[Illustration: Title Page]

 * * * * *

 THE COLLECTED

 WORKS OF

 AMBROSE BIERCE

 VOLUME VIII

 NEGLIGIBLE TALES

 ON WITH THE DANCE

 EPIGRAMS

 NEW YORK

 GORDIAN PRESS, INC. 

 1966

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 Originally Published 1911

 Reprinted 1966

 Published by

 GORDIAN PRESS, INC. 

Library of Congress Card Catalog No 66-14638

 Printed in the U. S. A. By

 EDWARD BROTHERS INC. 

 Ann Arbor, Michigan

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CONTENTS

NEGLIGIBLE TALES A BOTTOMLESS GRAVE 9 JUPITER DOKE, BRIGADIER-GENERAL 23 THE WIDOWER TURMORE 41 THE CITY OF THE GONE AWAY 52 THE MAJOR'S TALE 63 CURRIED COW 76 A REVOLT OF THE GODS 89 THE BAPTISM OF DOBSHO 95 THE RACE AT LEFT BOWER 104 THE FAILURE OF HOPE & WANDEL 110 PERRY CHUMLY'S ECLIPSE 115 A PROVIDENTIAL INTIMATION 122 MR. SWIDDLER'S FLIP-FLAP 131 THE LITTLE STORY 138

THE PARENTICIDE CLUB MY FAVORITE MURDER 147 OIL OF DOG 163 AN IMPERFECT CONFLAGRATION 171 THE HYPNOTIST 177

THE FOURTH ESTATE MR. MASTHEAD, JOURNALIST 187 WHY I AM NOT EDITING "THE STINGER" 195 CORRUPTING THE PRESS 204 "THE BUBBLE REPUTATION" 211

THE OCEAN WAVE A SHIPWRECKOLLECTION 219 THE CAPTAIN OF "THE CAMEL" 226 THE MAN OVERBOARD 239 A CARGO OF CAT 258

"ON WITH THE DANCE!" A REVIEW THE PRUDE IN LETTERS AND LIFE 267 THE BEATING OF THE BLOOD 270 THERE ARE CORNS IN EGYPT 276 A REEF IN THE GABARDINE 282 ENTER A TROUPE OF ANCIENTS, DANCING 285 CAIRO REVISITED 296 JAPAN WEAR AND BOMBAY DUCKS 299 IN THE BOTTOM OF THE CRUCIBLE 311 COUNSEL FOR THE DEFENSE 316 THEY ALL DANCE 321 LUST, QUOTH'A 330 OUR GRANDMOTHERS' LEGS 332

EPIGRAMS 343

NEGLIGIBLE TALES

A BOTTOMLESS GRAVE

My name is John Brenwalter. My father, a drunkard, had a patent for aninvention, for making coffee-berries out of clay; but he was an honestman and would not himself engage in the manufacture. He was, therefore, only moderately wealthy, his royalties from his really valuableinvention bringing him hardly enough to pay his expenses of litigationwith rogues guilty of infringement. So I lacked many advantages enjoyedby the children of unscrupulous and dishonorable parents, and had it notbeen for a noble and devoted mother, who neglected all my brothers andsisters and personally supervised my education, should have grown up inignorance and been compelled to teach school. To be the favorite childof a good woman is better than gold. 

When I was nineteen years of age my father had the misfortune to die. Hehad always had perfect health, and his death, which occurred at thedinner table without a moment's warning, surprised no one more thanhimself. He had that very morning been notified that a patent had beengranted him for a device to burst open safes by hydraulic pressure, without noise. The Commissioner of Patents had pronounced it the mostingenious, effective and generally meritorious invention that had everbeen submitted to him, and my father had naturally looked forward to anold age of prosperity and honor. His sudden death was, therefore, a deepdisappointment to him; but my mother, whose piety and resignation to thewill of Heaven were conspicuous virtues of her character, was apparentlyless affected. At the close of the meal, when my poor father's body hadbeen removed from the floor, she called us all into an adjoining roomand addressed us as follows:

"My children, the uncommon occurrence that you have just witnessed isone of the most disagreeable incidents in a good man's life, and one inwhich I take little pleasure, I assure you. I beg you to believe that Ihad no hand in bringing it about. Of course, " she added, after a pause, during which her eyes were cast down in deep thought, "of course it isbetter that he is dead. "

She uttered this with so evident a sense of its obviousness as aself-evident truth that none of us had the courage to brave her surpriseby asking an explanation. My mother's air of surprise when any of uswent wrong in any way was very terrible to us. One day, when in a fit ofpeevish temper, I had taken the liberty to cut off the baby's ear, hersimple words, "John, you surprise me!" appeared to me so sharp a reproofthat after a sleepless night I went to her in tears, and throwing myselfat her feet, exclaimed: "Mother, forgive me for surprising you. " So nowwe all--including the one-eared baby--felt that it would keep matterssmoother to accept without question the statement that it was better, somehow, for our dear father to be dead. My mother continued:

"I must tell you, my children, that in a case of sudden and mysteriousdeath the law requires the Coroner to come and cut the body into piecesand submit them to a number of men who, having inspected them, pronouncethe person dead. For this the Coroner gets a large sum of money. I wishto avoid that painful formality in this instance; it is one which neverhad the approval of--of the remains. John"--here my mother turned herangel face to me-"you are an educated lad, and very discreet. You havenow an opportunity to show your gratitude for all the sacrifices thatyour education has entailed upon the rest of us. John, go and remove theCoroner. "

Inexpressibly delighted by this proof of my mother's confidence, and bythe chance to distinguish myself by an act that squared with my naturaldisposition, I knelt before her, carried her hand to my lips and bathedit with tears of sensibility. Before five o'clock that afternoon I hadremoved the Coroner. 

I was immediately arrested and thrown into jail, where I passed a mostuncomfortable night, being unable to sleep because of the profanity ofmy fellow-prisoners, two clergymen, whose theological training had giventhem a fertility of impious ideas and a command of blasphemous languagealtogether unparalleled. But along toward morning the jailer, who, sleeping in an adjoining room, had been equally disturbed, entered thecell and with a fearful oath warned the reverend gentlemen that if heheard any more swearing their sacred calling would not prevent him fromturning them into the street. After that they moderated theirobjectionable conversation, substituting an accordion, and I slept thepeaceful and refreshing sleep of youth and innocence. 

The next morning I was taken before the Superior Judge, sitting as acommitting magistrate, and put upon my preliminary examination. Ipleaded not guilty, adding that the man whom I had murdered was anotorious Democrat. (My good mother was a Republican, and from earlychildhood I had been carefully instructed by her in the principles ofhonest government and the necessity of suppressing factionalopposition. ) The Judge, elected by a Republican ballot-box with asliding bottom, was visibly impressed by the cogency of my plea andoffered me a cigarette. 

"May it please your Honor, " began the District Attorney, "I do not deemit necessary to submit any evidence in this case. Under the law of theland you sit here as a committing magistrate. It is therefore your dutyto commit. Testimony and argument alike would imply a doubt that yourHonor means to perform your sworn duty. That is my case. "

My counsel, a brother of the deceased Coroner, rose and said: "May itplease the Court, my learned friend on the other side has so well andeloquently stated the law governing in this case that it only remainsfor me to inquire to what extent it has been already complied with. Itis true, your Honor is a committing magistrate, and as such it is yourduty to commit--what? That is a matter which the law has wisely andjustly left to your own discretion, and wisely you have dischargedalready every obligation that the law imposes. Since I have known yourHonor you have done nothing but commit. You have committed embracery, theft, arson, perjury, adultery, murder--every crime in the calendar andevery excess known to the sensual and depraved, including my learnedfriend, the District Attorney. You have done your whole duty as acommitting magistrate, and as there is no evidence against this worthyyoung man, my client, I move that he be discharged. "

An impressive silence ensued. The Judge arose, put on the black cap andin a voice trembling with emotion sentenced me to life and liberty. Thenturning to my counsel he said, coldly but significantly:

"I will see you later. "

The next morning the lawyer who had so conscientiously defended meagainst a charge of murdering his own brother--with whom he had aquarrel about some land--had disappeared and his fate is to this dayunknown. 

In the meantime my poor father's body had been secretly buried atmidnight in the back yard of his late residence, with his late boots onand the contents of his late stomach unanalyzed. "He was opposed todisplay, " said my dear mother, as she finished tamping down the earthabove him and assisted the children to litter the place with straw; "hisinstincts were all domestic and he loved a quiet life. "

My mother's application for letters of administration stated that shehad good reason to believe that the deceased was dead, for he had notcome home to his meals for several days; but the Judge of the CrowbaitCourt--as she ever afterward contemptuously called it--decided that theproof of death was insufficient, and put the estate into the hands ofthe Public Administrator, who was his son-in-law. It was found that theliabilities were exactly balanced by the assets; there was left only thepatent for the device for bursting open safes without noise, byhydraulic pressure and this had passed into the ownership of the ProbateJudge and the Public Administrator--as my dear mother preferred tospell it. Thus, within a few brief months a worthy and respectablefamily was reduced from prosperity to crime; necessity compelled us togo to work. 

In the selection of occupations we were governed by a variety ofconsiderations, such as personal fitness, inclination, and so forth. Mymother opened a select private school for instruction in the art ofchanging the spots upon leopard-skin rugs; my eldest brother, GeorgeHenry, who had a turn for music, became a bugler in a neighboring asylumfor deaf mutes; my sister, Mary Maria, took orders for ProfessorPumpernickel's Essence of Latchkeys for flavoring mineral springs, and Iset up as an adjuster and gilder of crossbeams for gibbets. The otherchildren, too young for labor, continued to steal small articles exposedin front of shops, as they had been taught. 

In our intervals of leisure we decoyed travelers into our house andburied the bodies in a cellar. 

In one part of this cellar we kept wines, liquors and provisions. Fromthe rapidity of their disappearance we acquired the superstitious beliefthat the spirits of the persons buried there came at dead of night andheld a festival. It was at least certain that frequently of a morning wewould discover fragments of pickled meats, canned goods and such débris, littering the place, although it had been securely locked and barredagainst human intrusion. It was proposed to remove the provisions andstore them elsewhere, but our dear mother, always generous andhospitable, said it was better to endure the loss than risk exposure: ifthe ghosts were denied this trifling gratification they might set onfoot an investigation, which would overthrow our scheme of the divisionof labor, by diverting the energies of the whole family into the singleindustry pursued by me--we might all decorate the cross-beams ofgibbets. We accepted her decision with filial submission, due to ourreverence for her wordly wisdom and the purity of her character. 

One night while we were all in the cellar--none dared to enter italone--engaged in bestowing upon the Mayor of an adjoining town thesolemn offices of Christian burial, my mother and the younger children, holding a candle each, while George Henry and I labored with a spade andpick, my sister Mary Maria uttered a shriek and covered her eyes withher hands. We were all dreadfully startled and the Mayor's obsequieswere instantly suspended, while with pale faces and in trembling toneswe begged her to say what had alarmed her. The younger children were soagitated that they held their candles unsteadily, and the waving shadowsof our figures danced with uncouth and grotesque movements on the wallsand flung themselves into the most uncanny attitudes. The face of thedead man, now gleaming ghastly in the light, and now extinguished bysome floating shadow, appeared at each emergence to have taken on a newand more forbidding expression, a maligner menace. Frightened even morethan ourselves by the girl's scream, rats raced in multitudes about theplace, squeaking shrilly, or starred the black opacity of some distantcorner with steadfast eyes, mere points of green light, matching thefaint phosphorescence of decay that filled the half-dug grave and seemedthe visible manifestation of that faint odor of mortality which taintedthe unwholesome air. The children now sobbed and clung about the limbsof their elders, dropping their candles, and we were near being left intotal darkness, except for that sinister light, which slowly welledupward from the disturbed earth and overflowed the edges of the gravelike a fountain. 

Meanwhile my sister, crouching in the earth that had been thrown out ofthe excavation, had removed her hands from her face and was staring withexpanded eyes into an obscure space between two wine casks. 

"There it is!--there it is!" she shrieked, pointing; "God in heaven!can't you see it?"

And there indeed it was!--a human figure, dimly discernible in thegloom--a figure that wavered from side to side as if about to fall, clutching at the wine-casks for support, had stepped unsteadily forwardand for one moment stood revealed in the light of our remaining candles;then it surged heavily and fell prone upon the earth. In that moment wehad all recognized the figure, the face and bearing of our father--deadthese ten months and buried by our own hands!--our father indubitablyrisen and ghastly drunk!

On the incidents of our precipitate flight from that horrible place--onthe extinction of all human sentiment in that tumultuous, mad scrambleup the damp and mouldy stairs--slipping, falling, pulling one anotherdown and clambering over one another's back--the lights extinguished, babes trampled beneath the feet of their strong brothers and hurledbackward to death by a mother's arm!--on all this I do not dare todwell. My mother, my eldest brother and sister and I escaped; the othersremained below, to perish of their wounds, or of their terror--some, perhaps, by flame. For within an hour we four, hastily gatheringtogether what money and jewels we had and what clothing we could carry, fired the dwelling and fled by its light into the hills. We did not evenpause to collect the insurance, and my dear mother said on herdeath-bed, years afterward in a distant land, that this was the only sinof omission that lay upon her conscience. Her confessor, a holy man, assured her that under the circumstances Heaven would pardon theneglect. 

About ten years after our removal from the scenes of my childhood I, then a prosperous forger, returned in disguise to the spot with a viewto obtaining, if possible, some treasure belonging to us, which had beenburied in the cellar. I may say that I was unsuccessful: the discoveryof many human bones in the ruins had set the authorities digging formore. They had found the treasure and had kept it for their honesty. Thehouse had not been rebuilt; the whole suburb was, in fact, a desolation. So many unearthly sights and sounds had been reported thereabout thatnobody would live there. As there was none to question nor molest, Iresolved to gratify my filial piety by gazing once more upon the face ofmy beloved father, if indeed our eyes had deceived us and he was stillin his grave. I remembered, too, that he had always worn an enormousdiamond ring, and never having seen it nor heard of it since his death, I had reason to think he might have been buried in it. Procuring aspade, I soon located the grave in what had been the backyard and begandigging. When I had got down about four feet the whole bottom fell outof the grave and I was precipitated into a large drain, falling througha long hole in its crumbling arch. There was no body, nor any vestige ofone. 

Unable to get out of the excavation, I crept through the drain, andhaving with some difficulty removed a mass of charred rubbish andblackened masonry that choked it, emerged into what had been thatfateful cellar. 

All was clear. My father, whatever had caused him to be "taken bad" athis meal (and I think my sainted mother could have thrown some lightupon that matter) had indubitably been buried alive. The grave havingbeen accidentally dug above the forgotten drain, and down almost to thecrown of its arch, and no coffin having been used, his struggles onreviving had broken the rotten masonry and he had fallen through, escaping finally into the cellar. Feeling that he was not welcome in hisown house, yet having no other, he had lived in subterranean seclusion, a witness to our thrift and a pensioner on our providence. It was he whohad eaten our food; it was he who had drunk our wine--he was no betterthan a thief! In a moment of intoxication, and feeling, no doubt, thatneed of companionship which is the one sympathetic link between adrunken man and his race, he had left his place of concealment at astrangely inopportune time, entailing the most deplorable consequencesupon those nearest and dearest to him--a blunder that had almost thedignity of crime. 

JUPITER DOKE, BRIGADIER-GENERAL

_From the Secretary of War to the Hon. Jupiter Doke, Hardpan Crossroads, Posey County, Illinois. _

WASHINGTON, November 3, 1861. 

Having faith in your patriotism and ability, the President has beenpleased to appoint you a brigadier-general of volunteers. Do you accept?

_From the Hon. Jupiter Doke to the Secretary of War. _

HARDPAN, ILLINOIS, November 9, 1861. 

It is the proudest moment of my life. The office is one which should beneither sought nor declined. In times that try men's souls the patriotknows no North, no South, no East, no West. His motto should be: "Mycountry, my whole country and nothing but my country. " I accept thegreat trust confided in me by a free and intelligent people, and with afirm reliance on the principles of constitutional liberty, and invokingthe guidance of an all-wise Providence, Ruler of Nations, shall labor soto discharge it as to leave no blot upon my political escutcheon. Say tohis Excellency, the successor of the immortal Washington in the Seat ofPower, that the patronage of my office will be bestowed with an eyesingle to securing the greatest good to the greatest number, thestability of republican institutions and the triumph of the party in allelections; and to this I pledge my life, my fortune and my sacred honor. I shall at once prepare an appropriate response to the speech of thechairman of the committee deputed to inform me of my appointment, and Itrust the sentiments therein expressed will strike a sympathetic chordin the public heart, as well as command the Executive approval. 

_From the Secretary of War to Major-General Blount Wardorg, Commandingthe Military Department of Eastern Kentucky. _

WASHINGTON, November 14, 1861. 

I have assigned to your department Brigadier-General Jupiter Doke, whowill soon proceed to Distilleryville, on the Little Buttermilk River, and take command of the Illinois Brigade at that point, reporting to youby letter for orders. Is the route from Covington by way of Bluegrass, Opossum Corners and Horsecave still infested with bushwhackers, asreported in your last dispatch? I have a plan for cleaning them out. 

_From Major-General Blount Wardorg to the Secretary of War. _

LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY, November 20, 1861. 

The name and services of Brigadier-General Doke are unfamiliar to me, but I shall be pleased to have the advantage of his skill. The routefrom Covington to Distilleryville _via_ Opossum Corners and Horsecave Ihave been compelled to abandon to the enemy, whose guerilla warfare madeit possible to keep it open without detaching too many troops from thefront. The brigade at Distilleryville is supplied by steamboats up theLittle Buttermilk. 

_From the Secretary of War to Brigadier-General Jupiter Doke, Hardpan, Illinois. _

WASHINGTON, November 26, 1861. 

I deeply regret that your commission had been forwarded by mail beforethe receipt of your letter of acceptance; so we must dispense with theformality of official notification to you by a committee. The Presidentis highly gratified by the noble and patriotic sentiments of yourletter, and directs that you proceed at once to your command atDistilleryville, Kentucky, and there report by letter to Major-GeneralWardorg at Louisville, for orders. It is important that the strictestsecrecy be observed regarding your movements until you have passedCovington, as it is desired to hold the enemy in front ofDistilleryville until you are within three days of him. Then if yourapproach is known it will operate as a demonstration against his rightand cause him to strengthen it with his left now at Memphis, Tennessee, which it is desirable to capture first. Go by way of Bluegrass, OpossumCorners and Horsecave. All officers are expected to be in full uniformwhen _en route_ to the front. 

_From Brigadier-General Jupiter Doke to the Secretary of War. _

COVINGTON, KENTUCKY, December 7, 1861. 

I arrived yesterday at this point, and have given my proxy to JoelBriller, Esq. , my wife's cousin, and a staunch Republican, who willworthily represent Posey County in field and forum. He points with prideto a stainless record in the halls of legislation, which have oftenechoed to his soul-stirring eloquence on questions which lie at the veryfoundation of popular government. He has been called the Patrick Henryof Hardpan, where he has done yeoman's service in the cause of civil andreligious liberty. Mr. Briller left for Distilleryville last evening, and the standard bearer of the Democratic host confronting thatstronghold of freedom will find him a lion in his path. I have beenasked to remain here and deliver some addresses to the people in a localcontest involving issues of paramount importance. That duty beingperformed, I shall in person enter the arena of armed debate and move inthe direction of the heaviest firing, burning my ships behind me. Iforward by this mail to his Excellency the President a request for theappointment of my son, Jabez Leonidas Doke, as postmaster at Hardpan. Iwould take it, sir, as a great favor if you would give the application astrong oral indorsement, as the appointment is in the line of reform. Bekind enough to inform me what are the emoluments of the office I hold inthe military arm, and if they are by salary or fees. Are there anyperquisites? My mileage account will be transmitted monthly. 

_From Brigadier-General Jupiter Doke to Major General Blount Wardorg. _

DISTILLERYVILLE, KENTUCKY, January 12, 1862. 

I arrived on the tented field yesterday by steamboat, the recent stormshaving inundated the landscape, covering, I understand, the greater partof a congressional district. I am pained to find that Joel Briller, Esq. , a prominent citizen of Posey County, Illinois, and a far-seeingstatesman who held my proxy, and who a month ago should have beenthundering at the gates of Disunion, has not been heard from, and hasdoubtless been sacrificed upon the altar of his country. In him theAmerican people lose a bulwark of freedom. I would respectfully movethat you designate a committee to draw up resolutions of respect to hismemory, and that the office holders and men under your command wear theusual badge of mourning for thirty days. I shall at once place myself atthe head of affairs here, and am now ready to entertain any suggestionswhich you may make, looking to the better enforcement of the laws inthis commonwealth. The militant Democrats on the other side of the riverappear to be contemplating extreme measures. They have two large cannonsfacing this way, and yesterday morning, I am told, some of them camedown to the water's edge and remained in session for some time, makinginfamous allegations. 

_From the Diary of Brigadier-General Jupiter Doke, at Distilleryville, Kentucky. _

January 12, 1862. --On my arrival yesterday at the Henry Clay Hotel(named in honor of the late far-seeing statesman) I was waited on by adelegation consisting of the three colonels intrusted with the commandof the regiments of my brigade. It was an occasion that will bememorable in the political annals of America. Forwarded copies of thespeeches to the Posey _Maverick_, to be spread upon the record of theages. The gentlemen composing the delegation unanimously reaffirmedtheir devotion to the principles of national unity and the Republicanparty. Was gratified to recognize in them men of political prominenceand untarnished escutcheons. At the subsequent banquet, sentiments oflofty patriotism were expressed. Wrote to Mr. Wardorg at Louisville forinstructions. 

January 13, 1862. --Leased a prominent residence (the former incumbentbeing absent in arms against his country) for the term of one year, andwrote at once for Mrs. Brigadier-General Doke and the vitalissues--excepting Jabez Leonidas. In the camp of treason opposite herethere are supposed to be three thousand misguided men laying the ax atthe root of the tree of liberty. They have a clear majority, many of ourmen having returned without leave to their constituents. We couldprobably not poll more than two thousand votes. Have advised my heads ofregiments to make a canvass of those remaining, all bolters to be readout of the phalanx. 

January 14, 1862. --Wrote to the President, asking for the contract tosupply this command with firearms and regalia through my brother-in-law, prominently identified with the manufacturing interests of the country. Club of cannon soldiers arrived at Jayhawk, three miles back from here, on their way to join us in battle array. Marched my whole brigade toJayhawk to escort them into town, but their chairman, mistaking us forthe opposing party, opened fire on the head of the procession and by theextraordinary noise of the cannon balls (I had no conception of it!) sofrightened my horse that I was unseated without a contest. The meetingadjourned in disorder and returning to camp I found that a deputation ofthe enemy had crossed the river in our absence and made a division ofthe loaves and fishes. Wrote to the President, applying for theGubernatorial Chair of the Territory of Idaho. 

_From Editorial Article in the Posey, Illinois, "Maverick, " January 20, 1862. _

Brigadier-General Doke's thrilling account, in another column, of theBattle of Distilleryville will make the heart of every loyal Illinoisianleap with exultation. The brilliant exploit marks an era in militaryhistory, and as General Doke says, "lays broad and deep the foundationsof American prowess in arms. " As none of the troops engaged, except thegallant author-chieftain (a host in himself) hails from Posey County, hejustly considered that a list of the fallen would only occupy ourvaluable space to the exclusion of more important matter, but hisaccount of the strategic ruse by which he apparently abandoned his campand so inveigled a perfidious enemy into it for the purpose of murderingthe sick, the unfortunate _countertempus_ at Jayhawk, the subsequentdash upon a trapped enemy flushed with a supposed success, driving theirterrified legions across an impassable river which precludedpursuit--all these "moving accidents by flood and field" are relatedwith a pen of fire and have all the terrible interest of romance. 

Verily, truth is stranger than fiction and the pen is mightier than thesword. When by the graphic power of the art preservative of all arts weare brought face to face with such glorious events as these, the_Maverick's_ enterprise in securing for its thousands of readers theservices of so distinguished a contributor as the Great Captain who madethe history as well as wrote it seems a matter of almost secondaryimportance. For President in 1864 (subject to the decision of theRepublican National Convention) Brigadier-General Jupiter Doke, ofIllinois!

_From Major-General Blount Wardorg to Brigadier-General Jupiter Doke. _

LOUISVILLE, January 22, 1862. 

Your letter apprising me of your arrival at Distilleryville was delayedin transmission, having only just been received (open) through thecourtesy of the Confederate department commander under a flag of truce. He begs me to assure you that he would consider it an act of cruelty totrouble you, and I think it would be. Maintain, however, a threateningattitude, but at the least pressure retire. Your position is simply anoutpost which it is not intended to hold. 

_From Major-General Blount Wardorg to the Secretary of War. _

LOUISVILLE, January 23, 1862. 

I have certain information that the enemy has concentrated twentythousand troops of all arms on the Little Buttermilk. According to yourassignment, General Doke is in command of the small brigade of rawtroops opposing them. It is no part of my plan to contest the enemy'sadvance at that point, but I cannot hold myself responsible for anyreverses to the brigade mentioned, under its present commander. I thinkhim a fool. 

