the subject of the veritable _rime_; and his ears, contracted, flapped like the pectorals of a flying-fish. It was uncertain whetherhe was going to fly or swim, or seize and shake me. I believed him tobe either a lunatic or an apparition; but when the frenzy of themoment was over, he became a very harmless, kindly, and grave oldgentleman, who begged my pardon for transgressing decorum in theenthusiasm for his "great work. " He still smelled abominably of fish, but I could not take it into my heart to be harsh with this mostpertinacious of authors. 

I had been but a short time in the service of Spry, Stromboli & Smith, and my nerves had not yet been exercised by sensitive and eccentricwriters. I had led a vagabond career myself, and had frequent reason, in my incipient literary days, to be grieved with publishers'"readers;" and when promoted to the same exalted place, I resolved tobe charitable, careful, and obliging--to do as I would be done by--tocrush no delicate Keats, to enrage no Johnson, by slight, prejudice, or deprecation. But to suffer the infliction of a crack-brained oldnaturalist, repeating an interminable manuscript in my own office, went beyond my best resolve! Still there was little to do. It would bea paltry task to select a poem for illustration, and had not thissame Ancient Mariner suggested an admirable one?

"I can grant your request in part, Mr. Jones, " I said at length; "youmay read one hour; and if at the end of that period I do not thinkfavorably of your article, you must promise to read no further. "

The old gentleman gave his parole at once, took a pair of great greenspectacles from a sea-grass case, and blowing his nose again, rainedpebbles and marine shells over the whole office. When he took themanuscript from my hand, I saw the shining something distinctly on thetop of his head; and when he sat back to read, he was a perfect copyof a dry old king-fish, looking through a pair of staring, glaring, green eyes. Without more ado, and in a rippling kind of voice, as ofthe rushing of deep water, the old naturalist read the followingintroduction to a most wonderful manuscript:

"At a very early period of my life I manifested an inclination for thestudy of the sciences. In my eighteenth year I submitted a theory ofinter-stellar telegraphing to the Gymnotian Academy. It was my purposeto have placed the papers simultaneously before the scientific bodiesof each of the seven planets in our constellation, but having nocapital, the design failed, though I was complimented thereupon by the'Institute for Harmonizing the Universes, ' and elected a contributingmember of that society. For several years I petitioned annually foroutfit and transportation to Scilly Islands, [2] on the EclipticCircle, where I purposed to develop my scheme of transferring aportion of our globe to the system of Orion. In this I was opposed bythe Palæontologic Society, on the ground that some valuable fossilswere presumed to be there; and Parliament, opining that my protestswere subversive of the law of gravity, rejected them. A number ofprojects, each of which, I firmly believe, would have benefited mykind, and facilitated correspondence between all created beings, terminated unfortunately, and my relatives at length placed it out ofmy power to continue these philanthropic exertions. For some years Iwas denied the ear of man, and in the interval my hair grew gray andmy body a trifle faint. But the lofty impulses of youth survived. Mymind could not be imprisoned, and I held communication with the starsthrough the grating of my chamber in the still midnight. At last therelief came. I had long prayed for it! My deliverer was Sirius, thebrightest of the celestial intelligences. He shone upon my window barswith an intense concentrated light, and they reddened and meltedbefore daybreak. I fled to Glasgow in the month of April, 184-, andobtained a captain's clerkship on the whaler Crimson Dragon. 

[Footnote 2: This group of Scilly Islands is in the South Pacific; notoff Land's End. ]

"We took in water at the Shetland Islands, and sailing north-westward, skirted the coast of Greenland, whence, cruising in a southerlydirection, we lay off Labrador, and waited for our prey. Our crew wasfifty men, all told. Our captain had been a whaler thirty-eight years, and had killed five hundred and six animals or eight more than therenowned Scoresby. We carried seven light-boats for actual service, and twenty-seven thousand feet, or more than five miles, of rope. Three men kept watch, day and night, in the 'crow's-nest, ' at themaintop; but though we beat along the whole coast, through Davis'Strait, and among the mighty icebergs of Baffin's Bay, we saw nocetaceous creatures, save twice some floundering porpoises, and thricea solitary grampus. With these beings I endeavored to opencommunication, but they made no intelligible responses. The stars alsoof this latitude failed to comprehend my signals, from which Iconcluded that they were less intelligent than those of more temperateskies. But with the animalcules of the sea I obtained most gratifyingrelations. A series of experiments with the _infusoria_ satisfied methat they were not loath to an exchange of information, and finallythey followed the ship by myriads, so that all the waves were full offire, which the sailors remarked; and fearful of being observed, Iceased my experiments for a time. 

"On the evening of the fifth Saturday of our cruise, I waited till thechanging of the watch; then I stole noiselessly upon deck, andsecreted myself behind a life-boat which hung at the side of thevessel. The helmsman was nodding silently upon his tiller; two seamensat motionless upon the bow, and the lookout party in the crow's-nesttalked mutteringly of our ill-luck as they scanned the horizon. TheNorthern Lights were pulsing like some great radiating heart, and thesea was alternately flame and shadow. The headlands of Labrador lay tothe south--bare, boundless, precipitous; and to the east a glitteringiceberg floated slowly towards us, like a palace of gold and emerald. The ship rolled calmly upon the long swells, the ripples plashing inlow lulling monotone, and her hull and spars were reflected darklybeneath me. I drew a long gray hair from my temple, and subjected itto a gentle friction between my palm and finger; then I pricked mywrist, and leaning forward, placed it against my heart: fiveblood-drops--symbols of the five types of organized creation--fellsimmering into the depths, and the scintillant hair, floating afterthem, described a true spiral. In an instant the Aurora grew bright toblindness; there was a rush of infinite stars, and a host of beautifulbeings fluttered to the surface of the sea, within the shadow of theship! A gull darted along the water, and in the far distance I heardthe bellow of the huge Greenland whale. All animate nature hadacknowledged my message; I had touched the nerve of the universes!

"'Blow me if there warn't a whale, Ben!' said one of the men in themaintop. 

"'My eyes! but it wor like it, ' replied the other. 

"Fearful of being remarked, I slipped below, a second timedisappointed, but with such exultant feelings that I tried in vain tosleep. The intimacy of species and their common language, lost in thedegeneracy of the first human beings, were about to be restored by me. Confusion had overcome the counsels of the countless things which hadtalked and dwelt together in the past, but science was about to winback from sin the great secret of communication. I should translatethe scream of eagles and the cooing of doves; I should hear the gossipof my household kittens, and speak familiarly with the mightyhippopotami. The serpent should teach me his traditions, and themultitude of mollusks should develop the mysteries of their sluggishvitality; nay, the plurality of worlds should be demonstrated, andwith the combined intelligences of all the systems, we should wrestthe mysteries of life, matter, and eternity from their Divinerepository!

"I lay awake all night revelling in these anticipations, and at dawnwas quite weak of body. It was now the Sabbath, and at nine o'clockall hands were summoned to the poop-deck for the customary worship. Ilay upon a coil of rope, when the mate commenced to read the service, and a deep drowsiness came over me. The lesson was a part of the firstchapter of Genesis--the weird history of creation. He had reached thetwenty-eighth verse when I dropped asleep. It could have been only aninstant's forgetfulness, for when I awoke he had not finished thereading of the same verse, but in that instant a vision had passedbefore me. 

"A female of marvellous beauty rose from the water. I had seen thelong green locks, the eyes of azure, and the glossy neck--it wasTethys, the queen of the sea-nymphs. She was begotten of humidity inthe remote beginning, and seemed even now cloudy and incorporeal. Euripius, the divinity of whirlpools, lay in the waves at her feet, projecting a spectrum of spray, in an arch, above her head. 

"'Man, ' she said, or rather rippled, for it was like the even voice ofwaters, 'your love of nature, the boundlessness of your kindness, thedaring of your speculation, the profoundness of your introspection, have made you one of us. Awake, and hear our decree!'

"She melted into vapor, and disappeared. I opened my eyes. The crewwere grouped about the deck, the mate was reading the lesson, thewords which I heard were: 'Have dominion over the fish!'

"'A fall! a fall!' was shouted from the maintop. The men on watch haddiscovered the long-expected prey. 

"'Man the boats!' cried the captain; 'all hands be spry! Where away, look out?'

"'Sou'-west!' answered the crow's-nest, 'about two leagues. There mustbe hoceans of 'em! They 'eave like water-spouts, and, lor! how theylobtail!'

"The seven boats were arranged in curved shape, so as to form asemicircle around the animals; and the captain's, of which I took thehelm, formed the left tip of the crescent. We pulled steadily for ahalf-hour over a smooth sea, and came at length so close to ourvictims that we could count them. Truly it was 'a fall'! A few cubsplayed recklessly around the surface; but there was an enormous bull, whose bulk was much greater than that of the ship's hull, which cameonce in full view, dived vertically, and beat the water with histerrible tail, making such billows that a storm seemed to be raging. The other animals swam in the froth and foam thus developed, nowplunging to the far depths, now shooting their huge bodies into theair, and falling with a splash, as of the emptying of the ocean. Thescene was so exciting that even my wonderful discoveries passed out ofmind. Our oars dipped noiselessly; the crews were silent; theharpooners stood, each in the bow of his launch, with naked weaponsextended, waiting to strike. The first opportunity occurred to thelaunch on our extreme right. At the distance of twenty yards theexecutioner hurled his javelin full into the back of the great bull; aroar ensued and a frightful leap. The other creatures repeated theagonized cry, and they swam southward with the velocity of a shipunder full sail. 

"'Now, lads, bend your oars!' shouted the captain through his trumpet. The entire length of rope unwound directly from the reel or 'bollard'of the first launch, and the line of a second boat was attachedforthwith; a third and a fourth were annexed, but the whale exhibitedno sign of exhaustion, and dragged his pursuers like the wind. A fifthand a sixth line spun out. The captain's cheek grew pale, and heopened his clasp-knife with a curse upon his lips. There remained theline of our boat alone: unless the monster stopped within ten minutes, we should lose every foot of the ship's cordage, and this last ropewould have to be severed. Tremulously a seaman attached it; it waswhirled out as if by a locomotive. The oars moved like light, but nohuman activity could approach that of our victim. He nearly swampedthe launch, and the friction of the bollard threatened to set itablaze. 

"'What devil of the deep is this?' said the captain, bending forwardwith his blade. The sailors ceased with hot faces, and stared aghast. I seemed to hear calling voices; I grew faint and blind. The bollardsnapped with a dead, dull sound; I was entangled in the stout twine, and tossed into the sea. Some oars were thrown overboard, that I mightbe buoyed up. Three of the launches were turned toward me, and theseamen called aloud that I should keep up courage. But the line pulledme downward; my heart ceased to beat; I beheld with indescribableterror the pale surface receding, and the dark shapes of the vesselsabove me were finally lost to view. I knew that at the firstinhalation the brine would fill my mouth and lungs; I held my breathhard, and tried to pray. Down, down, down into the blue depths--acycle of protracted years it seemed! My ears were stunned withstrange noises; my lips parted, and at length the sea rushed into mythroat; for an instant I seemed to strangle, but I did not perish. 

"The fluid was mysteriously expelled from me. I breathed as freely ofthe water as a moment before I had breathed of the air! A weight waslifted from my brain, which had before been crushing it, and mytemples grew suddenly cool. A spiracle had developed at the apex of mycranium, and I exuded water through a cavity or 'blow-hole' in the topof my head, like the cetacea around me!"

The naturalist here paused and ran his hand through his hair. Theshining something among his gray locks revealed itself as a plate ofsilver, circular in shape, covering what had evidently been an openingin the skull. He looked less like a man than ever, and when, consulting a glutinous old chronometer, like a jellyfish, he foundthat his hour was passing, he begged so earnestly to be allowed tofinish his "Introduction, " that I gave him leave. A boy coming in withcopy so frightened him, however, that I thought he was going to turnupon his stomach, and swim away through the window. 

"I became sensible directly of three organic changes: my heels clavetogether, my feet flattened, and my toes turned out, like a caudalfin; my integument grew thick and hard, and my blood thin and chill. But these conditions being novel to me, and my fears only equalled bymy wonder as yet, I was paralyzed, and continued to sink. I haddescended about one hundred fathoms, and was experiencing a strangeoppression, as of the forcing together of my bones, when I heard asonorous voice close below me say! 'If you go any deeper, you willsustain a pressure of twenty atmospheres, and may not get back atall. '"

I looked beneath, and to my horror a huge whale was coming upward withextended jaws. His half-human eyes were turned benignantly upon me;but he was evidently in pain, and from a point in his back, where abroken harpoon still remained, gouts of blood curdled upward, coloringthe water. His vocal power lay in his spiracle, and he said again:

"'I should have been asphyxiated in five minutes. '

"'Who is it that speaks?' I faltered. 'Leviathan, king of the sea, bemerciful!'

"'I am called _New England Tom_ by the creatures of the upperelement, ' answered the whale, 'although falsely thought to be of thefamily of the Spermaceti; but though my exploits have recommended meto my species, I am not equal to the high title you have given me. _That_ is possessed by you and our sovereign Jonah only!'

"The conviction rushed upon me that I had, indeed, 'dominion over thefish'!

"'I have suffered this wound for your majesty's sake, ' said the whaleagain; 'for I had been deputed to wait in this latitude for yourarrival, and convey you to our sovereign. But though I am now in thethird century of my age, I can survive a dozen such prickings, and ifI chose could shiver the Crimson Dragon with a blow of my tail, as in1804 I stove the Essex, and made driftwood of her spars. '

"In an instant I was seated within the mighty maw of this famousmonster. His jaw-bones were forty feet in length; the roof of hismouth was fifteen feet high, and formed of a spacious arch of'balleen, ' or whale-bone. His crescent-shaped tail, thirty-five feetfrom tip to tip, swept the depths twice or thrice; and when we emergedinto the air, the blood spouted from his pores, and he threw cataractsof water through his spiracle. I saw the Crimson Dragon some milesaway, but there were no traces of her boats. The crews of the launcheswere fathoms deep in the ocean!

"I passed the cape of Greenland, rounded the base of Mount Hecla, andwas escorted to the abode of the king of the cetacea by a multitude ofhis subjects. A submarine island, forty fathoms from the surface, hadbeen occupied three thousand years by this venerable person. He cameout to meet me upon the back of a mighty 'rorqual, ' and a body-guardof four hundred picked narwhals swam before him. Fifty white whalessurrounded their monarch, and a host of dolphins, grampuses, andporpoises brought up the rear. Banners of dyed seal-skin bore hisarms--three gourds, _argent_, upon a field _vert_; and with these werecarried as trophies the wrecks of ships, including the identicalshallop whence he was expelled on the voyage to Tarshish. But, marvellous beyond all, the 'great fish' (falsely so translated, sinceno cetaceous creature can be denominated a _fish_) into which he wasreceived still lived, and accompanied him. It was now the eldest ofthe species, but very sprightly, and burdened with dignities. TheSeer-King saluted gravely, and gave me a draught of spirits, distilledfrom the fronds of a rare sea-tangle. His long tenure in the deep hadobliterated much of the similitude to man, but his memory ofterrestrial matters was extraordinary. The weeds were wrapped abouthis head after the manner of a crown, and he carried a sceptre ofwalrus tusk. He told me that his original three days' experience underthe sea had so cooled his blood, that the suns of Nineveh parched him, and he had cried for cooling water. I informed him that Nineveh nolonger existed, at which he was gratified beyond measure; for his onlyknowledge of events happening on the earth had been derived from thewrecks which had sunk into his domain. I found that he was badlyinformed upon matters of science, and he heard my theories ofharmonizing the universes with impatience. In his days, he said, nosuch ideas were broached, and he was indifferent to the intellectualdevelopment of his subjects. 

"My visit was brief, for, though the palace of Jonah had a sepulchralgrandeur about it--a mighty cavern beneath the waves--yet theglittering stalactites which studded the roof, and the cold columns ofice supporting its halls, nearly froze me, and at length I made readyto depart. 

"An escort of 'thrashers, ' or grampuses, accompanied me. The Seer-Kingwould have detached a cohort of white whales, but the animosity of mytribes might have provoked combat. I left the cetacea with someforeboding. They were allied in some degree to man; they were capableof some human impressions; their blood was warm like mine; theybreathed with lungs; they had double hearts; and nourished kindnessfor their offspring. But I was now about to be delivered over to thecold, cruel, gluttonous tribes of the fish. The family of sharksreceived me. They could not be counted for multitude. The terrible_requiem_ of the storm--the cannibal white shark--welcomed me withopen jaws; the blue shark flung up his caudal for joy; the fox-sharklashed the sea; the northern shark glared through his purblind orbs;the hammer-head dilated his yellow irides; the purple dog-fish made alow purring huzza; and the spotted eyes of the monk-fish glistenedwith satisfaction. The hound-shark, the basking-shark, and theport-beagle were not less loyal; and these, the most perfectlyorganized of my cartilaginous tribes, handed me over to thedeep-swimming Norwegian 'sea-rat. ' Thus I kept steadily southward, thewater growing warmer hour by hour, now riding on the serrated snoutsof saw-fishes, now moving in the midst of battalions of sword-fish, now acknowledged by the great pike, now vaulting above the surface onthe backs of flying-fish, now clinging to the spines of sturgeons, nowpassing through illimitable shoals of cod, now borne by the swiftsea-salmon, now dazzled by the golden scales of the carp, now passingover miles of flat-fish, now hailed by monster conger-eels, nowswimming down files of leering hippocampuses, now received bycongregations of staid aldermanic lobsters. The torpedo telegraphed mycoming to the tribes before, and at last I reached my abode, on theline of the equator, in mid-Atlantic. 

"The magnitude and beauty of my court no mind can realize. A truncatedcone of granitic rock, whose base extended to the profoundest depthsof the sea--even to the region of perpetual fire--formed with itsupper plane a circular lagoon at the surface of the ocean. Geysers orvolcanoes of fresh water gurgled up through the centre of this palace, and vast submarine groves, intermixed with meadows, extended forleagues along its sides. My household consisted entirely of silver andgolden carp, but my guards were of the loyal and gentle, yetcourageous and powerful xiphias (sword-fish). These barred theunlicensed ingress of my subjects, and if the adventurous foot of manshould profane my lagoon, I could close its inlet and cover it withfloods. The dim aisles of the waters were full of wonderful lights:combinations of colors, unknown above, were here developed in gigantic_fuci_, around whose boles the scarlet tangle climbed, and parasitesof purple and emerald played upon their rinds. Some of these forestspointed upward toward the sun; some grew downward, deriving light andheat from the incandescent gulfs. My state apartments were built ofcoral, in wondrous architecture, and trumpet-weed clothed theirbattlements. Some cavernous recesses were lit with constellations ofshining zoophytes, and there were floors of pearl, studded withdiamonds. I could stroll through marvellous arch-ways, gatheringjewels at every step, or wander in my royal meadows, among the wrecksand spoils of hurricanes; or rising through the mellow depths, sitamong the palms of the lagoon, watching the white sails of ships orstudying the awfulness of the storm. 

"For a time I secluded myself, theorizing upon the policy of mygovernment. My dominions were vast and venerable; they comprehendedtwo thirds of the surface of the globe; no deluges had destroyed them, and they had been peopled ages before the coming of man. Life hereinhabited forms, vegetable and animal, to which the greatestterrestrials were puny. But the darkness which of old rested on theface of the deep, now shadowed its depths. There was no _mind_ here. These gigantic beings were shapes without souls. How should I reasonwith creatures who could not feel, whose heads could not know tillto-morrow that their members had been severed to-day--some of whom, ina single moment, passed their whole existences, and fulfilled all thefunctions of eating, drinking, and generating--who were not onlyincapable of thoughts, affections, and emotions, but who could notsee, smell, hear, taste, or touch? But such subjects are among theafflictions of all wise rulers, and I resolved to conclude uponnothing till I had visited every part of my dominions. 

"During three years of travel I classified the fishes anew, allprevious enumeration being paltry, and made the notes and querieswhich form the staple of my manuscript. I found fresh-water creaturesto which the sheat-fish would be a morsel, and hydras to which thefabled sea-serpent would be a worm. I ascended the rivers with thesalmon, and fathomed the motives of the climbing-perch. I heard thenarrative of a _siluris_ tossed out of a volcano, and talked with ahaddock which produced at a birth more young than there are men uponthe globe. I have noted the harlequin-angler, which lived three weeksin Amsterdam, hopping about on his fins like a toad; the sucking-fishwhich adhered to Marc Antony's galley and held it fast; thehorned-fish (_fil en dos_) which the savages discard from their netsin terror and prayer; and the sprats which rise with vapors into theclouds, and are rained back into the sea. I have collected thetraditions of many of these beings, and have translated some of theirballads. There is music under the ocean; but most of the fishes singwith their fins, beating the water to rude measures. Among thetraditions of all the tribes is that of a time when the waters werepeaceful and the fishes happy, when none were rapacious, when deathwas unknown, when no storms lashed the ripples into billows, and whenbeings of the upper air bathed at the surface, and the fishes renderedthem homage. But some foul deed of which the finny folk were guiltlessbrought confusion into the waters; the ocean covered all the globe, corpses sank into the depths and were devoured, nets were let downfrom above, strange fires were kindled beneath, and whirlpools, water-spouts, storms, and volcanoes began. 

"I devoted a fourth year to perfecting my system of organiccommunication, and made some advance toward developing life ininorganic matter. From this latter attainment it would be but a stepto _perpetuate_ life, and I should thus restore immortality to man. But the shark family having threatened to revolt, I left off myinvestigations for some months, and organized a military force, withwhich I massacred the malcontents till my subjects swam in blood. Returning victoriously at the head of my legions, a sad incidentoccurred. A ship was crossing our line of march, and I had anunaccountable curiosity to hear something of terrestrial affairs. Fivesawfish, at my bidding, staved in the ship's bottom, and she sankalmost instantly. The corpses of the drowned drifted slowly down, andas I passed among them, turning up the faces, I recognized in one thefeatures of my mother!

"After a season of remorse I continued my investigations, but a noveland unexpected discovery deranged my plans, and wrought a change in mydestiny. 

"The subtlest forms of matter, as commonly known, are theimponderables--light, heat, magnetism, and electricity. I hadconcluded that these were manifestations of some still subtler form, and that this was _life_, beyond which lay the ethereal elements(called _principles_) of mind and soul--soul being ultimate andeternal. To demonstrate this I resolved to descend as far as possibleinto the depths of the sea, and examine the beings which dwelt in theremotest darkness. The conical shape of my island allowed me todescend within its shelving interior, and yet sustain no greatatmospheric pressure. I selected a sturgeon, whose body was sopowerfully plated that he could not be crushed, and his long-pointedshape gave him great facility for penetrating dense waters. I attacheda phosphorescent light to his caudal, that I might not lose him in thegloom, and he preceded me along the sloping interior. We passed thefoundations of my court, bade adieu to the deep-swimming hydras, leftthe profoundest polypi behind, and came at length to uninhabitedregions, three thousand fathoms below the surface. My pioneer heresuffered great inconvenience, and only by the most vigorous effortswas able to progress at all. The blackness was literally tangible, andour lantern, at most, only 'darkness visible. ' By threat andpersuasion I forced him forward, hardly able to make headway myself. He swept the almost solid element with his powerful tail, depressedhis sharp snout, sucked a long breath, and we darted forwardsimultaneously. There was a cracking as of bones forced together, andmy cranium seemed to split. We shot out of the density into lighterwater, and the momentum carried us fifty fathoms beyond!

"We had passed out of the limit of solar attraction, and were beingdrawn toward the centre of the earth!

"Before, we had been descending; now, we were rising. The fluid grewrarer and warmer as we proceeded, the darkness more luminous, and atlast we became visible to each other, swimming in a ruby andtransparent liquid, unlike any aspect or part of our native domain. The fluid became so rare finally, that the sturgeon was unable to gofarther, kept down by his superior gravity. Some lights glimmeringabove us, and some mysterious sounds alarming him, he turned and fled. I was left alone. 

"I reached the surface of this peaceful sea. A scene lay before memore beautiful than any wonder of the deep. I knew that I was amongimmortals, and that this was 'Happy Archipelago'!

"The surface was calm. Some purple islets were sprinkled here andthere, and creatures marvellously fair were basking in the roseatewaters. They looked like angels half way out of heaven. Their faceswere of a silvery hue; their hairs shone on the stream like tremulousbeams of light; their eyes were of a tender azure, and their bosomsrose and fell as if they were all dreaming of blessedness. Somestrains of ravishing harmony that were floating among the islandsceased when I appeared, and I thought I heard the snapping of alute-string. All the spirits started at once. They werecrescent-shaped, and stood upon their nether tips. A star upon theirforeheads shone like a pure diamond. They saw me and vanished!

"All but one! She was the fairest of the spirits, and looked, thusfrightened, like the pale new moon. The violet veins faded from herlids, and her blue eyes were full of wonder. I felt as if, for thefirst time, a sinless being had looked upon me, and my heart grew soblack and heavy that I sank a little way. I feared to breathe, for shemight vanish. I wished to lie forever with her face shining upon me. What were science, and dominion, and the secret of man's immortalityto one pure glance like hers? In the agony of my soul I spoke:'Spirit! Immortal! Woman! O stay! Speak to me!'

"'Who are you? Whence do you come? You are not of us, nor of ourelement. '

"The voice was like a disembodied sound, coming from nothing, floatingin space eternally. 

"'I am a creature of a cursed race--ruler of a blighted domain--arealm filled with violence: it lies beneath you. '

"The pale face grew tender; the star on the forehead grew dim, like atearful eye. She pitied me. 

"'There are beings above us, ' she said, 'winged beings, that talk withus sometimes; but nothing below. Are _they_ sorrowful as you are? Aretheir brows all heavy with sadness like yours? Why are they unhappy?'

"I wept and moaned. 