_From the Secretary of War to Major-General Blount Wardorg. _

WASHINGTON, February 1, 1862. 

The President has great faith in General Doke. If your estimate of himis correct, however, he would seem to be singularly well placed where henow is, as your plans appear to contemplate a considerable sacrifice forwhatever advantages you expect to gain. 

_From Brigadier-General Jupiter Doke to Major-General Blount Wardorg. _

DISTILLERYVILLE, February 1, 1862. 

To-morrow I shall remove my headquarters to Jayhawk in order to pointthe way whenever my brigade retires from Distilleryville, asforeshadowed by your letter of the 22d ult. I have appointed a Committeeon Retreat, the minutes of whose first meeting I transmit to you. Youwill perceive that the committee having been duly organized by theelection of a chairman and secretary, a resolution (prepared by myself)was adopted, to the effect that in case treason again raises her hideoushead on this side of the river every man of the brigade is to mount amule, the procession to move promptly in the direction of Louisville andthe loyal North. In preparation for such an emergency I have for sometime been collecting mules from the resident Democracy, and have on hand2300 in a field at Jayhawk. Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty!

_From Major-General Gibeon J. Buxter, C. S. A. , to the ConfederateSecretary of War. _

BUNG STATION, KENTUCKY, February 4, 1862. 

On the night of the 2d inst. , our entire force, consisting of 25, 000 menand thirty-two field pieces, under command of Major-General Simmons B. Flood, crossed by a ford to the north side of Little Buttermilk River ata point three miles above Distilleryville and moved obliquely down andaway from the stream, to strike the Covington turnpike at Jayhawk; theobject being, as you know, to capture Covington, destroy Cincinnati andoccupy the Ohio Valley. For some months there had been in our front onlya small brigade of undisciplined troops, apparently without a commander, who were useful to us, for by not disturbing them we could create animpression of our weakness. But the movement on Jayhawk having isolatedthem, I was about to detach an Alabama regiment to bring them in, mydivision being the leading one, when an earth-shaking rumble was feltand heard, and suddenly the head-of-column was struck by one of theterrible tornadoes for which this region is famous, and utterlyannihilated. The tornado, I believe, passed along the entire length ofthe road back to the ford, dispersing or destroying our entire army; butof this I cannot be sure, for I was lifted from the earth insensible andblown back to the south side of the river. Continuous firing all nighton the north side and the reports of such of our men as have recrossedat the ford convince me that the Yankee brigade has exterminated thedisabled survivors. Our loss has been uncommonly heavy. Of my owndivision of 15, 000 infantry, the casualties--killed, wounded, captured, and missing--are 14, 994. Of General Dolliver Billow's division, 11, 200strong, I can find but two officers and a nigger cook. Of the artillery, 800 men, none has reported on this side of the river. General Flood isdead. I have assumed command of the expeditionary force, but owing tothe heavy losses have deemed it advisable to contract my line ofsupplies as rapidly as possible. I shall push southward to-morrowmorning early. The purposes of the campaign have been as yet but partlyaccomplished. 

_From Major-General Dolliver Billows, C. S. A. , to the ConfederateSecretary of War. _

BUHAC, KENTUCKY, February 5, 1862. 

. .. But during the 2d they had, unknown to us, been reinforced by fiftythousand cavalry, and being apprised of our movement by a spy, this vastbody was drawn up in the darkness at Jayhawk, and as the head of ourcolumn reached that point at about 11 P. M. , fell upon it withastonishing fury, destroying the division of General Buxter in aninstant. General Baumschank's brigade of artillery, which was in therear, may have escaped--I did not wait to see, but withdrew my divisionto the river at a point several miles above the ford, and at daylightferried it across on two fence rails lashed together with a suspender. Its losses, from an effective strength of 11, 200, are 11, 199. GeneralBuxter is dead. I am changing my base to Mobile, Alabama. 

_From Brigadier-General Schneddeker Baumschank, C. S. A. , to theConfederate Secretary of War. _

IODINE, KENTUCKY, February 6, 1862. 

. .. Yoost den somdings occur, I know nod vot it vos--somdingsmackneefcent, but it vas nod vor--und I finds meinselluf, afder leedleviles, in dis blace, midout a hors und mit no men und goons. SheneralPeelows is deadt, You will blease be so goot as to resign me--I vightsno more in a dam gontry vere I gets vipped und knows nod how it vosdone. 

_Resolutions of Congress_, February 15, 1862. 

_Resolved_, That the thanks of Congress are due, and hereby tendered, toBrigadier-General Jupiter Doke and the gallant men under his command fortheir unparalleled feat of attacking--themselves only 2000 strong--anarmy of 25, 000 men and utterly overthrowing it, killing 5327, makingprisoners of 19, 003, of whom more than half were wounded, taking 32guns, 20, 000 stand of small arms and, in short, the enemy's entireequipment. 

_Resolved_, That for this unexampled victory the President be requestedto designate a day of thanksgiving and public celebration of religiousrites in the various churches. 

_Resolved_, That he be requested, in further commemoration of the greatevent, and in reward of the gallant spirits whose deeds have added suchimperishable lustre to the American arms, to appoint, with the adviceand consent of the Senate, the following officer:

One major-general. 

_Statement of Mr. Hannibal Alcazar Peyton, of Jayhawk, Kentucky. _

Dat wus a almighty dark night, sho', and dese yere ole eyes aint wufshuks, but I's got a year like a sque'l, an' w'en I cotch de mummer o'v'ices I knowed dat gang b'long on de far side o' de ribber. So I jes'runs in de house an' wakes Marse Doke an' tells him: "Skin outer dis fo'yo' life!" An' de Lo'd bress my soul! ef dat man didn' go right fru dewinder in his shir' tail an' break for to cross de mule patch! An' demtwenty-free hunerd mules dey jes' t'nk it is de debble hese'f wid debrandin' iron, an' dey bu'st outen dat patch like a yarthquake, an' pileinter de upper ford road, an' flash down it five deep, an' it full o'Con-fed'rates from en' to en'!. .. 

THE WIDOWER TURMORE

The circumstances under which Joram Turmore became a widower have neverbeen popularly understood. I know them, naturally, for I am JoramTurmore; and my wife, the late Elizabeth Mary Turmore, is by no meansignorant of them; but although she doubtless relates them, yet theyremain a secret, for not a soul has ever believed her. 

When I married Elizabeth Mary Johnin she was very wealthy, otherwise Icould hardly have afforded to marry, for I had not a cent, and Heavenhad not put into my heart any intention to earn one. I held theProfessorship of Cats in the University of Graymaulkin, and scholasticpursuits had unfitted me for the heat and burden of business or labor. Moreover, I could not forget that I was a Turmore--a member of a familywhose motto from the time of William of Normandy has been _Laborare esterrare_. The only known infraction of the sacred family traditionoccurred when Sir Aldebaran Turmore de Peters-Turmore, an illustriousmaster burglar of the seventeenth century, personally assisted at adifficult operation undertaken by some of his workmen. That blot uponour escutcheon cannot be contemplated without the most poignantmortification. 

My incumbency of the Chair of Cats in the Graymaulkin University hadnot, of course, been marked by any instance of mean industry. There hadnever, at any one time, been more than two students of the NobleScience, and by merely repeating the manuscript lectures of mypredecessor, which I had found among his effects (he died at sea on hisway to Malta) I could sufficiently sate their famine for knowledgewithout really earning even the distinction which served in place ofsalary. 

Naturally, under the straitened circumstances, I regarded Elizabeth Maryas a kind of special Providence. She unwisely refused to share herfortune with me, but for that I cared nothing; for, although by the lawsof that country (as is well known) a wife has control of her separateproperty during her life, it passes to the husband at her death; nor canshe dispose of it otherwise by will. The mortality among wives isconsiderable, but not excessive. 

Having married Elizabeth Mary and, as it were, ennobled her by makingher a Turmore, I felt that the manner of her death ought, in some sense, to match her social distinction. If I should remove her by any of theordinary marital methods I should incur a just reproach, as onedestitute of a proper family pride. Yet I could not hit upon a suitableplan. 

In this emergency I decided to consult the Turmore archives, a pricelesscollection of documents, comprising the records of the family from thetime of its founder in the seventh century of our era. I knew that amongthese sacred muniments I should find detailed accounts of all theprincipal murders committed by my sainted ancestors for fortygenerations. From that mass of papers I could hardly fail to derive themost valuable suggestions. 

The collection contained also most interesting relics. There werepatents of nobility granted to my forefathers for daring and ingeniousremovals of pretenders to thrones, or occupants of them; stars, crossesand other decorations attesting services of the most secret andunmentionable character; miscellaneous gifts from the world's greatestconspirators, representing an intrinsic money value beyond computation. There were robes, jewels, swords of honor, and every kind of"testimonials of esteem"; a king's skull fashioned into a wine cup; thetitle deeds to vast estates, long alienated by confiscation, sale, orabandonment; an illuminated breviary that had belonged to Sir AldebaranTurmore de Peters-Turmore of accursed memory; embalmed ears of severalof the family's most renowned enemies; the small intestine of a certainunworthy Italian statesman inimical to Turmores, which, twisted into ajumping rope, had served the youth of six kindred generations--mementoesand souvenirs precious beyond the appraisals of imagination, but by thesacred mandates of tradition and sentiment forever inalienable by saleor gift. 

As the head of the family, I was custodian of all these pricelessheirlooms, and for their safe keeping had constructed in the basement ofmy dwelling a strong-room of massive masonry, whose solid stone wallsand single iron door could defy alike the earthquake's shock, thetireless assaults of Time, and Cupidity's unholy hand. 

To this thesaurus of the soul, redolent of sentiment and tenderness, andrich in suggestions of crime, I now repaired for hints uponassassination. To my unspeakable astonishment and grief I found itempty! Every shelf, every chest, every coffer had been rifled. Of thatunique and incomparable collection not a vestige remained! Yet I provedthat until I had myself unlocked the massive metal door, not a bolt norbar had been disturbed; the seals upon the lock had been intact. 

I passed the night in alternate lamentation and research, equallyfruitless, the mystery was impenetrable to conjecture, the paininvincible to balm. But never once throughout that dreadful night did myfirm spirit relinquish its high design against Elizabeth Mary, anddaybreak found me more resolute than before to harvest the fruits of mymarriage. My great loss seemed but to bring me into nearer spiritualrelations with my dead ancestors, and to lay upon me a new and moreinevitable obedience to the suasion that spoke in every globule of myblood. 

My plan of action was soon formed, and procuring a stout cord I enteredmy wife's bedroom finding her, as I expected, in a sound sleep. Beforeshe was awake, I had her bound fast, hand and foot. She was greatlysurprised and pained, but heedless of her remonstrances, delivered in ahigh key, I carried her into the now rifled strong-room, which I hadnever suffered her to enter, and of whose treasures I had not apprisedher. Seating her, still bound, in an angle of the wall, I passed thenext two days and nights in conveying bricks and mortar to the spot, andon the morning of the third day had her securely walled in, from floorto ceiling. All this time I gave no further heed to her pleas for mercythan (on her assurance of non-resistance, which I am bound to say shehonorably observed) to grant her the freedom of her limbs. The spaceallowed her was about four feet by six. As I inserted the last bricks ofthe top course, in contact with the ceiling of the strong-room, she bademe farewell with what I deemed the composure of despair, and I restedfrom my work, feeling that I had faithfully observed the traditions ofan ancient and illustrious family. My only bitter reflection, so far asmy own conduct was concerned, came of the consciousness that in theperformance of my design I had labored; but this no living soul wouldever know. 

After a night's rest I went to the Judge of the Court of Successions andInheritances and made a true and sworn relation of all that I haddone--except that I ascribed to a servant the manual labor of buildingthe wall. His honor appointed a court commissioner, who made a carefulexamination of the work, and upon his report Elizabeth Mary Turmorewas, at the end of a week, formally pronounced dead. By due process oflaw I was put into possession of her estate, and although this was notby hundreds of thousands of dollars as valuable as my lost treasures, itraised me from poverty to affluence and brought me the respect of thegreat and good. 

Some six months after these events strange rumors reached me that theghost of my deceased wife had been seen in several places about thecountry, but always at a considerable distance from Graymaulkin. Theserumors, which I was unable to trace to any authentic source, differedwidely in many particulars, but were alike in ascribing to theapparition a certain high degree of apparent worldly prosperity combinedwith an audacity most uncommon in ghosts. Not only was the spiritattired in most costly raiment, but it walked at noonday, and evendrove! I was inexpressibly annoyed by these reports, and thinking theremight be something more than superstition in the popular belief thatonly the spirits of the unburied dead still walk the earth, I took someworkmen equipped with picks and crowbars into the now long unenteredstrong-room, and ordered them to demolish the brick wall that I hadbuilt about the partner of my joys. I was resolved to give the body ofElizabeth Mary such burial as I thought her immortal part might bewilling to accept as an equivalent to the privilege of ranging at willamong the haunts of the living. 

In a few minutes we had broken down the wall and, thrusting a lampthrough the breach, I looked in. Nothing! Not a bone, not a lock ofhair, not a shred of clothing--the narrow space which, upon myaffidavit, had been legally declared to hold all that was mortal of thelate Mrs. Turmore was absolutely empty! This amazing disclosure, comingupon a mind already overwrought with too much of mystery and excitement, was more than I could bear. I shrieked aloud and fell in a fit. Formonths afterward I lay between life and death, fevered and delirious;nor did I recover until my physician had had the providence to take acase of valuable jewels from my safe and leave the country. 

The next summer I had occasion to visit my wine cellar, in one corner ofwhich I had built the now long disused strong-room. In moving a cask ofMadeira I struck it with considerable force against the partition wall, and was surprised to observe that it displaced two large square stonesforming a part of the wall. 

Applying my hands to these, I easily pushed them out entirely, andlooking through saw that they had fallen into the niche in which I hadimmured my lamented wife; facing the opening which their fall left, andat a distance of four feet, was the brickwork which my own hands hadmade for that unfortunate gentlewoman's restraint. At this significantrevelation I began a search of the wine cellar. Behind a row of casks Ifound four historically interesting but intrinsically valueless objects:

First, the mildewed remains of a ducal robe of state (Florentine) of theeleventh century; second, an illuminated vellum breviary with the nameof Sir Aldebaran Turmore de Peters-Turmore inscribed in colors on thetitle page; third, a human skull fashioned into a drinking cup anddeeply stained with wine; fourth, the iron cross of a Knight Commanderof the Imperial Austrian Order of Assassins by Poison. 

That was all--not an object having commercial value, no papers--nothing. But this was enough to clear up the mystery of the strong-room. My wifehad early divined the existence and purpose of that apartment, and withthe skill amounting to genius had effected an entrance by loosening thetwo stones in the wall. 

Through that opening she had at several times abstracted the entirecollection, which doubtless she had succeeded in converting into coin ofthe realm. When with an unconscious justice which deprives me of allsatisfaction in the memory I decided to build her into the wall, by somemalign fatality I selected that part of it in which were these movablestones, and doubtless before I had fairly finished my bricklaying shehad removed them and, slipping through into the wine cellar, replacedthem as they were originally laid. From the cellar she had easilyescaped unobserved, to enjoy her infamous gains in distant parts. I haveendeavored to procure a warrant, but the Lord High Baron of the Court ofIndictment and Conviction reminds me that she is legally dead, and saysmy only course is to go before the Master in Cadavery and move for awrit of disinterment and constructive revival. So it looks as if I mustsuffer without redress this great wrong at the hands of a woman devoidalike of principle and shame. 

THE CITY OF THE GONE AWAY

I was born of poor because honest parents, and until I was twenty-threeyears old never knew the possibilities of happiness latent in anotherperson's coin. At that time Providence threw me into a deep sleep andrevealed to me in a dream the folly of labor. "Behold, " said a vision ofa holy hermit, "the poverty and squalor of your lot and listen to theteachings of nature. You rise in the morning from your pallet of strawand go forth to your daily labor in the fields. The flowers nod theirheads in friendly salutation as you pass. The lark greets you with aburst of song. The early sun sheds his temperate beams upon you, andfrom the dewy grass you inhale an atmosphere cool and grateful to yourlungs. All nature seems to salute you with the joy of a generous servantwelcoming a faithful master. You are in harmony with her gentlest moodand your soul sings within you. You begin your daily task at the plow, hopeful that the noonday will fulfill the promise of the morn, maturingthe charms of the landscape and confirming its benediction upon yourspirit. You follow the plow until fatigue invokes repose, and seatingyourself upon the earth at the end of your furrow you expect to enjoy infulness the delights of which you did but taste. 

"Alas! the sun has climbed into a brazen sky and his beams are become atorrent. The flowers have closed their petals, confining their perfumeand denying their colors to the eye. Coolness no longer exhales from thegrass: the dew has vanished and the dry surface of the fields repeatsthe fierce heat of the sky. No longer the birds of heaven salute youwith melody, but the jay harshly upbraids you from the edge of thecopse. Unhappy man! all the gentle and healing ministrations of natureare denied you in punishment of your sin. You have broken the FirstCommandment of the Natural Decalogue: you have labored!"

Awakening from my dream, I collected my few belongings, bade adieu to myerring parents and departed out of that land, pausing at the grave of mygrandfather, who had been a priest, to take an oath that never again, Heaven helping me, would I earn an honest penny. 

How long I traveled I know not, but I came at last to a great city bythe sea, where I set up as a physician. The name of that place I do notnow remember, for such were my activity and renown in my new professionthat the Aldermen, moved by pressure of public opinion, altered it, andthenceforth the place was known as the City of the Gone Away. It isneedless to say that I had no knowledge of medicine, but by securing theservice of an eminent forger I obtained a diploma purporting to havebeen granted by the Royal Quackery of Charlatanic Empiricism at Hoodos, which, framed in immortelles and suspended by a bit of _crêpe_ to awillow in front of my office, attracted the ailing in great numbers. Inconnection with my dispensary I conducted one of the largest undertakingestablishments ever known, and as soon as my means permitted, purchaseda wide tract of land and made it into a cemetery. I owned also some veryprofitable marble works on one side of the gateway to the cemetery, andon the other an extensive flower garden. My Mourner's Emporium waspatronized by the beauty, fashion and sorrow of the city. In short, Iwas in a very prosperous way of business, and within a year was able tosend for my parents and establish my old father very comfortably as areceiver of stolen goods--an act which I confess was saved from thereproach of filial gratitude only by my exaction of all the profits. 

But the vicissitudes of fortune are avoidable only by practice of thesternest indigence: human foresight cannot provide against the envy ofthe gods and the tireless machinations of Fate. The widening circle ofprosperity grows weaker as it spreads until the antagonistic forceswhich it has pushed back are made powerful by compression to resist andfinally overwhelm. So great grew the renown of my skill in medicine thatpatients were brought to me from all the four quarters of the globe. Burdensome invalids whose tardiness in dying was a perpetual grief totheir friends; wealthy testators whose legatees were desirous to come bytheir own; superfluous children of penitent parents and dependentparents of frugal children; wives of husbands ambitious to remarry andhusbands of wives without standing in the courts of divorce--these andall conceivable classes of the surplus population were conducted to mydispensary in the City of the Gone Away. They came in incalculablemultitudes. 

Government agents brought me caravans of orphans, paupers, lunatics andall who had become a public charge. My skill in curing orphanism andpauperism was particularly acknowledged by a grateful parliament. 

Naturally, all this promoted the public prosperity, for although I gotthe greater part of the money that strangers expended in the city, therest went into the channels of trade, and I was myself a liberalinvestor, purchaser and employer, and a patron of the arts and sciences. The City of the Gone Away grew so rapidly that in a few years it hadinclosed my cemetery, despite its own constant growth. In that fact laythe lion that rent me. 

The Aldermen declared my cemetery a public evil and decided to take itfrom me, remove the bodies to another place and make a park of it. I wasto be paid for it and could easily bribe the appraisers to fix a highprice, but for a reason which will appear the decision gave me littlejoy. It was in vain that I protested against the sacrilege of disturbingthe holy dead, although this was a powerful appeal, for in that land thedead are held in religious veneration. Temples are built in their honorand a separate priesthood maintained at the public expense, whose onlyduty is performance of memorial services of the most solemn and touchingkind. On four days in the year there is a Festival of the Good, as it iscalled, when all the people lay by their work or business and, headed bythe priests, march in procession through the cemeteries, adorning thegraves and praying in the temples. However bad a man's life may be, itis believed that when dead he enters into a state of eternal andinexpressible happiness. To signify a doubt of this is an offensepunishable by death. To deny burial to the dead, or to exhume a buriedbody, except under sanction of law by special dispensation and withsolemn ceremony, is a crime having no stated penalty because no one hasever had the hardihood to commit it. 

All these considerations were in my favor, yet so well assured were thepeople and their civic officers that my cemetery was injurious to thepublic health that it was condemned and appraised, and with terror in myheart I received three times its value and began to settle up my affairswith all speed. 

A week later was the day appointed for the formal inauguration of theceremony of removing the bodies. The day was fine and the entirepopulation of the city and surrounding country was present at theimposing religious rites. These were directed by the mortuary priesthoodin full canonicals. There was propitiatory sacrifice in the Temples ofthe Once, followed by a processional pageant of great splendor, endingat the cemetery. The Great Mayor in his robe of state led theprocession. He was armed with a golden spade and followed by one hundredmale and female singers, clad all in white and chanting the Hymn to theGone Away. Behind these came the minor priesthood of the temples, allthe civic authorities, habited in their official apparel, each carryinga living pig as an offering to the gods of the dead. Of the manydivisions of the line, the last was formed by the populace, withuncovered heads, sifting dust into their hair in token of humility. Infront of the mortuary chapel in the midst of the necropolis, the SupremePriest stood in gorgeous vestments, supported on each hand by a line ofbishops and other high dignitaries of his prelacy, all frowning with theutmost austerity. As the Great Mayor paused in the Presence, the minorclergy, the civic authorities, the choir and populace closed in andencompassed the spot. The Great Mayor, laying his golden spade at thefeet of the Supreme Priest, knelt in silence. 

"Why comest thou here, presumptuous mortal?" said the Supreme Priest inclear, deliberate tones. "Is it thy unhallowed purpose with thisimplement to uncover the mysteries of death and break the repose of theGood?"

The Great Mayor, still kneeling, drew from his robe a document withportentous seals: "Behold, O ineffable, thy servant, having warrant ofhis people, entreateth at thy holy hands the custody of the Good, to theend and purpose that they lie in fitter earth, by consecration dulyprepared against their coming. "

With that he placed in the sacerdotal hands the order of the Council ofAldermen decreeing the removal. Merely touching the parchment, theSupreme Priest passed it to the Head Necropolitan at his side, andraising his hands relaxed the severity of his countenance and exclaimed:"The gods comply. "

Down the line of prelates on either side, his gesture, look and wordswere successively repeated. The Great Mayor rose to his feet, the choirbegan a solemn chant and, opportunely, a funeral car drawn by ten whitehorses with black plumes rolled in at the gate and made its way throughthe parting crowd to the grave selected for the occasion--that of a highofficial whom I had treated for chronic incumbency. The Great Mayortouched the grave with his golden spade (which he then presented to theSupreme Priest) and two stalwart diggers with iron ones set vigorouslyto work. 

At that moment I was observed to leave the cemetery and the country; fora report of the rest of the proceedings I am indebted to my saintedfather, who related it in a letter to me, written in jail the nightbefore he had the irreparable misfortune to take the kink out of a rope. 

As the workmen proceeded with their excavation, four bishops stationedthemselves at the corners of the grave and in the profound silence ofthe multitude, broken otherwise only by the harsh grinding sound ofspades, repeated continuously, one after another, the solemn invocationsand responses from the Ritual of the Disturbed, imploring the blessedbrother to forgive. But the blessed brother was not there. Full fathomtwo they mined for him in vain, then gave it up. The priests werevisibly disconcerted, the populace was aghast, for that grave wasindubitably vacant. 

After a brief consultation with the Supreme Priest, the Great Mayorordered the workmen to open another grave. The ritual was omitted thistime until the coffin should be uncovered. There was no coffin, no body. 

The cemetery was now a scene of the wildest confusion and dismay. Thepeople shouted and ran hither and thither, gesticulating, clamoring, alltalking at once, none listening. Some ran for spades, fire-shovels, hoes, sticks, anything. Some brought carpenters' adzes, even chiselsfrom the marble works, and with these inadequate aids set to work uponthe first graves they came to. Others fell upon the mounds with theirbare hands, scraping away the earth as eagerly as dogs digging formarmots. Before nightfall the surface of the greater part of thecemetery had been upturned; every grave had been explored to the bottomand thousands of men were tearing away at the interspaces with asfurious a frenzy as exhaustion would permit. As night came on torcheswere lighted, and in the sinister glare these frantic mortals, lookinglike a legion of fiends performing some unholy rite, pursued theirdisappointing work until they had devastated the entire area. But not abody did they find--not even a coffin. 

The explanation is exceedingly simple. An important part of my incomehad been derived from the sale of _cadavres_ to medical colleges, whichnever before had been so well supplied, and which, in added recognitionof my services to science, had all bestowed upon me diplomas, degreesand fellowships without number. But their demand for _cadavres_ wasunequal to my supply: by even the most prodigal extravagances they couldnot consume the one-half of the products of my skill as a physician. Asto the rest, I had owned and operated the most extensive and thoroughlyappointed soapworks in all the country. The excellence of my "ToiletHomoline" was attested by certificates from scores of the saintliesttheologians, and I had one in autograph from Badelina Fatti the mostfamous living soaprano. 

THE MAJOR'S TALE

In the days of the Civil War practical joking had not, I think, falleninto that disrepute which characterizes it now. That, doubtless, wasowing to our extreme youth--men were much younger than now, and evermoreyour very young man has a boisterous spirit, running easily tohorse-play. You cannot think how young the men were in the earlysixties! Why, the average age of the entire Federal Army was not morethan twenty-five; I doubt if it was more than twenty-three, but nothaving the statistics on that point (if there are any) I want to bemoderate: we will say twenty-five. It is true a man of twenty-five wasin that heroic time a good deal more of a man than one of that age isnow; you could see that by looking at him. His face had nothing of thatunripeness so conspicuous in his successor. I never see a young fellownow without observing how disagreeably young he really is; but during thewar we did not think of a man's age at all unless he happened to bepretty well along in life. In that case one could not help it, for theunloveliness of age assailed the human countenance then much earlierthan now; the result, I suppose, of hard service--perhaps, to someextent, of hard drink, for, bless my soul! we did shed the blood of thegrape and the grain abundantly during the war. I remember thinkingGeneral Grant, who could not have been more than forty, a pretty wellpreserved old chap, considering his habits. As to men of middle age--sayfrom fifty to sixty--why, they all looked fit to personate the Last ofthe Hittites, or the Madagascarene Methuselah, in a museum. Depend uponit, my friends, men of that time were greatly younger than men areto-day, but looked much older. The change is quite remarkable. 

I said that practical joking had not then gone out of fashion. It hadnot, at least, in the army; though possibly in the more serious life ofthe civilian it had no place except in the form of tarring andfeathering an occasional "copperhead. " You all know, I suppose, what a"copperhead" was, so I will go directly at my story without introductoryremark, as is my way. 

It was a few days before the battle of Nashville. The enemy had drivenus up out of northern Georgia and Alabama. At Nashville we had turned atbay and fortified, while old Pap Thomas, our commander, hurried downreinforcements and supplies from Louisville. Meantime Hood, theConfederate commander, had partly invested us and lay close enough tohave tossed shells into the heart of the town. As a rule heabstained--he was afraid of killing the families of his own soldiers, Isuppose, a great many of whom had lived there. I sometimes wondered whatwere the feelings of those fellows, gazing over our heads at their owndwellings, where their wives and children or their aged parents wereperhaps suffering for the necessaries of life, and certainly (so theirreasoning would run) cowering under the tyranny and power of thebarbarous Yankees. 

To begin, then, at the beginning, I was serving at that time on thestaff of a division commander whose name I shall not disclose, for I amrelating facts, and the person upon whom they bear hardest may havesurviving relatives who would not care to have him traced. Ourheadquarters were in a large dwelling which stood just behind our lineof works. This had been hastily abandoned by the civilian occupants, whohad left everything pretty much as it was--had no place to store it, probably, and trusted that Heaven would preserve it from Federalcupidity and Confederate artillery. With regard to the latter we were assolicitous as they. 

Rummaging about in some of the chambers and closets one evening, some ofus found an abundant supply of lady-gear--gowns, shawls, bonnets, hats, petticoats and the Lord knows what; I could not at that time have namedthe half of it. The sight of all this pretty plunder inspired one of uswith what he was pleased to call an "idea, " which, when submitted to theother scamps and scapegraces of the staff, met with instant andenthusiastic approval. We proceeded at once to act upon it for theundoing of one of our comrades. 

Our selected victim was an aide, Lieutenant Haberton, so to call him. Hewas a good soldier--as gallant a chap as ever wore spurs; but he had anintolerable weakness: he was a lady-killer, and like most of his class, even in those days, eager that all should know it. He never tired ofrelating his amatory exploits, and I need not say how dismal that kindof narrative is to all but the narrator. It would be dismal even ifsprightly and vivacious, for all men are rivals in woman's favor, and torelate your successes to another man is to rouse in him a dumbresentment, tempered by disbelief. You will not convince him that youtell the tale for his entertainment; he will hear nothing in it but anexpression of your own vanity. Moreover, as most men, whether rakes ornot, are willing to be thought rakes, he is very likely to resent astupid and unjust inference which he suspects you to have drawn from hisreticence in the matter of his own adventures--namely, that he has hadnone. If, on the other hand, he has had no scruple in the matter and hisreticence is due to lack of opportunity to talk, or of nimbleness intaking advantage of it, why, then he will be surly because you "have thefloor" when he wants it himself. There are, in short, no circumstancesunder which a man, even from the best of motives, or no motive at all, can relate his feats of love without distinctly lowering himself in theesteem of his male auditor; and herein lies a just punishment for suchas kiss and tell. In my younger days I was myself not entirely out offavor with the ladies, and have a memory stored with much concerningthem which doubtless I might put into acceptable narrative had I notundertaken another tale, and if it were not my practice to relate onething at a time, going straight away to the end, without digression. 

Lieutenant Haberton was, it must be confessed, a singularly handsome manwith engaging manners. He was, I suppose, judging from the imperfectview-point of my sex, what women call "fascinating. " Now, the qualitieswhich make a man attractive to ladies entail a double disadvantage. First, they are of a sort readily discerned by other men, and by nonemore readily than by those who lack them. Their possessor, being fearedby all these, is habitually slandered by them in self-defense. To allthe ladies in whose welfare they deem themselves entitled to a voice andinterest they hint at the vices and general unworth of the "ladies' man"in no uncertain terms, and to their wives relate without shame the mostmonstrous falsehoods about him. Nor are they restrained by theconsideration that he is their friend; the qualities which have engagedtheir own admiration make it necessary to warn away those to whom theallurement would be a peril. So the man of charming personality, whileloved by all the ladies who know him well, yet not too well, must endurewith such fortitude as he may the consciousness that those others whoknow him only "by reputation" consider him a shameless reprobate, avicious and unworthy man--a type and example of moral depravity. To namethe second disadvantage entailed by his charms: he commonly is. 

In order to get forward with our busy story (and in my judgment a storyonce begun should not suffer impedition) it is necessary to explain thata young fellow attached to our headquarters as an orderly was notablyeffeminate in face and figure. He was not more than seventeen and had aperfectly smooth face and large lustrous eyes, which must have been theenvy of many a beautiful woman in those days. And how beautiful thewomen of those days were! and how gracious! Those of the South showed intheir demeanor toward us Yankees something of _hauteur_, but, for mypart, I found it less insupportable than the studious indifference withwhich one's attentions are received by the ladies of this newgeneration, whom I certainly think destitute of sentiment andsensibility. 

This young orderly, whose name was Arman, we persuaded--by whatarguments I am not bound to say--to clothe himself in female attire andpersonate a lady. When we had him arrayed to our satisfaction--and acharming girl he looked--he was conducted to a sofa in the office of theadjutant-general. That officer was in the secret, as indeed were allexcepting Haberton and the general; within the awful dignity hedging thelatter lay possibilities of disapproval which we were unwilling toconfront. 

When all was ready I went to Haberton and said: "Lieutenant, there is ayoung woman in the adjutant-general's office. She is the daughter of theinsurgent gentleman who owns this house, and has, I think, called to seeabout its present occupancy. We none of us know just how to talk to her, but we think perhaps you would say about the right thing--at least youwill say things in the right way. Would you mind coming down?"

The lieutenant would not mind; he made a hasty toilet and joined me. Aswe were going along a passage toward the Presence we encountered aformidable obstacle--the general. 

"I say, Broadwood, " he said, addressing me in the familiar manner whichmeant that he was in excellent humor, "there's a lady in Lawson'soffice. Looks like a devilish fine girl--came on some errand of mercy orjustice, no doubt. Have the goodness to conduct her to my quarters. Iwon't saddle you youngsters with _all_ the business of this division, "he added facetiously. 

This was awkward; something had to be done. 

"General, " I said, "I did not think the lady's business of sufficientimportance to bother you with it. She is one of the SanitaryCommission's nurses, and merely wants to see about some supplies for thesmallpox hospital where she is on duty. I'll send her in at once. "

"You need not mind, " said the general, moving on; "I dare say Lawsonwill attend to the matter. "

Ah, the gallant general! how little I thought, as I looked after hisretreating figure and laughed at the success of my ruse, that within theweek he would be "dead on the field of honor!" Nor was he the only oneof our little military household above whom gloomed the shadow of thedeath angel, and who might almost have heard "the beating of his wings. "On that bleak December morning a few days later, when from an hourbefore dawn until ten o'clock we sat on horseback on those icy hills, waiting for General Smith to open the battle miles away to the right, there were eight of us. At the close of the fighting there were three. There is now one. Bear with him yet a little while, oh, thriftygeneration; he is but one of the horrors of war strayed from his erainto yours. He is only the harmless skeleton at your feast andpeace-dance, responding to your laughter and your footing it featly, with rattling fingers and bobbing skull--albeit upon suitable occasion, with a partner of his choosing, he might do his little dance with thebest of you. 

As we entered the adjutant-general's office we observed that the entirestaff was there. The adjutant-general himself was exceedingly busy athis desk. The commissary of subsistence played cards with the surgeon ina bay window. The rest were in several parts of the room, reading orconversing in low tones. On a sofa in a half lighted nook of the room, at some distance from any of the groups, sat the "lady, " closely veiled, her eyes modestly fixed upon her toes. 

"Madam, " I said, advancing with Haberton, "this officer will be pleasedto serve you if it is in his power. I trust that it is. "

With a bow I retired to the farther corner of the room and took part ina conversation going on there, though I had not the faintest notion whatit was about, and my remarks had no relevancy to anything under theheavens. A close observer would have noticed that we were all intentlywatching Haberton and only "making believe" to do anything else. 

He was worth watching, too; the fellow was simply an _édition de luxe_of "Turveydrop on Deportment. " As the "lady" slowly unfolded her tale ofgrievances against our lawless soldiery and mentioned certain instancesof wanton disregard of property rights--among them, as to the imminentperil of bursting our sides we partly overheard, the looting of her ownwardrobe--the look of sympathetic agony in Haberton's handsome face wasthe very flower and fruit of histrionic art. His deferential andassenting nods at her several statements were so exquisitely performedthat one could not help regretting their unsubstantial nature and theimpossibility of preserving them under glass for instruction and delightof posterity. And all the time the wretch was drawing his chair nearerand nearer. Once or twice he looked about to see if we were observing, but we were in appearance blankly oblivious to all but one another andour several diversions. The low hum of our conversation, the gentletap-tap of the cards as they fell in play and the furious scratching ofthe adjutant-general's pen as he turned off countless pages of wordswithout sense were the only sounds heard. No--there was another: at longintervals the distant boom of a heavy gun, followed by the approachingrush of the shot. The enemy was amusing himself. 

On these occasions the lady was perhaps not the only member of thatcompany who was startled, but she was startled more than the others, sometimes rising from the sofa and standing with clasped hands, theauthentic portrait of terror and irresolution. It was no more thannatural that Haberton should at these times reseat her with infinitetenderness, assuring her of her safety and regretting her peril in thesame breath. It was perhaps right that he should finally possess himselfof her gloved hand and a seat beside her on the sofa; but it certainlywas highly improper for him to be in the very act of possessing himselfof _both_ hands when--boom, _whiz_, BANG!

We all sprang to our feet. A shell had crashed into the house andexploded in the room above us. Bushels of plaster fell among us. Thatmodest and murmurous young lady sprang erect. 

"Jumping Jee-rusalem!" she cried. 

Haberton, who had also risen, stood as one petrified--as a statue ofhimself erected on the site of his assassination. He neither spoke, normoved, nor once took his eyes off the face of Orderly Arman, who was nowflinging his girl-gear right and left, exposing his charms in the mostshameless way; while out upon the night and away over the lighted campsinto the black spaces between the hostile lines rolled the billows ofour inexhaustible laughter! Ah, what a merry life it was in the oldheroic days when men had not forgotten how to laugh!

Haberton slowly came to himself. He looked about the room less blankly;then by degrees fashioned his visage into the sickliest grin that everlibeled all smiling. He shook his head and looked knowing. 

"You can't fool _me_!" he said. 

CURRIED COW

My Aunt Patience, who tilled a small farm in the state of Michigan, hada favorite cow. This creature was not a good cow, nor a profitable one, for instead of devoting a part of her leisure to secretion of milk andproduction of veal she concentrated all her faculties on the study ofkicking. She would kick all day and get up in the middle of the night tokick. She would kick at anything--hens, pigs, posts, loose stones, birdsin the air and fish leaping out of the water; to this impartial andcatholic-minded beef, all were equal--all similarly undeserving. Likeold Timotheus, who "raised a mortal to the skies, " was my AuntPatience's cow; though, in the words of a later poet than Dryden, shedid it "more harder and more frequently. " It was pleasing to see heropen a passage for herself through a populous barnyard. She would flashout, right and left, first with one hind-leg and then with the other, and would sometimes, under favoring conditions, have a considerablenumber of domestic animals in the air at once. 

Her kicks, too, were as admirable in quality as inexhaustible inquantity. They were incomparably superior to those of the untutored kinethat had not made the art a life study--mere amateurs that kicked "byear, " as they say in music. I saw her once standing in the road, professedly fast asleep, and mechanically munching her cud with a sortof Sunday morning lassitude, as one munches one's cud in a dream. Snouting about at her side, blissfully unconscious of impending dangerand wrapped up in thoughts of his sweetheart, was a gigantic blackhog--a hog of about the size and general appearance of a yearlingrhinoceros. Suddenly, while I looked--without a visible movement on thepart of the cow--with never a perceptible tremor of her frame, nor alapse in the placid regularity of her chewing--that hog had gone awayfrom there--had utterly taken his leave. But away toward the palehorizon a minute black speck was traversing the empyrean with the speedof a meteor, and in a moment had disappeared, without audible report, beyond the distant hills. It may have been that hog. 

Currying cows is not, I think, a common practice, even in Michigan; butas this one had never needed milking, of course she had to be subjectedto some equivalent form of persecution; and irritating her skin with acurrycomb was thought as disagreeable an attention as a thoughtfulaffection could devise. At least she thought it so; though I suspect hermistress really meant it for the good creature's temporal advantage. Anyhow my aunt always made it a condition to the employment of afarm-servant that he should curry the cow every morning; but after justenough trials to convince himself that it was not a sudden spasm, nor amere local disturbance, the man would always give notice of an intentionto quit, by pounding the beast half-dead with some foreign body and thenlimping home to his couch. I don't know how many men the creatureremoved from my aunt's employ in this way, but judging from the numberof lame persons in that part of the country, I should say a good many;though some of the lameness may have been taken at second-hand from theoriginal sufferers by their descendants, and some may have come bycontagion. 

I think my aunt's was a faulty system of agriculture. It is true herfarm labor cost her nothing, for the laborers all left her servicebefore any salary had accrued; but as the cow's fame spread abroadthrough the several States and Territories, it became increasinglydifficult to obtain hands; and, after all, the favorite was imperfectlycurried. It was currently remarked that the cow had kicked the farm topieces--a rude metaphor, implying that the land was not properlycultivated, nor the buildings and fences kept in adequate repair. 

It was useless to remonstrate with my aunt: she would concedeeverything, amending nothing. Her late husband had attempted to reformthe abuse in this manner, and had had the argument all his own way untilhe had remonstrated himself into an early grave; and the funeral wasdelayed all day, until a fresh undertaker could be procured, the oneoriginally engaged having confidingly undertaken to curry the cow at therequest of the widow. 

Since that time my Aunt Patience had not been in the matrimonial market;the love of that cow had usurped in her heart the place of a morenatural and profitable affection. But when she saw her seeds unsown, herharvests ungarnered, her fences overtopped with rank brambles and hermeadows gorgeous with the towering Canada thistle she thought it best totake a partner. 

When it transpired that my Aunt Patience intended wedlock there wasintense popular excitement. Every adult single male became at once amarrying man. The criminal statistics of Badger county show that in thatsingle year more marriages occurred than in any decade before or since. But none of them was my aunt's. Men married their cooks, theirlaundresses, their deceased wives' mothers, their enemies'sisters--married whomsoever would wed; and any man who, by fair means orcourtship, could not obtain a wife went before a justice of the peaceand made an affidavit that he had some wives in Indiana. Such was thefear of being married alive by my Aunt Patience. 

Now, where my aunt's affection was concerned she was, as the reader willhave already surmised, a rather determined woman; and the extraordinarymarrying epidemic having left but one eligible male in all that county, she had set her heart upon that one eligible male; then she went andcarted him to her home. He turned out to be a long Methodist parson, named Huggins. 

Aside from his unconscionable length, the Rev. Berosus Huggins was notso bad a fellow, and was nobody's fool. He was, I suppose, the mostill-favored mortal, however, in the whole northern half ofAmerica--thin, angular, cadaverous of visage and solemn out of allreason. He commonly wore a low-crowned black hat, set so far down uponhis head as partly to eclipse his eyes and wholly obscure the ampleglory of his ears. The only other visible article of his attire (excepta brace of wrinkled cowskin boots, by which the word "polish" would havebeen considered the meaningless fragment of a lost language) was atight-fitting black frock-coat, preternaturally long in the waist, theskirts of which fell about his heels, sopping up the dew. This he alwayswore snugly buttoned from the throat downward. In this attire he cut atolerably spectral figure. His aspect was so conspicuously unnatural andinhuman that whenever he went into a cornfield, the predatory crowswould temporarily forsake their business to settle upon him in swarms, fighting for the best seats upon his person, by way of testifying theircontempt for the weak inventions of the husbandman. 

The day after the wedding my Aunt Patience summoned the Rev. Berosus tothe council chamber, and uttered her mind to the following intent:

"Now, Huggy, dear, I'll tell you what there is to do about the place. First, you must repair all the fences, clearing out the weeds andrepressing the brambles with a strong hand. Then you will have toexterminate the Canadian thistles, mend the wagon, rig up a plow or two, and get things into ship-shape generally. This will keep you out ofmischief for the better part of two years; of course you will have togive up preaching, for the present. As soon as you have--O! I forgotpoor Phoebe. She"----

"Mrs. Huggins, " interrupted her solemn spouse, "I shall hope to be themeans, under Providence, of effecting all needful reforms in thehusbandry of this farm. But the sister you mention (I trust she is notof the world's people)--have I the pleasure of knowing her? The name, indeed, sounds familiar, but"----

"Not know Phoebe!" cried my aunt, with unfeigned astonishment; "Ithought everybody in Badger knew Phoebe. Why, you will have to scratchher legs, every blessed morning of your natural life!"

"I assure you, madam, " rejoined the Rev. Berosus, with dignity, "itwould yield me a hallowed pleasure to minister to the spiritual needs ofsister Phoebe, to the extent of my feeble and unworthy ability; but, really, I fear the merely secular ministration of which you speak mustbe entrusted to abler and, I would respectfully suggest, female hands. "

"Whyyy, youuu ooold, foooool!" replied my aunt, spreading her eyes withunbounded amazement, "Phoebe is a _cow_!"

"In that case, " said the husband, with unruffled composure, "it will, ofcourse, devolve upon me to see that her carnal welfare is properlyattended to; and I shall be happy to bestow upon her legs such time as Imay, without sin, snatch from my strife with Satan and the Canadianthistles. "

With that the Rev. Mr. Huggins crowded his hat upon his shoulders, pronounced a brief benediction upon his bride, and betook himself to thebarn-yard. 

Now, it is necessary to explain that he had known from the first whoPhoebe was, and was familiar, from hearsay, with all her sinful traits. Moreover, he had already done himself the honor of making her a visit, remaining in the vicinity of her person, just out of range, for morethan an hour and permitting her to survey him at her leisure from everypoint of the compass. In short, he and Phoebe had mutually reconnoiteredand prepared for action. 

Amongst the articles of comfort and luxury which went to make up thegood parson's _dot_, and which his wife had already caused to beconveyed to his new home, was a patent cast-iron pump, about seven feethigh. This had been deposited near the barn-yard, preparatory to beingset up on the planks above the barn-yard well. Mr. Huggins now soughtout this invention and conveying it to its destination put it intoposition, screwing it firmly to the planks. He next divested himself ofhis long gaberdine and his hat, buttoning the former loosely about thepump, which it almost concealed, and hanging the latter upon the summitof the structure. The handle of the pump, when depressed, curvedoutwardly between the coat-skirts, singularly like a tail, but with thisinconspicuous exception, any unprejudiced observer would have pronouncedthe thing Mr. Huggins, looking uncommonly well. 

The preliminaries completed, the good man carefully closed the gate ofthe barnyard, knowing that as soon as Phoebe, who was campaigning in thekitchen garden, should note the precaution she would come and jump in tofrustrate it, which eventually she did. Her master, meanwhile, had laidhimself, coatless and hatless, along the outside of the close boardfence, where he put in the time pleasantly, catching his death of coldand peering through a knot-hole. 

At first, and for some time, the animal pretended not to see the figureon the platform. Indeed she had turned her back upon it directly shearrived, affecting a light sleep. Finding that this stratagem did notachieve the success that she had expected, she abandoned it and stoodfor several minutes irresolute, munching her cud in a half-hearted way, but obviously thinking very hard. Then she began nosing along the groundas if wholly absorbed in a search for something that she had lost, tacking about hither and thither, but all the time drawing nearer to theobject of her wicked intention. Arrived within speaking distance, shestood for a little while confronting the fraudful figure, then put outher nose toward it, as if to be caressed, trying to create theimpression that fondling and dalliance were more to her than wealth, power and the plaudits of the populace--that she had been accustomed tothem all her sweet young life and could not get on without them. Thenshe approached a little nearer, as if to shake hands, all the whilemaintaining the most amiable expression of countenance and executing allmanner of seductive nods and winks and smiles. Suddenly she wheeledabout and with the rapidity of lightning dealt out a terrible kick--akick of inconceivable force and fury, comparable to nothing in naturebut a stroke of paralysis out of a clear sky!

The effect was magical! Cows kick, not backward but sidewise. The impactwhich was intended to project the counterfeit theologian into the middleof the succeeding conference week reacted upon the animal herself, andit and the pain together set her spinning like a top. Such was thevelocity of her revolution that she looked like a dim, circular cow, surrounded by a continuous ring like that of the planet Saturn--thewhite tuft at the extremity of her sweeping tail! Presently, as thesustaining centrifugal force lessened and failed, she began to sway andwabble from side to side, and finally, toppling over on her side, rolledconvulsively on her back and lay motionless with all her feet in theair, honestly believing that the world had somehow got atop of her andshe was supporting it at a great sacrifice of personal comfort. Then shefainted. 

How long she lay unconscious she knew not, but at last she unclosed hereyes, and catching sight of the open door of her stall, "more sweet thanall the landscape smiling near, " she struggled up, stood wavering uponthree legs, rubbed her eyes, and was visibly bewildered as to the pointsof the compass. Observing the iron clergyman standing fast by its faith, she threw it a look of grieved reproach and hobbled heart-broken intoher humble habitation, a subjugated cow. 

For several weeks Phoebe's right hind leg was swollen to a monstrousgrowth, but by a season of judicious nursing she was "brought round allright, " as her sympathetic and puzzled mistress phrased it, or "madewhole, " as the reticent man of God preferred to say. She was now astractable and inoffensive "in her daily walk and conversation" (Huggins)as a little child. Her new master used to take her ailing leg trustfullyinto his lap, and for that matter, might have taken it into his mouth ifhe had so desired. Her entire character appeared to be radicallychanged--so altered that one day my Aunt Patience, who, fondly as sheloved her, had never before so much as ventured to touch the hem of hergarment, as it were, went confidently up to her to soothe her with a panof turnips. Gad! how thinly she spread out that good old lady upon theface of an adjacent stone wall! You could not have done it so evenlywith a trowel. 

A REVOLT OF THE GODS

My father was a deodorizer of dead dogs, my mother kept the only shopfor the sale of cats'-meat in my native city. They did not live happily;the difference in social rank was a chasm which could not be bridged bythe vows of marriage. It was indeed an ill-assorted and most unluckyalliance; and as might have been foreseen it ended in disaster. Onemorning after the customary squabbles at breakfast, my father rose fromthe table, quivering and pale with wrath, and proceeding to theparsonage thrashed the clergyman who had performed the marriageceremony. The act was generally condemned and public feeling ran so highagainst the offender that people would permit dead dogs to lie on theirproperty until the fragrance was deafening rather than employ him; andthe municipal authorities suffered one bloated old mastiff to utteritself from a public square in so clamorous an exhalation that passingstrangers supposed themselves to be in the vicinity of a saw-mill. Myfather was indeed unpopular. During these dark days the family's soledependence was on my mother's emporium for cats'-meat. 