"'They have not your pure eyes; they cannot hear your voice. They havesinned. '

"She glided toward me. I felt my gray hairs dropping one by one; myheavy heart grew light; my groans softened to sighs. 

"A shape came suddenly between us. 

"I knew the long green locks, and the glossy neck. It was Tethys whospoke. 'Man, ' she said, 'you were made one of us, not one of these. Goback to your domain, for you are mortal. Resume dominion over thefish, or, striving to win more, lose all!'

"I turned my face seaward bitterly. I looked back once; the blue eyeswere gleaming--oh, so tenderly!--and I could not go. I muttered anexecration at my bitter fate. Straightway the sky rocked, the searose, the pale star vanished. I had spoken a wicked word. 

"I was consigned to Euripius, the divinity of whirlpools. In vain Istruggled in his watery arms; the swift current bore me circling away, and finally whirled me with frightful velocity. My feet were shakenasunder, my integument softened, my brain reeled. I was passed fromeddy to eddy; I became drunken with emotion; I suffered all thetortures of the lost. A waterspout lifted me from the clutch of thesea, and deposited me upon the dry land, close to the home of myinfancy. 

"I have passed the weary hours of my penance in arranging the memoirswhich follow. Science has again wooed me with her allurements; thestars continue their correspondence. I have not despaired of the greatsecret of immortality; and though these hairs are few and white, Ishall be rejuvenated in the tranquil depths of the water, and reassertfor ages my rightful dominion over the fish!"

I was in doubt whether to laugh or wonder when the Ancient Marinerconcluded; but I was relieved from passing judgment upon his articleby the unceremonious entrance of a tall, lithe, gray-eyed person, whowore gold seals and carried a thick walking-stick. The naturalistappeared to be bent on diving through the floor, and swimming awaythrough the cellar; but he caught the stern, keen eye of the strangerand cowered. The tall man lifted his cane, and struck the manuscriptout of his Highness's hands; he demolished the microscope at a blow, and flung the geological hammer out of the window. 

"Come along, " he said. "No! drop that trash--every article of it, orelse you'll be experimenting again. Come along!"

They went away together, leaving my office littered with broken glassand sea-shells. With some astonishment I followed through thewarehouse to the street; they had entered a carriage and were drivingrapidly away. The next morning's paper explained the whole occurrencein the following paragraph:

"_Much Learning hath made him mad. _--Yesterday noon an elderly lunatic, named Robert Jones, committed suicide by leaping over the parapet ofLondon Bridge. He was in the custody at the time of Dr. Stretveskit, thecelebrated keeper of the Asylum for Monomaniacs. He had been at largesome days, and was traced to several publishing-houses, whither he hadgone to contrive the publication of some insane vagaries. He was finallyoverhauled at the office of Spry, Stromboli & Co. , and placed in acarriage; but seizing a favorable moment when travel was impeded uponthe bridge, he burst through the glass door and cleared the parapet at abound. Jones was an adventurous and dangerous character. Some years agohe set fire to the Shrimpshire Asylum, where his family had confinedhim, and went abroad upon a whale-ship; but meeting with an accident, heunderwent the process of trepanning and came home more crazy thanbefore. At one time he attempted to drown his mother, in furtherance ofsome strange experiment; but it was thought at the date of his deaththat he was recovering his wits. Among his delusions was a strangeone--that he had been made viceroy over all the fishes. His body has notbeen recovered. "

I read the last sentence with a thrill. My late visitor might even nowbe presiding at some finny council; and as I should have occasion tocross the sea some day, an untimely shipwreck might place me in closerrelations with him. I determined, therefore, to print the manuscriptwhich remained in my hands. May it appease his Mightiness, the King ofthe Fishes!

THE CIRCUIT PREACHER. 

 His thin wife's cheek grows pinched and pale with anxiousness intense; He sees the brethren's prayerful eyes o'er all the conference; He hears the Bishop slowly call the long "Appointment" rolls, Where in His vineyard God would place these gatherers of souls. 

 Apart, austere, the knot of grim Presiding Elders sit; He wonders if some city "Charge" may not for him have writ? Certes! could they his sermon hear on Paul and Luke awreck, Then had his talent ne'er been hid on Annomessix Neck!

 Poor rugged heart, be still a pause, and you, worn wife, be meek! Two years of banishment they read far down the Chesapeake! Though Brother Bates, less eloquent, by Wilmington is wooed, The Lord that counts the sparrows fall shall feed His little brood. 

 "Cheer up! my girl, here Brother Riggs our circuit knows 'twill please. He raised three hundred dollars there, besides the marriage fees. What! tears from us who preached the word these thirty years or so? Two years on barren Chincoteague, and two in Tuckahoe?

 "The schools are good, the brethren say, and our Church holds the wheel; The Presbyterians lost their house; the Baptists lost their zeal. The parsonage is clean and dry; the town has friendly folk, -- Not half so dull as Murderkill, nor proud like Pocomoke. 

 "Oh! Thy just will, our Lord, be done, though these eight seasons more, We see our ague-crippled boys pine on the Eastern Shore, While we, Thy stewards, journey out our dedicated years Midst foresters of Nanticoke, or heathen of Tangiers!

 "Yea! some must serve on God's frontiers, and I shall fail, perforce, To sow upon some better ground my most select discourse; At Sassafras, or Smyrna, preach my argument on 'Drink, ' My series on the Pentateuch, at Appoquinimink. 

 "Gray am I, brethren, in the work, though tough to bear my part; It is these drooping little ones that sometimes wring my heart, And cheat me with the vain conceit the cleverness is mine To fill the churches of the Elk, and pass the Brandywine. 

 "These hairs were brown, when, full of hope, ent'ring these holy lists, Proud of my Order as a knight--the shouting Methodists-- I made the pine woods ring with hymns, with prayer the night-winds shook, And preached from Assawaman Light far north as Bombay Hook. 

 "My nag was gray, my gig was new; fast went the sandy miles; The eldest Trustees gave me praise, the fairest sisters smiles; Still I recall how Elder Smith of Worten Heights averred. My Apostolic Parallels the best he ever heard. 

 "All winter long I rode the snows, rejoicing on my way; At midnight our revival hymns rolled o'er the sobbing bay; Three Sabbath sermons, every week, should tire a man of brass-- And still our fervent membership must have their extra class!

 "Aggressive with the zeal of youth, in many a warm requite I terrified Immersionists, and scourged the Millerite; But larger, tenderer charities such vain debates supplant, When the dear wife, saved by my zeal, loved the Itinerant. 

 "No cooing dove of storms afeard, she shared my life's distress, A singing Miriam, alway, in God's poor wilderness; The wretched at her footstep smiled, the frivolous were still; A bright path marked her pilgrimage, from Blackbird to Snowhill. 

 "A new face in the parsonage, at church a double pride!-- Like the Madonna and her babe they filled the 'Amen-side'-- Crouched at my feet in the old gig, my boy, so fair and frank, Naswongo's darkest marshes cheered, and sluices of Choptank. 

 "My cloth drew close; too fruitful love my fruitless life outran; The townfolk marvelled, when we moved, at such a caravan! I wonder not my lads grew wild, when, bright, without the door Spread the ripe, luring, wanton world--and we, within, so poor!

 "For, down the silent cypress aisles came shapes even me to scout, Mocking the lean flanks of my mare, my boy's patched roundabout, And saying: 'Have these starveling boors, thy congregation, souls, That on their dull heads Heaven and thou pour forth such living coals?

 "Then prayer brought hopes, half secular, like seers by Endor's witch: Beyond our barren Maryland God's folks were wise and rich; Where climbing spires and easy pews showed how the preacher thrived, And all old brethren paid their rents, and many young ones wived!

 "I saw the ships Henlopen pass with chaplains fat and sleek; From Bishopshead with fancy's sails I crossed the Chesapeake; In velvet pulpits of the North said my best sermons o'er-- And that on Paul to Patmos driven, drew tears in Baltimore. 

 "Well! well! my brethren, it is true we should not preach for pelf-- (I would my sermon on Saint Paul the Bishop heard himself!) But this crushed wife--these boys--these hairs! they cut me to the core; Is it not hard, year after year, to ride the Eastern Shore?

 "Next year? Yes, yes, I thank you much! Then my reward may fall! (That is a downright fair discourse on Patmos and St. Paul!) So Brother Riggs, once more my voice shall ring in the old lists, Cheer up, sick heart, who would not die among these Methodists?"

THE BIG IDIOT. 

"Sister, thy boy is a big idiot--a very big idiot!" said Gerrit VanSwearingen, the Schout of New Amstel. Then the Schout struck his longofficial staff on the ground, and went off in a grand manner tofrighten debtors. 

The Widow Cloos made no reply, but dropped a couple of tears as shesaw her son, Nanking, shrink away before his uncle's frown and rollhis head in deprecation of such language. 

"My mother, " he whispered, "won't the big wild turkeys fly away withmy uncle Gerrit if he calls me such dreadful names?"

"Nanking, " said the widow, kissing the big idiot, "your uncle is avery great man. I don't know what is greater, unless it is an admiral, or a stadtholder, or maybe a king!"

"Yes, " conceded Nanking, "he is a dreadfully great man. He putsdrunken Indians in the stocks and ties mighty smugglers up to thewhipping-pump. But Saint Nicholas will punish him if he calls me anidiot. "

"Ah! Nanking, " replied the widow, "nothing can curb youruncle--neither the valiant Captain Hinoyossa, nor the puissantdirector of every thing, great Beeckman, nor hardly Pietrus Stuyvesanthimself. "

"I know who can frighten him, " exclaimed the big idiot. "Santa Claus!He's bigger than a schout. Mother, his whip-lash can reach clear overNew Amstel--isn't it so? How many deers and ponies does he drive? Willhe bring me any thing this year?"

"My poor son!" said the poor mother, "we are so far from Holland andso very humble here, that Saint Nicholas may forget us this year; butGod will watch over us!"

Nanking could hardly comprehend this astonishing statement: that SaintNicholas could ever forget little boys anywhere. So he went out by theriver to think about it. There were three or four Swedish boys outthere rolling marbles and playing at jack-stones. They did not like toplay with Dutch boys, but Nanking was only a big idiot, and they didnot harbor malice against him. 

"_He! Zoo!_" they cried; "wilt thou play?"

"Yes, directly. But tell me, Peter Stalcop, and you, Paul Mink, do thevery poorest little boys in Sweden get nothing on Christmas?"

"_Ah, Zon der tuijfel!_ without doubt, " cried the boys. "Old KnechtClobes, your Santa Claus, is a bad man. That is why he gave the Dutchour country here. And in Sweden, too, he turns people to wolves, andbrothers and sisters tear each other to pieces. "

"But not in Holland, " exclaimed Nanking. "There he gives the strongboys skates and the weak boys Canary wine. He brought, one time, longago, three murdered boys to life, so that they could eat goose forChristmas dinner. And three poor maidens, whose lovers would not takethem because they had no marriage portions, found gold on thewindow-sill to get them husbands. "

"_Foei! Fus!_ You're lied to, Nanking! There is no good Christmas inthis land. "

Nanking said they were very wicked to doubt true and good things. Hebelieved every thing, and particularly every thing pleasant. Hismother, whose house was on the river bank, looked out with a fondsadness as she heard him playing, his heart amongst the little boys, although he was so big. 

"_Ach! helas!_" she said to herself, "what will become of my dearman-lamb? He is simple and fatherless, poor and confiding. Thank God, at least he is not a woman!"

The Widow Cloos had come but recently from Holland, sent out bycharity at the instance of her brother, Van Swearingen, the schout orbailiff of New Amstel colony. Her son, who was almost a man in years, had been kept in the Orphan House at Amsterdam until his growth madehim a misplaced object there, and his feeble intellect forbade that heshould become a soldier, and die, like his father, in the Dutchbattles. So the Widow Cloos brought Nanking out in the ship Mill, tothe city of Amsterdam's own colony on the banks of the South River, which the English called the Delaware. They came in a starving time, when the crops were drenched out by rains and all the people and thesoldiery of the fort were down with bilious and scarlet fever. Thewidow was just getting over a long attack of this illness, and herbrother, the schout, regarded the innocent Nanking as the cause of herpoverty. 

"Thou hadst better drown him, " said the hard official; "he'll eat allthy substance or give the remainder away, for he believes every thingand everybody. "

"O brother!" pleaded the widow, "if he did not believe something, howsad would he be! All the children love him, and he is company forthem. "

It was an odd sight to see Nanking down with the boys, as big as thefather of any of them, playing as gently as the littlest. He rode thempig-a-back on his broad shoulders; they liked to see him light hispipe and smoke without getting sick. He worked for his mother, carrying water and catching fish, and was the only person in NewAmstel (or Newcastle) who could go out into the woods fearlessly amongthe Minquas Indians; for the Indians all believed that feeble-mindedpeople were the Great Spirit's especial friends, and saw beyond theboundaries of this world into that better heaven where shad ran allthe year in the celestial rivers, and the oysters walked upon theland to be eaten. Nanking believed all this, too. It was his confidingnature which made him useless for worldly business. Hobgoblins andgenii, charms and saints, and whatever he had heard in earnest, heheld in earnest to be true. 

"Dear me!" thought Nanking, when he was done playing marbles, "can't Ibe of use to somebody? Perhaps if I could do something useful my unclewould not think me a big idiot. Then, besides, little Elsje Alrichsmight let me be her sweetheart and carry her doll!"

Elsje was the daughter of Peter Alrichs, the late great director'sson, whose father slept in the graveyard of the little log church onSand Hook, beside Dominie Welius, the holy psalm-tune leader. Nankingbelieved that when the weathercock on the church tingled in the wind, it was Dominie Welius in the grave striking his tuning-fork to catchthe key-note. Peter Alrichs inherited the well-cleared farm of hispapa, and had the best estate in all New Amstel except Gerrit VanSwearingen, who was accused of getting rich by smuggling, peculating, and slave-catching. Little Elsje liked Nanking, but her father too, said he was a big idiot. So Nanking had a hard time. 

"Elsje, " cried Nanking one day, "don't tell anybody if I give you asecret. "

"No, big sweetheart!"

"I'm going to catch a stork!"

"We don't have storks in New Netherlands, Nanking. "

"That's just where I'm going to be smart, " exclaimed Nanking. "Becausethere are no storks here I'm going to catch one. Then uncle Gerritcannot call me a big idiot. "

Elsje gave Nanking her doll to hold. He sat there as big as a soldier, and handled the doll tenderly; for he believed it to be alive as muchas she did, and she was a little girl. 

"In Holland, " said Nanking, "there is a stork on every happy chimney. The farmers put a wagon-wheel on the chimney-top, and along comes yourstork and his family, and they build a nest on the wagon-wheel. Thereit is, Elsje, all twigs and grass, warm as pie, heated by thechimney-fire, and such a squawking you never heard. It keeps the devilaway! The old stork sits up on one long straight leg, and with theother foot he hands the worms around to the family. I used to sit downand watch them by the hour in that other Amstel where ours gets itsname. "

"By the great city of Amsterdam?" asked Elsje. 

"That's it. In Amstel, the suburb of Amsterdam, where you can see suchbeautiful ships from all parts of the world. If I get a stork for ourchimney may I hold your doll another day?"

"Yes, Nanking, and I'll give you a kiss. "

Nanking told his mother next day that he was going to the woods, andnot to cry if he did not return at dark. The Widow Cloos kissed him, and saw him go happily up the street. 

"_Om licht en donker!_" she moaned. "Between the hawk and the buzzard!Poor, simple son! The Indians may kill him, but here he will only gethis uncle's curse!"

Nanking walked out through the little settlement of log and brick, andpast the court-house, where the stocks and whipping-post were alwaysstanding. He saw his uncle Van Swearingen's smart dwelling, with itsend to the street and notched gables, and many panes in its glazedwindows, and two front doors, and large iron figures in front, tellingthe date his uncle built it. A little way off was the fine residenceof Peter Alrichs, with a balcony on the roof where the family sat ofevenings, smoking their pipes and seeing starlight come out on theriver and the flag drop at sunset from Fort Casimir; or hearing theroll of drums as they changed the guard or fired a gun to overhaul avessel. 

"If I get a stork and bring it back, " thought Nanking, "won't Iastonish this town? It'll be proclaimed, I expect, in a public manner, that Nanking Cloos is no longer the big idiot. "

The woods closed round New Amstel not very far from the houses, andonly an Indian path led on through the strong timber or marshy copse. Nanking was unarmed and not afraid. He walked until long after sun-up, and waded the headwater swamps of Christine Kill, until he saw beforehim the hills of Chisopecke rise blue and wooded, and there he knewthe Minquas kept their fort. But the Minquas had no storks. He turnedthe first and second of these hills and then crossed the range anddescended to the rain-washed country on the other side, where, amidthe low sparse pines on the lonely barrens, he could walk morereadily, guided south-westward by the proceeding sun. The fierceSusquehannocks dwelt beyond the next high range, and Nanking had heardfrom other Indians that they only had some storks. Fierce Indians theywere, but all Indians had been good to Nanking; so he advanced rightmerrily, and at the crossing of the second river snaked a fish out ofthe water with his line and made a fire with his flint and punk-woodto cook it. When he had finished his meal he looked up and wassurrounded by Indians. 

They were fierce, grave Indians, armed with spears and bows. Althoughthey looked angry, Nanking wiped his mouth on his ragged sleeve andsaluted them all kindly--shaking hands. He perceived that they formedaround him closely, in front and rear, but he was not suspicious onthis account. The Indians marched him over a long range of very highhills and stopped at a place where, through the timber, could be seena noble bay. 

"It is Chisopecke Bay, " cried Nanking gladly, "and there, they say, are storks and plentiful geese. I suppose, when we come to a properplace, these Indians will ask me what I want. "

The Indians turned down from the bay-view, backward, by another trail, and entered a very rocky glen, where rocks as big as the houses of NewAmstel were strewn all over the country-side. Following downward, by adangerous way like stair-steps, they entered at length a small shadyamphitheatre, where a waterfall plunged down a gorge and foamed andthundered. Nanking fairly danced with delight. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I have seen paintings of cascades in Holland, butnothing like this. My mother and Elsje must come here. "

The Indians, now present in great numbers, looked at Nanking dancingand laughing with the greatest wonder, but still they were far fromaffable. After a while they began to sit around in a large circle andsing a doleful sort of tune. Then two Indians produced a long piece ofgrapevine and tied one end of it to a tree and the other end aroundNanking's wrists, which were fastened together behind his back. A firehad already been lighted at the foot of the tree, and the coals werenow strewn over the ground. 

"_Hond mold!_ Keep courage!" thought Nanking. "It is only some kind ofplay or game. How can I get a stork from them unless I play withthem?"

But the Indians still sung their doleful tune and did not laugh a bit. The month was December, and the fire, at first grateful, grewunreasonably warm. At last Nanking trod on a hot coal, which burnt hisold shoe through, and raised a blister on his heel. 

"Such a game as this I never learned in Amsterdam or New Amstel, "thought Nanking, laughing good-naturedly; "I guess I will cut it shortby riding one of their boys pig-a-back. "

So he picked out a young Indian with his roving eye, one perhapssixteen years old, and, darting upon him, lifted the Indian boy up inpowerful arms and carried him around the fiery circle. The young bravestruggled in vain. Nanking clinched his big fingers around the Indianand dandled him like a baby. The effect upon the Indians in thecircle was exciting; they seized their spears, stopped their singing, and rushed upon their guest with apparent or assumed fury. 

"_Ha! herfe!_" cried Nanking, "I have changed the monotony of thisgame, anyhow!"

At this moment an old Indian woman, the mother of the boy whom Nankinghad desired to amuse, threw herself between the upraised spears andthe laughing widow's son. She shouted something very earnestly, andthen stretched herself at Nanking's feet. All the other Indians alsoflung themselves down in fear or revulsion of feeling, and somecrawled in another minute to where the burning coals were strewn overthe sward, and with their fingers or with tree-boughs returned thesecoals to the fire, while others quenched the fire itself with waterfrom the torrent. Nanking had never lost his temper. He put the youngIndian down and kissed him, and shook hands with one after another, who only rose as he approached them with a kind countenance. Theyunbound his hands and overwhelmed him with attentions and professions, and placed their fingers on their foreheads significantly, stilllooking at him. 

"Well, " exclaimed Nanking, "I hope they also don't take me for a bigidiot! No, they do not. It is only a part of the queer game. "

It was now growing late in the day, and Nanking wanted some food. TheSusquehannocks produced nuts, venison, fish, hominy, and succotash. Their formerly savage countenances beamed confidence andconsideration. Nanking expressed his wishes by signs. He wanted agreat, long-legged, long-winged bird, a stork, to carry back alive toNew Amstel. The Indian chiefs conferred, and finally replied, by signsand assurances, that they had such a bird, but that it would take twowhole days to procure one. 

"Very well, " thought Nanking, "I may as well stay here until I get it, and not return home like a fool. My mother will trust in God, if notin Saint Nicholas, and I trust in both. Elsje will not forget me atany time!"

All the next day Nanking played ball and bandy with the Susquehannockboys, and taught them jack-stones and how to make a shuttlecock. Theyput eagle's feathers in his hair, and the old men adopted him intotheir tribe. On the third day the absent Indians returned with astork. It was a white stork with a red bill and plenty of stork'sneck, but short legs. Nanking doubted if it could stand on one leg onthe top of a chimney and feed worms around to the young stork family, but he felt very proud and happy. The whole tribe seemed to haveassembled to see Nanking go away. He had become the friend of all theboys and women and the _protégé_ of the tall warriors. They placed hisstork in a canoe, and in a second canoe following it were a couple oflarge deers freshly killed, which he was to take to his mother as thegift of the fierce Susquehannocks. Amid the cheers and adieus of thenation the two canoes pushed off and, entering the broad bay, paddledup a river under the side of a bar of blue mountains, until the riverdwindled to a mere creek, and finally its navigation ceasedaltogether. By signs upon the head of the dead stag, indicating alarger deer, Nanking knew they were at the "Head-of-Elk" River. Hisfierce friends left him here with many professions of apology andesteem, and soon after they departed Swedes and Minquas appeared, whohad observed the hostile canoes from their lookout stations on theneighboring hills. These also welcomed Nanking, being already wellacquainted with him, and taking up his venison proceeded through thewoods toward New Amstel. He carried the live stork himself--a roughbird, which would not yield to blandishments or good treatment. Aftera very fatiguing journey and four days' absence from home, Nankingentered New Amstel in the dead of night. 

"To-morrow, " he thought, "I shall be repaid for all this. They willsay, 'Nanking Cloos is the smartest man in the colony of New Amstel. 'Perhaps I shall be a burgomaster, and eat terrapin stewed in Canarywine!"

Nanking was up betimes, looking at the chimneys on his mother'sdwelling, of which there were two, and both were the largest chimneysin New Amstel. The Widow Cloos lived in a huge log building with brickends, long and rather low, which had been built by the commissary ofthe colony at the expense of the city of Amsterdam as a magazine offood and supply for her colonists; but after several years ofunprofitable experiment with the colony, it was resolved to give nomore provisions away, and the director, great Captain Hinoyossa, whenVan Swearingen became the schout, allowed the latter's sister toinhabit one end of the warehouse, and that the farthest end from thewater. The rest was uninhabited, and Nanking, looking at the chimneywhich surmounted the river gable, said to himself:

"That will never do for my stork, as there is no fire lighted there. Inever saw smoke from that chimney in my life. The stork requires anest where there is heat, and plenty of it. "

He therefore prepared to climb to the chimney on the land-side andestablish a nest. There was a broken cart-wheel in the warehouse, which Nanking procured and drew to the roof, and when daylight brokeupon the town the earliest loungers and fishermen saw the happysimpleton working like a chimney-sweep, as they thought, except thatinstead of brushing he was piling brush around the chimney on thecart-wheel. His mother came out and looked joy to see him back; thesoldiers strolled down from the fort and the boys and women from thetown. Uncle Van Swearingen was there, smiting the ground with hisshodden staff, and ejaculating, "_Foei! weg! fychaam u!_ Fie! leaveoff! fie on you! What absurdity is this on the property of our_hoofstad_, our metropolis?"

"Never mind, uncle!" answered the beaming Nanking. "I have been agreat man in the last few days. I have lived among the fierceSusquehannocks. Presently you shall see something that you shall see!"

Peter Alrichs also came down to the quay with his pretty daughter, whocould no longer keep her secret. "Good Nanking, " she whispered, "isbuilding a nest for a real stork. He has found one, just like the dearcreatures in Holland!"

The news was presently dispersed, and all felt an interest, untilfinally Nanking produced his stork. 

"It is like a stork, indeed!" uttered Peter Alrichs; "'tis big as one, too, but its wings are all white!"

"'Tis a stork, _yah, op myne eer_! Upon my honor, it is!" muttereduncle Van Swearingen. 

"Nanking is not an idiot, papa!" said Elsje, overjoyed. 

The widow was delighted at the enterprise of her son. 

When Nanking had carried the great bird to the nest he made a littlespeech:

"Worshipful masters and good people all, I have been at great pains toget this stork, not for my own gratification entirely, though thereare some here I expect to please particularly. (He looked at Elsje andhis mother. ) This stork will pick up the offal and eat it, and weshall have no more bad fevers here for want of a good scavenger. Byand by he will bring more storks, and they will multiply; and everyhouse, however humble, shall have its own stork family to ornament thechimney-top and remind us of our dear native land. I have done allthis good with the hope of being useful, and now I hope nobody willcall me wicked names any more. "

Nanking cut the fastenings on the bird and set it on the new-madenest. In a minute the stork stood up on its short legs, poked itsbeautiful head and neck into the air, and with its wings struckNanking so heavy a blow that it knocked him off the roof of the house, but happily the fall did not hurt him. As he arose the huge bird wasspreading its wings for flight. Before Nanking could climb the ladderagain, it was sailing through the air, magnificent as a ship, towardits winter pastures on the bay of Chisopecke. 