The business was profitable. In that city, which was the oldest in theworld, the cat was an object of veneration. Its worship was the religionof the country. The multiplication and addition of cats were a perpetualinstruction in arithmetic. Naturally, any inattention to the wants of acat was punished with great severity in this world and the next; so mygood mother numbered her patrons by the hundred. Still, with anunproductive husband and seventeen children she had some difficulty inmaking both ends cats'-meat; and at last the necessity of increasing thediscrepancy between the cost price and the selling price of her carnalwares drove her to an expedient which proved eminently disastrous: sheconceived the unlucky notion of retaliating by refusing to sellcats'-meat until the boycott was taken off her husband. 

On the day when she put this resolution into practice the shop wasthronged with excited customers, and others extended in turbulent andrestless masses up four streets, out of sight. Inside there was nothingbut cursing, crowding, shouting and menace. Intimidation was freelyresorted to--several of my younger brothers and sisters being threatenedwith cutting up for the cats--but my mother was as firm as a rock, andthe day was a black one for Sardasa, the ancient and sacred city thatwas the scene of these events. The lock-out was vigorously maintained, and seven hundred and fifty thousand cats went to bed hungry!

The next morning the city was found to have been placarded during thenight with a proclamation of the Federated Union of Old Maids. Thisancient and powerful order averred through its Supreme Executive Headthat the boycotting of my father and the retaliatory lock-out of mymother were seriously imperiling the interests of religion. Theproclamation went on to state that if arbitration were not adopted bynoon that day all the old maids of the federation would strike--andstrike they did. 

The next act of this unhappy drama was an insurrection of cats. Thesesacred animals, seeing themselves doomed to starvation, held amass-meeting and marched in procession through the streets, swearing andspitting like fiends. This revolt of the gods produced suchconsternation that many pious persons died of fright and all businesswas suspended to bury them and pass terrifying resolutions. 

Matters were now about as bad as it seemed possible for them to be. Meetings among representatives of the hostile interests were held, butno understanding was arrived at that would hold. Every agreement wasbroken as soon as made, and each element of the discord was franticallyappealing to the people. A new horror was in store. 

It will be remembered that my father was a deodorizer of dead dogs, butwas unable to practice his useful and humble profession because no onewould employ him. The dead dogs in consequence reeked rascally. Thenthey struck! From every vacant lot and public dumping ground, from everyhedge and ditch and gutter and cistern, every crystal rill and theclabbered waters of all the canals and estuaries--from all the places, in short, which from time immemorial have been preëmpted by dead dogsand consecrated to the uses of them and their heirs and successorsforever--they trooped innumerous, a ghastly crew! Their procession was amile in length. Midway of the town it met the procession of cats in fullsong. The cats instantly exalted their backs and magnified their tails;the dead dogs uncovered their teeth as in life, and erected such oftheir bristles as still adhered to the skin. 

The carnage that ensued was too awful for relation! The light of the sunwas obscured by flying fur, and the battle was waged in the darkness, blindly and regardless. The swearing of the cats was audible miles away, while the fragrance of the dead dogs desolated seven provinces. 

How the battle might have resulted it is impossible to say, but when itwas at its fiercest the Federated Union of Old Maids came running down aside street and sprang into the thickest of the fray. A moment later mymother herself bore down upon the warring hosts, brandishing a cleaver, and laid about her with great freedom and impartiality. My father joinedthe fight, the municipal authorities engaged, and the general public, converging on the battle-field from all points of the compass, consumeditself in the center as it pressed in from the circumference. Last ofall, the dead held a meeting in the cemetery and resolving on a generalstrike, began to destroy vaults, tombs, monuments, headstones, willows, angels and young sheep in marble--everything they could lay their handson. By nightfall the living and the dead were alike exterminated, andwhere the ancient and sacred city of Sardasa had stood nothing remainedbut an excavation filled with dead bodies and building materials, shredsof cat and blue patches of decayed dog. The place is now a vast pool ofstagnant water in the center of a desert. 

The stirring events of those few days constituted my industrialeducation, and so well have I improved my advantages that I am now Chiefof Misrule to the Dukes of Disorder, an organization numbering thirteenmillion American workingmen. 

THE BAPTISM OF DOBSHO

It was a wicked thing to do, certainly. I have often regretted it since, and if the opportunity of doing so again were presented I shouldhesitate a long time before embracing it. But I was young then, andcherished a species of humor which I have since abjured. Still, when Iremember the character of the people who were burlesquing and bringinginto disrepute the letter and spirit of our holy religion I feel acertain satisfaction in having contributed one feeble effort towardmaking them ridiculous. In consideration of the little good I may havedone in that way, I beg the reader to judge my conceded error asleniently as possible. This is the story. 

Some years ago the town of Harding, in Illinois, experienced "a revivalof religion, " as the people called it. It would have been more accurateand less profane to term it a revival of Rampageanism, for the crazeoriginated in, and was disseminated by, the sect which I will call theRampagean communion; and most of the leaping and howling was done inthat interest. Amongst those who yielded to the influence was my friendThomas Dobsho. Tom had been a pretty bad sinner in a small way, but hewent into this new thing heart and soul. At one of the meetings he madea public confession of more sins than he ever was, or ever could havebeen guilty of; stopping just short of statutory crimes, and evenhinting, significantly, that he could tell a good deal more if he werepressed. He wanted to join the absurd communion the very evening of hisconversion. He wanted to join two or three communions. In fact, he wasso carried away with his zeal that some of the brethren gave me a hintto take him home; he and I occupied adjoining apartments in the ElephantHotel. 

Tom's fervor, as it happened, came near defeating its own purpose;instead of taking him at once into the fold without reference or"character, " which was their usual way, the brethren remembered againsthim his awful confessions and put him on probation. But after a fewweeks, during which he conducted himself like a decent lunatic, it wasdecided to baptise him along with a dozen other pretty hard cases whohad been converted more recently. This sacrilegious ceremony I persuadedmyself it was my duty to prevent, though I think now I erred as to themeans adopted. It was to take place on a Sunday, and on the precedingSaturday I called on the head revivalist, the Rev. Mr. Swin, and cravedan interview. 

"I come, " said I, with simulated reluctance and embarrassment, "inbehalf of my friend, Brother Dobsho, to make a very delicate and unusualrequest. You are, I think, going to baptise him to-morrow, and I trustit will be to him the beginning of a new and better life. But I don'tknow if you are aware that his family are all Plungers, and that he ishimself tainted with the wicked heresy of that sect. So it is. He is, asone might say in secular metaphor, 'on the fence' between their grievouserror and the pure faith of your church. It would be most melancholy ifhe should get down on the wrong side. Although I confess with shame Ihave not myself embraced the truth, I hope I am not too blind to seewhere it lies. "

"The calamity that you apprehend, " said the reverend lout, after solemnreflection, "would indeed seriously affect our friend's interest andendanger his soul. I had not expected Brother Dobsho so soon to give upthe good fight. "

"I think sir, " I replied reflectively, "there is no fear of that if thematter is skilfully managed. He is heartily with you--might I venture tosay with _us_--on every point but one. He favors immersion! He has beenso vile a sinner that he foolishly fears the more simple rite of yourchurch will not make him wet enough. Would you believe it? hisuninstructed scruples on the point are so gross and materialistic thathe actually suggested soaping himself as a preparatory ceremony! Ibelieve, however, if instead of sprinkling my friend, you would pour agenerous basinful of water on his head--but now that I think of it inyour enlightening presence I see that such a proceeding is quite out ofthe question. I fear we must let matters take the usual course, trustingto our later efforts to prevent the backsliding which may result. "

The parson rose and paced the floor a moment, then suggested that he'dbetter see Brother Dobsho, and labor to remove his error. I told him Ithought not; I was sure it would not be best. Argument would onlyconfirm him in his prejudices. So it was settled that the subject shouldnot be broached in that quarter. It would have been bad for me if it hadbeen. 

When I reflect now upon the guile of that conversation, the falsehood ofmy representations and the wickedness of my motive I am almost ashamedto proceed with my narrative. Had the minister been other than an arranthumbug, I hope I should never have suffered myself to make him the dupeof a scheme so sacrilegious in itself, and prosecuted with so sinful adisregard of honor. 

The memorable Sabbath dawned bright and beautiful. About nine o'clockthe cracked old bell, rigged up on struts before the "meeting-house, "began to clamor its call to service, and nearly the whole population ofHarding took its way to the performance. I had taken the precaution toset my watch fifteen minutes fast. Tom was nervously preparing himselffor the ordeal. He fidgeted himself into his best suit an hour beforethe time, carried his hat about the room in the most aimless anddemented way and consulted his watch a hundred times. I was to accompanyhim to church, and I spent the time fussing about the room, doing themost extraordinary things in the most exasperating manner--in short, keeping up Tom's feverish excitement by every wicked device I couldthink of. Within a half hour of the real time for service I suddenlyyelled out--

"O, I say, Tom; pardon me, but that head of yours is just frightful!Please _do_ let me brush it up a bit!"

Seizing him by the shoulders I thrust him into a chair with his face tothe wall, laid hold of his comb and brush, got behind him and went towork. He was trembling like a child, and knew no more what I was doingthan if he had been brained. Now, Tom's head was a curiosity. His hair, which was remarkably thick, was like wire. Being cut rather short itstood out all over his scalp like the spines on a porcupine. It had beena favorite complaint of Tom's that he never could do anything to thathead. I found no difficulty--I did something to it, though I blush tothink what it was. I did something which I feared he might discover ifhe looked in the mirror, so I carelessly pulled out my watch, sprung itopen, gave a start and shouted--

"By Jove! Thomas--pardon the oath--but we're late. Your watch is allwrong; look at mine! Here's your hat, old fellow; come along. There'snot a moment to lose!"

Clapping his hat on his head, I pulled him out of the house, with actualviolence. In five minutes more we were in the meeting-house with ever somuch time to spare. 

The services that day, I am told, were specially interesting andimpressive, but I had a good deal else on my mind--was preoccupied, absent, inattentive. They might have varied from the usual profaneexhibition in any respect and to any extent, and I should not haveobserved it. The first thing I clearly perceived was a rank of"converts" kneeling before the "altar, " Tom at the left of the line. Then the Rev. Mr. Swin approached him, thoughtfully dipping his fingersinto a small earthern bowl of water as if he had just finished dining. Iwas much affected: I could see nothing distinctly for my tears. Myhandkerchief was at my face--most of it inside. I was observed to sobspasmodically, and I am abashed to think how many sincere personsmistakenly followed my example. 

With some solemn words, the purport of which I did not quite make out, except that they sounded like swearing, the minister stood beforeThomas, gave me a glance of intelligence and then with an innocentexpression of face, the recollection of which to this day fills me withremorse, spilled, as if by accident, the entire contents of the bowl onthe head of my poor friend--that head into the hair of which I hadsifted a prodigal profusion of Seidlitz-powders!

I confess it, the effect was magical--anyone who was present would tellyou that. Tom's pow simmered--it seethed--it foamed yeastily, andslavered like a mad dog! It steamed and hissed, with angry spurts andflashes! In a second it had grown bigger than a small snowbank, andwhiter. It surged, and boiled, and walloped, and overflowed, andsputtered--sent off feathery flakes like down from a shot swan! Thefroth poured creaming over his face, and got into his eyes. It was themost sinful shampooing of the season!

I cannot relate the commotion this produced, nor would I if I could. Asto Tom, he sprang to his feet and staggered out of the house, gropinghis way between the pews, sputtering strangled profanity and gaspinglike a stranded fish. The other candidates for baptism rose also, shaking their pates as if to say, "No you don't, my hearty, " and leftthe house in a body. Amidst unbroken silence the minister reascended thepulpit with the empty bowl in his hand, and was first to speak:

"Brethren and sisters, " said he with calm, deliberate evenness of tone, "I have held forth in this tabernacle for many more years than I havegot fingers and toes, and during that time I have known not guile, noranger, nor any uncharitableness. As to Henry Barber, who put up this jobon me, I judge him not lest I be judged. Let him take _that_ and sin nomore!"--and he flung the earthern bowl with so true an aim that it wasshattered against my skull. The rebuke was not undeserved, I confess, and I trust I have profited by it. 

THE RACE AT LEFT BOWER

"It's all very well fer you Britishers to go assin' about the countrytryin' to strike the trail o' the mines you've salted down yer loosecarpital in, " said Colonel Jackhigh, setting his empty glass on thecounter and wiping his lips with his coat sleeve; "but w'en it comes tohoss racin', w'y I've got a cayuse ken lay over all the thurrerbreds yerlittle mantel-ornyment of a island ever panned out--bet yer britches Ihave! Talk about yer Durby winners--w'y this pisen little beast o'mine'll take the bit in her teeth and show 'em the way to the horizonlike she was takin' her mornin' stroll and they was tryin' to keep aneye on her to see she didn't do herself an injury--that's w'at shewould! And she haint never run a race with anything spryer'n an Injun inall her life; she's a green amatoor, _she_ is!"

"Oh, very well, " said the Englishman with a quiet smile; "it is easyenough to settle the matter. My animal is in tolerably good condition, and if yours is in town we can have the race to-morrow for any stake youlike, up to a hundred dollars. 

"That's jest the figger, " said the colonel; "dot it down, barkeep. Butit's like slarterin' the innocents, " he added, half-remorsefully, as heturned to leave; "it's bettin' on a dead sure thing--that's what it is!If my cayuse knew wa't I was about she'd go and break a laig to make therace a fair one. "

So it was arranged that the race was to come off at three o'clock thenext day, on the _mesa_, some distance from town. As soon as the newsgot abroad, the whole population of Left Bower and vicinity knocked offwork and assembled in the various bars to discuss it. The Englishman andhis horse were general favorites, and aside from the unpopularity of thecolonel, nobody had ever seen his "cayuse. " Still the element ofpatriotism came in, making the betting very nearly even. 

A race-course was marked off on the _mesa_ and at the appointed hourevery one was there except the colonel. It was arranged that each manshould ride his own horse, and the Englishman, who had acquiredsomething of the free-and-easy bearing that distinguishes the "miningsharp, " was already atop of his magnificent animal, with one leg throwncarelessly across the pommel of his Mexican saddle, as he puffed hiscigar with calm confidence in the result of the race. He was conscious, too, that he possessed the secret sympathy of all, even of those who hadfelt it their duty to bet against him. The judge, watch in hand, wasgrowing impatient, when the colonel appeared about a half-mile away, andbore down upon the crowd. Everyone was eager to inspect his mount; andsuch a mount as it proved to be was never before seen, even in LeftBower!

You have seen "perfect skeletons" of horses often enough, no doubt, butthis animal was not even a perfect skeleton; there were bones missinghere and there which you would not have believed the beast could havespared. "Little" the colonel had called her! She was not an inch lessthan eighteen hands high, and long out of all reasonable proportion. Shewas so hollow in the back that she seemed to have been bent in amachine. She had neither tail nor mane, and her neck, as long as a man, stuck straight up into the air, supporting a head without ears. Her eyeshad an expression in them of downright insanity, and the muscles of herface were afflicted with periodical convulsions that drew back thecorners of the mouth and wrinkled the upper lip so as to produce aghastly grin every two or three seconds. In color she was "claybank, "with great blotches of white, as if she had been pelted with small bagsof flour. The crookedness of her legs was beyond all comparison, and asto her gait it was that of a blind camel walking diagonally acrossinnumerable deep ditches. Altogether she looked like the crude result ofNature's first experiment in equifaction. 

As this libel on all horses shambled up to the starting post there was ageneral shout; the sympathies of the crowd changed in the twinkling ofan eye! Everyone wanted to bet on her, and the Englishman himself wasonly restrained from doing so by a sense of honor. It was growing late, however, and the judge insisted on starting them. They got off very welltogether, and seeing the mare was unconscionably slow the Englishmansoon pulled his animal in and permitted the ugly thing to pass him, soas to enjoy a back view of her. That sealed his fate. The course hadbeen marked off in a circle of two miles in circumference and sometwenty feet wide, the limits plainly defined by little furrows. Beforethe animals had gone a half mile both had been permitted to settle downinto a comfortable walk, in which they continued three-fourths of theway round the ring. Then the Englishman thought it time to whip up andcanter in. 

But he didn't. As he came up alongside the "Lightning Express, " as thecrowd had begun to call her, that creature turned her head diagonallybackward and let fall a smile. The encroaching beast stopped as if hehad been shot! His rider plied whip, and forced him again forward uponthe track of the equine hag, but with the same result. 

The Englishman was now alarmed; he struggled manfully with rein and whipand shout, amidst the tremendous cheering and inextinguishable laughterof the crowd, to force his animal past, now on this side, now on that, but it would not do. Prompted by the fiend in the concavity of her back, the unthinkable quadruped dropped her grins right and left with suchseasonable accuracy that again and again the competing beast was struck"all of a heap" just at the moment of seeming success. And, finally, when by a tremendous spurt his rider endeavored to thrust him by, withinhalf a dozen lengths of the winning post, the incarnate nightmare turnedsquarely about and fixed upon him a portentous stare--delivering at thesame time a grimace of such prodigious ghastliness that the poorthoroughbred, with an almost human scream of terror, wheeled about, andtore away to the rear with the speed of the wind, leaving the colonel aneasy winner in twenty minutes and ten seconds. 

THE FAILURE OF HOPE & WANDEL

_From Mr. Jabez Hope, in Chicago, to Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans, December 2, 1877. _

I will not bore you, my dear fellow, with a narrative of my journey fromNew Orleans to this polar region. It is cold in Chicago, believe me, andthe Southron who comes here, as I did, without a relay of noses and earswill have reason to regret his mistaken economy in arranging his outfit. 

To business. Lake Michigan is frozen stiff. Fancy, O child of a torridclime, a sheet of anybody's ice, three hundred miles long, forty broad, and six feet thick! It sounds like a lie, Pikey dear, but your partnerin the firm of Hope & Wandel, Wholesale Boots and Shoes, New Orleans, isnever known to fib. My plan is to collar that ice. Wind up the presentbusiness and send on the money at once. I'll put up a warehouse as bigas the Capitol at Washington, store it full and ship to your orders asthe Southern market may require. I can send it in planks for skatingfloors, in statuettes for the mantel, in shavings for juleps, or insolution for ice cream and general purposes. It is a big thing!

I inclose a thin slip as a sample. Did you ever see such charming ice?

_From Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans, to Mr. Jabez Hope, in Chicago, December 24, 1877. _

Your letter was so abominably defaced by blotting and blurring that itwas entirely illegible. It must have come all the way by water. By theaid of chemicals and photography, however, I have made it out. But youforgot to inclose the sample of ice. 

I have sold off everything (at an alarming sacrifice, I am sorry to say)and inclose draft for net amount. Shall begin to spar for orders atonce. I trust everything to you--but, I say, has anybody tried to growice in _this_ vicinity? There is Lake Ponchartrain, you know. 

_From Mr. Jabez Hope, in Chicago, to Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans, February 27, 1878. _

Wannie dear, it would do you good to see our new warehouse for the ice. Though made of boards, and run up rather hastily, it is as pretty as apicture, and cost a deal of money, though I pay no ground rent. It isabout as big as the Capitol at Washington. Do you think it ought to havea steeple? I have it nearly filled--fifty men cutting and storing, dayand night--awful cold work! By the way, the ice, which when I wrote youlast was ten feet thick, is now thinner. But don't you worry; there isplenty. 

Our warehouse is eight or ten miles out of town, so I am not muchbothered by visitors, which is a relief. Such a giggling, sniggering lotyou never saw!

It seems almost too absurdly incredible, Wannie, but do you know Ibelieve this ice of ours gains in coldness as the warm weather comes on!I do, indeed, and you may mention the fact in the advertisements. 

_From Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans, to Mr. Jabez Hope, in Chicago, March 7, 1878. _

All goes well. I get hundreds of orders. We shall do a roaring trade as"The New Orleans and Chicago Semperfrigid Ice Company. " But you have nottold me whether the ice is fresh or salt. If it is fresh it won't do forcooking, and if it is salt it will spoil the mint juleps. 

Is it as cold in the middle as the outside cuts are?

_From Mr. Jebez Hope, from Chicago, to Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans, April 3, 1878. _

Navigation on the Lakes is now open, and ships are thick as ducks. I'mafloat, _en route_ for Buffalo, with the assets of the New Orleans andChicago Semperfrigid Ice Company in my vest pocket. We are busted out, my poor Pikey--we are to fortune and to fame unknown. Arrange a meetingof the creditors and don't attend. 

Last night a schooner from Milwaukee was smashed into match-wood on anenormous mass of floating ice--the first berg ever seen in these waters. It is described by the survivors as being about as big as the Capital atWashington. One-half of that iceberg belongs to you, Pikey. 

The melancholy fact is, I built our warehouse on an unfavorable site, about a mile out from the shore (on the ice, you understand), and whenthe thaw came--O my God, Wannie, it was the saddest thing you ever sawin all your life! You will be _so_ glad to know I was not in it at thetime. 

What a ridiculous question you ask me. My poor partner, you don't seemto know very much about the ice business. 

PERRY CHUMLY'S ECLIPSE

The spectroscope is a singularly beautiful and delicate instrument, consisting, essentially, of a prism of glass, which, decomposing thelight of any heavenly body to which the instrument is directed, presentsa spectrum, or long bar of color. Crossing this are narrow, dark andbright lines produced by the gases of metals in combustion, whereby thecelestial orb's light is generated. From these dark and bright lines, therefore, we ascertain all that is worth knowing about the compositionof the sun and stars. 

Now Ben had made some striking discoveries in spectroscopic analysis athis private garden observatory, and had also an instrument of superiorpower and capacity, invented, or at least much improved, by himself; andthis instrument it was that he and I were arranging for an examinationof the comet then flaming in the heavens. William sat by apparentlyuninterested. Finally we had our arrangements for an observationcompleted, and Ben said: "Now turn her on. "

"That reminds me, " said William, "of a little story about Perry Chumly, who--"

"For the sake of science, William, " I interrupted, laying a hand on hisarm, "I must beg you not to relate it. The comet will in a few minutesbe behind the roof of yonder lodging house. We really have no time forthe story. "

"No, " said Ben, "time presses; and, anyhow, I've heard it before. "

"This Perry Chumly, " resumed William, "believed himself a bornastronomer, and always kept a bit of smoked glass. He was particularlygreat on solar eclipses. I have known him to sit up all night lookingout for one. "

Ben had now got the spectroscope trained skyward to suit him, and inorder to exclude all irrelevant light had let down the window-blind onthe tube of it. The spectrum of the comet came out beautifully--a longbar of color crossed with a lovely ruling of thin dark and bright lines, the sight of which elicited from us an exclamation of satisfaction. 

"One day, " continued William from his seat at another window, "some onetold Perry Chumly there would be an eclipse of the sun that afternoon atthree o'clock. Now Perry had recently read a story about some men who inexploring a deep cañon in the mountains had looked up from the bottomand seen the stars shining at midday. It occurred to him that thisknowledge might be so utilized as to give him a fine view of theeclipse, and enable him at the same time to see what the stars wouldappear to think about it. "

"_This_, " said Ben, pointing to one of the dark lines in the cometicspectrum, "_this_ is produced by the vapor of carbon in the nucleus ofthe heavenly visitant. You will observe that it differs but slightlyfrom the lines that come of volatilized iron. Examined with thismagnifying glass"--adjusting that instrument to his eye--"it willprobably show--by Jove!" he ejaculated, after a nearer view, "it isn'tcarbon at all. _It is_ MEAT!"

"Of course, " proceeded William, "of course Perry Chumly did not have anycañon, so what did the fellow do but let himself down with his arms andlegs to the bottom of an old well, about thirty feet deep! And, with thecold water up to his middle, and the frogs, pollywogs and aquaticlizards quarreling for the cosy corners of his pockets, there he stood, waiting for the sun to appear in the field of his 'instrument' and beeclipsed. "

"Ben, you are joking, " I remarked with some asperity; "you are takingliberties with science, Benjamin. It _can't_ be meat, you know. "

"I tell you it _is_ though, " was his excited reply; "it is just _meat_, I tell you! And this other line, which at first I took for sodium, is_bone_--bone, sir, or I'm an asteroid! I never saw the like; that cometmust be densely peopled with butchers and horse-knackers!"

"When Perry Chumly had waited a long time, " William went on to say, "looking up and expecting every minute to see the sun, it began to getinto his mind, somehow, that the bright, circular opening above hishead--the mouth of the well--_was_ the sun, and that the black disk ofthe moon was all that was needed to complete the expected phenomenon. The notion soon took complete obsession of his brain, so that he forgotwhere he was and imagined himself standing on the surface of the earth. "

I was now scrutinizing the cometic spectrum very closely, beingparticularly attracted by a thin, faint line, which I thought Ben hadoverlooked. 

"Oh, that is nothing, " he explained; "that's a mere local fault arisingfrom conditions peculiar to the medium through which the light istransmitted--the atmosphere of this neighborhood. It is whisky. Thisother line, though, shows the faintest imaginable trace of soap; andthese uncertain, wavering ones are caused by some effluvium not in thecomet itself, but in the region beyond it. I am compelled to pronounceit tobacco smoke. I will now tilt the instrument so as to get thespectrum of the celestial wanderer's tail. Ah! there we have it. Splendid!"

"Now this old well, " said William, "was near a road, along which wastraveling a big and particularly hideous nigger. "

"See here, Thomas, " exclaimed Ben, removing the magnifying glass fromhis eye and looking me earnestly in the face, "if I were to tell youthat the _coma_ of this eccentric heavenly body is really hair, as itsname implies, would you believe it?"

"No, Ben, I certainly should not. "

"Well, I won't argue the matter; there are the lines--they speak forthemselves. But now that I look again, you are not entirely wrong: thereis a considerable admixture of jute, moss, and I think tallow. Itcertainly is most remarkable! Sir Isaac Newton--"

"That big nigger, " drawled William, "felt thirsty, and seeing the mouthof the well thought there was perhaps a bucket in it. So he ventured tocreep forward on his hands and knees and look in over the edge. "

Suddenly our spectrum vanished, and a very singular one of a quitedifferent appearance presented itself in the same place. It was a dimspectrum, crossed by a single broad bar of pale yellow. 

"Ah!" said Ben, "our waif of the upper deep is obscured by a cloud; letus see what the misty veil is made of. "

He took a look at the spectrum with his magnifying glass, started back, and muttered: "Brown linen, by thunder!"

"You can imagine the rapture of Perry Chumly, " pursued the indefatigableWilliam, "when he saw, as he supposed, the moon's black disk encroachingupon the body of the luminary that had so long riveted his gaze. Butwhen that obscuring satellite had thrust herself so far forward that theeclipse became almost annular, and he saw her staring down upon adarkened world with glittering white eyes and a double row of flashingteeth, it is perhaps not surprising that he vented a scream of terror, fainted and collapsed among his frogs! As for the big nigger, almostequally terrified by this shriek from the abyss, he executed aprecipitate movement which only the breaking of his neck prevented frombeing a double back-somersault, and lay dead in the weeds with histongue out and his face the color of a cometic spectrum. We laid them inthe same grave, poor fellows, and on many a still summer eveningafterward I strayed to the lonely little church-yard to listen to thesmothered requiem chanted by the frogs that we had neglected to removefrom the pockets of the lamented astronomer. 

"And, now, " added William, taking his heels from the window, "as you cannot immediately resume your spectroscopic observations on thatred-haired chamber-maid in the dormer-window, who pulled down the blindwhen I made a mouth at her, I move that we adjourn. "

A PROVIDENTIAL INTIMATION

Mr. Algernon Jarvis, of San Francisco, got up cross. The world of Mr. Jarvis had gone wrong with him overnight, as one's world is likely to dowhen one sits up till morning with jovial friends, to watch it, and hewas prone to resentment. No sooner, therefore, had he got himself into aneat, fashionable suit of clothing than he selected his morningwalking-stick and sallied out upon the town with a vague generaldetermination to attack something. His first victim would naturally havebeen his breakfast; but singularly enough, he fell upon this with sofeeble an energy that he was himself beaten--to the grieved astonishmentof the worthy _rôtisseur_, who had to record his hitherto puissantpatron's maiden defeat. Three or four cups of _café noir_ were the onlycaptives that graced Mr. Jarvis' gastric chariot-wheels that morning. 

He lit a long cigar and sauntered moodily down the street, so occupiedwith schemes of universal retaliation that his feet had it all their ownway; in consequence of which, their owner soon found himself in thebilliard-room of the Occidental Hotel. Nobody was there, but Mr. Jarviswas a privileged person; so, going to the marker's desk, he took out alittle box of ivory balls, spilled them carelessly over a table andlanguidly assailed them with a long stick. 

Presently, by the merest chance, he executed a marvelous stroke. Waitingtill the astonished balls had resumed their composure, he gathered themup, replacing them in their former position. He tried the stroke again, and, naturally, did not make it. Again he placed the balls, and again hebadly failed. With a vexed and humilated air he once more put theindocile globes into position, leaned over the table and was upon thepoint of striking, when there sounded a solemn voice from behind:

"Bet you two bits you don't make it!"

Mr. Jarvis erected himself; he turned about and looked at the speaker, whom he found to be a stranger--one that most persons would prefershould remain a stranger. Mr. Jarvis made no reply. In the first place, he was a man of aristocratic taste, to whom a wager of "two bits" wassimply vulgar. Secondly, the man who had proffered it evidently had notthe money. Still it is annoying to have one's skill questioned by one'ssocial inferiors, particularly when one has doubts of it oneself, and isotherwise ill-tempered. So Mr. Jarvis stood his cue against the table, laid off his fashionable morning-coat, resumed his stick, spread hisfine figure upon the table with his back to the ceiling and tookdeliberate aim. 

At this point Mr. Jarvis drops out of this history, and is seen no moreforever. Persons of the class to which he adds lustre are sacred fromthe pen of the humorist; they are ridiculous but not amusing. So now wewill dismiss this uninteresting young aristocrat, retaining merely hisouter shell, the fashionable morning-coat, which Mr. Stenner, thegentleman, who had offered the wager, has quietly thrown across his armand is conveying away for his own advantage. 

An hour later Mr. Stenner sat in his humble lodgings at North Beach, with the pilfered garment upon his knees. He had already taken theopinion of an eminent pawnbroker on its value, and it only remained tosearch the pockets. Mr. Stenner's notions concerning gentlemen's coatswere not so clear as they might have been. Broadly stated, they werethat these garments abounded in secret pockets crowded with a wealth ofbank notes interspersed with gold coins. He was therefore disappointedwhen his careful quest was rewarded with only a delicately perfumedhandkerchief, upon which he could not hope to obtain a loan of more thanten cents; a pair of gloves too small for use and a bit of paper thatwas not a cheque. A second look at this, however, inspired hope. It wasabout the size of a flounder, ruled in wide lines, and bore inconspicuous characters the words, "Western Union Telegraph Company. "Immediately below this interesting legend was much other printed matter, the purport of which was that the company did not hold itselfresponsible for the verbal accuracy of "the following message, " and didnot consider itself either morally or legally bound to forward ordeliver it, nor, in short, to render any kind of service for the moneypaid by the sender. 

Unfamiliar with telegraphy, Mr. Stenner naturally supposed that amessage subject to these hard conditions must be one of not only graveimportance, but questionable character. So he determined to decipher itat that time and place. In the course of the day he succeeded in sodoing. It ran as follows, omitting the date and the names of persons andplaces, which were, of course, quite illegible:

"Buy Sally Meeker!"

Had the full force of this remarkable adjuration burst upon Mr. Stennerall at once it might have carried him away, which would not have been sobad a thing for San Francisco; but as the meaning had to percolateslowly through a dense dyke of ignorance, it produced no other immediateeffect than the exclamation, "Well, I'll be bust!"

In the mouths of some persons this form of expression means a greatdeal. On the Stenner tongue it signified the hopeless nature of theStenner mental confusion. 

It must be confessed--by persons outside a certain limited and sordidcircle--that the message lacks amplification and elaboration; in itsterse, bald diction there is a ghastly suggestion of traffic in humanflesh, for which in California there is no market since the abolition ofslavery and the importation of thoroughbred beeves. If woman suffragehad been established all would have been clear; Mr. Stenner would atonce have understood the kind of purchase advised; for in politicaltransactions he had very often changed hands himself. But it was all amuddle, and resolving to dismiss the matter from his thoughts, he wentto bed thinking of nothing else; for many hours his excited imaginationwould do nothing but purchase slightly damaged Sally Meekers by thebale, and retail them to itself at an enormous profit. 

Next day, it flashed upon his memory who Sally Meeker was--a racingmare! At this entirely obvious solution of the problem he was overcomewith amazement at his own sagacity. Rushing into the street hepurchased, not Sally Meeker, but a sporting paper--and in it found thenotice of a race which was to come off the following week; and, sureenough, there it was:

"Budd Doble enters g. G. Clipper; Bob Scotty enters b. G. Lightnin';Staley Tupper enters s. S. Upandust; Sim Salper enters b. M. SallyMeeker. "

It was clear now; the sender of the dispatch was "in the know. " SallyMeeker was to win, and her owner, who did not know it, had offered herfor sale. At that supreme moment Mr. Stenner would willingly have been arich man! In fact he resolved to be. He at once betook him to Vallejo, where he had lived until invited away by some influential citizens ofthe place. There he immediately sought out an industrious friend who hadan amiable weakness for draw poker, and in whom Mr. Stenner regularlyencouraged that passion by going up against him every payday anddespoiling him of his hard earnings. He did so this time, to the sum ofone hundred dollars. 

No sooner had he raked in his last pool and refused his friend's appealfor a trifling loan wherewith to pay for breakfast than he bought acheck on the Bank of California, enclosed it in a letter containingmerely the words "Bi Saly Meker, " and dispatched it by mail to the onlyclergyman in San Francisco whose name he knew. Mr. Stenner had a vaguenotion that all kinds of business requiring strict honesty and fidelitymight be profitably intrusted to the clergy; otherwise what was the useof religion? I hope I shall not be accused of disrespect to the cloth inthus bluntly setting forth Mr. Stenner's estimate of the parsons, inasmuch as I do not share it. 

This business off his mind, Mr. Stenner unbent in a week's revelry; atthe end of which he worked his passage down to San Francisco to securehis winnings on the race, and take charge of his peerless mare. It willbe observed that his notions concerning races were somewhat confused;his experience of them had hitherto been confined to that branch of thebusiness requiring, not technical knowledge but manual dexterity. Inshort, he had done no more than pick the pockets of the spectators. Arrived at San Francisco he was hastening to the dwelling of hisclerical agent, when he met an acquaintance, to whom he put thetriumphant question, "How about Sally Meeker?"

"Sally Meeker? Sally Meeker?" was the reply. "Oh, you mean the hoss? Whyshe's gone up the flume. Broke her neck the first heat. But ole SimSalper is never a-goin' to fret hisself to a shadder about it. He struckit pizen in the mine she was named a'ter and the stock's gone up fromnothin' out o' sight. You couldn't tech that stock with a ten-footpole!"

Which was a blow to Mr. Stenner. He saw his error; the message in thecoat had evidently been sent to a broker, and referred to the stock ofthe "Sally Meeker" mine. And he, Stenner, was a ruined man!

Suddenly a great, monstrous, misbegotten and unmentionable oath rolledfrom Mr. Stenner's tongue like a cannon shot hurled along an unevenfloor! Might it not be that the Rev. Mr. Boltright had alsomisunderstood the message, and had bought, not the mare, but the stock?The thought was electrical: Mr. Stenner ran--he flew! He tarried not atwalls and the smaller sort of houses, but went through or over them! Infive minutes he stood before the good clergyman--and in one more hadasked, in a hoarse whisper, if he had bought any "Sally Meeker. "

"My good friend, " was the bland reply--"my fellow traveler to the bar ofGod, it would better comport with your spiritual needs to inquire whatyou should do to be saved. But since you ask me, I will confess thathaving received what I am compelled to regard as a Providentialintimation, accompanied with the secular means of obedience, I did putup a small margin and purchase largely of the stock you mention. Theventure, I am constrained to state, was not wholly unprofitable. "

Unprofitable? The good man had made a square twenty-five thousanddollars on that small margin! To conclude--he has it yet. 

MR. SWIDDLER'S FLIP-FLAP

Jerome Bowles (said the gentleman called Swiddler) was to be hanged onFriday, the ninth of November, at five o'clock in the afternoon. Thiswas to occur at the town of Flatbroke, where he was then in prison. Jerome was my friend, and naturally I differed with the jury that hadconvicted him as to the degree of guilt implied by the conceded factthat he had shot an Indian without direct provocation. Ever since histrial I had been endeavoring to influence the Governor of the State togrant a pardon; but public sentiment was against me, a fact which Iattributed partly to the innate pigheadness of the people, and partly tothe recent establishment of churches and schools which had corrupted theprimitive notions of a frontier community. But I labored hard andunremittingly by all manner of direct and indirect means during thewhole period in which Jerome lay under sentence of death; and on thevery morning of the day set for the execution, the Governor sent for me, and saying "he did not purpose being worried by my importunities allwinter, " handed me the document which he had so often refused. 

Armed with the precious paper, I flew to the telegraph office to send adispatch to the Sheriff at Flatbroke. I found the operator locking thedoor of the office and putting up the shutters. I pleaded in vain; hesaid he was going to see the hanging, and really had no time to send mymessage. I must explain that Flatbroke was fifteen miles away; I wasthen at Swan Creek, the State capital. 

The operator being inexorable, I ran to the railroad station to see howsoon there would be a train for Flatbroke. The station man, with cooland polite malice, informed me that all the employees of the road hadbeen given a holiday to see Jerome Bowles hanged, and had already goneby an early train; that there would be no other train till the next day. 

I was now furious, but the station man quietly turned me out, lockingthe gates. Dashing to the nearest livery stable, I ordered a horse. Whyprolong the record of my disappointment? Not a horse could I get in thattown; all had been engaged weeks before to take people to the hanging. So everybody said, at least, though I now know there was a rascallyconspiracy to defeat the ends of mercy, for the story of the pardon hadgot abroad. 

It was now ten o'clock. I had only seven hours in which to do my fifteenmiles afoot; but I was an excellent walker and thoroughly angry; therewas no doubt of my ability to make the distance, with an hour to spare. The railway offered the best chance; it ran straight as a string acrossa level, treeless prairie, whereas the highway made a wide detour by wayof another town. 

I took to the track like a Modoc on the war path. Before I had gone ahalf-mile I was overtaken by "That Jim Peasley, " as he was called inSwan Creek, an incurable practical joker, loved and shunned by all whoknew him. He asked me as he came up if I were "going to the show. "Thinking it was best to dissemble, I told him I was, but said nothing ofmy intention to stop the performance; I thought it would be a lesson toThat Jim to let him walk fifteen miles for nothing, for it was clearthat he was going, too. Still, I wished he would go on ahead or dropbehind. But he could not very well do the former, and would not do thelatter; so we trudged on together. It was a cloudy day and very sultryfor that time of the year. The railway stretched away before us, betweenits double row of telegraph poles, in rigid sameness, terminating in apoint at the horizon. On either hand the disheartening monotony of theprairie was unbroken. 

I thought little of these things, however, for my mental exaltation wasproof against the depressing influence of the scene. I was about to savethe life of my friend--to restore a crack shot to society. Indeed Iscarcely thought of That Jim, whose heels were grinding the hard gravelclose behind me, except when he saw fit occasionally to propound thesententious, and I thought derisive, query, "Tired?" Of course I was, but I would have died rather than confess it. 

We had gone in this way, about half the distance, probably, in much lessthan half the seven hours, and I was getting my second wind, when ThatJim again broke the silence. 

"Used to bounce in a circus, didn't you?"

This was quite true! in a season of pecuniary depression I had once putmy legs into my stomach--had turned my athletic accomplishments tofinancial advantage. It was not a pleasant topic, and I said nothing. That Jim persisted. 

"Wouldn't like to do a feller a somersault now, eh?"

The mocking tongue of this jeer was intolerable; the fellow evidentlyconsidered me "done up, " so taking a short run I clapped my hands to mythighs and executed as pretty a flip-flap as ever was made without aspringboard! At the moment I came erect with my head still spinning, Ifelt That Jim crowd past me, giving me a twirl that almost sent me offthe track. A moment later he had dashed ahead at a tremendous pace, laughing derisively over his shoulder as if he had done a remarkablyclever thing to gain the lead. 

I was on the heels of him in less than ten minutes, though I mustconfess the fellow could walk amazingly. In half an hour I had run pasthim, and at the end of the hour, such was my slashing gait, he was amere black dot in my rear, and appeared to be sitting on one of therails, thoroughly used up. 

Relieved of Mr. Peasley, I naturally began thinking of my poor friend inthe Flatbroke jail, and it occurred to me that something might happen tohasten the execution. I knew the feeling of the country against him, andthat many would be there from a distance who would naturally wish to gethome before nightfall. Nor could I help admitting to myself that fiveo'clock was an unreasonably late hour for a hanging. Tortured with thesefears, I unconsciously increased my pace with every step, until it wasalmost a run. I stripped off my coat and flung it away, opened mycollar, and unbuttoned my waistcoat. And at last, puffing and steaminglike a locomotive engine, I burst into a thin crowd of idlers on theoutskirts of the town, and flourished the pardon crazily above my head, yelling, "Cut him down!--cut him down!"

Then, as every one stared in blank amazement and nobody said anything, Ifound time to look about me, marveling at the oddly familiar appearanceof the town. As I looked, the houses, streets, and everything seemed toundergo a sudden and mysterious transposition with reference to thepoints of the compass, as if swinging round on a pivot; and like oneawakened from a dream I found myself among accustomed scenes. To beplain about it, I was back again in Swan Creek, as right as a trivet!

It was all the work of That Jim Peasley. The designing rascal hadprovoked me to throw a confusing somersault, then bumped against me, turning me half round, and started on the back track, thereby incitingme to hook it in the same direction. The cloudy day, the two lines oftelegraph poles, one on each side of the track, the entire sameness ofthe landscape to the right and left--these had all conspired to preventmy observing that I had put about. 

When the excursion train returned from Flatbroke that evening thepassengers were told a little story at my expense. It was just what theyneeded to cheer them up a bit after what they had seen; for thatflip-flap of mine had broken the neck of Jerome Bowles seven miles away!

THE LITTLE STORY

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ--_A Supernumerary Editor. A Probationary Contributor_. 

SCENE--"_The Expounder" Office_. 

PROBATIONARY CONTRIBUTOR--Editor in?

SUPERNUMERARY EDITOR--Dead. 

P. C. --The gods favor me. (_Produces roll of manuscript_. ) Here is alittle story, which I will read to you. 

S. E. --O, O!

P. C. --(_Reads_. ) "It was the last night of the year--a naughty, noxious, offensive night. In the principal street of San Francisco"--

S. E. --Confound San Francisco!

P. C. --It had to be somewhere. (_Reads_. )

"In the principal street of San Francisco stood a small female orphan, marking time like a volunteer. Her little bare feet imprinted coldkisses on the paving-stones as she put them down and drew them upalternately. The chilling rain was having a good time with her scalp, and toyed soppily with her hair--her own hair. The night-wind shrewdlysearched her tattered garments, as if it had suspected her of smuggling. She saw crowds of determined-looking persons grimly ruining themselvesin toys and confectionery for the dear ones at home, and she wished shewas in a position to ruin a little--just a little. Then, as the happythrong sped by her with loads of things to make the children sick, sheleaned against an iron lamp-post in front of a bake-shop and turned onthe wicked envy. She thought, poor thing, she would like to be acake--for this little girl was very hungry indeed. Then she tried again, and thought she would like to be a tart with smashed fruit inside; thenshe would be warmed over every day and nobody would eat her. For thechild was cold as well as hungry. Finally, she tried quite hard, andthought she could be very well content as an oven; for then she would bekept always hot, and bakers would put all manner of good things into herwith a long shovel. "

S. E. --I've read that somewhere. 

P. C. --Very likely. This little story has never been rejected by anypaper to which I have offered it. It gets better, too, every time Iwrite it. When it first appeared in _Veracity_ the editor said it costhim a hundred subscribers. Just mark the improvement! (_Reads_. )

"The hours glided by--except a few that froze to the pavement--untilmidnight. The streets were now deserted, and the almanac havingpredicted a new moon about this time, the lamps had been conscientiouslyextinguished. Suddenly a great globe of sound fell from an adjacentchurch-tower, and exploded on the night with a deep metallic boom. Thenall the clocks and bells began ringing-in the New Year--pounding andbanging and yelling and finishing off all the nervous invalids left overfrom the preceding Sunday. The little orphan started from her dream, leaving a small patch of skin on the frosted lamp-post, clasped her thinblue hands and looked upward, 'with mad disquietude, '"--

S. E. --In _The Monitor_ it was "with covetous eyes. "

P. C. --I know it; hadn't read Byron then. Clever dog, Byron. (_Reads. _)

"Presently a cranberry tart dropped at her feet, apparently from theclouds. "

S. E. --How about those angels?

P. C. --The editor of _Good Will_ cut 'em out. He said San Francisco wasno place for them; and I don't believe----

S. E. --There, there! Never mind. Go on with the little story. 

P. C. --(_Reads_. ) "As she stooped to take up the tart a veal sandwichcame whizzing down, and cuffed one of her ears. Next a wheaten loaf madeher dodge nimbly, and then a broad ham fell flat-footed at her toes. Asack of flour burst in the middle of the street; a side of bacon impaleditself on an iron hitching-post. Pretty soon a chain of sausages fell ina circle around her, flattening out as if a road-roller had passed overthem. Then there was a lull--nothing came down but dried fish, coldpuddings and flannel under-clothing; but presently her wishes began totake effect again, and a quarter of beef descended with terrificmomentum upon the top of the little orphan's head. "

S. E. --How did the editor of _The Reasonable Virtues_ like that quarterof beef?

P. C. --Oh, he swallowed it like a little man, and stuck in a few dressedpigs of his own. I've left them out, because I don't want outsidersaltering the Little Story. (_Reads_. )

"One would have thought that ought to suffice; but not so. Bedding, shoes, firkins of butter, mighty cheeses, ropes of onions, quantities ofloose jam, kegs of oysters, titanic fowls, crates of crockery andglassware, assorted house-keeping things, cooking ranges, and tons ofcoal poured down in broad cataracts from a bounteous heaven, pilingthemselves above that infant to a depth of twenty feet. The weather wasmore than two hours in clearing up; and as late as half-past three aponderous hogshead of sugar struck at the corner of Clay and KearneyStreets, with an impact that shook the peninsula like an earthquake andstopped every clock in town. 

"At daybreak the good merchants arrived upon the scene with shovels andwheelbarrows, and before the sun of the new year was an hour old, theyhad provided for all of these provisions--had stowed them away in theircellars, and nicely arranged them on their shelves, ready for sale tothe deserving poor. "

S. E. --And the little girl--what became of _her_?

P. C. --You musn't get ahead of the Little Story. (_Reads_. )

"When they had got down to the wicked little orphan who had not beencontent with her lot some one brought a broom, and she was carefullyswept and smoothed out. Then they lifted her tenderly, and carried herto the coroner. That functionary was standing in the door of his office, and with a deprecatory wave of his hand, he said to the man who wasbearing her:

"'There, go away, my good fellow; there was a man here three timesyesterday trying to sell me just such a map. '"

THE PARENTICIDE CLUB

MY FAVORITE MURDER

Having murdered my mother under circumstances of singular atrocity, Iwas arrested and put upon my trial, which lasted seven years. Incharging the jury, the judge of the Court of Acquittal remarked that itwas one of the most ghastly crimes that he had ever been called upon toexplain away. 

At this, my attorney rose and said:

"May it please your Honor, crimes are ghastly or agreeable only bycomparison. If you were familiar with the details of my client'sprevious murder of his uncle you would discern in his later offense (ifoffense it may be called) something in the nature of tender forbearanceand filial consideration for the feelings of the victim. The appallingferocity of the former assassination was indeed inconsistent with anyhypothesis but that of guilt; and had it not been for the fact that thehonorable judge before whom he was tried was the president of a lifeinsurance company that took risks on hanging, and in which my clientheld a policy, it is hard to see how he could decently have beenacquitted. If your Honor would like to hear about it for instruction andguidance of your Honor's mind, this unfortunate man, my client, willconsent to give himself the pain of relating it under oath. "

The district attorney said: "Your Honor, I object. Such a statementwould be in the nature of evidence, and the testimony in this case isclosed. The prisoner's statement should have been introduced three yearsago, in the spring of 1881. "

"In a statutory sense, " said the judge, "you are right, and in the Courtof Objections and Technicalities you would get a ruling in your favor. But not in a Court of Acquittal. The objection is overruled. "

"I except, " said the district attorney. 

"You cannot do that, " the judge said. "I must remind you that in orderto take an exception you must first get this case transferred for a timeto the Court of Exceptions on a formal motion duly supported byaffidavits. A motion to that effect by your predecessor in office wasdenied by me during the first year of this trial. Mr. Clerk, swear theprisoner. "

The customary oath having been administered, I made the followingstatement, which impressed the judge with so strong a sense of thecomparative triviality of the offense for which I was on trial that hemade no further search for mitigating circumstances, but simplyinstructed the jury to acquit, and I left the court, without a stainupon my reputation:

"I was born in 1856 in Kalamakee, Mich. , of honest and reputableparents, one of whom Heaven has mercifully spared to comfort me in mylater years. In 1867 the family came to California and settled nearNigger Head, where my father opened a road agency and prospered beyondthe dreams of avarice. He was a reticent, saturnine man then, though hisincreasing years have now somewhat relaxed the austerity of hisdisposition, and I believe that nothing but his memory of the sad eventfor which I am now on trial prevents him from manifesting a genuinehilarity. 