"_He! Zoo!_" exclaimed the soldiers. 

"_Foei! weg!_" cried the fishermen. 

Only three persons said "_Ach! helas!_"--the Widow Cloos, prettyElsje, and Nanking. 

"Thy stork is a savage bird!" cried Peter Alrichs. "The English on theChisopecke name it a _swan_!"

Nanking burst into tears. His uncle struck the ground with hisschout's staff, swore dreadfully, and shouted to the Widow Cloos:

"Sister, thy boy is nothing but a big idiot. Thou hadst better drownhim, as I told thee!"

Nothing could equal the mortification of Nanking. He thought he woulddie of grief. He was now known to be more of an idiot than ever, andthe fickle Miss Elsje would not let him hold her doll for a wholeweek. 

"My poor son, " entreated the widow, "do not pine and lose courage! Thevenison will feed us half the winter. You can help me smoke it and dryit. Do not give up your sweet simple faith, my boy! As long as youkeep that we are rich!"

The next day Schout Van Swearingen, the great dignitary, came in andsaid to Nanking: "As you are a big idiot and good for nothing else, Iwill give you an office. Even there you will be a failure, for you aretoo simple to steal any thing. "

Nanking's mother was happy to hear this, and to see her son in alinsey-woolsey coat with large brass buttons, and six pairs ofbreeches--the gift of the city of Amsterdam--stride up the streets ofNew Amstel, with copper buckles in his shoes and his hair tied in aneel-skin queue. The schout, his uncle, who was sheriff and chief ofpolice in one, marched him up to the jail and presented him with abeautiful plaything--a handle of wood with nine leather whip-lashesupon the end of it. "Your duties will be light, " said the schout. "Every man you flog will give your mother a fee. Come here with me andbegin your labors!"

In the open space before the jail and _stadt huys_ were a pair ofstocks and a whipping-post. Nanking's uncle released a rough butlight-built man, who had been sitting in the stocks, and taking offthe man's jacket and shirt, fastened him to the post by his wrists. 

"Give this culprit fifty lashes, well laid on!" ordered the schout. 

Nanking turned pale. "Must I whip him? What has he been doing that heis wicked?"

"Smuggling!" exclaimed Schout Van Swearingen. "He has taken advantageof the free port of New Amstel to smuggle to the Swedes of Altona andNew Gottenburg, and the English of Maryland. Mark his back well!"

The sailor, as he seemed to be, looked at Nanking without fear. "Come, earn your money, " he said. 

"Uncle, " cried Nanking, throwing down the whip, "how can I whip thisman who never injured me? Do not all the people smuggle in New Amstel?Was it not to stop that which brought the mighty Director Stuyvesanthither with the great schout of New Amsterdam, worshipful PeterTonneman? Yes, uncle, I have heard the people say so, and that youhave smuggled yourself ever since your superior, the glorious CaptainHinoyossa, sailed to Europe. "

"Ha!" exclaimed the bold smuggler. "Van Swearingen, _dat is voor u_!That is for you!"

"_Vore God_!" exclaimed the schout; "am I exposed and mocked by thisidiot?"

He took up the whip and beat Nanking so hard that the strong young manhad to disarm his uncle of the instrument. Then, stripped of his fineclothes and restored to his rags, Nanking was returned with contemptto his mother's house. 

"Mother!" he cried, throwing himself upon the floor, "am I an idiotbecause I cannot hurt others? No, I will be a fool, but notwhip-master!"

The shrewd Peter Alrichs came to the widow's abode and asked to seeNanking. He brought with him the worshipful Beeckman, lord of allSouth River, except New Amstel's little territory, which reached fromChristine Hill to Bombay Hook. They both put long questions toNanking, and he showed them his burnt heel, still scarred by thefagots of the Susquehannocks. 

"_Ik houd dat voor waar!_ I believe it is true, " they said to eachother. "They were burning him at the stake and he did not know it. Yes, his feeble mind saved him!"

"Not at all, " protested Nanking. "It was because I thought no evil ofanybody. "

"Hearken, Nanking!" said Peter Alrichs, very soberly. "And you, MotherCloos, come hither too. This boy can make our fortunes if we can makehim fully comprehend us. "

"Yah, mynheers!"

"He can return in safety to the land of the Susquehannocks, where noother Dutchman can go and live. Thence, down the great river of rocksand rapids, come all the valuable furs. Of these we Dutch on SouthRiver receive altogether only ten thousand a year. Nanking must takesome rum and bright cloth to his friends, the chiefs, and make thempromise to send no more furs to the English of Chisopecke, but bringthem to Head-of-Elk. There we will make a treaty, and Nanking andthee, widow, shall have part of our profits. "

"_Zeer wel!_" cried Nanking. "That is very well. But Elsje, may Imarry her, too?"

"Well, " said Peter Alrichs, smiling, "you can come to see hersometimes and carry her doll. "

"Good enough!" cried Nanking, overjoyed. 

Before Nanking started on his trip, the sailor-man he had refused towhip walked into his mother's house. 

"Widow Cloos, no doubt, " he said, bowing. "Madame, I owe your son aservice. Here are three petticoats and a pair of blue stockings withred clocks; for I see that your ankles still have a fine turn tothem. "

The widow courtesied low; for she had not received a compliment inseven years. 

Nanking now began to show his leg also, as modestly as possible. 

"Ah! Nanking, " cried the sailor, "I have a piece of good Holland stufffor you to make you shirts and underclothes. 'Tis a pity so good a boyhas not a rich father; ha! widow?"

The widow stooped very low again, but had the art to show her ankle tothe best advantage, though she blushed. She said it was very lonelyfor her in the New World. 

"Now, Widow Cloos, " continued the sailor, "I am Ffob Oothout, at yourservice! I am a mariner. Some years ago, when Jacob Alrichs was ourdirector, I helped to build this great warehouse with my own hands. They were good men, then, in charge of New Amstel's government. Thieves and jealous rogues have succeeded them. Would you think it, they suspect even me, and ordered Nanking to whip me with the cat! Butfor Nanking I should have a bloody back at this minute, and you wouldbe wiping the brine out of it for me, I do not doubt!"

Nanking had gone out meantime, seeing that he was to get noclock-stockings. 

"Widow, come hither, " said the sailor. "Do you know I like this bigbarn of a warehouse. It is my handicraft, you know, and that attachesme to it. Well, you say nothing to anybody, and let me sleep in theriver end. In a little while the noble veteran, Alexander D'Hinoyosso, will be due from Holland on the ship Blue Cock. Then we will all havegood protection. In that ship are lots of supplies of mine. Ofevenings we can court and drink liquor of my own mulling. And whenthe Blue Cock comes to port you shall have more petticoats andhigh-heeled shoes than any beauty in New Amstel. "

Ffob Oothout stole a couple of kisses from the widow, like a boldsailor-man, and she promised that he should lodge in the river end ofthe Amsterdam warehouse. 

For the rest of that afternoon Nanking carried Elsje's beautiful doll, and his feelings were very much comforted. 

"Big sweetheart, " she said, "what a smart man you would be if youcould only make me a bigger doll than this, which would open and shutits eyes and cry '_fus_; hush!'"

Nanking left New Amstel at moonlight, at the head of a littleprocession, carrying gay cloths and plenty of rum for theSusquehannocks. The last words Peter Alrichs said to him were: "Youmust talk wisely, Nanking. It is a mighty responsibility you have onthis errand. Remember Elsje!"

Next morning Nanking pushed off in a boat, all alone, from theHead-of-Elk, and rowed under the blue bar of mountain into theChisopecke, and turned up the creek below the rocky mouth of the greatriver toward the council-fire retreat of the fierce Susquehannocks. Ashe was about to step ashore a band of Englishmen confronted him, withswords and muskets. 

"Whom art thou?" cried their leader, a stalwart man, with longmustaches. 

"Only Nanking Cloos, mynheers, who used to be the big idiot of NewAmstel. But, " he added, with confidence, "I am now a great man on avery responsible mission to the Indians. I am to talk much and wisely. They are to send to New Amstel thousands of furs and peltries, and Iam to give them this rum and finery!"

"He talks beautifully, " exclaimed the English; and the chief manadded:

"Nanking, I know thee well. Thy mother is the pretty widow in thehouse by the river. I am Colonel Utye, who swore so dreadfully when Isummoned New Amstel to surrender. Come ashore, Nanking. "

Nanking felt very proud to be recognized thus and receive suchcompliments for his mother. The English poured out a big flagon ofFrench brandy and gravely drank his health, touching their foreheadswith their thumbs. The brandy elated and exalted Nanking very much. 

"Nanking, " said Colonel Utye, "we desire to spare thee a long journeyand much danger. Leave here thy rum and presents, and return to thypatrons, Alrichs and Beeckman, bearing our English gratitude, and thoushalt wear a beautiful hat, such as the King of England allows onlyhis jester to put upon his head. "

Nanking felt very much obliged to these kind gentlemen. They made thehat of the red cloth he had brought. It was like a tall steeple on ahouse, and was at least three feet long. As proud as possible here-entered New Amstel on the evening of the day after he left it. Itwas now within a few days of Christmas, and the Dutch burghers andboors, and Swedes, English and Finns, were anticipating that holidayby assembling at the two breweries which the town afforded, andquaffing nightly of beer. Beeckman and Alrichs were interested in thelargest brewery, and their beer was sent by Appoquinimy in greathogsheads to the English of Maryland in exchange for butts of tobacco. 

As Nanking walked into the big room where fifty men were drinking, hisprodigious red hat rose almost to the ceiling, and was greeted byroars of laughter. 

"_Goeden avond! Hoe yaart gij!_ How do you do, my bully?"

Nanking bowed politely, and singling out Beeckman and Alrichs, stoodbefore them with child-like joy. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, "I gave all your presents to the noble ColonelUtye, who sends his deepest gratitude, and presented me with thisexalted cap in acknowledgment of my capacity. "

"Thou idiot!" exclaimed Beeckman; "'tis a dunce's cap!"

"Dunder and blitzen!" swore Peter Alrichs, "hast thou lost all ourprovision and made fools of us, too?"

They struck the dunce's cap off Nanking's head with their staves, andthrew their beer in his face. 

"Two hundred guilders are we out of pocket, " cried both these greatmen. "Was ever such a brainless dolt in our possessions?"

The room rang with the cry, "Incurable idiot!" and Gerrit VanSwearingen cried louder than any, "Go drown thyself, and spare thymother shame!"

"Then I shall not marry Elsje?" exclaimed Nanking, bursting intotears. 

"No!" stormed Peter Alrichs; "thou shalt marry a calf. Away!"

When Nanking arrived home he found his mother sitting very close toFfob Oothout. He told his tale with a broken heart. 

"My man, " exclaimed the rough sailor, in his kindest tone, but stillvery rough, "take this advice from me: Whatever thou believest, tellit not. Where thy head is weak, hold thy teeth tight. Then thou canststill have faith in many things, and make no grief. "

The next day the Blue Cock sailed into the roadstead and the fortthundered a salute. Fort and vessel dipped the tricolor flag of theStates-General and the municipal banner of Amsterdam. Beeckmansurrendered all the country on South River to Hinoyossa, who cameashore very drunk and very haughty, and threatened to set up an empirefor himself and fit out privateers against the world. 

"Let him lose no time, " muttered Ffob Oothout; "the English havedoomed these Western Netherlands!"

Amidst the festivity Nanking was in a condition of despair. He hadseen Elsje on the street and she turned up her nose at him. Christmaswas only one day off, and Santa Claus, the Swede boys insisted, nevercame to the sorrowing shores of New Amstel. 

"My uncle Gerrit was right, " thought Nanking. "I had better drownmyself. Yes; I will watch on Christmas eve for Santa Claus. I willgive him plenty of time to come. He is the patron saint of children, and if he neglects poor, simple boys in this needful place, there isno truth in any thing. On Christmas morning I will fall into the riverwithout any noise. My mother will cry, perhaps, but nobody else, andthey will all say, 'It was better that the big idiot should bedrowned; he had not sense enough to keep out of the water. '"

Nanking spent half the day watching the chimneys of his mother'shouse. Both chimneys were precisely alike in form and capacity, andthe largest in the place. But the chimney next the river did notretain the dark, smoky, red color of the chimney on the land side. 

"No wonder, " thought Nanking, "for no fire nor smoke has been made inthat river chimney for years. It almost seems that the bricks thereinare oozing out their color and growing pale and streaked. "

Night fell while he was watching. Nanking hid himself upon the roof ofthe house, determined to see if Saint Nicholas ever came to blesschildren any more by descending into chimneys, or was only a myth. 

It was a little cold, and under the moonlight the frost was forming onthe marshes and fields. The broad, remorseless river flowed past withnothing on its tide except the two or three vessels tied to the riverbank, of which the Blue Cock was directly under the widow's greatdwelling. From the town came sounds of revelry and wassail, of singingand quarrel, and from the church on Sand Hook softer chanting, wherethe women were twining holly and laurel and mistletoe. Nanking layflat on the roof, with his face turned toward the sky. The moon wentdown and it grew very dark. 

"Lord of all things, " he murmured, "forgive my rash intention andcomfort my poor mother!"

The noise of the town died on the night air, and every light went out. Nanking said to himself, "Is it Christmas at all, out in this lonelywilderness of the world? Is it the same sky which covers Holland, andare these stars as gentle as yonder, where all are rich and happy?"

He heard a noise. A voice whispered, just above the edge of thechimney on the river gable: "_Fus-s-s! Pas op!_"

"What is that?" thought Nanking; "somebody saying, 'Hist! be careful?'Surely I see something moving on the chimney, like a living head. "

The voice whispered again: "_Maak hast! Kom hier!_" Or, "Hasten! Comehere!"

Nanking raised up and made a noise. 

"_Wie komt, daar_?" demanded the voice, and in a minute repeated:"_Wie sprecht, daar_?"

They ask, "Who comes and who speaks?" said Nanking. "Blessed be thepromises of heaven! It is Santa Claus!"

Then he heard movements at the chimney, and people seemed to beascending and descending a ladder. There seemed, also, to be noises onthe deck of the Blue Cock, and sounds of falling burdens and spokenwords: "Maak plaats!" or make room for more. 

"I never heard of Santa Claus stopping so long at one humble house, "thought Nanking. 

After awhile all sounds ceased. Nanking crept to the chimney andtouched it with his hand. It had no opening whatever in the top. 

He felt around this mysterious chimney. "He! Zoo!" he said aloud, "there is more wood here than brick. 'Tis a false chimney altogether!"

Then he saw that his close observation had not been at fault. Thechimney over the river gable was a painted chimney, a mere invention. Yet, surely Santa Claus had been there. 

After a time Nanking opened the top and side of this chimney as ifthey were two doors. He found it packed with goods of all kinds--a tonat least. 

"I will run and awaken my mother, " he thought. "But no. Did not FfobOothout tell me to blab no secrets and shut my teeth tight? I willtell nobody. These costly things are all mine; for there are no otherboys in this whole dwelling but Nanking Cloos, the fatherless idiot!"

He slipped down and hastened to his boat, which lay in a cove not farbelow. Towing it along the bank to a sheltered place convenient, Nanking began to load up the goods from the chimney. Before daylightbroke he had secured every thing, and hoisting sail was speedilycarried to the island of the Pea Patch, far down the bay--that islandwhich shone in the offing and seemed to close the river's mouth. Here, in the wreck of an old galiot, he hid every article dry and secure;kegs of liquors and wine, shawls and blankets, pieces of silk, gunpowder, beautiful pipes, bars of silver and copper, and a whole bagof gold. Nanking covered them with dry driftwood and boughs of trees, and sailed again to New Amstel, where he arrived before breakfast. 

At breakfast Nanking found upon his bench a beautiful new gun. 

"It is thine, good child, " said Ffob Oothout, "for sparing me thoselashes. Thy churlish uncle felt so reproved by thy innocent words thathe set me free. Widow, here is a _spiegel_ for thee, a looking-glassto see, unseen, whoever passes up or down the street. That is awoman's high privilege everywhere. Thou shalt be, erelong, thebest-dressed wife in all New Amstel. Nanking, wouldst thou like tohave a father?"

"I would like you, Ffob Oothout, for a father. "

"Widow, " said Ffob, "he has popped the question for me; wilt thou takean old pirate for thy man?"

"They are all pirates here, " replied the blushing widow, "and thouart the best pirate or man I have seen. "

"Well, then, when the English conquer this region I have that willmake thee rich. Till then let us wait on the good event, but not delaythe marriage. "

That Christmas Day they were married in form. As the three sat beforethe fresh venison and drank wine from the store of the Blue Cock, Nanking said:

"Father Ffob, you are wise. Give me yet another word of advice, that Imay not continue to be a big idiot. "

"Trust whom thou wilt, Nanking, yet ever hold thy tongue. If thou hastnow a secret, hold it close. Begin this instant!"

"Even the secrets of Santa Claus?"

"Yes, even them. "

Nanking said no more. He found compensation for Elsje's contumely inhis gun, and roved the forests through, and peeped from time to timeat his mystic treasures. 

One day the news came overland that the English had taken NewAmsterdam. Then the great Hinoyossa and uncle Van Swearingen andAlrichs and Beeckman swore dreadfully, and said they would fight tothe last man. Ffob Oothout went around amongst the Swedes and thecitizen Dutch, and prepared them to take the matter reasonably. 

One day in October of that same wonderful year, 1664, two mightyvessels of war, flying the English flag, came to anchor off New Amsteland the fort. They parleyed with the citizens for a surrender, andFfob Oothout conducted the negotiations. The citizens were to receiveprotection and property. The fort replied by a cannon. Then theEnglish soldiery landed and formed their veteran lines. They chargedthe ramparts and broke down the palisades, and killed three Dutchmenand wounded ten more. Proclamation was made that New Amstel should forall the future be named New-_castle_, and that Gerrit Van Swearingen, the refractory schout, should yield up his noble property to CaptainJohn Carr, of the invaders, and Peter Alrichs lose every thing for thebenefit of the fortunate William Tom. 

The English soldiery proceeded to make barracks of the Amsterdamwarehouse. The first night they inhabited it they strove to light afire under the wooden chimney in the river gable. The chimney caughtfire and burnt out like an old hollow barrel. 

"Wife, " exclaimed Ffob Oothout, looking grimly on, "in that chimneywas all my property and thine. Poor boy, " he said to Nanking, "we mustall be poor together now. "

"No, " cried Nanking, "I have yet the gifts of Santa Claus which I tookfrom that chimney on the night before Christmas. Yours, father, may beburnt. Mine are all safe!"

He sailed his father and mother to the island since called the PeaPatch, and Ffob Oothout recognized his property. 

"Wonderful Nanking!" he cried, "thy faith was all the wisdom we had. God protects the simple! Thou art our treasure. "

The great Hinoyossa condignly fled to Maryland. Uncle Van Swearingenwas exported to Holland, and in the dwelling of Peter Alrichs thefamily of Ffob Oothout made their abode. 

"Nanking, " asked the houseless Alrichs, "is not Elsje pretty yet?"

"Not as pretty, " answered Nanking, "as my little baby sister. I willcarry nobody's doll but hers. "

"Humph!" said Peter Alrichs, "you are not the big idiot I took youfor!"

A BAYSIDE IDYL. 

 Basking on the Choptank pleasant Cambridge lies In the humid atmosphere under fluttered skies, And the oaks and willows their protection fling Round the court-house cluster and the public spring. 

 There the streets are cleanly and they meet oblique, Forced upon each other by the village creek Winding round the ancient lawns, till the site appears Like a moated fortress crumbling down with years. 

 Round the town the oysters grow within the coves, And the fertile cornfields bearing yellow loaves; And the wild duck flying o'er the parish spire Fall into the graveyard when the fowlers fire?

 There the old armorial stones dwellers seldom read; There the ivy clambers like the rankest weed; There the Cambridge lawyers sometimes scale the wall To the grave of Helen, loveliest of all. 

 Even here the fairest of the little band Strangers call the fairest girls in Maryland, Like the peach her color ere its dyes are fast, And her form as slender as the virgin mast. 

 Like a vessel gliding with a net in tow, Up the street of evenings Helen seemed to flow, Leaving light behind her and a nameless spell Murmured in the young men, like an ocean shell. 

 Made too early conscious of her power to charm, Still unconscious ever love of men could harm, Voices whispered to her: "Beauty rare as thine Princes in the city never drank in wine!

 "Hide it not in Cambridge! Cross the bay and see How a world delighted hastes to honor thee. Seek the fortune-teller and thy future hear; There is empire yonder; there is thy career!"

 Oh, the sad ambition and the speedy dart! He, the fortune-reader, read poor Helen's heart; And a face created for the hearthstone's light-- Fishers tell its ruin as they scud by night. 

 Whisper, whisper, whisper! leaf and wave and grass; Look not sidewise, maiden, as the place you pass. If you hear a restless spirit when you pray, 'Tis the voice that tempted Helen o'er the bay. 

SIR WILLIAM JOHNSON'S NIGHT. 

An extraordinary story, some say the recital of a dream, or scenes insomnambulism, is that of Andrew Waples, of Horntown, Va. He visitedSaratoga twenty years ago, well-to-do, the owner of slaves, sloops, lands, and fisheries, and visits it now upon an income of $2000 ayear, derived from boiling down fish into phosphates for the midlandmarkets. He preserves, however, the habit and appearance of old days:that is to say, his chin is folded away under his lip like a reef in amainsail; his cheek-bones hide his ears, so tusky and prominent arethe former, and tipped with a varnish of red, like corns on old folks'feet; he has a nose which is so long and bony that it seems to havebeen constructed in sections, like a tubular bridge, and tocommunicate with itself by relays of sensation. A straight, mournful, twinkling, yet aristocratic man was Andrew Waples, "befo' de waw, sah!befo' de waw!"

He had no sooner arrived at Saratoga than he met some ancient booncompanions, who took him off to the lake, exploded champagne, filledhis lungs with cigar-smoke, and sent him to bed, the first night, witha decided thirst and no occasion to say his prayers. For it wasAndrew's intention, being a mournful man of the Eastern Shore, to prayon every unusual occurrence. Piety is relative as well as real, butAndrew Waples on this occasion jumped into bed, said hic and amen, and"times befo' de waw, " and went to sleep in the somnorific air of theSprings. 

He awoke with a dry throat, a disposition to faint and surrender hisstomach, and an irresistible propensity to walk abroad and drink ofthe waters. He looked at his watch: it was two o'clock, and Saturdaynight. "Alas!" said Andrew Waples aloud, "the bars are closed. EvenMorrissey has gone to bed, and the club-house is in darkness, butperhaps I can climb over the gate of some spring company, or find afountain uninclosed. Yes, there is the High Rock Spring!"

He drew on his clothes partly, slipped his feet in slippers, and wroteon a piece of paper, which he conspicuously posted on the gas bracket:

"Andrew Waples, Gentleman (befo' de waw), departed from the UnitedStates Hotel, at two o'clock A. M. , precisely. If any accident happensto him, seek at the High Rock Spring, or thereabouts. "

It was a sad, green, ghostly moonlight streaming through the elms asAndrew Waples walked up Broadway. The moon appeared to be dredging foroysters amongst the clouds, circling around there by bars, islets, andshoals. Bits of spotted and mackerel-back sky swam like hosts ofmenhaden through the pearly sheen of the more open aërial main. Theleaves of the tall domes and kissing branches of the elms, that peepedon either side into open windows of people asleep and told across thestreet to each other the secrets there, were now themselves heavy asif with surfeit of gossip and they drooped and hardly rustled. Not atipsy waiter lurked in the shadows, not a skylarking couple of darkeylovers whispered on doorsteps. No birds, nor even crickets, serenadedthe torpid night. The shuffling feet of Andrew Waples barely madewatch-dogs growl in their dreams, and started his own heart with theconcussions they produced on the arborescent and deeply-shadowedaisles of the after midnight. He saw the town-hall clock pallidlyilluminated above its tower. The low frame villa of ChancellorWalworth, cowering amongst the pine-trees, expressed the burden ofparricidal blood that had of late oppressed its memories. There wereno murmurs from the court-room where Judge Barnard had been tried, but its deep silence seemed from the clock to tick: "Removed!disqualified!" and "Disqualified! removed!"

Turning from Broadway to lesser streets of cheap hotels and plainboarding cottages, where weary women and girls had drudged all daylong, and washerwomen moaned and fluting and ruffling were theamusements of the poor, Andrew Waples became haunted with the ideathat Saratoga was poisoned, that every soul in the village was dead, and that he was to be the last man of the century to drink of theSprings. Nature and night were in the swoon of love or death. Partingtheir drowsy curtains went Waples through the muffled echoes, impelledby nothing greater than a human thirst. 

He saw his shadow, at length, fall down the steep stairs of the valleyof High Rock Spring, as he stood at the top of the steps uncovered tothe moon. It was a shadow nearly a hundred feet long, a high-cheekedhead without a chin and all nose, like the profile of a mountain. Butwhat was extraordinary was the total absence of an abdominal part toMr. Waples' exaggerated shadow, for he distinctly saw a youngmaple-tree, in perfect moonlight, grow through the cavity where hisstomach ought to have been. 

"I must be hollow, " said Andrew, as he looked, --"the frame of astomach removed; for surely my whole figure is in blackness, except mybread-basket. " But his fears were dissipated by the sound of voices, of glasses clinking and water running, and the evident semblance oflife at the High Rock Spring in the ravine beneath, to which the steepstairs descended. At the same moment he descried another shadowpropelled alongside his own, as if from some far distance in the reara human object was slowly advancing to stand beside him. 