"Four years after we had set up the road agency an itinerant preachercame along, and having no other way to pay for the night's lodging thatwe gave him, favored us with an exhortation of such power that, praiseGod, we were all converted to religion. My father at once sent for hisbrother, the Hon. William Ridley of Stockton, and on his arrival turnedover the agency to him, charging him nothing for the franchise norplant--the latter consisting of a Winchester rifle, a sawed-off shotgun, and an assortment of masks made out of flour sacks. The family thenmoved to Ghost Rock and opened a dance house. It was called 'The Saints'Rest Hurdy-Gurdy, ' and the proceedings each night began with prayer. Itwas there that my now sainted mother, by her grace in the dance, acquired the _sobriquet_ of 'The Bucking Walrus. '

"In the fall of '75 I had occasion to visit Coyote, on the road toMahala, and took the stage at Ghost Rock. There were four otherpassengers. About three miles beyond Nigger Head, persons whom Iidentified as my Uncle William and his two sons held up the stage. Finding nothing in the express box, they went through the passengers. Iacted a most honorable part in the affair, placing myself in line withthe others, holding up my hands and permitting myself to be deprived offorty dollars and a gold watch. From my behavior no one could havesuspected that I knew the gentlemen who gave the entertainment. A fewdays later, when I went to Nigger Head and asked for the return of mymoney and watch my uncle and cousins swore they knew nothing of thematter, and they affected a belief that my father and I had done the jobourselves in dishonest violation of commercial good faith. Uncle Williameven threatened to retaliate by starting an opposition dance house atGhost Rock. As 'The Saints' Rest' had become rather unpopular, I sawthat this would assuredly ruin it and prove a paying enterprise, so Itold my uncle that I was willing to overlook the past if he would takeme into the scheme and keep the partnership a secret from my father. This fair offer he rejected, and I then perceived that it would bebetter and more satisfactory if he were dead. 

"My plans to that end were soon perfected, and communicating them to mydear parents I had the gratification of receiving their approval. Myfather said he was proud of me, and my mother promised that although herreligion forbade her to assist in taking human life I should have theadvantage of her prayers for my success. As a preliminary measurelooking to my security in case of detection I made an application formembership in that powerful order, the Knights of Murder, and in duecourse was received as a member of the Ghost Rock commandery. On the daythat my probation ended I was for the first time permitted to inspectthe records of the order and learn who belonged to it--all the rites ofinitiation having been conducted in masks. Fancy my delight when, inlooking over the roll of membership; I found the third name to be thatof my uncle, who indeed was junior vice-chancellor of the order! Herewas an opportunity exceeding my wildest dreams--to murder I could addinsubordination and treachery. It was what my good mother would havecalled 'a special Providence. '

"At about this time something occurred which caused my cup of joy, already full, to overflow on all sides, a circular cataract of bliss. Three men, strangers in that locality, were arrested for the stagerobbery in which I had lost my money and watch. They were brought totrial and, despite my efforts to clear them and fasten the guilt uponthree of the most respectable and worthy citizens of Ghost Rock, convicted on the clearest proof. The murder would now be as wanton andreasonless as I could wish. 

"One morning I shouldered my Winchester rifle, and going over to myuncle's house, near Nigger Head, asked my Aunt Mary, his wife, if hewere at home, adding that I had come to kill him. My aunt replied withher peculiar smile that so many gentleman called on that errand and wereafterward carried away without having performed it that I must excuseher for doubting my good faith in the matter. She said I did not look asif I would kill anybody, so, as a proof of good faith I leveled my rifleand wounded a Chinaman who happened to be passing the house. She saidshe knew whole families that could do a thing of that kind, but BillRidley was a horse of another color. She said, however, that I wouldfind him over on the other side of the creek in the sheep lot; and sheadded that she hoped the best man would win. 

"My Aunt Mary was one of the most fair-minded women that I have evermet. 

"I found my uncle down on his knees engaged in skinning a sheep. Seeingthat he had neither gun nor pistol handy I had not the heart to shoothim, so I approached him, greeted him pleasantly and struck him apowerful blow on the head with the butt of my rifle. I have a very gooddelivery and Uncle William lay down on his side, then rolled over on hisback, spread out his fingers and shivered. Before he could recover theuse of his limbs I seized the knife that he had been using and cut hishamstrings. You know, doubtless, that when you sever the _tendoAchillis_ the patient has no further use of his leg; it is just the sameas if he had no leg. Well, I parted them both, and when he revived hewas at my service. As soon as he comprehended the situation, he said:

"'Samuel, you have got the drop on me and can afford to be generous. Ihave only one thing to ask of you, and that is that you carry me to thehouse and finish me in the bosom of my family. '

"I told him I thought that a pretty reasonable request and I would do soif he would let me put him into a wheat sack; he would be easier tocarry that way and if we were seen by the neighbors _en route_ it wouldcause less remark. He agreed to that, and going to the barn I got asack. This, however, did not fit him; it was too short and much widerthan he; so I bent his legs, forced his knees up against his breast andgot him into it that way, tying the sack above his head. He was a heavyman and I had all that I could do to get him on my back, but I staggeredalong for some distance until I came to a swing that some of thechildren had suspended to the branch of an oak. Here I laid him down andsat upon him to rest, and the sight of the rope gave me a happyinspiration. In twenty minutes my uncle, still in the sack, swung freeto the sport of the wind. 

"I had taken down the rope, tied one end tightly about the mouth of thebag, thrown the other across the limb and hauled him up about five feetfrom the ground. Fastening the other end of the rope also about themouth of the sack, I had the satisfaction to see my uncle converted intoa large, fine pendulum. I must add that he was not himself entirelyaware of the nature of the change that he had undergone in his relationto the exterior world, though in justice to a good man's memory I oughtto say that I do not think he would in any case have wasted much of mytime in vain remonstrance. 

"Uncle William had a ram that was famous in all that region as afighter. It was in a state of chronic constitutional indignation. Somedeep disappointment in early life had soured its disposition and it haddeclared war upon the whole world. To say that it would butt anythingaccessible is but faintly to express the nature and scope of itsmilitary activity: the universe was its antagonist; its methods that ofa projectile. It fought like the angels and devils, in mid-air, cleavingthe atmosphere like a bird, describing a parabolic curve and descendingupon its victim at just the exact angle of incidence to make the most ofits velocity and weight. Its momentum, calculated in foot-tons, wassomething incredible. It had been seen to destroy a four year old bullby a single impact upon that animal's gnarly forehead. No stone wall hadever been known to resist its downward swoop; there were no trees toughenough to stay it; it would splinter them into matchwood and defiletheir leafy honors in the dust. This irascible and implacablebrute--this incarnate thunderbolt--this monster of the upper deep, I hadseen reposing in the shade of an adjacent tree, dreaming dreams ofconquest and glory. It was with a view to summoning it forth to thefield of honor that I suspended its master in the manner described. 

"Having completed my preparations, I imparted to the avuncular penduluma gentle oscillation, and retiring to cover behind a contiguous rock, lifted up my voice in a long rasping cry whose diminishing final notewas drowned in a noise like that of a swearing cat, which emanated fromthe sack. Instantly that formidable sheep was upon its feet and hadtaken in the military situation at a glance. In a few moments it hadapproached, stamping, to within fifty yards of the swinging foeman, who, now retreating and anon advancing, seemed to invite the fray. Suddenly Isaw the beast's head drop earthward as if depressed by the weight of itsenormous horns; then a dim, white, wavy streak of sheep prolonged itselffrom that spot in a generally horizontal direction to within about fouryards of a point immediately beneath the enemy. There it struck sharplyupward, and before it had faded from my gaze at the place whence it hadset out I heard a horrid thump and a piercing scream, and my poor uncleshot forward, with a slack rope higher than the limb to which he wasattached. Here the rope tautened with a jerk, arresting his flight, andback he swung in a breathless curve to the other end of his arc. The ramhad fallen, a heap of indistinguishable legs, wool and horns, butpulling itself together and dodging as its antagonist swept downward itretired at random, alternately shaking its head and stamping itsfore-feet. When it had backed about the same distance as that from whichit had delivered the assault it paused again, bowed its head as if inprayer for victory and again shot forward, dimly visible as before--aprolonging white streak with monstrous undulations, ending with a sharpascension. Its course this time was at a right angle to its former one, and its impatience so great that it struck the enemy before he hadnearly reached the lowest point of his arc. In consequence he wentflying round and round in a horizontal circle whose radius was aboutequal to half the length of the rope, which I forgot to say was nearlytwenty feet long. His shrieks, _crescendo_ in approach and _diminuendo_in recession, made the rapidity of his revolution more obvious to theear than to the eye. He had evidently not yet been struck in a vitalspot. His posture in the sack and the distance from the ground at whichhe hung compelled the ram to operate upon his lower extremities and theend of his back. Like a plant that has struck its root into somepoisonous mineral, my poor uncle was dying slowly upward. 

"After delivering its second blow the ram had not again retired. Thefever of battle burned hot in its heart; its brain was intoxicated withthe wine of strife. Like a pugilist who in his rage forgets his skilland fights ineffectively at half-arm's length, the angry beastendeavored to reach its fleeting foe by awkward vertical leaps as hepassed overhead, sometimes, indeed, succeeding in striking him feebly, but more frequently overthrown by its own misguided eagerness. But asthe impetus was exhausted and the man's circles narrowed in scope anddiminished in speed, bringing him nearer to the ground, these tacticsproduced better results, eliciting a superior quality of screams, whichI greatly enjoyed. 

"Suddenly, as if the bugles had sung truce, the ram suspendedhostilities and walked away, thoughtfully wrinkling and smoothing itsgreat aquiline nose, and occasionally cropping a bunch of grass andslowly munching it. It seemed to have tired of war's alarms and resolvedto beat the sword into a plowshare and cultivate the arts of peace. Steadily it held its course away from the field of fame until it hadgained a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile. There it stopped andstood with its rear to the foe, chewing its cud and apparently halfasleep. I observed, however, an occasional slight turn of its head, asif its apathy were more affected than real. 

"Meantime Uncle William's shrieks had abated with his motion, andnothing was heard from him but long, low moans, and at long intervals myname, uttered in pleading tones exceedingly grateful to my ear. Evidently the man had not the faintest notion of what was being done tohim, and was inexpressibly terrified. When Death comes cloaked inmystery he is terrible indeed. Little by little my uncle's oscillationsdiminished, and finally he hung motionless. I went to him and was aboutto give him the _coup de grâce_, when I heard and felt a succession ofsmart shocks which shook the ground like a series of light earthquakes, and turning in the direction of the ram, saw a long cloud of dustapproaching me with inconceivable rapidity and alarming effect! At adistance of some thirty yards away it stopped short, and from the nearend of it rose into the air what I at first thought a great white bird. Its ascent was so smooth and easy and regular that I could not realizeits extraordinary celerity, and was lost in admiration of its grace. Tothis day the impression remains that it was a slow, deliberate movement, the ram--for it was that animal--being upborne by some power other thanits own impetus, and supported through the successive stages of itsflight with infinite tenderness and care. My eyes followed its progressthrough the air with unspeakable pleasure, all the greater by contrastwith my former terror of its approach by land. Onward and upward thenoble animal sailed, its head bent down almost between its knees, itsfore-feet thrown back, its hinder legs trailing to rear like the legs ofa soaring heron. 

"At a height of forty or fifty feet, as fond recollection presents it toview, it attained its zenith and appeared to remain an instantstationary; then, tilting suddenly forward without altering the relativeposition of its parts, it shot downward on a steeper and steeper coursewith augmenting velocity, passed immediately above me with a noise likethe rush of a cannon shot and struck my poor uncle almost squarely onthe top of the head! So frightful was the impact that not only the man'sneck was broken, but the rope too; and the body of the deceased, forcedagainst the earth, was crushed to pulp beneath the awful front of thatmeteoric sheep! The concussion stopped all the clocks between Lone Handand Dutch Dan's, and Professor Davidson, a distinguished authority inmatters seismic, who happened to be in the vicinity, promptly explainedthat the vibrations were from north to southwest. 

"Altogether, I cannot help thinking that in point of artistic atrocitymy murder of Uncle William has seldom been excelled. "

OIL OF DOG

My name is Boffer Bings. I was born of honest parents in one of thehumbler walks of life, my father being a manufacturer of dog-oil and mymother having a small studio in the shadow of the village church, whereshe disposed of unwelcome babes. In my boyhood I was trained to habitsof industry; I not only assisted my father in procuring dogs for hisvats, but was frequently employed by my mother to carry away the debrisof her work in the studio. In performance of this duty I sometimes hadneed of all my natural intelligence for all the law officers of thevicinity were opposed to my mother's business. They were not elected onan opposition ticket, and the matter had never been made a politicalissue; it just happened so. My father's business of making dog-oil was, naturally, less unpopular, though the owners of missing dogs sometimesregarded him with suspicion, which was reflected, to some extent, uponme. My father had, as silent partners, all the physicians of the town, who seldom wrote a prescription which did not contain what they werepleased to designate as _Ol. Can_. It is really the most valuablemedicine ever discovered. But most persons are unwilling to makepersonal sacrifices for the afflicted, and it was evident that many ofthe fattest dogs in town had been forbidden to play with me--a factwhich pained my young sensibilities, and at one time came near drivingme to become a pirate. 

Looking back upon those days, I cannot but regret, at times, that byindirectly bringing my beloved parents to their death I was the authorof misfortunes profoundly affecting my future. 

One evening while passing my father's oil factory with the body of afoundling from my mother's studio I saw a constable who seemed to beclosely watching my movements. Young as I was, I had learned that aconstable's acts, of whatever apparent character, are prompted by themost reprehensible motives, and I avoided him by dodging into the oileryby a side door which happened to stand ajar. I locked it at once and wasalone with my dead. My father had retired for the night. The only lightin the place came from the furnace, which glowed a deep, rich crimsonunder one of the vats, casting ruddy reflections on the walls. Withinthe cauldron the oil still rolled in indolent ebullition, occasionallypushing to the surface a piece of dog. Seating myself to wait for theconstable to go away, I held the naked body of the foundling in my lapand tenderly stroked its short, silken hair. Ah, how beautiful it was!Even at that early age I was passionately fond of children, and as Ilooked upon this cherub I could almost find it in my heart to wish thatthe small, red wound upon its breast--the work of my dear mother--hadnot been mortal. 

It had been my custom to throw the babes into the river which nature hadthoughtfully provided for the purpose, but that night I did not dare toleave the oilery for fear of the constable. "After all, " I said tomyself, "it cannot greatly matter if I put it into this cauldron. Myfather will never know the bones from those of a puppy, and the fewdeaths which may result from administering another kind of oil for theincomparable _ol. Can_. Are not important in a population whichincreases so rapidly. " In short, I took the first step in crime andbrought myself untold sorrow by casting the babe into the cauldron. 

The next day, somewhat to my surprise, my father, rubbing his hands withsatisfaction, informed me and my mother that he had obtained the finestquality of oil that was ever seen; that the physicians to whom he hadshown samples had so pronounced it. He added that he had no knowledge asto how the result was obtained; the dogs had been treated in allrespects as usual, and were of an ordinary breed. I deemed it my duty toexplain--which I did, though palsied would have been my tongue if Icould have foreseen the consequences. Bewailing their previous ignoranceof the advantages of combining their industries, my parents at once tookmeasures to repair the error. My mother removed her studio to a wing ofthe factory building and my duties in connection with the businessceased; I was no longer required to dispose of the bodies of the smallsuperfluous, and there was no need of alluring dogs to their doom, formy father discarded them altogether, though they still had an honorableplace in the name of the oil. So suddenly thrown into idleness, I mightnaturally have been expected to become vicious and dissolute, but I didnot. The holy influence of my dear mother was ever about me to protectme from the temptations which beset youth, and my father was a deacon ina church. Alas, that through my fault these estimable persons shouldhave come to so bad an end!

Finding a double profit in her business, my mother now devoted herselfto it with a new assiduity. She removed not only superfluous andunwelcome babes to order, but went out into the highways and byways, gathering in children of a larger growth, and even such adults as shecould entice to the oilery. My father, too, enamored of the superiorquality of oil produced, purveyed for his vats with diligence and zeal. The conversion of their neighbors into dog-oil became, in short, the onepassion of their lives--an absorbing and overwhelming greed tookpossession of their souls and served them in place of a hope inHeaven--by which, also, they were inspired. 

So enterprising had they now become that a public meeting was held andresolutions passed severely censuring them. It was intimated by thechairman that any further raids upon the population would be met in aspirit of hostility. My poor parents left the meeting broken-hearted, desperate and, I believe, not altogether sane. Anyhow, I deemed itprudent not to enter the oilery with them that night, but slept outsidein a stable. 

At about midnight some mysterious impulse caused me to rise and peerthrough a window into the furnace-room, where I knew my father nowslept. The fires were burning as brightly as if the following day'sharvest had been expected to be abundant. One of the large cauldrons wasslowly "walloping" with a mysterious appearance of self-restraint, as ifit bided its time to put forth its full energy. My father was not inbed; he had risen in his nightclothes and was preparing a noose in astrong cord. From the looks which he cast at the door of my mother'sbedroom I knew too well the purpose that he had in mind. Speechless andmotionless with terror, I could do nothing in prevention or warning. Suddenly the door of my mother's apartment was opened, noiselessly, andthe two confronted each other, both apparently surprised. The lady, also, was in her night clothes, and she held in her right hand the toolof her trade, a long, narrow-bladed dagger. 

She, too, had been unable to deny herself the last profit which theunfriendly action of the citizens and my absence had left her. For oneinstant they looked into each other's blazing eyes and then sprangtogether with indescribable fury. Round and round the room theystruggled, the man cursing, the woman shrieking, both fighting likedemons--she to strike him with the dagger, he to strangle her with hisgreat bare hands. I know not how long I had the unhappiness to observethis disagreeable instance of domestic infelicity, but at last, after amore than usually vigorous struggle, the combatants suddenly movedapart. 

My father's breast and my mother's weapon showed evidences of contact. For another instant they glared at each other in the most unamiable way;then my poor, wounded father, feeling the hand of death upon him, leapedforward, unmindful of resistance, grasped my dear mother in his arms, dragged her to the side of the boiling cauldron, collected all hisfailing energies, and sprang in with her! In a moment, both haddisappeared and were adding their oil to that of the committee ofcitizens who had called the day before with an invitation to the publicmeeting. 

Convinced that these unhappy events closed to me every avenue to anhonorable career in that town, I removed to the famous city of Otumwee, where these memoirs are written with a heart full of remorse for aheedless act entailing so dismal a commercial disaster. 

AN IMPERFECT CONFLAGRATION

Early one June morning in 1872 I murdered my father--an act which made adeep impression on me at the time. This was before my marriage, while Iwas living with my parents in Wisconsin. My father and I were in thelibrary of our home, dividing the proceeds of a burglary which we hadcommitted that night. These consisted of household goods mostly, and thetask of equitable division was difficult. We got on very well with thenapkins, towels and such things, and the silverware was parted prettynearly equally, but you can see for yourself that when you try to dividea single music-box by two without a remainder you will have trouble. Itwas that music-box which brought disaster and disgrace upon our family. If we had left it my poor father might now be alive. 

It was a most exquisite and beautiful piece of workmanship--inlaid withcostly woods and carven very curiously. It would not only play a greatvariety of tunes, but would whistle like a quail, bark like a dog, crowevery morning at daylight whether it was wound up or not, and break theTen Commandments. It was this last mentioned accomplishment that won myfather's heart and caused him to commit the only dishonorable act of hislife, though possibly he would have committed more if he had beenspared: he tried to conceal that music-box from me, and declared uponhis honor that he had not taken it, though I knew very well that, so faras he was concerned, the burglary had been undertaken chiefly for thepurpose of obtaining it. 

My father had the music-box hidden under his cloak; we had worn cloaksby way of disguise. He had solemnly assured me that he did not take it. I knew that he did, and knew something of which he was evidentlyignorant; namely, that the box would crow at daylight and betray him ifI could prolong the division of profits till that time. All occurred asI wished: as the gaslight began to pale in the library and the shape ofthe windows was seen dimly behind the curtains, a long cock-a-doodle-doocame from beneath the old gentleman's cloak, followed by a few bars ofan aria from _Tannhauser_, ending with a loud click. A small hand-axe, which we had used to break into the unlucky house, lay between us on thetable; I picked it up. The old man seeing that further concealment wasuseless took the box from under his cloak and set it on the table. "Cutit in two if you prefer that plan, " said he; "I tried to save it fromdestruction. "

He was a passionate lover of music and could himself play the concertinawith expression and feeling. 

I said: "I do not question the purity of your motive: it would bepresumptuous in me to sit in judgment on my father. But business isbusiness, and with this axe I am going to effect a dissolution of ourpartnership unless you will consent in all future burglaries to wear abell-punch. "

"No, " he said, after some reflection, "no, I could not do that; it wouldlook like a confession of dishonesty. People would say that youdistrusted me. "

I could not help admiring his spirit and sensitiveness; for a moment Iwas proud of him and disposed to overlook his fault, but a glance at therichly jeweled music-box decided me, and, as I said, I removed the oldman from this vale of tears. Having done so, I was a trifle uneasy. Notonly was he my father--the author of my being--but the body would becertainly discovered. It was now broad daylight and my mother was likelyto enter the library at any moment. Under the circumstances, I thoughtit expedient to remove her also, which I did. Then I paid off all theservants and discharged them. 

That afternoon I went to the chief of police, told him what I had doneand asked his advice. It would be very painful to me if the facts becamepublicly known. My conduct would be generally condemned; the newspaperswould bring it up against me if ever I should run for office. The chiefsaw the force of these considerations; he was himself an assassin ofwide experience. After consulting with the presiding judge of the Courtof Variable Jurisdiction he advised me to conceal the bodies in one ofthe bookcases, get a heavy insurance on the house and burn it down. ThisI proceeded to do. 

In the library was a book-case which my father had recently purchased ofsome cranky inventor and had not filled. It was in shape and sizesomething like the old-fashioned "wardrobes" which one sees in bed-roomswithout closets, but opened all the way down, like a woman'snight-dress. It had glass doors. I had recently laid out my parents andthey were now rigid enough to stand erect; so I stood them in thisbook-case, from which I had removed the shelves. I locked them in andtacked some curtains over the glass doors. The inspector from theinsurance office passed a half-dozen times before the case withoutsuspicion. 

That night, after getting my policy, I set fire to the house and startedthrough the woods to town, two miles away, where I managed to be foundabout the time the excitement was at its height. With cries ofapprehension for the fate of my parents, I joined the rush and arrivedat the fire some two hours after I had kindled it. The whole town wasthere as I dashed up. The house was entirely consumed, but in one end ofthe level bed of glowing embers, bolt upright and uninjured, was thatbook-case! The curtains had burned away, exposing the glass-doors, through which the fierce, red light illuminated the interior. Therestood my dear father "in his habit as he lived, " and at his side thepartner of his joys and sorrows. Not a hair of them was singed, theirclothing was intact. On their heads and throats the injuries which inthe accomplishment of my designs I had been compelled to inflict wereconspicuous. As in the presence of a miracle, the people were silent;awe and terror had stilled every tongue. I was myself greatly affected. 

Some three years later, when the events herein related had nearly fadedfrom my memory, I went to New York to assist in passing some counterfeitUnited States bonds. Carelessly looking into a furniture store one day, I saw the exact counterpart of that bookcase. "I bought it for a triflefrom a reformed inventor, " the dealer explained. "He said it wasfireproof, the pores of the wood being filled with alum under hydraulicpressure and the glass made of asbestos. I don't suppose it is reallyfireproof--you can have it at the price of an ordinary book-case. "

"No, " I said, "if you cannot warrant it fireproof I won't take it"--andI bade him good morning. 

I would not have had it at any price: it revived memories that wereexceedingly disagreeable. 

THE HYPNOTIST

By those of my friends who happen to know that I sometimes amuse myselfwith hypnotism, mind reading and kindred phenomena, I am frequentlyasked if I have a clear conception of the nature of whatever principleunderlies them. To this question I always reply that I neither have nordesire to have. I am no investigator with an ear at the key-hole ofNature's workshop, trying with vulgar curiosity to steal the secrets ofher trade. The interests of science are as little to me as mine seem tohave been to science. 

Doubtless the phenomena in question are simple enough, and in no waytranscend our powers of comprehension if only we could find the clew;but for my part I prefer not to find it, for I am of a singularlyromantic disposition, deriving more gratification from mystery than fromknowledge. It was commonly remarked of me when I was a child that my bigblue eyes appeared to have been made rather to look into than look outof--such was their dreamful beauty, and in my frequent periods ofabstraction, their indifference to what was going on. In thosepeculiarities they resembled, I venture to think, the soul which liesbehind them, always more intent upon some lovely conception which it hascreated in its own image than concerned about the laws of nature and thematerial frame of things. All this, irrelevant and egotistic as it mayseem, is related by way of accounting for the meagreness of the lightthat I am able to throw upon a subject that has engaged so much of myattention, and concerning which there is so keen and general acuriosity. With my powers and opportunities, another person mightdoubtless have an explanation for much of what I present simply asnarrative. 

My first knowledge that I possessed unusual powers came to me in myfourteenth year, when at school. Happening one day to have forgotten tobring my noon-day luncheon, I gazed longingly at that of a small girlwho was preparing to eat hers. Looking up, her eyes met mine and sheseemed unable to withdraw them. After a moment of hesitancy she cameforward in an absent kind of way and without a word surrendered herlittle basket with its tempting contents and walked away. Inexpressiblypleased, I relieved my hunger and destroyed the basket. After that I hadnot the trouble to bring a luncheon for myself: that little girl was mydaily purveyor; and not infrequently in satisfying my simple need fromher frugal store I combined pleasure and profit by constraining herattendance at the feast and making misleading proffer of the viands, which eventually I consumed to the last fragment. The girl was alwayspersuaded that she had eaten all herself; and later in the day hertearful complaints of hunger surprised the teacher, entertained thepupils, earned for her the sobriquet of Greedy-Gut and filled me with apeace past understanding. 

A disagreeable feature of this otherwise satisfactory condition ofthings was the necessary secrecy: the transfer of the luncheon, forexample, had to be made at some distance from the madding crowd, in awood; and I blush to think of the many other unworthy subterfugesentailed by the situation. As I was (and am) naturally of a frank andopen disposition, these became more and more irksome, and but for thereluctance of my parents to renounce the obvious advantages of the new_régime_ I would gladly have reverted to the old. The plan that Ifinally adopted to free myself from the consequences of my own powersexcited a wide and keen interest at the time, and that part of it whichconsisted in the death of the girl was severely condemned, but it ishardly pertinent to the scope of this narrative. 

For some years afterward I had little opportunity to practice hypnotism;such small essays as I made at it were commonly barren of otherrecognition than solitary confinement on a bread-and-water diet;sometimes, indeed, they elicited nothing better than thecat-o'-nine-tails. It was when I was about to leave the scene of thesesmall disappointments that my one really important feat was performed. 

I had been called into the warden's office and given a suit ofcivilian's clothing, a trifling sum of money and a great deal of advice, which I am bound to confess was of a much better quality than theclothing. As I was passing out of the gate into the light of freedom Isuddenly turned and looking the warden gravely in the eye, soon had himin control. 

"You are an ostrich, " I said. 

At the post-mortem examination the stomach was found to contain a greatquantity of indigestible articles mostly of wood or metal. Stuck fast inthe oesophagus and constituting, according to the Coroner's jury, theimmediate cause of death, one door-knob. 

I was by nature a good and affectionate son, but as I took my way intothe great world from which I had been so long secluded I could not helpremembering that all my misfortunes had flowed like a stream from theniggard economy of my parents in the matter of school luncheons; and Iknew of no reason to think they had reformed. 

On the road between Succotash Hill and South Asphyxia is a little openfield which once contained a shanty known as Pete Gilstrap's Place, where that gentleman used to murder travelers for a living. The death ofMr. Gilstrap and the diversion of nearly all the travel to another roadoccurred so nearly at the same time that no one has ever been able tosay which was cause and which effect. Anyhow, the field was now adesolation and the Place had long been burned. It was while going afootto South Asphyxia, the home of my childhood, that I found both myparents on their way to the Hill. They had hitched their team and wereeating luncheon under an oak tree in the center of the field. The sightof the luncheon called up painful memories of my school days and rousedthe sleeping lion in my breast. Approaching the guilty couple, who atonce recognized me, I ventured to suggest that I share theirhospitality. 

"Of this cheer, my son, " said the author of my being, withcharacteristic pomposity, which age had not withered, "there issufficient for but two. I am not, I hope, insensible to the hunger-lightin your eyes, but--"

My father has never completed that sentence; what he mistook forhunger-light was simply the earnest gaze of the hypnotist. In a fewseconds he was at my service. A few more sufficed for the lady, and thedictates of a just resentment could be carried into effect. "My formerfather, " I said, "I presume that it is known to you that you and thislady are no longer what you were?"

"I have observed a certain subtle change, " was the rather dubious replyof the old gentleman; "it is perhaps attributable to age. "

"It is more than that, " I explained; "it goes to character--to species. You and the lady here are, in truth, two _broncos_--wild stallions both, and unfriendly. "

"Why, John, " exclaimed my dear mother, "you don't mean to say that Iam--"

"Madam, " I replied, solemnly, fixing my eyes again upon hers, "you are. "

Scarcely had the words fallen from my lips when she dropped upon herhands and knees, and backing up to the old man squealed like a demon anddelivered a vicious kick upon his shin! An instant later he was himselfdown on all-fours, headed away from her and flinging his feet at hersimultaneously and successively. With equal earnestness but inferioragility, because of her hampering body-gear, she plied her own. Theirflying legs crossed and mingled in the most bewildering way; their feetsometimes meeting squarely in midair, their bodies thrust forward, falling flat upon the ground and for a moment helpless. On recoveringthemselves they would resume the combat, uttering their frenzy in thenameless sounds of the furious brutes which they believed themselves tobe--the whole region rang with their clamor! Round and round theywheeled, the blows of their feet falling "like lightnings from themountain cloud. " They plunged and reared backward upon their knees, struck savagely at each other with awkward descending blows of bothfists at once, and dropped again upon their hands as if unable tomaintain the upright position of the body. Grass and pebbles were tornfrom the soil by hands and feet; clothing, hair, faces inexpressiblydefiled with dust and blood. Wild, inarticulate screams of rage attestedthe delivery of the blows; groans, grunts and gasps their receipt. Nothing more truly military was ever seen at Gettysburg or Waterloo: thevalor of my dear parents in the hour of danger can never cease to be tome a source of pride and gratification. At the end of it all twobattered, tattered, bloody and fragmentary vestiges of mortalityattested the solemn fact that the author of the strife was an orphan. 

Arrested for provoking a breach of the peace, I was, and have ever sincebeen, tried in the Court of Technicalities and Continuances whence, after fifteen years of proceedings, my attorney is moving heaven andearth to get the case taken to the Court of Remandment for New Trials. 

Such are a few of my principal experiments in the mysterious force oragency known as hypnotic suggestion. Whether or not it could be employedby a bad man for an unworthy purpose I am unable to say. 

THE FOURTH ESTATE

MR. MASTHEAD, JOURNALIST

While I was in Kansas I purchased a weekly newspaper--the _ClaybankThundergust of Reform_. This paper had never paid its expenses; it hadruined four consecutive publishers; but my brother-in-law, Mr. JeffersonScandril, of Weedhaven, was going to run for the Legislature, and Inaturally desired his defeat; so it became necessary to have an organ inClaybank to assist in his political extinction. When the establishmentcame into my hands, the editor was a fellow who had "opinions, " and himI at once discharged with an admonition. I had some difficulty inprocuring a successor; every man in the county applied for the place. Icould not appoint one without having to fight a majority of the others, and was eventually compelled to write to a friend at Warm Springs, inthe adjoining State of Missouri, to send me an editor from abroad whoseinstalment at the helm of manifest destiny could have no localsignificance. 

The man he sent me was a frowsy, seedy fellow, named Masthead--notlarger, apparently, than a boy of sixteen years, though it was difficultto say from the outside how much of him was editor and how much cast-offclothing; for in the matter of apparel he had acted upon his favoriteprofessional maxim, and "sunk the individual;" his attire--eminentlyeclectic, and in a sense international--quite overcame him at allpoints. However, as my friend had assured me he was "a graduate of oneof the largest institutions in his native State, " I took him in andbought a pen for him. My instructions to him were brief and simple. 

"Mr. Masthead, " said I, "it is the policy of the _Thundergust_ first, last, and all the time, in this world and the next, to resent theintrusion of Mr. Jefferson Scandril into politics. "

The first thing the little rascal did was to write a withering leaderdenouncing Mr. Scandril as a "demagogue, the degradation of whosepolitical opinions was only equaled by the disgustfulness of the familyconnections of which those opinions were the spawn!"

I hastened to point out to Mr. Masthead that it had never been thepolicy of the _Thundergust_ to attack the family relations of anoffensive candidate, although this was not strictly true. 

"I am very sorry, " he replied, running his head up out of his clothestill it towered as much as six inches above the table at which he sat;"no offense, I hope. "

"Oh, none in the world, " said I, as carelessly as I could manage it;"only I don't think it a legitimate--that is, an effective, method ofattack. "

"Mr. Johnson, " said he--I was passing as Johnson at that time, Iremember--"Mr. Johnson, I think it _is_ an effective method. PersonallyI might perhaps prefer another line of argument in this particular case, and personally perhaps you might; but in our profession personalconsiderations must be blown to the winds of the horizon; we must sinkthe individual. In opposing the election of your relative, sir, you haveset the seal of your heavy displeasure upon the sin of nepotism, and forthis I respect you; nepotism must be got under! But in the display ofRoman virtues, sir, we must go the whole hog. When in the interest ofpublic morality"--Mr. Masthead was now gesticulating earnestly with thesleeves of his coat--"Virginius stabbed his daughter, was he influencedby personal considerations? When Curtius leaped into the yawning gulf, did he not sink the individual?"

I admitted that he did, but feeling in a contentious mood, prolonged thediscussion by leisurely loading and capping a revolver; but, prescientof my argument, Mr. Masthead avoided refutation by hastily adjourningthe debate. I sent him a note that evening, filling-in a few of thedetails of the policy that I had before sketched in outline. Amongstother things I submitted that it would be better for us to exalt Mr. Scandril's opponent than to degrade himself. To this Mr. Mastheadreluctantly assented--"sinking the individual, " he reproachfullyexplained, "in the dependent employee--the powerless bondsman!" The nextissue of the _Thundergust_ contained, under the heading, "InvigoratingZephyrs, " the following editorial article:

"Last week we declared our unalterable opposition to the candidacy ofMr. Jefferson Scandril, and gave reasons for the faith that is in us. For the first time in its history this paper made a clear, thoughtful, and adequate avowal and exposition of eternal principle! Abandoning forthe present the stand we then took, let us trace the antecedents of Mr. Scandril's opponent up to their source. It has been urged against Mr. Broskin that he spent some years of his life in the lunatic asylum atWarm Springs, in the adjoining commonwealth of Missouri. This cuckoocry--raised though it is by dogs of political darkness--we shall notstoop to controvert, for it is accidentally true; but next week we shallshow, as by the stroke of an enchanter's wand, that this greatstatesman's detractors would probably not derive any benefits from aresidence in the same institution, their mental aberration beingrottenly incurable!"

I thought this rather strong and not quite to the point; but Mastheadsaid it was a fact that our candidate, who was very little known inClaybank, had "served a term" in the Warm Springs asylum, and the issuemust be boldly met--that evasion and denial were but forms ofprostration beneath the iron wheels of Truth! As he said this he seemedto inflate and expand so as almost to fill his clothes, and the fire ofhis eye somehow burned into me an impression--since effaced--that a justcause is not imperiled by a trifling concession to fact. So, leaving thematter quite in my editor's hands I went away to keep some importantengagements, the paragraph having involved me in several duels with thefriends of Mr. Broskin. I thought it rather hard that I should have todefend my new editor's policy against the supporters of my owncandidate, particularly as I was clearly in the right and they knewnothing whatever about the matter in dispute, not one of them havingever before so much as heard of the now famous Warm Springs asylum. ButI would not shirk even the humblest journalistic duty; I fought thesefellows and acquitted myself as became a man of letters and apolitician. The hurts I got were some time healing, and in the intervalevery prominent member of my party who came to Claybank to speak to thepeople regarded it as a simple duty to call first at my house, make atender inquiry as to the progress of my recovery and leave a challenge. My physician forbade me to read a line of anything; the consequence wasthat Masthead had it all his own way with the paper. In looking over theold files now, I find that he devoted his entire talent and all thespace of the paper, including what had been the advertising columns, toconfessing that our candidate had been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, and contemptuously asking the opposing party what they were going to doabout it. 

All this time Mr. Broskin made no sign; but when the challenges becameintolerable I indignantly instructed Mr. Masthead to whip round to theother side and support my brother-in-law. Masthead "sank theindividual, " and duly announced, with his accustomed frankness, ourchange of policy. Then Mr. Broskin came down to Claybank--to thank me!He was a fine, respectable-looking gentleman, and impressed me veryfavorably. But Masthead was in when he called, and the effect upon _him_was different. He shrank into a mere heap of old clothes, turned white, and chattered his teeth. Noting this extraordinary behavior, I at oncesought an explanation. 

"Mr. Broskin, " said I, with a meaning glance at the trembling editor, "from certain indications I am led to fear that owing to some mistake wemay have been doing you an injustice. May I ask you if you were reallyever in the Lunatic asylum at Warm Springs, Missouri?"

"For three years, " he replied, quietly, "I was the physician in chargeof that institution. Your son"--turning to Masthead, who was flying allsorts of colors--"was, if I mistake not, one of my patients. I learnthat a few weeks ago a friend of yours, named Norton, secured the youngman's release upon your promise to take care of him yourself in future. I hope that home associations have improved the poor fellow. It's verysad!"

It was indeed. Norton was the name of the man to whom I had written foran editor, and who had sent me one! Norton was ever an obliging fellow. 

WHY I AM NOT EDITING "THE STINGER"

_J. Munniglut, Proprietor, to Peter Pitchin, Editor. _

"STINGER" OFFICE, Monday, 9 A. M. 

A man has called to ask "who wrote that article about Mr. Muskler. " Itold him to find out, and he says that is what he means to do. He hasconsented to amuse himself with the exchanges while I ask you. I don'tapprove the article. 

_Peter Pitchin, Editor, to J. Munniglut, Proprietor_. 

13 LOFER STREET, Monday, 10 A. M. 

Do you happen to remember how Dacier translates _Difficile est propriecommunia dicere_? I've made a note of it somewhere, but can't find it. If you remember please leave a memorandum of it on your table, and I'llget it when I come down this afternoon. 

P. S. --Tell the man to go away; we can't be bothered about that fellowMuskler. 

_J. Munniglut, Proprietor, to Peter Pitchin, Editor. _

"STINGER" OFFICE, Monday, 11:30 A. M. 

I can't be impolite to a stranger, you know; I must tell him _somebody_wrote it. He has finished the exchanges, and is drumming on the floorwith the end of his stick; I fear the people in the shop below won'tlike it. Besides, the foreman says it disturbs the compositors in thenext room. Suppose you come down. 

_Peter Pitchin, Editor, to J. Munniglut, Proprietor. _

13 LOFER STREET, Monday, 1 P. M. 

I have found the note I made of that translation, but it is in Frenchand I can't make it out. Try the man with the dictionary and the "Booksof Dates. " They ought to last him till it's time to close the office. Ishall be down early to-morrow morning. 

P. S. --How big is he? Suggest a civil suit for libel. 

_J. Munniglut, Proprietor, to Peter Pitchin, Editor. _

"STINGER" OFFICE, Monday, 3 P. M. 

He looks larger than he was when he came in. I've offered him thedictionary; he says he has read it before. He is sitting on my table. Come at once!

_Peter Pitchin, Editor, to J. Munniglut, Proprietor. _

13 LOFER STREET, Monday, 5 P. M. 

I don't think I shall. I am doing an article for this week on "ThePresent Aspect of the Political Horizon. " Expect me _very_ earlyto-morrow. You had better turn the man out and shut up the office. 

_Henry Inxling, Bookkeeper, to Peter Pitchin, Editor. _

"STINGER" OFFICE, Tuesday, 8 A. M. 

Mr. Munniglut has not arrived, but his friend, the large gentleman whowas with him all day yesterday, is here again. He seems very desirous ofseeing you, and says he will wait. Perhaps he is your cousin. I thoughtI would tell you he was here, so that you might hasten down. 

Ought I to allow dogs in the office? The gentleman has a bull-dog. 

_Peter Pitchin, Editor, to Henry Inxling, Bookkeeper. _

13 LOFER STREET, Tuesday, 9. 30 A. M. 

Certainly _not;_ dogs have fleas. The man is an impostor. Oblige me byturning him out. I shall come down this afternoon--_early_. 

P. S. --Don't listen to the rascal's entreaties; out with him!

_Henry Inxling, Bookkeeper, to Peter Pitchin, Editor. _

"STINGER" OFFICE, Tuesday, 12 M. 

The gentleman carries a revolver. Would you mind coming down andreasoning with him? I have a wife and five children depending on me, andwhen I lose my temper I am likely to go too far. I would prefer that_you_ should turn him out. 

_Peter Pitchin, Editor, to Henry Inxling, Bookkeeper. _

13 LOFER STREET, Tuesday, 2 P. M. 

Do you suppose I can leave my private correspondence to preserve youfrom the intrusion and importunities of beggars? Put the scoundrel outat once--neck and heels! I know him; he's Muskler--don't you remember?Muskler, the coward, who assaulted an old man; you'll find the wholecircumstances related in last Saturday's issue. Out with him--theunmanly sneak!

_Henry Inxling, Bookkeeper, to Peter Pitchin, Editor. _

"STINGER" OFFICE, Tuesday Evening. 

I have told him to go, and he laughed. So did the bull-dog. But he isgoing. He is now making a bed for the pup in one corner of your room, with some rugs and old newspapers, and appears to be about to go todinner. I have given him your address. The foreman wants some copy to goon with. I beg you will come at once if I am to be left alone with thatdog. 

_Peter Pitchin, Editor, to Henry Inxling, Bookkeeper. _

40 DUNTIONER'S ALLEY, Wednesday, 10 A. M. 

I should have come down to the office last evening, but you see I havebeen moving. My landlady was too filthy dirty for anything! I stood itas long as I could; then I left. I'm coming directly I get your answerto this; but I want to know, first, if my blotter has been changed andmy ink-well refilled. This house is a good way out, but the boy can takethe car at the corner of Cobble and Slush streets. 

O!--about that _man_? Of course you have not seen him since. 

_William Quoin, Foreman, to Peter Pitchin, Editor. _

"STINGER" OFFICE, Wednesday, 12 M. 

I've got your note to Inxling; he ain't come down this morning. Ihaven't a line of copy on the hooks; the boys are all throwing in deadads. There's a man and a dog in the proprietor's office; I don't believethey ought to be there, all alone, but they were here all Monday andyesterday, and may be connected with the business management of thepaper; so I don't like to order them out. Perhaps you will come down andspeak to them. We shall have to go away if you don't send copy. 

_Peter Pitchin, Editor, to William Quoin, Foreman. _

40 DUNTIONER'S ALLEY, Wednesday, 3 P. M. 

Your note astonishes me. The man you describe is a notorious thief. Getthe compositors all together, and make a rush at him. Don't try to keephim, but hustle him out of town, and I'll be down as soon as I can get abutton sewn on my collar. 

P. S. --Give it him good!--don't mention my address and he can't complainto me how you treat him. Bust his bugle!

_J. Munniglut, Proprietor, to Peter Pitchin, Editor. _

"STINGER" OFFICE, Friday, 2 P. M. 

Business has detained me from the office until now, and what do I find?Not a soul about the place, no copy, not a stickful of live matter onthe galleys! There can be no paper this week. What you have all donewith yourselves I am sure I don't know; one would suppose there had beensmallpox about the place. You will please come down and explain thisHegira at once--at once, if you please!

P. S. --That troublesome Muskler--you may remember he dropped in on Mondayto inquire about something or other--has taken a sort of shop exactlyopposite here, and seems, at this distance, to be doing something to ashotgun. I presume he is a gunsmith. So we are precious well rid of_him_. 

_Peter Pitchin, Editor to J. Munniglut, Proprietor_. 

PIER NO. 3, Friday Evening. 

Just a line or two to say I am suddenly called away to bury my sickmother. When that is off my mind I'll write you what I know about theHegira, the Flight into Egypt, the Retreat of the Ten Thousand, andwhatever else you would like to learn. There is nothing mean about _me!_I don't think there has been any wilful desertion. You may engage aneditor for, say, fifty years, with the privilege of keeping himregularly, if, at the end of that time, I should break my neck hasteningback. 

P. S. --I hope that poor fellow Muskier will make a fair profit in thegunsmithing line. Jump him for an ad!

CORRUPTING THE PRESS

When Joel Bird was up for Governor of Missouri, Sam Henly was editingthe Berrywood _Bugle_; and no sooner was the nomination made by theState Convention than he came out hot against the party. He was an ablewriter, was Sam, and the lies he invented about our candidate wereshocking! That, however, we endured very well, but presently Sam turnedsquarely about and began telling the truth. _This_ was a little toomuch; the County Committee held a hasty meeting, and decided that itmust be stopped; so I, Henry Barber, was sent for to make arrangementsto that end. I knew something of Sam: had purchased him several times, and I estimated his present value at about one thousand dollars. Thisseemed to the committee a reasonable figure, and on my mentioning it toSam he said "he thought that about the fair thing; it should never besaid that the _Bugle_ was a hard paper to deal with. " There was, however, some delay in raising the money; the candidates for the localoffices had not disposed of their autumn hogs yet, and were in financialstraits. Some of them contributed a pig each, one gave twenty bushels ofcorn, another a flock of chickens; and the man who aspired to thedistinction of County Judge paid his assessment with a wagon. Thesethings had to be converted into cash at a ruinous sacrifice, and in themeantime Sam kept pouring an incessant stream of hot shot into ourpolitical camp. Nothing I could say would make him stay his hand; heinvariably replied that it was no bargain until he had the money. Thecommitteemen were furious; it required all my eloquence to prevent theirdeclaring the contract null and void; but at last a new, clean onethousand-dollar note was passed over to me, which in hot haste Itransferred to Sam at his residence. 

That evening there was a meeting of the committee: all seemed in highspirits again, except Hooker of Jayhawk. This old wretch sat back andshook his head during the entire session, and just before adjournmentsaid, as he took his hat to go, that p'r'aps'twas orl right and on thesquar'; maybe thar war'n't any shenannigan, but _he_ war dubersome--yes, he war dubersome. The old curmudgeon repeated this until I wasexasperated beyond restraint. 

"Mr. Hooker, " said I, "I've known Sam Henly ever since he was _so_ high, and there isn't an honester man in old Missouri. Sam Henly's word is asgood as his note! What's more, if any gentleman thinks he would enjoy afirst-class funeral, and if he will supply the sable accessories, I'llsupply the corpse. And he can take it home with him from this meeting. "

At this point Mr. Hooker was troubled with leaving. 

Having got this business off my conscience I slept late next day. When Istepped into the street I saw at once that something was "up. " Therewere knots of people gathered at the corners, some reading eagerly thatmorning's issue of the _Bugle_, some gesticulating, and others stalkingmoodily about muttering curses, not loud but deep. Suddenly I heard anexcited clamor--a confused roar of many lungs, and the trampling ofinnumerable feet. In this babel of noises I could distinguish the words"Kill him!" "Wa'm his hide!" and so forth; and, looking up the street, Isaw what seemed to be the whole male population racing down it. I amvery excitable, and, though I did not know whose hide was to be warmed, nor why anyone was to be killed, I shot off in front of the howlingmasses, shouting "Kill him!" and "Warm his hide!" as loudly as theloudest, all the time looking out for the victim. Down the street weflew like a storm; then I turned a corner, thinking the scoundrel musthave gone up _that_ street; then bolted through a public square; over abridge; under an arch; finally back into the main street; yelling like apanther, and resolved to slaughter the first human being I shouldovertake. The crowd followed my lead, turning as I turned, shrieking asI shrieked, and--all at once it came to me that _I_ was the man whosehide was to be warmed!

It is needless to dwell upon the sensation this discovery gave me;happily I was within a few yards of the committee-rooms, and into theseI dashed, closing and bolting the doors behind me, and mounting thestairs like a flash. The committee was in solemn session, sitting in anice, even row on the front benches, each man with his elbows on hisknees, and his chin resting in the palms of his hands--thinking. At eachman's feet lay a neglected copy of the _Bugle_. Every member fixed hiseyes on me, but no one stirred, none uttered a sound. There wassomething awful in this preternatural silence, made more impressive bythe hoarse murmur of the crowd outside, breaking down the door. I couldendure it no longer, but strode forward and snatched up the paper lyingat the feet of the chairman. At the head of the editorial columns, inletters half an inch long, were the following amazing head-lines:

"Dastardly Outrage! Corruption Rampant in Our Midst! The VampiresFoiled! Henry Barber at his Old Game! The Rat Gnaws a File! TheDemocratic Hordes Attempt to Ride Roughshod Over a Free People! BaseEndeavor to Bribe the Editor of this Paper with _a Twenty-Dollar Note_!The Money Given to the Orphan Asylum. "

I read no farther, but stood stockstill in the center of the floor, andfell into a reverie. Twenty dollars! Somehow it seemed a mere trifle. Nine hundred and eighty dollars! I did not know there was so much moneyin the world. Twenty--no, eighty--one thousand dollars! There were big, black figures floating all over the floor. Incessant cataracts of thempoured down the walls, stopped, and shied off as I looked at them, andbegan to go it again when I lowered my eyes. Occasionally the figures 20would take shape somewhere about the floor, and then the figures 980would slide up and overlay them. Then, like the lean kine of Pharaoh'sdream, they would all march away and devour the fat naughts of thenumber 1, 000. And dancing like gnats in the air were myriads of littlecaduceus-like, phantoms, thus--$$$$$. I could not at all make it out, but began to comprehend my position directly Old Hooker, without movingfrom his seat, began to drown the noise of countless feet on the stairsby elevating his thin falsetto:

"P'r'aps, Mr. Cheerman, it's orl on the squar'. We know Mr. Henly can'ttell a lie; but I'm powerful dubersome that thar's a balyance dyue thisyer committee from the gent who hez the flo'--if he ain't done gone laidit yout fo' sable ac--ac--fo' fyirst-class funerals. "

I felt at that moment as if I should like to play the leading characterin a first-class funeral myself. I felt that every man in my positionought to have a nice, comfortable coffin, with a silver door-plate, afoot-warmer, and bay-windows for his ears. How do you suppose you wouldhave felt?