There were very old wooden houses around this precipice or promontoryof Saratoga, some of them a hundred years old, and decrepit and inruins; for here, at the High Rock, was the original fountain of thevillage. As if from the cover of one of these old and decayingtenements came a person of venerable aspect, with a tray of glassesfastened to the top of a staff, like a great caster of bottles on abroomstick. As this person stood by the side of Andrew Waples, andplanted his staff on the top step of the stairs, his prolonged shadow, falling in the valley, gave him the appearance of a gigantic Neptune, with a trident in his hand. 

"Hallo!" exclaimed Mr. Waples, "are you a town scavenger, to be up atthis time of the clock?"

The man replied, after a very curious and explosive sound of his lips, like the extraction of a cork from a bottle, "No, sir; I'm only theGreat Dipper. "

"Very good, " resumed Mr. Waples. "Then, perhaps, you'll explain to mea very great optical delusion, or tell me that I'm drunk. Do you seeour two shadows as they fall yonder on the ground, and amongst thetree-tops? Now, if I have any eyes in my head, there is a stomach inyour shadow and no stomach whatever in mine. "

"Quite right, " answered the Great Dipper. "You are the mere rim of aformer stomach. Abdominally, you are defunct. "

Andrew Waples put his hand instinctively where his stomach waspresumed to be, and he saw the hand of his shadow distinctly imitatethe motion, and repeat it through his empty centre. 

"This is Sir William Johnson's night, " remarked the Great Dipper. "Wehave a large company of guests on this anniversary, and no gentlemanis admitted with a stomach, nor any lady with a character. My wholeforce of dippers is on to-night, and I must be spry. "

As the venerable man spoke, and ceased to speak, exploding before andafter each utterance, it occurred to Mr. Waples that his voice had asort of mineral-water gurgle, which was very refreshing to a thirstyman's ears. He followed, therefore, down the flight of rickety stairsand stood in the midst of a promenading party of many hundred people, variously dressed and in the costumes of several generations. 

The canopy or pavilion of the spring, which, like a fairy temple, seemed to have been exhaled from in bubbles, was yet capped, as in thebroad light of day, by a gilded eagle, from whose beak was suspended abottle of the water, and no other light was shed upon the scene thanthe silver and golden radiance emitted together from this bottle, asif ten thousand infinitely small goldfish floated there in liquidquicksilver. The spring itself, flowing over its ancient mound oflime, iron and clay, like the venerable beard over the Arabianprophet's yellow breast, shed another light as if through a veilfluttered the molten fire of some pulsating crater. The whole scene ofthe narrow valley, the group of springs, the sandy walks, darkfoliage, and in closing ridges took a pale yellow hue from theeffervescing water and the irradiant bottle in the eagle's beak. Thepeople walking to and fro and drinking and returning, all carriedtheir hands upon their stomachs or sides, and sighed amidst theirflirtations. Mr. Waples saw, despite their garments, which representeda hundred years and more of all kinds, from Continental uniforms andhunting shirts to brocades, plush velvets, and court suits, that not abeing of all the multitude contained an abdomen. He stopped one largeand portly man, who was carried on a litter, and said:

"Have you a window through you, too, old chap?"

"'Sh!" exclaimed one of the supporters of the litter, who wore thefeathers and attire of an Indian. "'Tis Sir William Johnson--he whoreceives to-night. "

"Young man, " exclaimed that great and first of Indian agents, "this isthe spot where all people come to find their stomachs. Mine was lostone hundred and ten years ago. The Mohawks, my wards, then brought methrough the forest to this spot. Faith! I was full of gout and humors, and took a drink from a gourd. One night in the year I walk frompurgatory and quench my thirst at this font. The rest of the year Ilimp in the agonies of dyspepsia. "

A large and short-set woman was walking in one of the paths, wearingalmost royal robes, and her train was held up by a company of younggallants, some of whom whistled and trolled stanzas of foreign music. "Can you tell me her name!" asked Waples, speaking to a bystander. 

"It is Madame Rush, the daughter of the banker who rivalled Girard. She was a patroness of arts and letters in her day, full ofsentiment. "

"But disguised in a stomacher!" interrupted our friend. The ladypassed him as he spoke, and, looking regretfully in his face, murmured:

"Avoid hot joints for supper! Terrapin must crawl again. Drink nothingbut claret. Adieu!"

"Really, " thought Andrew Waples, "this is a sort of mass meeting ofhuman picture-frames. But here is one I know by his portrait--thegod-like head, the oxen eyes, the majestic stalk of Daniel Webster. "He was about to address this massive figure, when it turned and lookedupon him with rolling orbs like diamonds in dark caves. 

"Brandy, " said the great man, "'tis the drink of a gentleman, and thestimulus of oratory. But public life requires a thousand stomachs. Whocould have saved the Constitution on only one?"

"Poor ghost!" thought Andrew Waples. "Yet here is a milder man, alsoof mighty girth, like the frame of a mastodon, transparent. Your name, my friend?"

"John Meredith Clayton, of Delaware! I filled my paunch of midnightswith chicken soup. I arose from bed to riot in gravy. Ye who havelivers and intestines, think of my fame and fate!"

The old man sobbed as he receded, and Waples had only time to get aglimpse of the next trio before they were upon him. 

"I agree with Commodore Vanderbilt, " said the other, the wearer of arubicund face, and great blue eyes. "My _forte_ was oysters andeconomy. I grew wondrous fat and conservative, and one day awoke witha stomach that exclaimed, 'I have become round, so that you cantrundle me for the exercise you deprived me of. ' Henceforward, noteven the unequalled advantages of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad gaveme pleasure. I live like a skeleton world, without an inner globe, without a paunch. Beware?"

"Well, " cried Mr. Waples, "it is a singular thing that theconservative as well as the volatile lose their full habits. How is itwith Colonel Tom Scott, I wonder?"

"No rest, " exclaimed a full-necked man, "I eat at figures, and thinkin my sleeping car. Go slow, go fast, young man, 'But it is even, heads I win, stomach you lose!'"

The shaggy iron-gray whiskers and hair of Charles Sumner were wellknown to Mr. Waples, as that great Senator strutted down the maplepaths. "You here, also!" shouted Mr. Waples. 

"Ay!" answered the champion. "Freedom is not worth enjoying withoutthe gastric juice. The taste of Château Yquem pursues me througheternity. There are times when Plymouth Rock is a pennyweight in valuecompared to High Rock at Saratoga, and all the acts of Congressfoolish beside a pint of Congress water!"

A tall and elegant man came by and said: "I was the reviver of therunning turf. My stomach was tough as my four-in-hand. 'Twas Angosturanipped my bud. It was, by Saint Jerome!"

Another passer, with a dark skin and a merry twinkle, said: "UncleJohn's under the weather to-night. But he can lay out anothergeneration yet. While there's sleep there's hope. Cecil's the word!Give me me an order. "

A tremendous fellow, with a foot a little gouty, gulped down a gallonof the water, and said: "Rufe Andrews never gives up while on thathigh rock he builds his church!"

"The way to eat a sheep's head, " exclaimed a florid man, "is withplain sauce. Clams are not kind after nightfall. Champagne destroyedthe coats of W. Wickham, Mayor of the _bon vivants_. _Sic transit_overtook my rapid transit. Heigh-ho!"

"Hear me lisp a couplet, " said the great poet Saxe. "Oh, how many aslip 'twixt the couplet and the cup! Abdomen dominates. When Homer hadno paunch, he went blind. "

"Halt! 'Sdeath! is't I, that once could put the whole Brazilian courtto bed, who prowls these grounds for midnight water now? I am theChevalier Webb. Who says it is dyspepsia? I will spit him upon mywalking-staff. "

"Ees! 'tis good drinkin' at the fount when one can naught sleep. Johnson, of Congress Spring, the resident cherub; that's my name. Itipped the rosy, and it tripped on me. What measure I used to takearound the bread-basket!"

"The top of the foine midnight to you!" said Richard O'Gorman. "I'mhere, my lords and gentle folk, to find a portion of my appetite. Itwas not so when I could lead a revolution in a cabbage garden. "

So went past Uncle Dan Sanford and Father Farrell, and arm-in-arm, onmutual errands of thirst, Judge Hilton and Joseph Seligman. 

"Shudge, " said Seligman, "when you refushed me a room, it was onlybecaush you had no stummicks? Heigh, Shudge?"

"Ay, Joseph, me broth of a darlint, " answered Hilton, "when a spalpeenhas no stummick, he speaks without circum--spection. Ye can impty yerstummick wherever ye loike over the furniture, if ye'll fill thisaching void. "

So went the procession. All walking with hands laid heavily on theirpaunches, or where they used to be. Lovers had lost the light ofinterest from their eyes, wedded people the light of retrospection, statesmen the pride of intellect, princes and legates the pride ofpower. Wealth flashed in a thousand diamonds to contrast with theheavy eyes that had no vanity in them, and religion wore theasceticism of everlasting gloom instead of the hope of immortal life. 

As Mr. Andrew Waples beheld these things, and felt his thirst impelhim toward the fountain of the High Rock, he became sensible of awonderful change in the proportions of that object. It had always beena mound or cone of sand, clay, magnesia, and lime, well oxidized, andmade rusty-red by the particles of iron in the composition depositedwith the other materials, through ages of overflow. It had never beenabove three feet in height, and of little more diameter than a man'sstature. The water, flowing through its middle, sparkled anddischarged diamond showers of bubbles, and ran down theochre-besmeared sides, to disappear in the ground, the cavity throughwhich it came not more than ten inches wide. Such had been thedimensions of the High Rock Spring. 

But it was now a mountain, rising high in the air, and flowing crystaland gold, like a volcano in an eruption of jewels. The pyrites ofsulphur and motes of iron, that formerly gleamed in the rills thattrickled down its slopes, were now big as cascades, filled withcarbuncles and rocks of amethyst. A mist of soft splendor, like thelight of stars crushed to dust and diffused around the mountain'shead, revealed an immense multitudes of people scaling the slopes, anddrinking; and some were raising their hands to Heaven in praise, andsome were drawing the water from the mountain's base by flumes andtroughs. This extensive prospect fell to a foreground of people, suchas Mr. Waples had been mingling with, and these were clamoring andsupplicating for water faster than a hundred dippers there could passit up. The dippers were of all garbs and periods, from Indians andrustics to boys in cadet uniform. The vessels with which they dippedwere of all shapes and metals, from conch shells and calabashes tocups of transparent china, and goblets of gold and silver. Amongst thedippers, conspicuous by his benevolent face and clothing of abutternut color, was the Great Dipper himself, directing operations. 

"Drink freely!" he exclaimed, "for the night is going by. Sir WilliamJohnson has ordered his litter, and the company is breaking up. Drinkwhile you may, for the sun is soon to arise, and ye who have nostomachs will be exposed and disgraced. "

"Hark ye! old friend, " whispered Andrew Waples to the Great Dipper, "are there here people alive, as well as dead people, and why do theyfear exposure?"

The Great Dipper replied: "Nobody can be said to live who has lost hisstomach. We make no other distinction here. There are thousands whohave lost them, however, and who deceive mankind. Even these, youperceive, who drink at the High Rock Spring, flirt while they feelunutterable gloom, and so are dead women above the ground tied toliving men, and men without a human hope of health mated to joyousbeauty and animation. "

It seemed at this point that Mr. Waples shrank away down to theground, and the Great Dipper loomed up high as the mountain of HighRock. His drinking glasses were as large as Mr. Waples' body; he was amighty giant, clad in colors like those of the overflowing mountain. 

"Old chap, " cried Mr. Waples, "methinks your clothing up there is ofmuch age and tarnish. Tell me its material?"

A voice came down the long ravines of the mountain like rollingthunder. "It's calcareous tufa I'm a-wearing, wove on me by exudationand accretion in the past two thousand years. "

At this point the head of the Great Dipper was quite invisible in theclouds, but the tray of glasses he carried, which were now big asbarrels or full-sized casks, was set down on Mr. Waples' toe. As hesought to get out of the way a torrent of water washed him up andaway, and he was spilled into one of the glasses; and then, as itappeared, he was raised an inconceivable distance in the air andplunged down like a bursted balloon from the sky to the sea, and hefound himself immersed in mineral water and rapidly descending, against the current, toward the centre of the earth!

Before Mr. Waples could get his breath he was landed in a bar or shoalof mineral salt, which came nearly to the surface of the torrent inwhich he found himself, and the current of this torrent was ascendingtoward the surface, as full of mineral substances as a freshet is fullof saw-logs. Explosions of gas, loud and rapid as the guns in a navalbattle, took place on every side. The walls of the inclosure made alarge and almost regular cave or tunnel of blue marl, and in thecontrary way from the course of the stream. Mr. Waples sank along thesides of the cave in the swash or backflow, until he arrived at agrand archway of limestone, riven from a mass of slate. A voice fromthe roof of the archway, whispering like a sigh of pain, articulatedshrilly, "Who goes back?"

Waples discerned, in the joint or junction of the arch a huge deformedobject, whose hands were caught between the masses of stone, and hestill desperately pulled to divide them, so that the torrent couldescape through. The eyes of this object rolled in pain, but he gave nosign of relinquishing his hold, and again the painful whisper skippedthrough the abyss, "Who goes back from the alluvial?" Mr. Waples got abreathful of air from an explosion of bubbles, and boldly replied, "The Great Dipper's assistant. "

"Tell him, " whispered the hunchback in the roof, "that Priam, theFault Finder, is holding the strata back, but wants the relief to comeon three centuries hence, that I may spit upon my hands. "

Mr. Waples had no time to reply, for a large bubble of carbonic acidgas burst at that moment, and blew him through the gap or "fault" ofthe rock, into the coldest and clammiest cavern he had ever trodden. From every part of the walls, ceilings, and floor exuded moisture, which flowed off in rills and large canals, until they formed thetorrent that disappeared at the Fault Finder's Archway. 

"Magnesia, faugh!" exclaimed Mr. Waples, unconscious that he was inthe presence of somebody. 

"You don't like Magnesia, then?" rejoined a large, spongy object onthe floor, whose forehead perspired while he looked up through thechalky-white sockets of sightless eyes. "Why, he's a sixth part of allthat's drunk at the springs. Here, I'll call him up. Come Magnesia!come Potash! come Lime, Soda, Lithia, and Baryta! Come ye all to thepresence of Prince Saturation. "

There glided to the Sponge's feet a number of leather-looking beings, of broad, circular faces, and to every face a tail was appended on theother side. 

"The gentleman don't like our laboratory, " exclaimed the Sponge, purring the while like a cat. "Apply your suckers to him, yepercolating angels, and draw him to the forests of Fernandes!"

Mr. Waples felt a hundred little wafers of suction take hold of hisbody, and a sense of great compression, as if he was being pulledthrough a mortar bed. He opened his eyes on the summit of a stalagmitein a vast thicket or swamp of overthrown and decaying trees. Birds ofburied ages, whose long, bittern-like cries flopped wofully throughthe silence, made ever and anon a call to each other, like the Nemesisof century calling to century. One of these birds, having authorityand standing on one leg, observed to Mr. Waples, in a veryphilosophical manner:

"Stranger, are you of the Fungi family?"

"No, Fernandes, " answered our bold adventurer; "I live nearer thephosphates when at home, and it's a good article. "

A mournful chorus of croons from the loons went round the solitude. "Phosphates! phew! Phosphates! phew!"

"This apartment, " exclaimed the one-legged bird, "is exclusively forfungi of the old families. Here we rot piecemeal and furnish gas tothe nine-thousandth generation after us. By our decay the springs arefed with bubbles. Here is the world as it fell in the floral period, and our boughs are budding anew in the Eldorado of the waters aboveus. "

"Phosphates! phew!" shouted the great birds of this land of Lethe, asMr. Waples' stalagmite broke off and dropped him and set him astrideof an ancient pterodactyl bird that flew off with its burden to animmense height, and swinging him there by the seat of his breeches, asif he were to be the pendulum of a fundamental and firmamental clock, the griffin-bird finally let go. Mr. Waples was propelled at least sixmiles out of gravity, and tossed into a most deep and silent lake. Nothing affected its loveliness but an oppressive shadow that camefrom above, and seemed to sink every floating object in the scarcelybuoyant waves. No shores were visible, but distant mountains on oneside; nothing lived in the waters but meteoric lights and objects thatran as if on errands for the spirit above. Broad, submissive, unevaporating, but sinking down; the great inland lonely pool waseverywhere the creature of an invisible footprint. Mr. Waples knew thepower it obeyed to be that prostrate, cloud-like, overbroodingpresence, far above, with outlines like a mountain range. The silentsea was the water-trough of Apalachia, the western dyke of the delugeof Noah. The oppressive spirit, stretching overhead, was Bellydown, orthe thing that brooded over the waters of chaos, known toschoolmasters as Atmospheric Pressure. 

Mr. Waples saw it all now. The spirit overhead, with equal andeternal pressure, forced down this meteoric water through the slopesof stone, until it reascended toward the clouds of its origin and waslost in the forest of the fossils, where every decaying fibre madebubbles to drive it forward, and hold in solution the mineralsubstances it was to receive in the porous magnesian barrier betweenit and freedom. Soaking through this, the water escaped by the breakin the strata at the arch of the Fault Finder. 

But who had ever passed back against the current of the earth'sbarometry, from the spa to the reservoir, like Andrew Waples, ofHorntown, Eastern Shore of Virginia?

He felt a mighty vanity overwhelm him to get recognition of some kindfrom Bellydown, who disdained even thunder for a language. 

"Thou sprawling spirit, up yonder in the sky!" shouted Mr. Waples, with much firmness, "if thou art not mere nightmare, mere figment ofthe sciences, let me feel thy strength unequally, for once!"

The vast cloud object moved and yawned. Something like a small world, wearing a boot, smote Andrew Waples in the rear, as if the spiritabove had kicked him on the proper spot. He felt a pain and a flyingsensation, that was like paralysis on wings, and he never seemed tostop for years, until he fell and struck the ground, and, after aninterval, looked around him. 

He was in his room, at the United States Hotel, and had fallen out ofbed. The clock in the Baptist church cupola struck two. On the gasbracket was pinned a written notice, not yet dry, that Andrew Wapleshad just started for the High Rock Spring. 

But he knew that his adventure continued to be true, for when he wentto breakfast at daylight, he found he had no stomach. 

THE PHANTOM ARCHITECT. 

 Four hundred miles of brawling through many a mountain pass, From the shadow of the Catskills to the rocks of Havre de Grace, The Susquehanna flashes by willowy isles of May And deluges of April to the splendors of the bay. 

 It brings Otsego water and Juniata bright, Chenango's sunny current and dark Swatara's night, By booms of lumber winding and rafts of coal and ore, And gliding barges crossing the dams from shore to shore. 

 It is an aisle of silver along the mountain nave, Where towers the Alleghany reflected in its wave, By many a mine of treasure and many a borough quaint, And many a home of hero and tomb of simple saint. 

 The granite gates resign it to mingle with the bay, And softened bars of mountain stand glowing o'er the way; The wild game flock the offing; the great seine-barges go-- From battery to windlass, and singing as they row. 

 The negroes watch the lighthouse, the trains upon the bridge, The little fisher's village strewn o'er the grassy ridge, The cannoneers that, paddling in stealthy rafts of brush, With their decoys around them, the juicy ducks do flush. 

 And oft by night, they whisper, a phantom architect Lurks round the Cape of Havre, of ruined intellect, Who had designed a city upon this eminence, To cover all the headland and rule the land from hence. 

 And sometimes men belated the phantom builder find, Lost on the darkened water and drifting with the wind; Then by his will a vision starts sudden on the night-- The city flashing splendor o'er all that barren height. 

 Its dome of polished marble and tholus full of fire; The dying look of sunset just fading from the spire; The towers of its prisons, the spars and masts of fleets, And lines of lamps that clamber along the crowded streets. 

 The ships of war at anchor in the indented ports, The thunder of the broadsides, the answer of the forts-- These by his invocation arise and flame and thrill, Raised on his faith tenacious and strengthened by his will. 

 My soul! there is a city, set like a diadem, Beyond a crystal river: the new Jerusalem. The architect was lowly and walked with fishermen; But only He can open the blessed sight again. 

THE LOBBY BROTHER. 

I. 

The express train going south on the Northern Central Railroad, March3d, 186-, carried perhaps a score of newly-elected Congressmen, prepared to take their seats on the first day of the term. For everyCongressman there were at least five followers, adventurers orclients, some distinguished by their tighter-fitting faces, signifyingthat they were men of commerce; others, by their unflagging andsomewhat overstrained amiability, not to say sycophancy, signifyingthat out of the aforesaid Congressmen they expected something "fat. "Of the former class the hardest type was unquestionably Jabel Blake, and the business which he had in hand with the freshly HonorableArthur MacNair, who sat at his side reading the Pittsburg news-paper, was the establishment of a national bank at the town of Ross Valley, Pennsylvania. 

Jabel Blake had as little the look of a bank president as had hisrepresentative the bearing of a politician. MacNair was a thin, almostfragile young person, with light-red hair and a freckled face andclear blue eyes, which nearly made a parson of him--a suggestioncarried out by his plain guard and silver watch and his very sober, settled expression. The Honorable Perkiomen Trappe, who had servedthree terms from the Apple-butter District, remarked of him, from theadjoining seat, "Made his canvass, I s'pose, by a colporterin'Methodist books, and stans ready to go to his hivinly home by way ofthe Injin Ring!"

But, in reality, the Congressman belonged to the same faith with hisconstituent and client--both Presbyterians like their great-grandfathers, who were Scotch pioneers among the spurs of the Alleghenies; and therestill lived these twain, in fashion little changed--MacNair a lawyer atthe court-house town, and Jabel Blake the creator, reviver, andcapitalist of the hamlet of Ross Valley. Jabel was hard, large, bony, anddark, with pinched features and a whitish-gray eye, and a keen, thin, long voice high-pitched, every separate accent of which betrayed the loveof money. 

"It's an expensive trip, " said Jabel Blake; "it's a costly trip. Moremen are made poor, Arthur MacNair, by travellin' than by sickness. Twice a year to Pittsburg and twice to Phildelfy is the whole of mygadding. I stop, in Phildelfy, at the Camel Tavern, on Second Street, and a very expensive house--two dollars a day. At Washington they robeverybody, I'm told, and I shall be glad to get away with my clothes. "

"Tut! Jabel, " said MacNair, "brother Elk has taken rooms for me atWillards', and for the little time you stay at the capital you canlodge with us. A man who has elected a Congressman in spite of thePennsylvania Railroad shouldn't grudge one visit in his life-time toWashington. "

"Oh!" said Jabel, "I don't know as I begrudge that, though yourelection, Arty, cost me four hundred and seven dollars and--I've gotit here in a book. "

"I know that, " said MacNair quietly; "don't read it again, Jabel. Youbehaved like a sturdy, indignant man, paid all my expenses, though youprotested against an election in a moral land involving theexpenditure of a dime, and though you pass for the closest man west ofthe mountains. And here we are, going upon errands of duty, as littleworldly as we can be, yet not anxious to belittle ourselves or ourdistrict. "

"I'd cheerfully given more, Arty, to beat that corporation. Atwenty-dollar bill or so, you know! But money is tight. I've scrapedand scraped for years to start my bank at Ross Valley, and everydollar wasted retards the village. You boys have cost me a sight ofmoney. There's Elk's sword and horse, and the schooling of both ofyou, and the burying of your father, Jim MacNair, eighteen years agothis May. Dear! dear!"

The Honorable Perkiomen Trappe, catching a part of this remark, observed that Jabel Blake, judging by his appearance, shouldn't haveburied MacNair's father, but devoured him. Jabel's unfeeling remarkgave MacNair no apparent pain; but he said:

"Jabel, don't speak to Elk about father. He is not as patient as heshould be, and perhaps in Washington they disguise some of the matterswhich we treat bluntly and openly. There's Kitty Dunlevy, you know, and she is a little proud. "

The glazed, whitish eye of Jabel bore the similitude of a beam ofsatisfaction. 

"It's nothing agin you boys, " he said, "that Jim MacNair, your father, didn't do well. He wronged nobody but himself, as I made thestonecutter say over his grave. _That_ cost me upwards of elevendollars, so I did _my_ duty by him. You boys don't seem to have hisappetite for liquor. You are a member of Congress, and Elk was one ofthe bravest ginerals in the war; and I don't see, if he saves hismoney and his health, but he is good enough even for Judge Dunlevy'sgirl. "

Judge Dunlevy was the beau ideal of Jabel Blake, as the one eminentlocal statesman of the region round Ross Valley--the County Judge whenJabel was a child, the Supreme Justice of the State, and now aDistrict Justice of the United States in a distant field. Hisreputation for purity, dignity, original social consideration, moralintrepidity, and direct Scotch sagacity had made his name a tower ofstrength in his native State. To Jabel's clannish and religious natureJudge Dunlevy represented the loftiest possibilities of humancharacter; and that one of the two poor orphans--the sons of awood-cutter and log-roller on the Alleghenies, and the victim ofintemperance at last--whom Jabel had watched and partly reared, should now be betrothed to Catharine Dunlevy, the judge's onlydaughter, affected every remaining sentiment in Jabel's heart. 

Absorbed in the contemplation of this honorable alliance, Jabel tookout his account-book and absently cast up the additions, and so thelong delay at Baltimore caused no remarks and the landscapes slippedby until, like the sharp oval of a colossal egg, the dome of theCapitol arose above the vacant lots of the suburbs of Washington. 

A tall, handsome, manly gentleman in citizen black, standingexpectantly on the platform of the station, came up and greetedMacNair with the word, "Arthur!"

"Elk!"

And the brothers, legislator and soldier, stood contrasted as theyclasped hands with the fondness of orphans of the same blood. They hadno superficial resemblances, Arthur being small, clerical, freckled, and red-haired, with a staid face and dress and a stunted, ill-fedlook, like the growth of an ungracious soil; Elk, straight and tall, with the breeding and clothing of a metropolitan man, with black eyesand black hair and a small "imperial" goatee upon his nether lip; withan adventurous nature and experience giving intonation to his regularface, and the lights and contrasts of youth, command, valor, sentiment, and professional associations adding such distinction thatevery lady passenger going by looked at him, even in the din of adepot, with admiration. 

To Jabel Blake, who came up lugging an ancient and large carpet-bag, and who repelled every urchin who wanted the job of carrying it, ElkMacNair spoke cordially but without enthusiasm. 

"Jabel, " he said, "if I hear you growl about money as long as you arehere, I'll take you up to the Capitol and lose you among thecoal-holes. "

"It took many a grunt to make the money, " said Jabel Blake, "and it'snatural to growl at the loss of it. "

By this time they had come to the street, and there in a liverybarouche were the superb broad shoulders, fringed from above withfleece-white hair, of Judge Dunlevy. Health, wisdom, and hale, honorable age were expressed attributes of his body and face, and byhis side, the flower of noble womanhood, sat Catharine, his child, worthy of her parentage. Both of them welcomed Arthur MacNair withthat respectful warmth which acknowledged the nearness of hisrelationship to the approaching nuptials, and the Judge said:

"Great credit to Jabel Blake as a representative citizen, in that hiseyes have seen the glory of these fine boys, to whom he has been sofast a friend!"

Jabel's glassy eyes shone, and his mouth unclosed like a smile in afossil pair of jaws. 

"It's the nighest I ever come to being paid for my investment in Artyand Elk, " he said, "to get sech a compliment from Judge Dunlevy! They_are_ good boys, though they've cost me a powerful lot, and I hopethey'll save their money, stick to their church, and never forgit RossValley, which claims the honor of a buildin' 'em up. "

"Get up here, Jabel, and ride!" cried Elk. "Remember that coal-hole, old man!"

"No! no!" cried Jabel; "I can walk. These fine carriages is expensiveluxuries. They'll do for politicians, I 'spose, but not for businessmen with limited means. "

The Judge made Jabel Blake sit facing him, however, and they rattledoff to the hotel, where Elk MacNair had secured a parlor and suite forhis brother in the retired end of the structure, commanding a view ofNewspaper Row upon one side and of the Treasury façade on the other. The long, tarnished mirrors, the faded tapestry, and the heavy, soiled, damask curtains impressed Jabel Blake as parts of the wildextravagance of official society, and gave him many misgivings as tothe amount of his bill. He retained enough of his Scotch temperament, however, to make no ceremony about a glass of punch, which the Generalordered up for the old man, Arthur MacNair only abstaining, and thebeauty and amiability of the Judge's daughter, who sat at his side andbeguiled him to speak of his idolized village, his mills, hisimprovements, and his new bank, softened his hard countenance as bythe reflection of her own, and touched him with tender and gratifiedconceptions of the social opportunities of his _protégés_. MissDunlevy's face, with the clear intellectual and moral nature of herfather calmly looking out, expressed also a more emotional and moresympathetic bias. A pure and strong woman, whose life had ripenedamong the families and circles of the best in condition and influence, she had never crossed to the meaner side of necessity, nor appreciatedthe fact, scarcely palpable, even to her father, that he was poor. Anentire life spent in the public service had allowed neither time norpropriety for improving his private fortune; and as his salarycontinued over the war era at the same modest standard which hadbarely sufficed for cheaper years, he had been making annual inroadsupon his little estate, which was now quite exhausted. His daughtermight have ended his heartache and crowned his wishes by availingherself of any of several offers of marriage which had been made toher; but the soldierly bearing, radiant face, and fine intellect ofElk MacNair had conquered competition when first he sought, throughher father's influence, a lieutenancy in the army. 

His career had been brilliant and fortunate, and when he was broughtin from the field dangerously wounded, her womanly ministrations atthe hospital had helped to set him upon his horse again, with lifemade better worth preserving for the promise of her hand, surrenderedwith her father's free consent. It was a love-match, withoutreservations or inquiries, the _rapport_ and wish of two equalbeings, kindred in youth, sympathy, and career, earnest to dwelltogether and absorbed in the worship of each other. Folded in fullunion of soul as perfectly as the leaves of a book, which are incontact at every point equally, they felt at this period the wistfultenderness of a marriage near at hand, and their eyes anticipated it, seeking each other out. She was cast in the large stature of herfather, and her dark brown hair and eyes betokened the stability ofher character, while her graces of movement and speech no lessrevealed her adaptability to the social responsibilities which she hadsolely conducted since her mother's death. Together, Catharine and heraffianced made a couple equal to the fullest destiny, and they wonpraise without envy from all. 

"It is a happy fortuity, " said Judge Dunlevy, putting aside his glass;"Catharine's marriage to a worthy man, native to my own part of thecountry; Arthur's induction into national life; and hard-working JabelBlake's final triumph with his bank! There is no misgiving in the mindof any of us. The way is all smooth. Perfect content, perfect love, nostain upon our honors or our characters: with such simple familydemocracies all over the land we vindicate the truthfulness of ourinstitutions, and grow old without desponding of our country!"

"I feel almost religiously happy, " said Arthur, the Congressman; "notfor myself, particularly; not for my mere election to Congress, for inour district there are many abler men to make representatives of--Ihope none with more steadfast good intentions!--but Elk here alwayshad so much health, blood, wayward will, and brilliancy that Isometimes feared he might abandon the safe highways of labor andself-denial and try some dangerous short-cut to fortune. To see himsurvive the battle-field and begin the longer campaigns of peace witha profession, a reputation, no entanglements, and such a wife, makesme a religious man. God bless you, brother Elk!"

General MacNair said, in a jesting way, that Arthur was the truest, most old-fashioned, and most ridiculously scrupulous brother that evergrew up among the daisies; but he was affected, as were they all. 

"Elk MacNair, " asked Jabel Blake, in his hard, incisive, positive, business voice, "what do you mean to do after you are married?"

The General looked at Jabel as if he were a little officious and withlarge capacities for being disagreeable. 

"I have arranged to buy a partnership in a legal firm having thelargest practice in the North west. This is better than beginningalone and waiting to make a business. "

"How much will that cost?" persisted Jabel Blake, not remarking thegrowing repulsion with which the General answered, after some littleembarrassment:

"One hundred and sixty thousand dollars. "

"Why!" cried Jabel Blake, "that is nearly as much as it takes to startthe Ross Valley bank. Take care! Take care! Beware, Elk MacNair, ofgetting into debt at your time of life. It makes gray hairs come. Itbreaks up domestic pleasure. It mortgages tranquil years. Neither aborrower nor a lender be! That's Bible talk, and the Bible is not onlythe best book for the family, but the best business book besides. "

"I don't mean to run in debt, " said the General, with a look, perhapssurly; "I mean to buy into the firm with cash. "

"Bosh!" said Jabel Blake, rising up, "where did you get one hundredand sixty thousand dollars, Elk MacNair?"

"If you were not claiming to its fullest extent the privilege of myfather's friend, Jabel, I should tell you that it was none of yourbusiness! I will have made the money by the practice of law in theCity of Washington. "

"Dear me, Elk, " said his brother, quietly; "I don't presume to beworth five thousand dollars, all told. But I suppose you have geniusand opportunity, and the times are wondrous for men of acquaintanceand enterprise. "

Jabel Blake stared at Elk MacNair a long while without speaking. 

II. 

The sudden revelation that Elk MacNair was very rich had, on thewhole, a depressing effect. Kate Dunlevy, who had expected to marrypurely for love, found with a little chagrin that she was alsomarrying for money. The Judge was led to remark upon the curiositiesof a speculative age and a fluctuating currency, and said he longedfor the solid times of hard coin, cheap prices, easy stages, and aJeffersonian republic. As for Jabel Blake, he was too late for thatday to deposit his bonds at the Treasury and obtain the currency forthe Ross Valley bank, so he went sauntering around the city, grim as adefeated office-seeker. 

The brothers also made some calls, and Arthur MacNair was puzzled andat the same time pleased, to find that his dashing junior kneweverybody, had something to chat about with innumerable strangers ormembers, and was freely admitted to any public office he desired. Theycame home at twilight, quite fatigued, and found Jabel Blake lying ona bed in the inner chamber, fast asleep. 

"Dreaming of his bank!" said Elk MacNair; "what a metallic soul mustJabel's be! His very voice rattles like money. His features are cuthard as a face on a coin. "

"Jabel has good points, Elk, " said the Congressman; "if you canunderstand the passion of the town builder you can apprehend him. Hehas devoted his life to Ross Valley, and the only text of Scripture hefinds it hard to understand is, that he who ruleth his soul is greaterthan he who buildeth a city. "

The two brothers sat together in the main room; the day, at thewindows, was growing grayer, and they were silent for a while. 

The face of Elk MacNair had been growing long during the wholeafternoon, but with an assumed gayety he had sought to make the hourspass pleasantly, and when his thoughtful and modest brother endeavoredto argue with him that his legal labors were wearing him out, ElkMacNair turned the conversation off in a cheerful way by saying:

"Arthur, I have arranged that you shall have the chairmanship of afirst-rate committee. "

"How arranged it?"

"Oh, these things can be managed, you know. Every good position inWashington has to be begged for, or brought about by strategicapproaches. I know the Speaker and the Speaker's friends below him, and the old chairman of the committee where I wish you to be; and, among us all, you have obtained the rare distinction, for a newmember, of going to the head of one of the best of the second-classcommittees. "

"I do not like this, Elk, " said Arthur. "I hope I am without ambition, particularly of that sort which would annihilate processes and labors, and seek to obtain distinction by an easy path. I do not know that Ishall make a speech during the whole of this Congress, although Ishall try to be in my seat every day, and to vote when I am wellinformed. What committee is it that you have been at such pains to putme at the head of it?"

"The Committee on Ancient Contracts. "

Arthur MacNair, who had not much color at the best of times, turned alittle pale. 

"Elk, " said he, "there is a bad sound in that word 'contracts. ' Ofcourse, I do not take much stock in the widespread scandal about ourGovernment giving away contract work to do from base or personalconsiderations; but I have a little belief that one ought to avoideven the appearance of evil. I think I must refuse to go on thatcommittee. "

Elk MacNair seemed to grow darker and older, and his face assumed anintensity of expression which his brother did not perceive. 

"Pshaw! Arty, " he said, with agitation, "everything here goes byfriends. You brought with you no renown, no superstition, nothingwhich would entitle you to the Speaker's consideration. He might haveput you, but for me, away down on the Committee on RevolutionaryPensions. "

"I think I would like that committee, " said Arthur MacNair quietly. "In it I might be the means of doing gratitude to some old and needyhero. I like those tasks which involve no notoriety. At home, in ourchurch and among our townsfolks, I always tried to get on thesocieties which are unknown to public fame; and there, any littlething which I can diligently do brings its own reward. I must declineto go on the Committee on Ancient Contracts, Elk!"

The younger brother, with his dark burning eyes, met at this point thecool, unsuspecting glance of the country lawyer, and something in itseemed to embarrass even his worldliness, for he rose from his seatand threw up his hands impatiently. 

"Oh! very well, " he said. "I thought I was doing you a service, andnow I see that it has been love's labor lost. In fact, I want you onthat committee to serve a little turn for me!"

The country brother looked up with truthful surprise. 

"For you, Elk?"

"Yes, " cried the younger, striding up and down the floor with the stepof one made decisive by being put at bay; "I want you upon thatcommittee, not only to do me a turn but to do me a benefit; to come tomy rescue; to fulfil the expectations of many hard-working months; tomake me happy. Yes, Arthur, to make my fortune!"

Arthur MacNair followed the rapid walk and excited voice of hisbrother with astonishment. His small, thin, commonplace face seemed todevelop lights and intelligences which were painful to him, theclearer his apprehensions became. He said, in a quiet, still voice, asif he also were interested now, "I am afraid I am on the eve of hearing something bad, my brother. Ifit must come, let it all come. "

"Arthur MacNair, " said Elk, his voice raised above the ordinary pitch, and the recklessness of an officer in the ardor of battle showing inhis working face, quick talk, and rapid gestures, "you _are_ on theeve of hearing something. In your answer lies my destiny. I told you Iwas a lawyer, and had made one hundred and sixty thousand dollars withwhich I was to buy my way into an attorney's firm and establish myselfin business. It was true. I have made that engagement. My talent andenergy are recognized, and the place of which I spoke is waiting forme immediately after my marriage. The lady who is to be my bride isdivided from me by no other consideration than this--that I have notobtained the one hundred and sixty thousand dollars. "

The Congressman grew paler, and he made an effort to say "Go on, " buthis voice was scarcely audible, and Elk MacNair saw that he seemed tobe suddenly sick. With self-reproach the younger brother observed allthis, but it was too late for him to falter; the time was tooprecious. 

"Arty, " he said; "oh, my brother, the whole story must be told and thefull crisis met. I am dependent upon you for the price of myhappiness; for the hand of my wife; for the key to my fortune; for allthat makes the future auspicious and the past clear. I am not alawyer, as I have said, in the common sense in which, with modesteffort and goodness, you have followed out your career. I am alobbyist!"

"I returned from the war flushed with my success, and told on everyhand that an immediate and profound prosperity were close before me. These politicians and speculators around the capital took me by thehand, flattered me, and showed me where my fortune was within my owngrasp. Little by little they led me on, using my reputation andinfluence to accomplish their ends; and my mode of living, myacquaintances, my expectations, increased with my facilities, until, chafing under the consciousness that I was working out the privateinterests of others, I resolved to stake all upon one large hazard, conclude this wayward, self-accusing life, and depart from thepurlieus of legislation. Up to the present time no stigma has beenattached to my irregularities, none have suspected that I was lessthan I claimed to be--a soldier and a gentleman, betrothed to thenoblest woman in the world. But this manner of living in the end worksthe destruction of habits and reputation to any who continue in it. Tobe brief, I have found political life nothing but a commerce. All havetheir price, and the highest sometimes sell out the cheapest. Men areestimated here by their boldness and breadth only, and a singlesuccessful venture of the kind I have in hand will dismiss me fromthis city rich and without exposure, and I swear never again to beseen in the lobbies of the Federal legislature. All my dependence inthis, however, is upon you. I watched your campaign in our nativeregion--how gallantly and how exceptionably you fought it, none knowsso well!--and I took to heart the belief that, wishing to see medistinguished, wedded, and settled, your old scruples might give way, and you would afford me this last, best chance. Shall I go on?"

The small, thin face of the elder brother seemed to have lost all ofits vitality; his fragile form was even more diminished; it mightalmost have been paralysis which had seized him. 

"Water!" he muttered. "I cannot talk. "

The younger brother ran for a glass, and with a look of mingled guiltand affection sought to support him with his arm. Arthur MacNairfeebly repelled his assistance. 

"You may finish, sir, " he said. 

"God forgive me, " cried Elk MacNair, sinking into a chair; "mybrother, I beseech you, do not think so evil of me as to suppose thatin this enterprise I would compromise your character for one minute, and if it shall be necessary, all the fault shall be mine by openconfession. There is an old claim for postal services rendered manyyears ago, which has reposed in the catacombs of one of thedepartments. The claimant has long been dead, and it was purchased fora small sum from his heirs. There are some equities about the claim;the attestations in its favor are purely documentary, and I have soentirely manipulated every instrumentality on the way to its passage, judicial, legislative, and executive, that if the Committee on AncientContracts should report favorably upon it at the beginning of thesession, my confederates in the House will see that it goes along, andthe department will pay it immediately. Congress will then at onceadjourn, within a day or two, for such is the usage here. With myshare of the money, which will be large, I will be a man of wealth andable to turn my back once and for all upon this Capitol. You are to bethe chairman of the committee; the other members, as is habitual here, will intrust the whole matter to you; a few words explanatory of thisclaim will send it on its way, and the crisis of my life will havepassed. "

When the younger brother had finished, he also seemed to have expendedhis strength in the effort he had made, and he sat limp anddespondent. The elder brother, on the contrary, appeared to recoverhis strength by a vigorous effort of the will. He stood up. He walkedstraight before his brother and looked down upon him with hispenetrating blue eyes. 

"Elk MacNair, " he said, "tell me--by our common origin, solemnly, truthfully, and on your honor, tell me--will this claim stand the testof full investigation? Is it right?"

"Arthur, " said the younger, feebly, "under that appeal I must speaktruthfully. The claim is irregular; perhaps it has been paid already. There is no time for investigation. I have stocked the cards, and thetrick must be taken at once or never. You have this alternative. I cantake you off that committee, and I have a man in reversion who willget the post and pass the claim. "

The stature of Arthur MacNair seemed to expand, and he became thepositive spirit of the room. 

"Not so, " he said; "it shall not pass, Elk MacNair, neither by my helpnor by any other man's! You have acknowledged to me that there is nojustice in this thing. You have made me a party to a fraud. You shallknow that the only oath I came here to take is that of allegiance tothe interests of the country. No brotherhood, no sympathy, noambition, no pity, nothing shall be able to swerve me from my fullduty. "

"What would you do, fanatic?" cried Elk MacNair. 

"I will denounce that claim upon the floor of Congress, and couplewith the denunciation the story of this infamous proposal you havemade to a member of Congress. "

The younger brother gave a laugh. 

"What nonsense, Arthur, " he said. "If you expect to find any largeclass of Americans who will appreciate such heroism, exhibited at thesacrifice of your own blood and family, you do not know yourcountrymen in these days. The only men who deal in sentiment in ourtime are demagogues, who never feel it. A sneer will go up from allthe circles of the capital, from all the presses of the land, at a manwho seeks, in a political age, to play the part of the elder Brutus. "

"Miserable, lost, dishonored man!" said Arthur MacNair. "In thevalleys of my State, in the quiet farming districts all through theUnion, among the hard-working, the penurious, and the plain--such asyou and your class despise--there are armies of men who would rise andmarch upon this capital if they appreciated the whole of the scene inwhich you have figured to-day! You would steal the money of thepeople that you may buy a character and a position among yourcountrymen. Shame upon the man who would defend the acquisition ofsuch booty to wed the woman he loves. "

Every word which Arthur MacNair had uttered, and most of all the last, cut like a knife into the pride of Elk MacNair. 

"I thought I was pleading with my brother, " he said hoarsely, "not toa stone. I shall say no more. I have placed myself in your power. Remember this: if my point is not carried within three days, or if itbe balked by your interference, I will blow out my brains. I havewalked to the door of hell on the battle-field, and I can go further. "

He seized his hat and hurried away like a fury. Arthur MacNair stoodmotionless an instant in the middle of the floor, and then, worn outwith the intensity of the scene, his limbs gave way beneath him, andhe fell unconscious. 

In a moment the hard, strong face and giant form of Jabel Blakeappeared over the threshold of the bedroom; he lifted his Congressmanand counsel in his arms and carried him grimly to a sofa. 

III. 

The Honorable Perkiomen Trappe was much delighted, on the morningsubsequent to the occurrences related in our last chapter, to seeJabel Blake walk down Pennsylvania Avenue with the pensive air of aman whose heart had been broken. The Honorable Perkiomen supposed thatJabel had failed to receive some drawback or other upon hisincome-tax, and he rejoiced in the reverses of the close and thrifty. 

But Jabel Blake was now concerned solely with the sudden and violentrupture between the MacNair brothers. He had little acquaintance withElk MacNair, and no great fondness for him; but, being well informedas to the positive, combative traits of character in Arthur MacNair, Jabel knew very well that what his counsel had threatened to do hewould do, though his own heart-strings might be sundered. 

The deepest wish in Jabel's heart, next to establishing a nationalbank in Ross Valley, was to see the marriage between Kate Dunlevy andthe MacNair family brought to pass; yet such was his reverence for theDunlevys and so great his antagonism to the Washington Lobby that hewas half inclined to be himself the means of breaking off the matchbetween the daughter of his great neighbor and exemplar and the son ofhis old chum and companion. 

Jabel took his way to the house of the old Circuit Judge, which wasone of a row of tall brown-stone structures not far from the cityhall, and when he rang the bell a servant showed him to a library inthe second story, where the Judge was dictating certain judicialopinions to his daughter. The two elderly men retired to an adjacentapartment, which seemed, from its appointments and the character ofneedlework and literature strewn about, to be the _boudoir_ of MissDunlevy; and the Judge, who was somewhat past the prime of life, plunged into a long story about Ross Valley and its early settlement, speaking much of the time with his eyes closed in a sort of halfreverie, while Jabel, who occupied a seat nearer to the library, wasmeantime overhearing a conversation between Kate Dunlevy and young ElkMacNair, who had followed hard upon Jabel's heels. The old Judgemeantime, used to their voices, paused only to remark that he thoughtElk MacNair one of the strongest, most brilliant, and most promisingmen in the nation, and then went on with his dissertation upon pioneerdays among the spurs of the Alleghenies. Jabel, however, who was anattentive, inquisitive busybody, and who lived in a part of thecountry where folks of quality and large pursuits were few, observedthat the two voices in the next room were lowered, and that theirkey, while not so high, was yet even more startling than before. 

"Kate, " said Elk MacNair, "I had counted upon my brother as an assuredally in something of the most momentous importance to me at thisjuncture, before our marriage. My brother is a man of power, but ofnarrow views, and I have unconsciously aroused his animosity. He isnot to be appeased. Nothing can divert him from his purpose. 

"It can be nothing, if Arthur is the arbiter and your happiness thesubject, " said Miss Dunlevy. 

"It is a point of honor differently taken by two men, " said ElkMacNair; "and the issue is a matter of character. It is a matter offortune besides, and if neither relents both will suffer. "

These words were attended with some emotion which smote the roughfeelings of Jabel Blake, and he was a witness of some subsidiaryendearments, besides, which softened his indignation against the youngofficer. So he followed Elk MacNair from the house and accosted himupon the street. 

"General, " he said, "I claim the privilege of a guardian over youboys--over your brother in particular, who is a true man and anobstinate one. I know the matter of your difference. If you do notyield, Arthur MacNair will keep his word! You will be exposed on thefloor of Congress, exactly as he promised, and your engagement withKitty Dunlevy broken forever. "

"Jabel Blake, " answered the soldier, "I know just what I am about. Itold my brother that I would blow my own head off if he sacrificed mefor a sentiment. And just that I mean to do. "

"I know the devil in the MacNair blood, " said Jabel Blake; "but youare playing a false part and Arthur a true one. He fought his campaignagainst the corruptions and chicanery of power, and he will trampleyou out like a snake. "

"He thinks he's correcting a boy, " said Elk MacNair; "he shall find mea soldier. "

"And you will find him a Christian soldier, truer to his allegiancethan to rob his country!"

"Pshaw!" laughed Elk MacNair; "a skinflint who has raked up fortunewith his fingers, ground down his laborers, pinched his soul, andstooped his stature for money, has no right to be my chaplain, JabelBlake! You have grown rich like a scavenger. What matter if I bringdown fortune with my rifle, though the American eagle be the bird. Iwould spare my body some of the dirty crawling you have done to getyour bank!"

"Base boy!" cried Jabel Blake, with more contempt than anger; "I willlive to teach you that a life of thrift and honest toil is above yourpower to insult it. You can neither repel me nor break your brother'sheart. The time will come when you will weep to deserve the respectyou have lost from these gray hairs. "

He passed away with his old, heavy, deliberate gait, and left theyoung man almost repentant. 

IV. 

The galleries and floors of the House of Representatives were crowded, as was usual upon early working days of the session. Among the membersin a retired seat his red shock of hair, clerical dress, and thin, worn, commonplace, freckled face denoted the new member from theScotch district of Pennsylvania. The gay daughter of the HonorablePerkiomen Trappe, picking him out from the diplomatic gallery by theaid of her opera-glass, remarked that she mourned for her country whenEurope could behold such a specimen of homespun among AmericanCongressmen. 

"And what's more, pet, " said the Honorable Perkiomen, "he's a bin puton a fat committee. He has the cheer in the room on Ancient Contracts, and your unfortnit father is only a member under him. I think thatstaving cavalry brother of his'n, Elk MacNair, fixed his feed forhim!"

They turned to look at Elk MacNair, sitting in the gallery near bywith the venerable Judge and the Judge's daughter. His dark goatee, eyes, and hair, were set in a face unusually pale and intense, and hismanly and refined worldly bearing suited his associations. KateDunlevy, with her charms of bloom, repose, and stateliness, lookedlike the wife of such a public man. 

"Elk, " said she, "you do not seem to be at ease to-day. You are paleand nervous, and you have stared down there at your brother's seattill people are taking notice of you. "

"I am suffering a little, Kitty; that is all. My case comes up withinfive minutes, and I might as well blow my head off if it shall stickanywhere. "

His eyes seemed to flame out with a reckless light as he said this. 

"Arthur has a sick look as well, " said Kate. "This public life is tooexciting for him. See how nervously he sips that glass of water. "

"Sick!" exclaimed Elk MacNair, with a voice of bitterness, yet with amelancholy glance of admiration in the direction of the Congressman;"he is more dangerous than sick. His will is sublime, Kate; nothingcan soften it, not even pity. "

The committees were now being called by the Speaker, and chairmanafter chairman rose to make his report. As the list diminished moreand more, and the Committee upon Ancient Contracts approached itsturn, there were no two such livid, deathly faces in all the crowdedhouse as these two brothers wore. Elk MacNair's had a settledferocity. The youthfulness and comely moods were gone from it, and theburnt-out countenance of a man of the world looked dead and ashenabove the exhausted reservoirs of a diseased mind. Nothing was leftbut the last chance before despair, and apprehensive of the failure ofthis hope also, his gloved hand, resting upon a pocket hidden at hiship, sought support from the hilt of a pistol secreted there. Was_this_ the meaning of the sullen and ghastly determination glaringfrom his eyes? Yes, love and death were almost mated; and so in everybusy Congress do the spectres of temptation and ill-omen lurk in wait. 

The country brother on the floor showed also his tenacious purpose inhis compressed lips, straight, expanded breast and shoulders, andclear and direct but grave look. No extremity of occasion could make aheroic figure of him, but in his plain face was the beauty of moralcourage. He rose to his feet when the Speaker cried:

"Committee on Ancient Contracts is next in order. The gentleman fromPennsylvania!"

The people in the galleries were not disappointed that such a homelyman should have no voice nor grace, and that he spoke only with thegravest effort. 

"The gentleman's voice is inaudible to the chair, " said the Speaker. 

But Elk MacNair had heard it from where he sat. He had distinguishedthe fitful words:

"The committee reports against the ---- claim for postal services, desires that it do not pass, and the chairman wishes to make apersonal explanation relative to the claim. "

"Kitty, " said Elk MacNair, in a coarse whisper, "my brother has brokenmy heart!"

"Stay!" said Miss Dunlevy; "he staggers in his seat as if he wereabout to fall. A page has run to him with a letter. He reads it. Elk, for Heaven's sake, go to his help! He is dying!"

There was a rush of members about the new chairman of committee. Confusion reigned upon the floor of Congress. The lobby brother hadapprehended it all. He cleared the gallery at a run, passed a familiardoorkeeper like a dart, and raised his senior to his breast. 

"Arty, " he whispered, "may Heaven forgive me! I repent of my folly andwickedness, and entreat you to speak to me!"

"Heaven has forgiven you, Elk MacNair!" muttered the spentCongressman. "Your father's friend has spared your fame and myfeelings at the expense of his fortune. It has taken the bank of JabelBlake--the dream of his life--to save you from a dishonored name, andto give you a wife too worthy for you!"

He put a piece of paper in the lobbyist's hands. It said:

 "Arthur, I have given you the last gift in my power--a costly and a dear one--to keep your brother from disgrace, and to save you both remorse. I have bought the ---- claim, and destroyed it, but Ross Valley has lost the bank. 

 "JABEL BLAKE. "

V. 

On the terrace of the Capitol, while all this was occurring, a gaunt, gigantic, aged figure might have been seen, looking away into the citybasking in the plain at his feet, with almost the bitterness ofprophecy. He carried an old worn carpet-bag, and a railroad ticketappeared in his hat-band. It was Jabel Blake, shaking the dust of thecapital city from his feet!

To him the soft and purple panorama brought no emotions, as pride ofcountry or æsthetic associations; and even the bracing savor of thegale upon the eminence seemed laden, to his hard regard, with thecorruptions and excesses of a debauched government and a rank society. The river, to him, was but the fair sewer to this sculpturedsepulchre. The lambent amphitheatre of the inclosing ridges was likethe wall of a jail which he longed to cross and return no more. He sawthe dark granite form of the Treasury Department, and groaned like onewhose heart was broken there. The bank of Ross Valley was never to be!

Jabel thought in one instant of the inquiries which should beaddressed to him on his return, the prying curiosity of the hamlet, the strictures of his neighbors and laborers, the exultation of hisenemies, the lost chance of his cherished village to become the martof its locality and dispense from its exchequer enterprise and aid tofarms and mines and mills. 

"The good God may make it up to my children some day, " he said; "butthe bank is never to be in the life of old Jabel Blake!"

So Jabel went home and met with all obtuseness the flying rumors ofthe country. His worst enemies said that he had fallen from gracewhile in Washington, and "bucked" with all his bonds against a farobank. His best friends obtained no explanation of his losses. He kepthis counsel, grew even sterner and thriftier than he had ever been, and only at the Presbyterian church, where he prayed in publicfrequently at the evening meetings, were glimpses afforded of hisrecollections of Washington by the resonant appeals he made that themoney-changers might be lashed out of the temples there, anddesolation wrought upon them that sold doves. 

There was no bank at Ross Valley, but people began to say that oldJabel Blake had particles of gold in the flinty composition of hislife, and that his trip to Washington had made him gentler and widerin his charities. He was attentive to young children. He encouragedyoung lovers. He lifted many errant people to their feet, and startedthem on their way to a braver life of sacrifice. And fortune smiledupon him as never before. His mills went day and night, stopping neverexcept on Sabbaths. The ground seemed to give forth iron and limewherever he dug for it. The town became the thriftiest settlement inthe Allegheny valleys, and Jabel Blake was the earliest riser and thehardest delver in the State. 

It happened at the end of two years that rheumatism and anoverstrained old age brought Jabel Blake to bed, and a flood, passingdown the valley, aroused him, despite advice, to his old indomitableleadership against its ravages. He returned to his rest never toarise; for now a fever laid hold upon the old captain, and he talkedin his delirium of Judge Dunlevy and his bank, and he was attended allthe while by Arthur MacNair. 

One night, in a little spell of relief, Jabel Blake opened his eyesand said, "Arty, I dreamed old Jabel Blake was in heaven, and that he hadfounded a bank there!"

"Jabel, " said the young Congressman, "you must have some treasure laidup there, old friend. And not only in heaven, but in this world also. Look on this happy family redeemed by your sacrifice!"

Jabel Blake opened his eyes wider, and they fell upon Judge Dunlevy. 

"This is a great honor, " he said; "Ross Valley brings her greatcitizen back. "

"No!" cried the Judge, "it is you, Jabel, who have brought us all toyour bedside to do ourselves honor. Here are Elk MacNair and mydaughter, who owe all their fortune to your fatherly kindness, and whohave come to repay you the uttermost farthing. Providence hasappreciated your sacrifice. They bring for your blessing, my grandson, and the name they have given him is Jabel Blake. "

"Jabel, " said General MacNair, "take with our full hearts this money. It has been honestly earned with the capital of your bank. We returnit that you may fulfil the dream of your life!"

Jabel Blake took the money, and a smile overspread his face. His hardlineaments were soft and fatherly now, and their tears attested howwell he was esteemed. He drew Elk MacNair's ear to his lips, and saidfeebly, and with his latest articulate breath, "General, you owe me two years' interest!"

They laid Jabel Blake away by his fathers, and on the day of thefuneral Ross Valley was crowded like a shrine. 

POTOMAC RIVER. 

 Brave river in the mountains bred, And broadening on thy way, So stately that thy stretches seem The bosom of the bay! Thy growth is like the nation's life, Through which thy current flows-- Already past the cataracts And widening to repose. 

 Thy springs are at the Fairfax stone, Thy great arms northward course, They join and break the mountain bars With ever rallying force; But in thy nature is such peace, The beaten mountains yield, And lie their riven battlements Within thy silver shield. 

 Through battle-fields thy runnels wind, In fame thy ferries shine; Thy ripples lave the ancient stones On Freedom's boundary line; Where every slave the border crossed, A living host repass'd, And of the sentries of thy fords, John Brown shall be the last!

 Yet, O Potomac! of thy peace Somewhat let faction feel, And Northern Pilgrims patient hear Of Mosby and MacNeill. The long trees bloom where Stuart cross'd, And weep where Ashby bled, And every echo in thy hills Seems Stonewall Jackson's tread. 

 The love we bore in other days No difference can bar, And truce was kept at Vernon's grave However rolled the war. Like thee, oh river! human states By many a rapid rage, Before they reach the deeper tides And glass the perfect age. 

 Brief is the span since Calvert's huts Were still the Indian's sport, And Braddock's columns stumbled on The borderer Cresap's fort, Till now the tinted hills grow fond Around yon marble height, Where Freedom calmly rules a realm That tires her eagle's flight. 

 And still the wild deer sip thy springs, The wild duck haunt thy coves, And all the year the fisher fleets Bask o'er thine oyster groves; The strange new bass thy trout pursue. And where the herring spawn, The blue sky opens to let through Thine own majestic swan. 

 Haste, Nature! Raze yon shiftless halls, Where pride penurious bides, The while the richness of the hills Runs off to choke the tides; Where every negro cabin stood A freeman's hearthside warm, And broad estates of bramble wood Expunge in many a farm!

 Fill and revive these fair arcades, O race to Freedom born! The tinkling herds that roam the glades, The barge's mellow horn, The lonesome sails that come and go Repeat the wish again: The ardent river yearns to know Not memories, but MEN!

TELL-TALE FEET. 

The din of the day is quiet now, and the street is deserted. The lastbacchanal reeled homeward an hour ago. The most belated cabman haspassed out of hearing. The one poor wretch who comes nightly to thewater-side has closed her complaint; I saw her shawl float over theparapet as she flung her lean arms against the sky and went down witha scream. Here, in the busiest spot of the mightiest city, there is nohuman creature abroad; but footsteps are yet ringing on thedesolateness. They are heard only by me. There are two of them; thefirst light, timorous, musical; the other harsh and heavy, as if shodwith steel. I recognize them with a thrill; for they have haunted memany years, and they are speaking to me now. The one is soothing andpleading, and it implores me to write; but the second is like thestriking of a revengeful knell. "Confession and Pardon, " says the one;"Horror and Remorse, " echoes the other. They tinkle and toll thusevery midnight, when my hour of penance arrives and I have tried toregister my story. It is almost finished now. Let me read the pagessoftly to myself:

"My life has been a long career of suffering. The elements, whosechanges and combinations contribute to the pleasure of my species, have arrayed themselves against me. I am fashioned so delicately thatthe every-day bustle of the world provokes exquisite and incessantpain. Embodied like my fellows, my nerves are yet sensitive beyondgirlishness, and my organs of sight, smell, and hearing aremarvellously acute. The inodorous elements are painfully odorous tome. I can hear the subtlest processes in nature, and the densestdarkness is radiant with mysterious lights. My childhood was aprotracted horror, and the noises of a great city in which I livedshattered and well-nigh crazed me. In the dead calms I shuddered atthe howling of winds. I fancied that I could detect the glidingrevolution of the earth, and hear the march of the moon in herattendant orbit. 

"My parents loved me tenderly, and, failing to soothe or conciliateme, they removed from the busy city to a secluded villa in thesuburbs. Those labors which necessitated abrupt or prolonged soundwere performed outside our grounds. The domestics were enjoined toconduct their operations with the utmost quietude. Carriages nevercame to the threshold, but stopped at the lodge; the drives werestrewn with bark to drown the rattle of wheels; familiar fowls andbeasts were excluded; the pines were cut down, though they had moanedfor half a century; the angles of the house were rounded, that thewind might not scream and sigh of midnight, and the flapping of ashutter would have warranted the dismissal of the servants. Thickcarpets covered the floors. My apartments lay in a remote wing, andwere surrounded with double walls, filled with wool, to deadencommunication. Goodly books were provided, but none which could arousefears or passions. Fiery romances were prohibited, and histories ofturmoil and war, with theology and its mournful revelations, andmedicine, which revived the bitter story of my organism. My librarywas stocked with dreamy and diverting compositions--old Walton, thepensive angler; the vagaries of ancient Burton, and the placidessayists of the Addisonian day. Of poets I had Cowper and Wordsworth, who loved quiet life and were the chroniclers of domestic men andmanners. Pictures of shadowy studios and calm lakes, unfrequentedcoverts and sleepy wayside inns, covered my wall. The tints oftapestry, panel, and furniture were subdued, and the sunshine whichmellowed a stained window was softened by an ingenious arrangement ofshades and refractors. Art opposed her quaintest contrivances againstthe intense and violent moods of Nature, and my retirement was securefrom the inroads of all except my careful guardians. 

"But I was still unhappy, and the prey of vivid fancies. This privacysuggested the great world without, where men were wrestling withdangers. I imagined ships upon stormy seas, and whirlwinds aroundmountain-homes; the chaos of cities, the rout of armies, dim arcticsolitudes, where the icebergs tumbled apart and the frozen seas splitasunder. They had banished painful occurrences, but the sensitiveorganism could not be destroyed, and I bore up until almost insane, struggling to be cheerful when stunned and dazzled. At last, when mymother stole into my room one day--it was October, I think, for Icould hear the tiniest leaves dropping to the grass far below--I laidmy head wearily in her lap and covered my ears with my hands. My eyeswere filled with tears. 

"'My dear mother, I cannot bear this life. I suffer as of old, thoughthere be not a mote across the sun nor a breath in the air. If my mindcould be led from these consciousnesses, I might be calm. '

"'Luke, ' said my mother, 'you need a companion. '

"The thought was a new one, and so thrilled me. 

"'No, mother, ' I replied; 'strong, healthy beings could not exist thuscloistered. '

"'For less than money, ' she responded, 'they have done more. '

"'We should not agree, ' I said; 'I would be peevish and he woulddespise me. '

"'Your companion must be a woman, my son. '

"A succession of short chills passed through every nerve, and amoment's faintness possessed me. 

"'It must not be, ' I pleaded; 'a restless, chatting, plotting womanwould be worse than all. '

"My mother marked my rising agitation and glided away. 

"'Whatever can relieve you, dear Luke, ' she said, 'your father shallobtain. '

"I now fancied that they believed me mad, and that a keeper was to beintroduced to me, under the guise of a companion. I formed many mentalportraits of this fierce person, and they kept me awake through thelong watches. I even meditated escape, and unclosed my casement withthat design, but the sunlight, the bird songs, and the zephyrs rushedinto my window and staggered me like so many sentinels. One day Islept fitfully, and dreamed that I was poor and orphaned, with thealternatives of death or work before me. I had wandered to a villageand thrown myself beneath some elms, with a horrible despair sealingmy eyelids. Suddenly the grass was stirred by some human footfalls, and two soft voices were speaking close beside me. 

"'It is strange, ' said the first voice; 'he is pale and delicate, butwith no evidences of heavier afflictions. '

"'You do not know him, ' murmured the other; 'wait and see!'

"A face bent down to mine, and the lips of a woman touched my cheek. Istarted in my sleep, caught my breath gaspingly, and quivered like anaspen. 

"'This is indeed terrible, ' said the soft voice compassionately; 'butdo not despair. It cannot be nature. It must be habit, or bashfulness, or the effect of some childish and forgotten fright. Cheer up, andhope!"

"'Be kind to him, Heraine, ' resumed the other; 'you are my last resort, and becoming his companion you become my child. Do not vex, do not excitehim. Be yourself--always calm, gentle, and affectionate--and the kindnesswhich you show my boy may God return to you in mercy and blessing!'

"I unclosed my eyes; the scene was resolved to my quiet library. Something glided through the door, but a form from the other sideflung a shadow across my face. A premonition of the keeper thrilled mea moment, but I turned slowly at length and looked into the intruder'sface. 

"A woman, or rather a girl with a woman's face, serene and placid, asif never ruffled by care or passion, sat between me and the window, and the gloomy light softened her calm countenance. As I looked up herlashes fell, and her blue eyes were bent fixedly upon the floor. Sheseemed like one of my sedate portraits, which had come down from itscase. She waited, apparently, for some sign of recognition, or untilmy surprise should have passed away, and did not move while I ran herover with keen curiosity. She was, probably, of my own age, though herself-possession might have stamped her as much older; but the bloom ofher cheek and her bosom just ripening were indices of a girl's year's. She raised her eyes at length and bade me good afternoon in a voicewhich reminded me of the faintest lullaby. The quiet tone was secondedby an assuring glance, and directly we were conversing withoutrestraint, as if friends of years rather than acquaintances of anhour. 

"Heraine was the impersonation of composure. The neutral tint of dresscorresponded with the smooth tresses of her brown hair. Her touch wasmagnetic, and petulancy vanished at her smile as at a charm. Herintelligence was, doubtless, the secret of her power. She divined mymoods without inquiry, and cheered them without effort. She led me outof the unhealthy atmosphere engendered by my sensitiveness, and Isometimes forgot my disability for hours. She was as good as she wascapable, and as amiable as she was resolute. We fraternizedimmediately, and I felt all the newness of a regenerated life. Mytemperament was fitful as of yore, but the gloomy spectres vanished;and my attention being weaned from the slighter occurrences ofnature, I was no longer racked by their tremors and jars. The softface of Heraine seemed to hush all chaos, and when she smiled Ithought that the very earth had ceased to roll. When her large liquideyes were fully opened upon me, I seemed to be looking into the hungryblue of the sky, and carried aloft by the look beyond the influence ofmatter. For the moment my nerves grew numb, the compass of my sensesnarrowed to her wondrous face, and the fetters which bound me to itwere forged of gold. 

"The months went by like the stars, which wheel eternally, but seemmotionless as we watch them. Sometimes we read aloud, but our voiceswere low and lulling, as if quieter than silence. Then we talked of mycalm paintings, shadowing deeper lonelinesses in them. But it was myhighest rapture to sit in stillness for hours while Heraine, cushionedat my feet, made cunning embroideries, like some facile poet whosefingers were dropping rhymes. 

"I remarked that our conversations were progressive. My companion ledme gradually into forbidden themes, as if to strengthen and emboldenme. We went forth, in fancy, from our shadowy chamber, through deepgroves, into twilights, beneath soft skies, even into the glare of thesun, and, at last, among the storms and the seas. I may have quivered, but I was not shocked; for the wrack and roar of the universe weredrowned in the quietness of her voice. Then we walked abroad a littleway, and, though pained, I endured; for she did not abuse thesesuccesses. She had travelled in far countries, and often read mefriendly letters which attested how well the world esteemed her. Sometimes her acquaintances came to the house, but never to my room;and once or twice she was absent a whole day, when my nervousnessreturned. There was one correspondent whose missives were never readto me--a fine, bold hand, which at length became familiar. Theirreceipt pleased her, I thought, and once I ventured to say, "'Heraine, you have a pleasant letter there. '

"She only blushed very much, and all her quietness was gone for amoment. 

"As the months expanded into years, a new feeling engendered from ourintimacy. I did not comprehend it at first. It crept upon me like theunfolding of a new sense, or the gradual realizing of the earliestprofound thought. An unexpected event gave it recognition. 

"The boldly-indorsed letters came twice a month at first, afterwardfour times, and finally twice, thrice, and even five times a week. Heraine was quick and flushed. She passed but two or three hours dailyin my apartment, and substituted for the embroidery a dress of suchbright hues that it dazzled my eyes. One day she took her accustomedseat, with a face subdued to sadness and an irresolute manner. 

"'Luke, ' she said, after a long pause, 'we have passed many dayspleasantly together?'

"She did not wait for me to speak, though I thrilled and turned deadlywhite. 

"'And because so pleasantly, I contemplate my farewell with regret. '

"'Your farewell, Heraine?'

"'Yes, ' she said firmly; 'to-day--this afternoon--this hour--I bidadieu to Glengoyle!'

"I fell forward in my seat, forcing down my heart, which sobbed andswelled, and the whole world rang, flared, and burst into violence. Ifthe seas had opened their fountains and the crust of the globe crushedup, there would have been no greater chaos. But in my faintness andagony I caught the blue eye which had soothed and melted me so often, and, clasping my hands, I fell at her knees and said, "'Heraine, I love you!'

"It was her time to tremble now, and I interpreted the pallor of hercheek as a signal of hope. 

"'I know that I love you, ' I said; 'if the earth and the stars were tobe blotted out, and you remain, I should not miss them. You are myuniverse. Without you there is no creation, and the elements are atwar. If you leave me, you have left only a bright space in a wretchedeternity. No voice but yours can say "peace" to me. Be merciful andremain!'

"She was moved with my appeal, and tears came to her eyes. 

"'I did not know that it had come to this, ' she said. Then hercomposure returned, and she raised me with a smile. 

"'If you would win any woman, ' she said meaningly, 'you must first bea man. You are not a man, Luke. You are a child! You have shut thesunlight from you, and the trill of a thrush pierces you like anarrow. Would you cage your wife in the gloominess of this sepulchre?Would you hush her songs, and tremble beneath her caresses, and die inthe delights of her love? Go! Open the window of this vault! Minglewith the crowds of cities! Ascend into the mountains! Cross the seas!Become worthy of my affection, and then entreat me again!'

"She had shown me the abject thing I was. Her conditions were harderthan death; but the hope she had spoken was like a glimpse of Heaven, and I answered, "'Heraine, I will do it!'

"In a month I set out for my travels. An easy coach conveyed me toLondon, and the third day I lay sick in Paris. Sore of body and brain, strained in nerve and stunned in sense, I persisted in my resolve, andwas whirled, more dead than alive, across the Continent to Berlin. Inthe period of three months I had traversed all the leading kingdomsand pushed my purpose to the sandy banks of the Nile. Every moment inthis journey was an infinity of torture; but in the bitterest pangs Iremembered the divine consummation, and kept on. My infirmities wereincreased rather than diminished. In the deepest thunder I could hearthe delving of the beetle; and though the whole vault blazed withelectric light, I could see the twinkle of the glow-worm. But amongthe multitude of noises which haunted me, the most persistent were thefootfalls of men. There were pauses in the lives of all other beings. The weasel and the hyena rested sometimes, and I could avoid theirhaunts, but men were forever alert and ubiquitous. I heard them inabysses, upon peaks, and in wildernesses. They trod upon my nerves;they crushed sleep from my soul. I closed my ears in vain; I fledwithout refuge; I prayed without avail. The patter of little children, the footfall of the maiden, the elastic pace of the youth, the rackinglimp of the cripple, the veteran hobbling upon his wooden stump, theconfused tread of crowds, the steady tramp of soldiers--these torturedme by daylight, and I kept penance at midnight with the going ofoutcasts and vagrants. 

"I learned to classify these footfalls. My sensations of them were sokeen that my memory retained them. I recognized individuals, not bytheir faces but by their feet. A solitary tourist met me among theruins of Luxor; I knew his tread, though months had elapsed, among thethousands on London Bridge. A gypsy family, whom I passed on theSpanish sierras, went under my window in Paris, and I missed the feetof the lad who had been hanged. Ten thieves were marched to thepillory in Kiev; I counted the paces of the four who escaped, from aclosed diligence on the Simplon. I lost not one among the millions offootfalls. But there were two which I distinguished every where. WhenI pursued, they retreated; when I fled, they followed me. They werelike two echoes in different keys; and one of them I loved, the otherI hated. The first was soft, tinkling, harmonious, like a memoryrather than a sound; the other was firm, vigorous, and vehement, andit kept time with the soft footstep, as if to drown it to my ears. When I was fagged and wretched, the light footfall approached me; butwhen, inspirited, I rose to behold its owner, it died away in thethunder of its companion tread. 

"At last I embarked for America, and when the land disappeared I saidto myself, 'At sea, at least, no footfalls can follow. ' But one night, when the clangor of the screw drove me upon deck, I heard, far astern, through the deep fog, the sound of two haunting feet. Next morning aswifter steamer overtook us. The waves revelled between, and the windswere high, but above the bellow of our engines and the elements, thosethrilling footfalls rang out. I caught a glimpse of a familiarsomething, as the rival craft went by, and reeled and fell upon thedeck. 

"I found New York the noisiest city in the world, and felt that aweek's tenure would drive me mad. A fire occurred in Broadway thenight of my arrival, and the din of the mobs which ran to its reliefwas greater than all the combined clamors of Europe. So I resorted toa beautiful village called Wyoming, in the heart of the Susquehannamountains, and passed the month of September in comparative quiet. Ifany place in the world is shut in from brawls and storms, it is thishistoric valley. Its reminiscences were sad and painful to me, but itsscenes were like soft dreams. 

"During a part of my tenure in the village I missed my shadowyattendants; but when, one day, I ascended to Prospect Rock, I heardamid the hum of farms and mines and mills, those same audiblerepetitions floating up the sides of the mountain. The valley grew dimupon my sight, and I hastened nervously to my cottage. Thenceforward Iseldom lost them. When I penetrated the wild glen of the Lackawanna, or climbed the Umbrella Tree, or ventured into the Wolf's Den, or satupon Queen Esther's Rock, or sailed upon Harvey's Lake, they followedme, the one lulling, the other maddening--invisible but omnipresenttypes of the good and the evil which forever hover in the air. 

"One day I ventured to Falling Waters, a reservoir which isprecipitated from a cliff, called Campbell's Ridge, into a gorge ofthe Shawnee Mountains. The deafening roar of the cataract would bealmost deathly to me; but, strengthened by the promise of Heraine, Idetermined to add this achievement to the long list of inflictionsendured for her sake. 

"I made the ascent on foot, and could see, from the base of the ridge, the skein of foam shining through the pines in its everlasting flightdown the rocks. I became accustomed to the sound as I graduallyapproached, and mused, with gladness, of an early return to England. Heraine would acknowledge my vindication. Suffering more anguish froma sunbeam or a song than others from the knout or the rack, I had yetrun the gauntlet of the intensest horrors, cheered by the certainty ofher regard. She would confess her error. We should shut out the worldagain from our shadowy home at Glengoyle, and go down together, handin hand, to a deeper stillness. As I mused thus I heard the hauntingfootfalls again, going up the mountain before me. To my delight, theirattendant demon was inaudible, and I pursued them rapturously. Therush of waters grew louder. They had moaned before; they shrieked andscreamed now, as if in the agony of their suicidal leap. But, clearand musical, above the hell of sound rang the tinkling feet which hadled me around the globe. 

"I called aloud. I quickened my pace. I could see only in glimpsesthrough my tears; but along the steep sinuosities of the pathsomething fluttered and vanished, and fluttered again--I recognizedHeraine. 

"I knew now the fidelity of her affection. She had followed my invalidwanderings, to be near me in want and prostration. I could have kneltin the aisle of the dim woods, with God's choir of waters pealingbefore me, to weep my gratitude. But as the figure of Herainedisappeared above, those other abhorred footfalls rang keenly below. Deep, rapid, and elastic, they were sonorously defined above the clashof the cataract. I fled, with my hands upon my ears. 

"On and on! winding among boles, creeping beneath branches, climbingledges, vaulting over fissures and chasms, I reached the open plain atlast, and halted unnerved upon the brink of the abyss. 

"The glory of the prospect filled me with exquisite pain. A mist, arched by a delicate rainbow, rose from the tumbling flood, and thesunny valley was visible, at intervals, beyond it, inclosed by bluemountains and intersected by the pale, ribbon-like Susquehanna. It wasmy fate to endure, not to enjoy; but at this moment the cataract wasforgotten in a deeper torment; the boughs opened, the sky split withthe shock of feet, and a man bounded from the wood. 

"He was tall, handsome, and athletic, and his ruddy cheeks wereflushed with exercise. He made a trumpet of his hands, and hallooed, long and clear, "'Hera--a--a--ine!'

"Then he whistled through his fist till the rocks and water rang. 

"'Where the deuce is the dear girl?' he said, and his eyes fell uponme. 

"A terrible hatred rose in my heart against this man. It was the firstgreat passion I had nurtured, and had received no other provocationthan the empty sounds of his footfalls. But antipathies are notaccidental merely; they are organic; and my quick sense took alarmeven from his tread. One's character may be defined in his gait, but Iknew from the tramp of this person that his nature was averse to mine. Why had he followed my affianced across the seas? Why had his crashingdrowned the music of her steps? Why had he uttered her name with anendearment? Why had he been retained at her side, and I sent alone andwretched before? My wrists knotted nervously as these accusations tookshape, and my blood became gall. 

"'I beg pardon, ' he said curtly; 'but are you the young man we arelooking for?'

"I asked through my teeth whom he designated in the term '_we_. '

"'Heraine, of course, ' he replied; 'give me your hand! We havefollowed our little invalid--that's what we call you--over many aleague, and may make his acquaintance at last. Ralph Clendenning, atyour service!'

"I shrank menacingly from him, and counted the dull throbs of myheart. 

"'What! timid!' he said; 'and with so old a friend? I never met you, indeed, but then I have talked of you so often that you have grown tobe quite a brother. '

"I saw that he was frank and winning, and hated him the more. 

"'Upon my word, ' he added, 'there was none whom I had resolved in mymind to love so well, for the sake of Heraine. '

"A cry escaped me, so bitter that it seemed a howl, and I clenched myhands. 

"He still followed me along the very edge of the cliff, extending hishand. A horrible impulse rushed upon me, and a thought darker thanjealousy caught it up. I hurled myself against him. He staggered onthe brink of the abyss, and went down with a sharp, half-stifledscream!

"My eyes followed the dead weight, as it rolled from ledge to ledge, accelerated each instant by the force of the cataract. A world, tossedout of gravity and crashing among the planets, could not have beenmore awfully distinct. Down--down--down--a formless mass of fibre andbone, the mist seemed to buoy it up when it reached the deepmostcascade, and as it disappeared through the tops of the pines I heardthe coming of footfalls. 

"Mine was a soul in torment, listening to music in heaven. I stood, stiff and numb in horror, staring into the gulf. The roar of thecataract was smothered to a babble. The rainbow vibrated tremulouslyto the dropping harmonies. I saw the familiar shadow as it gided tomy feet. A soft hand thrilled me with its touch, and the old voicesaid, "'Dear Luke, I am Heraine, come back. '

"I could not stir. My eyes were forged to the abyss. 

"'Why do you glare so wildly?' she said. 'Come! you have been brave, and must not fail now. Have you no kind greeting for Heraine?'

"Down in the abyss, swaying and rocking upon the pine bough, with thefrank smile as when I murdered him, I saw my victim in fancy. 

"'Speak, Luke, ' she repeated. 'I have a dear friend here; he has madethe long pilgrimage with me, fondly anticipating this meeting. Youwill know him to-day, and I am sure you will love him. '

"Still surging upon mist and spray and bough, with the halo of therainbow shimmering above it, the noble face turned upward forgivingly. 

"'We have planned for your happiness, dear friend. Compared to theretreat we have fashioned for you, Glengoyle is a Babel. But you areill, Luke; What terrible allurement lies in the waterfall? Come awayfrom the brink! Ralph! Ralph!'

"She called in clear tones. The woods and waters answered back. 

"'He is there, ' I stammered; 'down--deep--dead--do you see him?--howhe smiles and surges on the tufts of the pines! I--thrust him over--inrage--even as he gave me his hand--I slew him!'

"'Merciful God!' she whispered in horror; 'he was my husband!'

"The rainbow dissolved; the waterfall deluged the valley; themountains were covered with waves; the skies grew pitchy dark; I sawnothing more. 

 * * * * *

"My sensations upon waking were those of a diver who has risen fromthe tranquil depths to the surface. Hubbub recommenced; horrorreturned. My hair was shaven close to my skull; my head acheddismally; I moved my hand with an effort, and my eyelids were so weakthat I could not unseal them for a time. 

"I was lying in my old chamber at Glengoyle, and Heraine was sittingat my bedside. Her garments were sable, her brown hair thin, her faceplacid, as of yore, but marked by deep-seated grief, and the magnetismof will and courage was gone from it. To the eye she was the same; tothe mind, a weak and broken thing. Crime had changed both our natures;she had been tutor and governess before, and I the passive, submissivecreature; but sin had made me bold, and sorrow worn her to a woman. 

"'Luke, ' she said, in the same lullaby tone, 'do you know me? do yourecognize the place? are you still weak?'

"'Heraine, ' said I, sternly, 'do not the wrongs we have done eachother forbid this intimacy?'

"'Oh, Luke!' she replied, 'let us not uncover the past. I have buriedyour sin with its victim, and watched you through weary months, andprayed God to pardon you. '

"'Can God pardon your sin to me, Heraine?'

"'I trust so, Luke, ' she said feebly, 'if ever in my life I treasuredyou a hard thought or did you any injury. '

"'Is it no injury, ' I said, 'to have lured me by a false promise frommy quiet home? I have endured the torture of cities, seas, suns, andstorms. Your pledge was my spur and talisman through all. But you hadcheated me with a lie. You were another's already. For you I havestained my hands with blood and shut heaven against my soul!'

"'As I have an account to Settle, Luke, ' she pleaded, 'I meant yourhappiness only. To have told you that I was wedded would have painedyou. I thought to familiarize you with scenes and sounds, by making myregard an incentive to adventure. It was your mother's plan. I yieldedto the deception, and believed it good. "

"'It was a wicked falsehood, ' I said; 'you knew the weakness of mynature--that my sensitiveness was a disease--that to cross me was tokill. You have made both of us wretched forever. '

"My cruelty was murdering her; her face grew deathly in its pallor, and she pressed her hands upon her heart. 

"'Let the dead man lie between us, ' I proceeded; 'it is not seemly foryou to be my friend; and to me you are an ever-present accusation. Wemust not see each other!'

"'Oh, Luke!' she cried, falling upon her knees imploringly; 'I am abruised thing, a-weary of the world. This silence and darkness areendeared to me. Do not send me away!'

"'You agitate me, ' I said; 'let us do our penance, each in loneliness. There was a time when our sorrows were mutual; it is past; we haveonly to say farewell. '

"I covered my face with my hands; she touched my brow with her lips, and when the door had closed upon her sobbing I heard her footfallsmaking mournful music on the stairs. They rang upon the lawn, thenpattered down the drive; they passed desolately out of the gate, theywere lost on the highway, and then the world became blank again. 

 * * * * *

"'Luke, ' said my mother timidly, 'Mrs. Clendenning--Heraine--is--dead. '

"'I know it, ' said I quietly. 

"She seemed surprised, and interrogated me with her eyes. 

"'She died at twilight yesterday, ' I stated; 'as the first candleswere lit in the lodge and the earliest star appeared--I heard herfootsteps. '

"'At that time she passed away, ' sobbed my mother. 'Oh, Luke! you werecruel to the poor girl. Her parting prayer was made for you. To thelast you stood between Heraine and heaven. '

"'At that time, mother, I was sitting at my window. Tears and thrillshaunted me during the afternoon, and I was frightened in the silenceand darkness. And I heard Heraine's footsteps come up the road, passthe lodge, ascend the stairs, and cross my threshold. They were likeechoes rather than sounds--hollow and ghostly; and mingled with themwere the deeper footfalls of my other spectre, her husband. '

"I could not inhabit my chamber now. These awful sounds drove me intothe open world, where I hoped to lose them in the tread of multitudes. I wandered to the old church on the day of the funeral, and lookedupon the bier with dry and burning eyes. The pastor read of the holyJerusalem, and said that her pure feet were walking the goldenstreets. But in the hushes of the sobbing I heard them close besideme, and while children were strewing her grave with flowers theyfollowed me over the stile and through the village till I gained thefields and took to my heels in fright. 

"I sought the resort of crowds, and lived amid turbulences. In busyhours I baffled my pursuers; but in the dark midnights, when only themiserable walked, I suffered the agonies of remorse and penance. Theever-flowing stream of life on London Bridge became my solace. Myapartments are here, and I sit continually at an open window, leaningfar forward, to catch the thunder of the tramp. I know the footfallsas of old. I see the suicide pace to and fro, to nerve herself for thedeed. I hear her sleek betrayer, and detect their wretched offspringas he first essays to filch a handkerchief or a purse. 

"Oh, the footfalls! the footfalls! Each tread marks a good or a wickedthought. A fiend or an angel starts beneath every heel. They write aneternal record as they go. Their voices float forever to witnessagainst or for us. We people space as we cleave it. The ground that isdumb as we spurn it has a memory and a revenge. I am more sensitivethan my kind; and my penance to these monitors of my sin is but arealization of the terror which all must feel at the accusation oftheir footfalls. "

UPPER MARLB'RO'. 

 Through a narrow, ravelled valley, wearing down the farmer's soil, The Patuxent flows inconstant, with a hue of clay and oil, From the terraces of mill-dams and the temperate slopes of wheat, To the bottoms of tobacco, watched by many a planter's seat. 

 There the blackened drying-houses show the hanging shocks of green, Smoking through the lifted shutters, sunning in the nicotine; And around old steamboat-landings loiter mules and over-seers, With the hogsheads of tobacco rolled together on the piers. 

 Inland from the river stranded in a cove between the hills, Lies old Marlb'ro' Court and village, acclimated to her chills; And the white mists nightly rising from the swamps that trench her round, Seem the sheeted ghosts of memories buried in that ancient ground. 

 Here in days when still Prince George's of the province was the queen, Great old judges ruled the gentry, gathering to the court-house green; When the Ogles and the Tayloes matched their Arab steeds to race, Judge Duval adjourned the sessions, Luther Martin quit his case. 

 Here young Roger Taney lingered, while the horn and hounds were loud, To behold the pompous Pinkney scattering learning to the crowd; And old men great Wirt remembered, while their minds he strove to win, As a little German urchin drumming at his father's inn. 

 When the ocean barks could moor them in the shadow of the town Ere the channels filled and mouldered with the rich soil wafted down-- Here the Irish trader, Carroll, brought the bride of Darnell Hall, And their Jesuit son was Bishop of the New World over all. 

 Here the troopers of Prince George's, with their horse-tail helmets, won Praise from valiant Eager Howard and from General Wilkinson; And (the village doctor seeking from the British to restore) Key, the poet, wrote his anthem in the light of Baltimore. 

 One by one the homes colonial disappear in Time's decrees. Though the apple orchards linger and the lanes of cherry-trees; E'en the Woodyard[3] mansion kindles when the chimney-beam consumes, And the tolerant Northern farmer ploughs around old Romish tombs. 

 By the high white gravelled turnpike trails the sunken, copse-grown route, Where the troops of Ross and Cockburn marched to victory, and about, Halting twice at Upper Marlb'ro', where 'tis still tradition's brag, That 'twas Barney got the victory though the British got the swag. 

 But the Capital, rebuilded, counts 'mid towns rebellious this-- Standing in the old slave region 'twixt it and Annapolis; And the cannons their embrasures on the Anacostia forts Open tow'rd old ruined Marlb'ro' and the dead Patuxent ports. 

[Footnote 3: "The Woodyard, " the finest brick mansion on the westernpeninsula of Maryland, the seat of the Wests, twelve miles fromWashington, burned down a few years ago by the unaccountable ignitionof the great beam of wood over the big chimney-place, which had stoodthere for nearly 200 years. Either seasoned by the fire or fired byspooks, it caught in the night, and a heap of imported bricks stoodnext morning in place of The Woodyard. ]

 Still from Washington some traveller, tempted by the easy grades, Through the Long Old Fields continues cantering in the evening shades, Till he hears the frogs and crickets serenading something lost, In the aguey mists of Marlb'ro' banked before him like a frost. 

 Then the lights begin to twinkle, and he hears the negroes' feet Dancing in the old storehouses on the sandy business street, And abandoned lawyers' lodges underneath the long trees lurk, Like the vaults around a graveyard where the court-house is the kirk. 

 He will see the sallow old men drinking juleps, grave and bleared-- But no more their household servants at the court-house auctioneered; And the county clerk will prove it by the records on his shelves, That the fathers of the province were no better than ourselves. 

PREACHERS' SONS IN 1849. 

When I admit that these reminiscences are real, it will at once beinferred that I am a preacher's son. The general reputation of myclass has been bad since the day of Eli; but I affirm and maintainthat reason does not bear out this verdict, however obstinateexperience may be. For why should the best parents have the worstchildren? and that our itinerant sires were godly and self-sacrificingmen the most prodigal of their boys must confess. No flippant orerrant example rises before me when I take my father's portrait in myhand and recall the humility and heroism of his life. A stern andangular face, out of whose saliences look two ruddy windows, lit by asteadfast cheerfulness, is thinly thatched by hairs of iron-gray, andaround the long loose throat a bunch of frosted beard sparkles as ifthe painter's pencil had fastened there in reverence. I do not need tostudy the bent, broad shoulders and thin sinewy limbs to measure thehardness and steepness of his path; he climbed it like a bridegroom, humming quaint snatches of hymns to lull his human waywardnesses, andall the fever and errantry of our own vain career shrink abashedbefore his high devotion. 

That I have turned out a rover is not odd; for the travellingpreacher's son is cradled upon the highway. Three months after mybirth we "moved" a hundred miles; by my sixteenth year we had madeeleven migrations. 

We children little sympathize with our weak and sickly mother on theseoccasions, but look forward to a change of abode as something verynovel and desirable. We count the days between Christmas and April, after which the annual "Conference" assembles in the distant city, andwe see our father, in his best black suit, quit the parsonage doorwith an anxious face, cut to the heart by his wife's farewell, "Maythey give you a good place, Thomas!"

Then come letters--one, two, three: "The bishops are friendly;" "ThePresiding Elder has promised to do the best for us that he can;" "Theinfluential Doctor Bim has praised our missionary sermon, and BrotherClick, the Secretary, has applauded our Charge's large subscription tothe _Advocate_;" "Our character has passed even the severe approval ofthe great theologian, Steep;" "Take courage, my dear, and hope for thebest!"

The membership, meanwhile, are dropping in by couples to say kindlywords to our mother, whom they pity, and it is rumored that they arecollecting a purse to help us on our way. At last our father returns, striving to hide his solicitude in a smile, for no fate to which theycould consign himself would scathe that grisly servant of his Master;but for his family, who do not altogether share the spirit of hismission, he has a little fear. He kisses us all in order, from theleast to the biggest, commencing and ending with our mother, andplayfully prevaricates as to our "appointment, " the name of which wenoisily demand, until his wife says timidly, "Where do they send us, Thomas?"

He tries to smile and trifle, but the possibility of her discontentgives him so great pain that we children perceive it. 

"How would you like to go to Greensburg?"

"Not _Greensburg_!" she says, with a sudden paleness. 

"Isn't it a good circuit?" he says smilingly; "they paid the lastpreacher three hundred dollars, and his marriage fees were a hundredmore. They say he saved fifty dollars a year!"

"Oh, Thomas, I thought I had fortitude, but this--"

"Is only to test your faith, " he cries. "A poor preacher's wife shouldbe willing to go anywhere--even to Greensburg; but that is not ourappointment, dear; we move to Swan Neck. "

Then the fun begins in earnest. The church people come to look at ourcontribution bedquilts, and help us pack up the blue earthenware. Thelegs of the prodigious box, yclept a milk chest, are summarilyamputated and laid away in it, with the parental library, which, weare sorry to say, is equally doubtful in point of both ornament anduse. The good gossips slyly peep into the covers of Matthew Henry, andregard their retiring pastor as a more learned man than they hadsuspected, while the black letter-press of Lorenzo Dow, and JohnBunyan, and Fox's "Book of Martyrs" touches them like so muchnecromancy. The faithful old clock, whose disorders are crises in ourhumdrum pastoral year, is stopped and disjointed, much to our marvel, and all the spare straw in the barn is brought to protect the largegilt-edged cups and saucers, which say upon their edges, "To ourpastor, " and "To our pastor's wife. " The thin rag carpets are foldedaway; the potatoes in the bin are sold to Brother Bibb, the grocer, and to a very few of the select sisters we present a can of ourpreserved quinces, with directions how to prepare them. Poor Em. , theblack domestic, drops so many tears upon the parlor stove as shecarries it out to the wagon that the fresh blackening she has soindustriously given it goes for nothing; for Em. Is to be discharged, and the fact troubles her, though a preacher's servant has little toeat and plenty to do. 

At last the old parsonage is quite bare and deserted, though oursuccessors, box and baggage, have moved in upon us, much to theannoyance of the females, who see with jealousy that the new arrivalgets the lion's share of attention, and that Brother Tipp, whoseclass-book we took from him, and who has backbitten us ever since, iscourteous as a dancing-master with our rival. We shall talk for sixyears to come--that is, our mother--of Bangs's, the new-comer's, impudence in feeding his horse on our oats, and shall never speak ofhim as Brother Bangs, but simply call him _Bangs_, emphasized. We arenot even sure that he will not turn his poultry loose before ours hasbeen secured, and we boys, with great zeal, run down the roosters andducks, giving them, if the truth must be told, longer chase than isnecessary. The aged muscovy, we are sorry to say, lames himself in theretreat, and the only goose on the premises hides among Powell's, theneighbor's, so that we cannot tell which from which. However, theproperty is tied up at last in the several wagons; Sister Phoenix'slunch has been eaten, and our father, the itinerant, in hisshirt-sleeves, stands up, with pain and perspiration on his brow, tobid his flock good-by. 

"Now, brethren, " he says, with a quiver at his throat, "my time ispassing; I have finished the work appointed for me to do. Renew thekindnesses you have done me and my little ones upon the good stewardwho is to replace me. My heart weeps to cut the bonds which have heldus so long together; but in this world I am a pilgrim and a stranger. Let us all pray!"

As his shrill, broken voice goes up in a mingled wail and hosanna, wechildren peep by stealth into the working faces of the bystanders, andour own grow tearful, till our little sister cries aloud, and ourmother falls into some fond matron's arms. 

Immediately our wagons are on the way. The clustering village roofsand the church spire sink down behind. We are too full of excitementto share the silence of our elders, and the passing objects while usto laughter and debate. 

Swan Neck is a representative circuit. It lies, as everybody knows, somewhere upon the Eastern shore--that landmark and stronghold ofMethodism. The parsonage is in Crochettown, the county-seat, and thecircuit comprises half a dozen churches down the neck, among the pineforests and on the bay side. Our father tells our mother on the way ofthe advantages of the place, till we take it to be quite a metropolis. He says that Wiggins, whom we succeed, gives a first-rate account ofit. One of the members (Judd) is a judge, and our church, in short, rules the roast thereabout, and makes the Episcopalians stand around, not to speak of the Baptists, who try as usual to edge us out. 

The boys ask with glowing cheeks if there is a river at Crochettown, and are thrown into ecstasy by the reply that a large steamboattouches there twice a week, and that there is a drawbridge. We areless interested in the statement that the schools are good, but hearwith delight the history of one Dumple, an innkeeper, who persecutesour church and sells quantities of "rum" to our young men. William, the son of Wiggins, our predecessor, was once seen in the bar-room andreported to his father, who fetched him home by _posse comitatus_, andfound that he smelled strongly of soda water. 

As we go along the road in this way, our furniture mean time havingbeen shipped by water, a very compact and knotty young man rides upbehind us upon a nag which we at once identify as church property. Thesleekness of the flanks betokens his conversance with other people'scorn-cribs, and he has a habit of shying at all the farm-house gatesas if habituated to stopping whenever he liked and staying to dinner. His Perseus has a semi-gallant, semi-verdant way of lifting his hat, and his voice is hard as his knuckles. 

"Woa, Sal!" he says (all preachers drive mares, it may beinterpolated), "have I the pleasure of addressing Brother Ryder?"

"The same, sir. "

"My name is Chough, sir; the annual Conference has done me the favorof associating my name with yours at Swan Neck. "

"Oh, ho! You are my colleague; my wife, Brother Chough!"

The wife runs Brother Chough over immediately, who looks very red andawkward, and she gives her estimate of him in an undertone. It will bebad for Chough if he is at all airish or scholastic, or individual inhis opinions, for between a senior pastor's wife and his youngassistant there is an hereditary distrust; conceit has no show at allin a young itinerant. 

But Chough wisely confines his remarks to asking questions about thebishops, and agrees with us that Doctor Bim's address on the churchextension cause was sound as the Fathers, and finally gives us his ownextraction, which we trace to the respectable Choughs of CarolineCounty, and at once fraternize with him. 

Those were happy days for us children! Cornfield and barn and negroquarter rolled by us like things of fable. We watched the squirrels inthe scrubwood as never again we shall take interest in humancompanionship, and stopped at farm-house troughs to water our nag withkeener joy than that with which we have since gazed upon far blue seasor soft cis-alpine lakes and rivers. 

At last we reach the place; the complement of free negro cabins lieson its outskirts; we ask the way to the Methodist preacher'sresidence, and learning with feigned surprise that "he has just gonean' lef town for good, " cross a sandy creek and bridge, climb a hill, and stop at our future threshold. 

It is an ancient edifice of brick; a pigmy stable stands beside it, with a gate intervening, and in the rear we have a lot big enough tograze one frugal horse, and a garden sufficiently large to employ usboys. Our father starts off immediately to find the keys; but in theface of a gathering of small lads in pinafores and jack-knives, whocome to gaze at us, we scale the gate, enter a back shutter, and crya welcome to our mother from the second-story front. 

We hastily scan the several chambers to claim all that we find in thedrawers and closets; are gratified to observe the bow-gun andshinney-sticks of the young Wigginses departed, and quite fall outamong ourselves over the wooden effigy of an Indian which has tumbleddown from the barn-top. 

Soon the nearest neighbor of our persuasion arrives with our father, and takes our mother and the baby away to his dwelling. A fat oldtrustee and local preacher carries off ourself and sister, and we gobashfully and wonderingly into the heart of the town, past the church, past the market-house, past the tavern and court and public hall, until the door of our host closes upon us, and our short sandy hairsappear at the windows to scan the street and the people. 

Yeasty, our host, is the only local preacher in Crochettown, where healso keeps a store, but is said to be as rich as Croesus, andmiserly as get out; and he has a pretty daughter, Margot, who sweepsinto the room like a little queen, and, being older than ourselves, patronizes us till we blush. She rattles off all the town talk, theparties in the winter season, the terrible master of the academy, andthe handsomest boys, including Barret, who is dissipated and writespoetry; the beauty of Marian Lee, who seems to be the terror of younggentlemen, though Margot don't see any thing in her, the proud piece!

And so we pick up the history of the village with the diligence ofFroissart or Jean de Troyes, and eat last winter's apples by the ruddygrate, listening to Margot, with our very round tow head upon oursister's, filled with vague dreams of greatness and wealth, and oldYeasty's silver half dollars piled up around us, and Margot to chat atour side forever. 

Oh! innocent days of itinerant urchinhood, your freshness comes nomore; we "move on" as of old--waifs in the wide circuit of this nomadlife--but with the hymns which lulled us in the neglectedmeeting-house, the prophecies they told us of toil, duty, reverence, and content, have floated into heaven whither our father has gone!

The bulk of our furniture being delayed, and our mother impatient ofaccepting hospitality, we move into the great, bare parsonage house onSaturday, and sit in the only furnished room. It grieves evenourselves to see how this merry moving has thinned her anxious whiteface, and therefore we forbear to fret her when we read the three longBible chapters she exacts. Josh, our brother, does not purposelypronounce physician "physiken, " as he is in the habit of doing, andour sister remembers for once that ewe lamb is to be called "yo, " andnot "e-we" in two syllables. The dinner is quite cold, but Josh, whocomplains, is reminded of the poor Shepherd of Salisbury Plain, whocould not afford salt with his potatoes. Josh says that for his parthe don't like potatoes anyhow, and will not be comforted. 

In the afternoon we present ourselves at Sunday-school, and as thepreacher's sons are supposed to be first-class ecclesiasticalscholars, are put in the Bible-class. Here we surprise everybody bythe quantity of verses we know by heart, and get many red and bluetickets for our reward. It must be confessed that we had been twicebefore paid for the same lesson, it being our perquisite to carry allthat we know from school to school. We see Margot among the girls, swinging her feet under the seat as she hummingly commits her lessonto memory, and as her feet are very pretty, they do not perhaps moveunconsciously. But Josh and we have quite a battle as to Margot, Joshsaying, "She's my girl, " and we averring that "we know better--she'smine, " until finally our sister disposes of the matter by betraying usto the little coquette, whereat we are both ashamed, and go homehastily. 

We feed and curry the horse by turns, and hunt eggs in the stablewith boisterous rivalry, and have quite a contest as to who shall godown upon "the circuit" first, which is at last settled in favor ofthe first person. 

On the appointed Sunday we rise betimes, "gear up" the nag to thesulky, and depositing a carpet-stool in the foot, sit upon it betweenour father's legs, and trot out of town at a respectably slow gait toclear the preacher of any suspicion of keeping a fast horse. Fairlyout of town, however, we switch up somewhat, ourself watching over thedasher the clods and dust thrown from the mare's shoes, and our fatherhumming snatches of hymns, with his grave eyes twinkling. 

We say "How de do, " of course, to every passer-by, as it is the prideof the profession to lead the etiquette of the country; and, passingremarks upon the badness of the fences, the staunchness of the barns, and the coziness of the dwellings, soon leave the cultivated high-roadfor one of the by-ways which lead down the sparsely-settled "Neck. "The sombre pine forests gather about us; a squirrel or two runs acrossthe route, and a solitary crow caws in the tree-top; we hear the loud"tap-tap-tap" of a woodpecker, and see through the sinuous aisles offirs some groups of negroes pattering to church. The men take offtheir hats obsequiously, and the women duck their heads, and ourfather says benignantly, "Going to church, boys? that's right! I liketo see you honor the Great Master!" At which the younger Africans showtheir teeth, and the more forward patriarchs reply, "Yes, massar, bress de Lord!"

So the teams increase in number like the wayfarers, all with the sameobject in view, until we see the church at last, standing behind aline of whitewashed palings, flanked by less pretentious worm fences, and in the rear a long shed for horses, open in front, shadows the fewtomb memorials of stone and stake. 

Several lads and worldlings at the gate, slashing their boots withriding-whips, make obeisance, while two or three plain old gentlemenwalk down to meet us, saying:

"Brother Ryder, we _pré_-sume! Welcome to Dodson's Corner, BrotherRyder!"

We tie up the nag, loosen her bridle bit, and follow into themeeting-house--a lofty building unplastered at the roof, whose openeaves and shingles give place in summer to nests of wasps, and in thewinter to audacious birds, some of which swoop screaming to thepulpit, and beat the window panes in futile flight. Two uncarpetedaisles lead respectively to the men's side and the women's side--for, far be it from us, primitive Methodists, to improve upon thediscipline of Wesley--and midway of each aisle, in square areas, standtwo high stoves, with branching pipes which radiate from their red-hotcylinders of clay. The pulpit is a square unpainted barricade, withpedestals on each side for a pair of oil-lamps; the cushions whichsustain the Bible are the gift of young unconverted ladies, and aresacredly brought to the place of worship each Sunday morning and takenaway in the afternoon. 

By the side of the stove the old stewards and the new minister standawhile talking over the moral _status_ of the country, the advancesmade by the Baptists, and the amount of money contributed by Dodson'sCorner to the various funds of the church. The folk, meanwhile, dropin by squads, the colored element filling the unsteady gallery in therear, until our father looks at his open-faced watch, and says:

"Bless my soul, brethren, it is time to begin the services!"

He ascends into the pulpit. We sit on what is known as the "Amenside, " with our thumb in our button-hole, and watch the process of thechief steward, who is unlimbering his tuning-fork. He obtains thepitch of the tune by rapping the pew with this, or, if his teeth besound, which is rare, touches the prongs with his incisors. Then hishead--whose baldness, we imagine, arises from the people in the rearlooking all the hair off--is thrown back resolutely, his jaws fly wideopen, he projects a tangible stream of music to the roof, to the alarmof the birds, and comes to a dead halt at the end of the secondline--for here we have congregational singing, and even those withouthymn books may assist to swell the music. But very often the leaderbreaks down; the vanguard of old ladies cannot keep up the tune;volunteers make desperate efforts to rally the chorus, but retirediscomfited, and the pastor, in addition to praying, reading, andpreaching, must finally, in his worn, subdued voice, lead the forlornhope. 

The sermon on this inaugural occasion may justly be termed a work ofart. It must be conclusive of the piety, learning, eloquence, andsound doctrine of the preacher, and be by turns argumentative, combative, stirring, pathetic, practical, and pictorial. The text hasabout the same connection at first with the discourse that a campanilehas with a cathedral. A solid eulogium upon the book from which it istaken gives occasion for some side-slashes at Voltaire, Hume, andGibbon; the deaths of these are contrasted with the obsequies of therighteous, and the old-fashioned, material place of punishment isreasserted and minutely described. The text is then said to naturallyresolve itself into three parts--the injunction, the direction, andsome practical illustrations. The injunction, it is further allowed, re-subdivides itself, and these parts are each proclaimed in the formof speech of "Once more. " We are quite too old a hand at listening toimagine that "once more" means _only_ once more, and start toenumerate the beams in the roof, the panes in the windows, and thegray hairs in the old gentleman's head before us. About the time thatwe feel sleepy an anecdote arouses us: then the iteration ofexpletives from the membership succeeds; we see that the owner of thetuning-fork has fallen to sleep in so ingenious an attitude that hewould never have been detected but for his snore, and are amused bythe fashion one good lady has of slowly wagging her head as she drinksin the discourse. A slight commotion in the gallery arises, whichgives a steward excuse to steal down the aisle and hasten to the sceneof disturbance; the final appeal, brimming with the poetry of mercy, grace, patience, and salvation is said; we all kneel down upon thehard cold floor while the last prayer is being made, and receive thebenediction, as if some invisible shadow of bright wings had fallenupon the dust and fever of our lives. 

To say that the first person is weary but vindicates the sagacity ofour father, who steals down to our side and whispers, "You may go out, Fred, if you are tired. " But curiosity compels us to remain after thecongregation is dismissed, that we may hear the class-meetingexperiences. 

Those solemn corollaries to the service thrill me with theirrecollection even now. The almost empty church echoing the sobs of theweary, and heart-bruised, and spirit-broken; the pinched, hard facesof the older people telling their bitter trials in bereavement, misappreciation, and poverty. But bursting through all, thatunconquerable enthusiasm which lends to the face more than the glow ofintelligence, and to the heart more than the recompense of riches; thetimid utterance of the younger converts, outlining the rebelliousinstincts of their tempted bodies, and their need of more faith, grace, and help divine. While these speak in order, the bald-headedchorister interpolates appropriate snatches of psalms, and thepreacher cries, "Patience, my brother! All will be well! Hope on, hopeever!"

At last the impatient negroes in the gallery have their opportunity, and roll down thunders of exuberant piety, which, by their natural, almost inspired eloquence, pathos, and vehemence, stir even theirmasters to ejaculations of praise. 

How must such spiritually social reunions cheer the long, hard livesof these poor, remote believers! He was a profound statesman who, projecting a gospel for the lowly, devised the class-meeting as anoutlet for their suppressed emotions, sympathies, and sorrows. 

However, it is all over, and there is quite a dispute after the"class" as to who shall have the pastor's company to dinner. It is apiece of fine diplomacy to determine this. Policy dictates the mostinfluential; feeling, the most reverend and poor. But the interest ofthe church is paramount; a compliment or a promise appeases the vanityof the humbler, and we follow the double team of the great landholder, Tibbet, and are soon sitting before his roaring fire. 

Itinerants are notoriously big eaters. Our father keeps a weather eyeon the provender as it is brought in smoking, and it being soonapparent that the dinner is to be orthodox, if not apostolic, hissocial attributes improve wonderfully. He breaks out in little spurtsof anecdote, not entirely secular, nor yet too didactic to be jovial. They run upon young Brother Bolt, who once, after an unusual happy"revival" night, to show his great faith, tried to leap over a creekand doused himself to the ears; upon the great controversialist, Whanger, who, being invited to preach in a "High Church" pulpit, improved the occasion to trace apostolic succession as far back asPope Joan; upon the first intelligent contraband of his kind, whosemistress affirmed that if one's ill deeds were numerically greaterthan his good ones he would be--jammed, and if the contrary, saved, and who responded, "Spose'n dey boff de same, missus?"

These are told with inimitable spirit and mimicry, as want of clericalwit is a direct impeachment of the validity of one's "call" to preach;and when the table is filled, and with outstretched hands the blessingsaid, our father gets a universal compliment for his carving. There isroast turkey, with rich stuffing, bright cranberry sauce, and savorypies of pumpkin, mince, and persimmon, cider to wash down the mealyripeness of the sweet potato, and at the end transparent quincesdrowned in velvet cream. How glibly goes the time! We play with ayoung miss, who shows us her library, in which, we are sorry to say, abook about pirates deeply absorbs us. But at last the sulky comes tothe door; we say good-by with touched full hearts, and pass humminglyto appointment No. 2. 

This is "Sand Hill, " perhaps, or "Mumpson Town, " or "Ebenezer, " or"Dry Pond;" and when we have mustered again in the afternoon, and inthe evening for the third time, turn Sal's head toward the parsonage, and sail along in the night, cold and worn, past fields of stubble, over which the wind sweeps, past negro cabins, watching like humanthings upon us, through dreary woods where the tall pines rock againstthe stars and the clouds sail whitely by like witches going to arendezvous, past cheerful homes, gleaming light and rest and worldlycompetence, the owners whereof have heard no deep command to carry thegospel into wildernesses, or hearing disobeyed. And all the while ourfather sings softly to himself, looking now and then at us who are hiscross, and again into the shining constellations which hide his crown. 

But we "preacher's sons, " by which name we are universallydistinguished, have our own crosses as well. It is generally agreedthat much ought to be expected of us and little obtained. Let one ofus play truant from school, or use a naughty word in play, or makemarbles a source of revenue, or fight on the common when provoked, orsteal a cherry, and the fact travels our town over like a telegram. Weonce suffer greatly in repute by selling our neighbor's old iron andbrass to an itinerant pedler, and are alleged to have run up a debitaccount of one dime with an old negro who sells spruce beer and "horsecakes"--whereafter we fail. 

The church people, much to our dissatisfaction, present us withcastaway coats and boots, which we are made to wear, and once ortwice, when we encounter Margot in this shape, we burst into tearsand run home to hide our wounded vanity in the stable loft. There, inthe "mow, " while we devise bitter and futile conspiracies againstsociety, the mare, munching her fodder, looks up at us with patienteyes, as if to say: "Am I not also mortified for the faith?" But weare cut to the heart to think that Margot may contrast us withbetter-dressed boys, and therefore think us of little spirit, learning, and courage. It is for you, pretty coquette, that we carrymany scandals and scars! We do not quite love you, Margot; but we arefoolishly vain and sensitive, and your eyes are very beautiful!

Still we are acknowledged at school to be "smart. " All preacher's sonsare so by common concession, and though we may not visit the circus, like others, we get abundance of free tickets for concerts, panoramas, and glass-blowers. Once, indeed, the great Chippewa chief, Haw-waw-many-squaw, having thrown the town into consternation byplacards of himself scalping his enemies and smoking their tobacco, makes a triumphal entry into the main street at full gallop, andpitching his tent before the court-house, walks into theparsonage--war plumes, moccasins, and all--gives us complimentaryseats, and eats the better half of our dinner. This incident is asource of pride to ourself beyond any thing experienced by any urchinbesides. We boast of it frequently, and, being disliked therefor, commit several impromptu scalpings on our own account. 

Vagabonds unnumbered beg our hospitality, and get it. Some of these itwould be difficult to determine, either as to profession ordestination. Many of them are systematic pensioners upon the preacher, and plead devotion to our denomination as a means of gaining ourhearts. They have the gossip of the "Conference" at their tongues'ends, and lead our family devotion with the grace and hypocrisy ofBelial. 

The weddings that we hold are frequent and various. Runaway couplescome to us, blushing and short-winded, satisfy us of their lawful age, are united, and pass into the moon, leaving a five-dollar bill behindthem. We cannot quite find it in our hearts, even at this late day, toforgive those numerous candidates for felicity who hold the par valueof a wedding ceremony to be no more than two dollars. Yet, though wegrieve to admit it, two dollars is the average fee. At one time thenegro population, anxious to be wived by a white preacher, makesinroads upon us _en masse_ to the detriment of decorum and ourcarpets. We summarily shut down upon this business when we find thattheir fees come to but half a dollar a pair. 

However, the year drifts by, and we are greatly concerned to know ifit is the sentiment of Swan Neck that we shall continue its pastoranother year. Old Yeasty, Margot's father, as we are aware, feelshimself slighted because we do not call upon him of Sundays to makethe closing prayers; for Yeasty's prayer is a sermon under anothername, and runs the morning into twilight; but a sly compliment that wepay him in a diplomatic sermon at the end of the conference yearbrings him round all right, and back we go to Swan Neck. 

So with burying the dead and writing their obituaries; making thebabes pure with that holy sprinkling which gives them, dying early, toa Christian immortality; launching our thunders upon the bold, softening the hearts of the errant, mingling with our unbending creedthe more pliable ethics of worldly graces, and, in a word, walkinglike Saint John on the savage border of civilization, to thrill thebrutal and unlettered with the tidings of one just day to come--ouritinerant lives drift on till the marble slab in the meeting-housewall writes the itinerant's only human memorial. 

We have dreamed our last. Burst from the narrow chrysalis which wewould gladly rebuild again, the seething, churning sea is before usand around us; we only catch, like the strains of bells through thefog, the hum of hymns, the drowsy murmur of the buzzingSabbath-school, and the nasal ring of the itinerant's summer sermon. Margot is married to Chough, our whilom colleague, and makes hermigration in his Bedouin train, and does not know how once shethrilled us. The tuning-fork is rusty, and the chorister in his coffinmay hear, if he can, his successor stirring the birds in the roof withhis sonorous melody. All are at rest, and we live on--moving, moving, moving--so deeply fastened into our natures are our early instincts;but every night we say the same parsonage prayer, and every morninglook upon the wall where hangs the grave, grim features we revere--theItinerant Preacher. 

CHESTER RIVER. 

 Wise is the wild duck winging straight to thee, River of summer! from the cold Arctic sea, Coming, like his fathers for centuries, to seek The sweet, salt pastures of the far Chesapeake. 

 Soft 'twixt thy capes like sunset's purple coves, Shallow the channel glides through silent oyster groves, Round Kent's ancient isle, and by beaches brown, Cleaving the fruity farms to slumb'rous Chestertown. 

 Long ere the great bay bore the Baltimores, Yielded thy virgin tide to Virginian oars; Elsewhere the word went, "Multiply! increase!" Long ago thy destinies were perfect as thy peace. 

 Still, like thy water-fowl, dearly do I yearn, In memory's migration once more to return, Where the dull old college from the gentle ridge, O'erlooks the sunny village, the river, and the bridge. 

 On the pier decrepit I do loiter yet, With my crafty crab-lines and my homespun net, Till the silver fishes in pools of twilight swam, And stars played round my bait in the coves of calm. 

 Sweet were the chinquapins growing by thy brink, Sweet the cool spring-water in the gourd to drink, Beautiful the lilies when the tide declined, As if night receding had left some stars behind. 

 But when the peach tints vanished from the plain, Or struggled no longer the shad against the seine, Every reed in thy march into music stirred, And to gold it blossomed in a singing bird. 

 Eden of water-fowl! clinging to thy dells Ages of mollusks have yielded their shells, While, like the exquisite spirits they shed, Ride the white swans in the surface o'erhead. 

 Silent the otter, stealing by thy moon, Through the fluttered heron, hears the cry of the loon; Motionless the setter in thy dawnlight gray Shows the happy hidden cove where the wild duck play. 

 Homely are thy boatmen, venturing no more In their dusky pungies than to Baltimore, Happy when the freshet from northern mountains sweeps, And strews the bay with lumber like wrecks upon the deeps. 

 Not for thy homesteads of a former space, Not for thy folk of supposititious race; Something I love thee, river, for thy rest, More for my childhood buried in thy breast. 

 From the mightier empire of the solid land, A pilgrim infrequent I seek thy fertile strand, And with a calm affection would wish my grave to be Where falls the Chester to the bay, the bay unto the sea. 

OLD WASHINGTON ALMSHOUSE. 

A stranger in Washington, looking down the wide outer avenue named"Massachusetts, " which goes bowling from knoll to knoll and disappearsin the unknown hills of the east, has no notion that it leadsanywhere, and gives up the conundrum. On the contrary, it pointsstraight to the Washington Asylum, better known as the DistrictPoor-House, an institution to become hereafter conspicuous to everytourist who shall prefer the Baltimore and Potomac to the Baltimoreand Ohio Railroad; for the new line crosses the Eastern Branch by apile-bridge nearly in the rear of the poor-house, and let us hope thatwhen the whistle, like

 "the pibroch's music, thrills To the heart of those lone hills, "

the dreary banks and bluffs of the Eastern Branch will show morefrequent signs of habitation and visitation. 

To visit the poor-house one must have a "permit" from the mayor, physician, or a poor commissioner. Provided with this, he will followout Pennsylvania Avenue over Capitol Hill, until nearly at the brinkof the Anacostia or Eastern Branch, when by the oblique avenue called"Georgia" he will pass to his right the Congressional burying-ground, and arriving at the powder magazine in front, draw up at the almshousegate, a mile and a quarter from the palace of Congress. 

It is a smart brick building, four stories high, with green trimmings, standing on the last promontory of some grassy commons beloved ofgeese and billygoats. The short, black cedars, which appear to be aspecies of vegetable crape, give a stubby look of grief to the regionround the poor-house, and, thickest at the Congressional Cemetery, screen from the paupers the view of the city. Across the plains, oncemade populous by army hospitals, few objects move except funeralprocessions, creeping toward the graveyard or receding at a merrygait, and occasional pensioners, out on leave, coming home dutifullyto their bed of charity. The report of some sportsman's gun, where heis rowing in the marshes of the gray river, sometimes raises echoes inthe high hills and ravines of the other shore, where, many years ago, the rifles of Graves and Cilley were heard by every partisan in theland. Now the tall forts, raised in the war, are silent and deserted;the few villas and farm-houses look from their background of pine uponthe smart edifice on the city shore, and its circle of hospitalsnearer the water, and its small-pox hospital a little removed, andupon the dead-house and the Potter's Field at the river brink. We allknow the melancholy landscape of a poor-house. 

The Potter's Field preceded the poor-house on this site by many years. The almshouse was formerly erected on M Street, between Sixth andSeventh, and, being removed here, it burned to the ground in the monthof March, fourteen years ago, when the present brick structure wasraised. The entire premises, of which the main part is the almshousegarden, occupy less than fifty acres, and the number of inmates isless than two hundred, the females preponderating in the proportion ofthree to one. Under the same roof are the almshouse and thework-house, the inmates of the former being styled "Infirmants, " andof the latter "Penitents. " The government of the institution is vestedin three commissioners, to whom is responsible the intendent, Mr. Joseph F. Hodgson, a very cheerful and practical-looking "Bumble. "

Every Wednesday the three commissioners meet at this almshouse andreceive the weekly reports of the intendent, physician, and gardener. Once every year these officers, and the matron, wagoner, and baker areelected. Sixteen ounces of bread and eight ounces of beef are theration of the district pauper. The turnkey, gate-keeper, chiefwatchmen, and chief nurses, are selected from the inmates. The gatesare closed at sunset, and the lights go out at eight P. M. Allwinter. The inmates wear a uniform, labelled in large letters"Work-house, " or "Washington Asylum. "

The poor-house is an institution coeval with the capital. We are toldthat while crabbed old Davy Burns, the owner of the most valuable partof the site of Washington City, was haggling with General Washingtonover his proportion of lots, his neglected and intemperate brother, Tommy, was an inmate of the poor-house. 

Thus, while the Romulus of the place married his daughter to aCongressman, and was buried in a "mausoleum" on H Street, Remus diedwithout the walls and mingled his ashes, perhaps, with paupers. 

The vaunted metropolis of the republican hopes of mankind--for suchwas Washington, the fabulous city, advertised and praised in everycapital of Western Europe--drew to its site artists, adventurers, andspeculators from all lands. From Thomas Law, a secretary of WarrenHastings, who wasted the earnings of India on enterprises here, to aFrenchman who died on the guillotine for practising with an infernalmachine upon the life of Napoleon Bonaparte, the long train ofpilgrims came and saw and despaired, and many of them, perhaps, lie inthe Potter's Field. Old books and newspapers, chary on such personalquestions, contain occasional references as to some sculptor'ssuicide, or to the straits of this or that French officer, a claimantabout Congress; and we know that Major L'Enfant, who conceived theplan of the place, sought refuge with a pitying friend and died herepenniless. The long war of twenty years in Europe brought to Americathousands in search of safety and rest, and to these the magnetism ofthe word "capital" was often the song of the siren wiling them to thepoor-house. By the time Europe had wearied of the sword, the fatalityattending high living, large slave-tilled estates, the love ofofficial society, and the defective education of the young men oftide-water Virginia and Maryland, produced a new class of native-bornerrants and broken profligates at Washington, and many a life whosememories began with a coach-and-four and a park of deer ended thembetween the coverlets of a poor-house bed. The old times were, afterall, very hollow times! We are fond of reading about the hospitalityof the Madisonian age, but could so many have accepted it if all wereprosperous?

In our time, work being the fate and the redemption of us all, theDistrict Almshouse contains few government employés. Now and then, asMr. Hodgson told us, some clerk, spent with sickness or exhausted byevil indulgences, takes the inevitable road across the vacant plainsand eats his pauper ration in silence or in resignation; but the ageis better, not, perhaps, because the heart of man is changed, but inthat society is organized upon truer principles of honor, ofmanfulness, and of labor. The class of well-bred young men who areashamed to admit that they must earn their living, and who affect thecompany of gamesters and chicken-fighters, has some remnants leftamong us, but they find no aliment in the public sentiment, and hearno response in the public tone. Duelling is over; visiting one'srelatives as a profession is done; thrift is no more a reproach, andeven the reputation of being a miser is rather complimentary to a man. The worst chapters of humanity in America are those narrating theindigence of the old agricultural families on the streams of theChesapeake; the quarterly sale of a slave to supply the demands of afalse understanding of generosity; the inhuman revelling of one'sfriends upon the last possessions of his family, holding it to be ajest to precipitate his ruin; the wild orgies held on the glebe ofsome old parish church, horses hitched to the gravestones, and punchmixed in the baptismal font; and at the last, delirium, impotence, decay! Let those who would understand it read Bishop Meade, or descendthe Potomac and Rappahannock, even at this day, and cross certainthresholds. 

The Washington poor-house seems to be well-arranged, except in onerespect: under the same roof, divided only by a partition and acorridor, the vicious are lodged for punishment and the unfortunatefor refuge. 

We passed through a part of the building where, among old, toothlesswomen, semi-imbecile girls--the relicts of error, the heirs ofaffliction--three babies of one mother were in charge of a strong, rosy Irish nurse. Two of them, twins, were in her lap, and a thirdupon the floor halloaing for joy. Such noble specimens of childhood wehad never seen; heads like Cæsar's, eyes bright as the depths of wellsinto which one laughs and receives his laughter back, and thecomplexions and carriage of high birth. The woman was suckling themall, and all crowed alternately, so that they made the bare floors andwalls light up as with pictures. A few yards off, though out ofhearing, were the thick forms of criminals, drunkards, wantons, andvagrants, seen through the iron bars of their wicket, raising thecroon and song of an idle din, drumming on the floor, or moving to andfro restlessly. Beneath this part of the almshouse were cells wherebad cases were locked up. The association of the poor and the wickedaffected us painfully. 

Strolling into the syphilitic wards, where, in the awful contemplationof their daily, piecemeal decay, the silent victims were stretched allday upon their cots; among the idiotic and the crazed; into theapartments of the aged poor, seeing, let us hope, blessed visions oflife beyond these shambles; and drinking in, as we walked, the solemnbut needful lesson of our own possibilities and the mutations of ournature, we stood at last among the graves of the almshouse dead--thosewho have escaped the dissecting-knife. Scattered about, with littlestones and mounds here and there, under the occasional sullen green ofcedars, a dead-cart and a spade sticking up as symbols, and theneglected river, deserted as the Styx, plashing against the low banks, we felt the sobering melancholy of the spot and made the prayer of"Give me neither poverty nor riches!"

1871. 

OLD ST. MARY'S. 

 This is the river. Like Southampton water It enters broadly in the woody lands, As if to break a continent asunder, And sudden ceasing, lo! the city stands: St. Mary's--stretching forth its yellow hands Of beach, beneath the bluff where it commands In vision only; for the fields are green Above the pilgrims. Pleasant is the place; No ruin mars its immemorial face. As young as in virginity renewed, Its widow's sorrows gone without a trace, And tempting man to woo its solitude. 

 The river loves it, and embraces still Its comely form with two small arms of bay, Whereon, of old, the Calvert's pinnace lay, The Dove--dear bird!--the olive in its bill, That to the Ark returned from every gale And found a haven by this sheltering hill. [4]

 Lo! all composed, the soft horizons lie Afloat upon the blueness of the coves, And sometimes in the mirage does the sky Seem to continue the dependent groves, And draw in the canoe that careless roves Among the stars repeated round the bow. Far off the larger sails go down the world, For nothing worldly sees St. Mary's now; The ancient windmills all their sails have furled, The standards of the Lords of Baltimore, And they, the Lords, have passed to their repose; And nothing sounds upon the pebbly shore Except thy hidden bell, Saint Inigo's. 

[Footnote 4: The Catholic settlers of Maryland had a ship called TheArk, and a pinnace called The Dove. ]

 There in a wood the Jesuits' chapel stands Amongst the gravestones, in secluded calm. But, Sabbath days, the censer's healing balm, The Crucified with His extended hands, And music of the masses, draw the fold Back to His worship, as in days of old. 

 Upon a cape the priest's house northward blinks, To see St. Mary's Seminary guard The dead that sleep within the parish yard, In English faith--the parish church that links The present with the perished, for its walls Are of the clay that was the capital's, When halberdiers and musketeers kept ward, And armor sounded in the oaken halls. 

 A fruity smell is in the school-house lane; The clover bees are sick with evening heats; A few old houses from the window pane Fling back the flame of sunset, and there beats The throb of oars from basking oyster fleets, And clangorous music of the oyster tongs, Plunged down in deep bivalvulous retreats, And sound of seine drawn home with negro songs. 

 Night falls as heavily in such a clime As tired childhood after all day's play, Waiting for mother who has passed away, And some old nurse, with iterated rhyme Of hymns or topics of the olden time, Lulls wonder with her tenderness to rest: So, old St. Mary's! at the close of day, Sing thou to me, a truant, on thy breast.