My leap from the window of that committee room, my speed in streaking itfor the adjacent forest, my self-denial in ever afterward resisting theimpulse to return to Berrywood and look after my political and materialinterests there--these I have always considered things to be justlyproud of, and I hope I am proud of them. 

"THE BUBBLE REPUTATION"

HOW ANOTHER MAN'S WAS SOUGHT AND PRICKED

It was a stormy night in the autumn of 1930. The hour was about eleven. San Francisco lay in darkness, for the laborers at the gas works hadstruck and destroyed the company's property because a newspaper to whicha cousin of the manager was a subscriber had censured the course of apotato merchant related by marriage to a member of the Knights ofLeisure. Electric lights had not at that period been reinvented. The skywas filled with great masses of black cloud which, driven rapidly acrossthe star-fields by winds unfelt on the earth and momentarily alteringtheir fantastic forms, seemed instinct with a life and activity of theirown and endowed with awful powers of evil, to the exercise of which theymight at any time set their malignant will. 

An observer standing, at this time, at the corner of Paradise avenue andGreat White Throne walk in Sorrel Hill cemetery would have seen a humanfigure moving among the graves toward the Superintendent's residence. Dimly and fitfully visible in the intervals of thinner gloom, thisfigure had a most uncanny and disquieting aspect. A long black cloakshrouded it from neck to heel. Upon its head was a slouch hat, pulleddown across the forehead and almost concealing the face, which wasfurther hidden by a half-mask, only the beard being occasionally visibleas the head was lifted partly above the collar of the cloak. The manwore upon his feet jack-boots whose wide, funnel-shaped legs had settleddown in many a fold and crease about his ankles, as could be seenwhenever accident parted the bottom of the cloak. His arms wereconcealed, but sometimes he stretched out the right to steady himself bya headstone as he crept stealthily but blindly over the uneven ground. At such times a close scrutiny of the hand would have disclosed in thepalm the hilt of a poniard, the blade of which lay along the wrist, hidden in the sleeve. In short, the man's garb, his movements, thehour--everything proclaimed him a reporter. 

But what did he there?

On the morning of that day the editor of the _Daily Malefactor_ hadtouched the button of a bell numbered 216 and in response to the summonsMr. Longbo Spittleworth, reporter, had been shot into the room out of aninclined tube. 

"I understand, " said the editor, "that you are 216--am I right?"

"That, " said the reporter, catching his breath and adjusting hisclothing, both somewhat disordered by the celerity of his flight throughthe tube, --"that is my number. "

"Information has reached us, " continued the editor, "that theSuperintendent of the Sorrel Hill cemetery--one Inhumio, whose very namesuggests inhumanity--is guilty of the grossest outrages in theadministration of the great trust confided to his hands by the sovereignpeople. "

"The cemetery is private property, " faintly suggested 216. 

"It is alleged, " continued the great man, disdaining to notice theinterruption, "that in violation of popular rights he refuses to permithis accounts to be inspected by representatives of the press. "

"Under the law, you know, he is responsible to the directors of thecemetery company, " the reporter ventured to interject. 

"They say, " pursued the editor, heedless, "that the inmates are in manycases badly lodged and insufficiently clad, and that in consequence theyare usually cold. It is asserted that they are never fed--except to theworms. Statements have been made to the effect that males and femalesare permitted to occupy the same quarters, to the incalculable detrimentof public morality. Many clandestine villainies are alleged of thisfiend in human shape, and it is desirable that his underground methodsbe unearthed in the _Malefactor_. If he resists we will drag his familyskeleton from the privacy of his domestic closet. There is money in itfor the paper, fame for you--are you ambitious, 216?"

"I am--bitious. "

"Go, then, " cried the editor, rising and waving his handimperiously--"go and 'seek the bubble reputation'. "

"The bubble shall be sought, " the young man replied, and leaping into aman-hole in the floor, disappeared. A moment later the editor, who afterdismissing his subordinate, had stood motionless, as if lost in thought, sprang suddenly to the man-hole and shouted down it: "Hello, 216?"

"Aye, aye, sir, " came up a faint and far reply. 

"About that 'bubble reputation'--you understand, I suppose, that thereputation which you are to seek is that of the other man. "

In the execution of his duty, in the hope of his employer's approval, inthe costume of his profession, Mr. Longbo Spittleworth, otherwise knownas 216, has already occupied a place in the mind's eye of theintelligent reader. Alas for poor Mr. Inhumio!

A few days after these events that fearless, independent andenterprising guardian and guide of the public, the San Francisco _DailyMalefactor_, contained a whole-page article whose headlines are herepresented with some necessary typographical mitigation:

"Hell Upon Earth! Corruption Rampant in the Management of the SorrelHill Cemetery. The Sacred City of the Dead in the Leprous Clutches of aDemon in Human Form. Fiendish Atrocities Committed in 'God's Acre. ' TheHoly Dead Thrown around Loose. Fragments of Mothers. Segregation of aBeautiful Young Lady Who in Life Was the Light of a Happy Household. ASuperintendent Who Is an Ex-Convict. How He Murdered His Neighbor toStart the Cemetery. He Buries His Own Dead Elsewhere. ExtraordinaryInsolence to a Representative of the Public Press. Little Eliza's LastWords: 'Mamma, Feed Me to the Pigs. ' A Moonshiner Who Runs an IllicitBone-Button Factory in One Corner of the Grounds. Buried Head Downward. Revolting Mausoleistic Orgies. Dancing on the Dead. DevilishMutilation--a Pile of Late Lamented Noses and Sainted Ears. NoSeparation of the Sexes; Petitions for Chaperons Unheeded. 'Veal' asSupplied to the Superintendent's Employees. A Miscreant's Record fromHis Birth. Disgusting Subserviency of Our Contemporaries and StrongIndications of Collusion. Nameless Abnormalities. 'Doubled Up Like aNut-Cracker. ' 'Wasn't Planted White. ' Horribly Significant Reduction inthe Price of Lard. The Question of the Hour: Whom Do You Fry YourDoughnuts In?"

THE OCEAN WAVE

A SHIPWRECKOLLECTION

As I left the house she said I was a cruel old thing, and not a bitnice, and she hoped I never, never _would_ come back. So I shipped asmate on the _Mudlark_, bound from London to wherever the captain mightthink it expedient to sail. It had not been thought advisable to hamperCaptain Abersouth with orders, for when he could not have his own way, it had been observed, he would contrive in some ingenious way to makethe voyage unprofitable. The owners of the _Mudlark_ had grown wise intheir generation, and now let him do pretty much as he pleased, carryingsuch cargoes as he fancied to ports where the nicest women were. On thevoyage of which I write he had taken no cargo at all; he said it wouldonly make the _Mudlark_ heavy and slow. To hear this mariner talk onewould have supposed he did not know very much about commerce. 

We had a few passengers--not nearly so many as we had laid in basins andstewards for; for before coming off to the ship most of those who hadbought tickets would inquire whither she was bound, and when notinformed would go back to their hotels and send a bandit on board toremove their baggage. But there were enough left to be rathertroublesome. They cultivated the rolling gait peculiar to sailors whendrunk, and the upper deck was hardly wide enough for them to go from theforecastle to the binnacle to set their watches by the ship's compass. They were always petitioning Captain Abersouth to let the big anchor go, just to hear it plunge in the water, threatening in case of refusal towrite to the newspapers. A favorite amusement with them was to sit inthe lee of the bulwarks, relating their experiences in formervoyages--voyages distinguished in every instance by two remarkablefeatures, the frequency of unprecedented hurricanes and the entireimmunity of the narrator from seasickness. It was very interesting tosee them sitting in a row telling these things, each man with a basinbetween his legs. 

One day there arose a great storm. The sea walked over the ship as if ithad never seen a ship before and meant to enjoy it all it could. The_Mudlark_ labored very much--far more, indeed, than the crew did; forthese innocents had discovered in possession of one of their number apair of leather-seated trousers, and would do nothing but sit and playcards for them; in a month from leaving port each sailor had owned thema dozen times. They were so worn by being pushed over to the winner thatthere was little but the seat remaining, and that immortal part thecaptain finally kicked overboard--not maliciously, nor in an unfriendlyspirit, but because he had a habit of kicking the seats of trousers. 

The storm increased in violence until it succeeded in so straining the_Mudlark_ that she took in water like a teetotaler; then it appeared toget relief directly. This may be said in justice to a storm at sea: whenit has broken off your masts, pulled out your rudder, carried away yourboats and made a nice hole in some inaccessible part of your hull itwill often go away in search of a fresh ship, leaving you to take suchmeasures for your comfort as you may think fit. In our case the captainthought fit to sit on the taffrail reading a three-volume novel. 

Seeing he had got about half way through the second volume, at whichpoint the lovers would naturally be involved in the most hopeless andheart-rending difficulties, I thought he would be in a particularlycheerful humor, so I approached him and informed him the ship was goingdown. 

"Well, " said he, closing the book, but keeping his forefinger betweenthe pages to mark his place, "she never would be good for much aftersuch a shaking-up as this. But, I say--I wish you would just send thebo'sn for'd there to break up that prayer-meeting. The _Mudlark_ isn't aseamen's chapel, I suppose. "

"But, " I replied, impatiently, "can't something be done to lighten theship?"

"Well, " he drawled, reflectively, "seeing she hasn't any masts left tocut away, nor any cargo to--stay, you might throw over some of theheaviest of the passengers if you think it would do any good. "

It was a happy thought--the intuition of genius. Walking rapidly forwardto the foc'sle, which, being highest out of water, was crowded withpassengers, I seized a stout old gentleman by the nape of the neck, pushed him up to the rail, and chucked him over. He did not touch thewater: he fell on the apex of a cone of sharks which sprang up from thesea to meet him, their noses gathered to a point, their tails justclearing the surface. I think it unlikely that the old gentleman knewwhat disposition had been made of him. Next, I hurled over a woman andflung a fat baby to the wild winds. The former was sharked out of sight, the same as the old man; the latter divided amongst the gulls. 

I am relating these things exactly as they occurred. It would be veryeasy to make a fine story out of all this material--to tell how that, while I was engaged in lightening the ship, I was touched by theself-sacrificing spirit of a beautiful young woman, who, to save thelife of her lover, pushed her aged mother forward to where I wasoperating, imploring me to take the old lady, but spare, O, spare herdear Henry. I might go on to set forth how that I not only did take theold lady, as requested, but immediately seized dear Henry, and sent himflying as far as I could to leeward, having first broken his back acrossthe rail and pulled a double-fistful of his curly hair out. I mightproceed to state that, feeling appeased, I then stole the long boat andtaking the beautiful maiden pulled away from the ill-fated ship to thechurch of St. Massaker, Fiji, where we were united by a knot which Iafterward untied with my teeth by eating her. But, in truth, nothing ofall this occurred, and I can not afford to be the first writer to tell alie just to interest the reader. What really did occur is this: as Istood on the quarter-deck, heaving over the passengers, one afteranother, Captain Abersouth, having finished his novel, walked aft andquietly hove _me_ over. 

The sensations of a drowning man have been so often related that I shallonly briefly explain that memory at once displayed her treasures: allthe scenes of my eventful life crowded, though without confusion orfighting, into my mind. I saw my whole career spread out before me, likea map of Central Africa since the discovery of the gorilla. There werethe cradle in which I had lain, as a child, stupefied with soothingsyrups; the perambulator, seated in which and propelled from behind, Ioverthrew the schoolmaster, and in which my infantile spine received itscurvature; the nursery-maid, surrendering her lips alternately to me andthe gardener; the old home of my youth, with the ivy and the mortgage onit; my eldest brother, who by will succeeded to the family debts; mysister, who ran away with the Count von Pretzel, coachman to a mostrespectable New York family; my mother, standing in the attitude of asaint, pressing with both hands her prayer-book against the patentpalpitators from Madame Fahertini's; my venerable father, sitting in hischimney corner, his silvered head bowed upon his breast, his witheredhands crossed patiently in his lap, waiting with Christian resignationfor death, and drunk as a lord--all this, and much more, came before mymind's eye, and there was no charge for admission to the show. Thenthere was a ringing sound in my ears, my senses swam better than Icould, and as I sank down, down, through fathomless depths, the amberlight falling through the water above my head failed and darkened intoblackness. Suddenly my feet struck something firm--it was the bottom. Thank heaven, I was saved!

THE CAPTAIN OF "THE CAMEL"

This ship was named the _Camel_. In some ways she was an extraordinaryvessel. She measured six hundred tons; but when she had taken in enoughballast to keep her from upsetting like a shot duck, and was provisionedfor a three months' voyage, it was necessary to be mighty fastidious inthe choice of freight and passengers. For illustration, as she was aboutto leave port a boat came alongside with two passengers, a man and hiswife. They had booked the day before, but had remained ashore to get onemore decent meal before committing themselves to the "briny cheap, " asthe man called the ship's fare. The woman came aboard, and the man waspreparing to follow, when the captain leaned over the side and saw him. 

"Well, " said the captain, "what do _you_ want?"

"What do _I_ want?" said the man, laying hold of the ladder. "I'ma-going to embark in this here ship--that's what I want. "

"Not with all that fat on you, " roared the captain. "You don't weigh anounce less than eighteen stone, and I've got to have in my anchor yet. You wouldn't have me leave the anchor, I suppose?"

The man said he did not care about the anchor--he was just as God hadmade him (he looked as if his cook had had something to do with it) and, sink or swim, he purposed embarking in that ship. A good deal ofwrangling ensued, but one of the sailors finally threw the man a corklife-preserver, and the captain said that would lighten him and he mightcome abroad. 

This was Captain Abersouth, formerly of the _Mudlark_--as good a seamanas ever sat on the taffrail reading a three volume novel. Nothing couldequal this man's passion for literature. For every voyage he laid in somany bales of novels that there was no stowage for the cargo. There werenovels in the hold, and novels between-decks, and novels in the saloon, and in the passengers' beds. 

The _Camel_ had been designed and built by her owner, an architect inthe City, and she looked about as much like a ship as Noah's Ark did. She had bay windows and a veranda; a cornice and doors at thewater-line. These doors had knockers and servant's bells. There had beena futile attempt at an area. The passenger saloon was on the upper deck, and had a tile roof. To this humplike structure the ship owed her name. Her designer had erected several churches--that of St. Ignotus is stillused as a brewery in Hotbath Meadows--and, possessed of the ecclesiasticidea, had given the _Camel_ a transept; but, finding this impeded herpassage through the water, he had it removed. This weakened the vesselamidships. The mainmast was something like a steeple. It had aweathercock. From this spire the eye commanded one of the finest viewsin England. 

Such was the _Camel_ when I joined her in 1864 for a voyage of discoveryto the South Pole. The expedition was under the "auspices" of the RoyalSociety for the Promotion of Fair Play. At a meeting of this excellentassociation, it had been "resolved" that the partiality of science forthe North Pole was an invidious distinction between two objects equallymeritorious; that Nature had marked her disapproval of it in the case ofSir John Franklin and many of his imitators; that it served them verywell right; that this enterprise should be undertaken as a protestagainst the spirit of undue bias; and, finally, that no part of theresponsibility or expense should devolve upon the society in itscorporate character, but any individual member might contribute to thefund if he were fool enough. It is only common justice to say that noneof them was. The _Camel_ merely parted her cable one day while Ihappened to be on board--drifted out of the harbor southward, followedby the execrations of all who knew her, and could not get back. In twomonths she had crossed the equator, and the heat began to growinsupportable. 

Suddenly we were becalmed. There had been a fine breeze up to threeo'clock in the afternoon and the ship had made as much as two knots anhour when without a word of warning the sails began to belly the wrongway, owing to the impetus that the ship had acquired; and then, as thisexpired, they hung as limp and lifeless as the skirts of a clawhammercoat. The _Camel_ not only stood stock still but moved a little backwardtoward England. Old Ben the boatswain said that he'd never knowed butone deader calm, and that, he explained, was when Preacher Jack, thereformed sailor, had got excited in a sermon in a seaman's chapel andshouted that the Archangel Michael would chuck the Dragon into the brigand give him a taste of the rope's-end, damn his eyes!

We lay in this woful state for the better part of a year, when, growingimpatient, the crew deputed me to look up the captain and see ifsomething could not be done about it. I found him in a remote cobwebbycorner between-decks, with a book in his hand. On one side of him, thecords newly cut, were three bales of "Ouida"; on the other a mountain ofMiss M. E. Braddon towered above his head. He had finished "Ouida" andwas tackling Miss Braddon. He was greatly changed. 

"Captain Abersouth, " said I, rising on tiptoe so as to overlook thelower slopes of Mrs. Braddon, "will you be good enough to tell me howlong this thing is going on?"

"Can't say, I'm sure, " he replied without pulling his eyes off the page. "They'll probably make up about the middle of the book. In the meantimeold Pondronummus will foul his top-hamper and take out his papers forLooney Haven, and young Monshure de Boojower will come in for a million. Then if the proud and fair Angelica doesn't luff and come into his wakeafter pizening that sea lawyer, Thundermuzzle, I don't know nothingabout the deeps and shallers of the human heart. "

I could not take so hopeful a view of the situation, and went on deck, feeling very much discouraged. I had no sooner got my head out than Iobserved that the ship was moving at a high rate of speed!

We had on board a bullock and a Dutchman. The bullock was chained by theneck to the foremast, but the Dutchman was allowed a good deal ofliberty, being shut up at night only. There was bad blood between thetwo--a feud of long standing, having its origin in the Dutchman'sappetite for milk and the bullock's sense of personal dignity; theparticular cause of offense it would be tedious to relate. Takingadvantage of his enemy's afternoon _siesta_, the Dutchman had nowmanaged to sneak by him, and had gone out on the bowsprit to fish. Whenthe animal waked and saw the other creature enjoying himself hestraddled his chain, leveled his horns, got his hind feet against themast and laid a course for the offender. The chain was strong, the mastfirm, and the ship, as Byron says, "walked the water like a thing ofcourse. "

After that we kept the Dutchman right where he was, night and day, theold _Camel_ making better speed than she had ever done in the mostfavorable gale. We held due south. 

We had now been a long time without sufficient food, particularly meat. We could spare neither the bullock nor the Dutchman; and the ship'scarpenter, that traditional first aid to the famished, was a mere bag ofbones. The fish would neither bite nor be bitten. Most of therunning-tackle of the ship had been used for macaroni soup; all theleather work, our shoes included, had been devoured in omelettes; withoakum and tar we had made fairly supportable salad. After a briefexperimental career as tripe the sails had departed this life forever. Only two courses remained from which to choose; we could eat oneanother, as is the etiquette of the sea, or partake of CaptainAbersouth's novels. Dreadful alternative!--but a choice. And it isseldom, I think, that starving sailormen are offered a shipload of thebest popular authors ready-roasted by the critics. 

We ate that fiction. The works that the captain had thrown aside lastedsix months, for most of them were by the best-selling authors and werepretty tough. After they were gone--of course some had to be given tothe bullock and the Dutchman--we stood by the captain, taking the otherbooks from his hands as he finished them. Sometimes, when we wereapparently at our last gasp, he would skip a whole page of moralizing, or a bit of description; and always, as soon as he clearly foresaw the_dénoûement_--which he generally did at about the middle of the secondvolume--the work was handed over to us without a word of repining. 

The effect of this diet was not unpleasant but remarkable. Physically, it sustained us; mentally, it exalted us; morally, it made us but atrifle worse than we were. We talked as no human beings ever talkedbefore. Our wit was polished but without point. As in a stage broadswordcombat, every cut has its parry, so in our conversation every remarksuggested the reply, and this necessitated a certain rejoinder. Thesequence once interrupted, the whole was bosh; when the thread wasbroken the beads were seen to be waxen and hollow. 

We made love to one another, and plotted darkly in the deepest obscurityof the hold. Each set of conspirators had its proper listener at thehatch. These, leaning too far over would bump their heads together andfight. Occasionally there was confusion amongst them: two or more wouldassert a right to overhear the same plot. I remember at one time thecook, the carpenter, the second assistant-surgeon, and an able seamancontended with handspikes for the honor of betraying my confidence. Oncethere were three masked murderers of the second watch bending at thesame instant over the sleeping form of a cabin-boy, who had been heardto mutter, a week previously, that he had "Gold! gold!" the accumulationof eighty--yes, eighty--years' piracy on the high seas, while sitting asM. P. For the borough of Zaccheus-cum-Down, and attending churchregularly. I saw the captain of the foretop surrounded by suitors forhis hand, while he was himself fingering the edge of a packing-case, andsinging an amorous ditty to a lady-love shaving at a mirror. 

Our diction consisted, in about equal parts, of classical allusion, quotation from the stable, simper from the scullery, cant from theclubs, and the technical slang of heraldry. We boasted much of ancestry, and admired the whiteness of our hands whenever the skin was visiblethrough a fault in the grease and tar. Next to love, the vegetablekingdom, murder, arson, adultery and ritual, we talked most of art. Thewooden figure-head of the _Camel_, representing a Guinea niggerdetecting a bad smell, and the monochrome picture of two back-brokendolphins on the stern, acquired a new importance. The Dutchman haddestroyed the nose of the one by kicking his toes against it, and theother was nearly obliterated by the slops of the cook; but each had itsdaily pilgrimage, and each constantly developed occult beauties ofdesign and subtle excellences of execution. On the whole we were greatlyaltered; and if the supply of contemporary fiction had been equal to thedemand, the _Camel_, I fear, would not have been strong enough tocontain the moral and æsthetic forces fired by the maceration of thebrains of authors in the gastric juices of sailors. 

Having now got the ship's literature off his mind into ours, the captainwent on deck for the first time since leaving port. We were stillsteering the same course, and, taking his first observation of the sun, the captain discovered that we were in latitude 83° south. The heat wasinsufferable; the air was like the breath of a furnace within a furnace. The sea steamed like a boiling cauldron, and in the vapor our bodieswere temptingly parboiled--our ultimate meal was preparing. Warped bythe sun, the ship held both ends high out of the water; the deck of theforecastle was an inclined plane, on which the bullock labored at adisadvantage; but the bowsprit was now vertical and the Dutchman'stenure precarious. A thermometer hung against the mainmast, and wegrouped ourselves about it as the captain went up to examine theregister. 

"One hundred and ninety degrees Fahrenheit!" he muttered in evidentastonishment. "Impossible!" Turning sharply about, he ran his eyes overus, and inquired in a peremptory tone, "who's been in command while Iwas runnin' my eye over that book?"

"Well, captain, " I replied, as respectfully as I knew how, "the fourthday out I had the unhappiness to be drawn into a dispute about a game ofcards with your first and second officers. In the absence of thoseexcellent seamen, sir, I thought it my duty to assume control of theship. "

"Killed 'em, hey?"

"Sir, they committed suicide by questioning the efficacy of four kingsand an ace. "

"Well, you lubber, what have you to say in defense of this extraordinaryweather?"

"Sir, it is no fault of mine. We are far--very far south, and it is nowthe middle of July. The weather is uncomfortable, I admit; butconsidering the latitude and season, it is not, I protest, unseasonable. "

"Latitude and season!" he shrieked, livid with rage--"latitude andseason! Why, you junk-rigged, flat-bottomed, meadow lugger, don't youknow any better than that? Didn't yer little baby brother ever tell yethat southern latitudes is colder than northern, and that July is themiddle o' winter here? Go below, you son of a scullion, or I'll breakyour bones!"

"Oh! very well, " I replied; "I'm not going to stay on deck and listen tosuch low language as that, I warn you. Have it your own way. "

The words had no sooner left my lips, than a piercing cold wind causedme to cast my eye upon the thermometer. In the new régime of science themercury was descending rapidly; but in a moment the instrument wasobscured by a blinding fall of snow. Towering icebergs rose from thewater on every side, hanging their jagged masses hundreds of feet abovethe masthead, and shutting us completely in. The ship twisted andwrithed; her decks bulged upward, and every timber groaned and crackedlike the report of a pistol. The _Camel_ was frozen fast. The jerk ofher sudden stopping snapped the bullock's chain, and sent both thatanimal and the Dutchman over the bows, to accomplish their warfare onthe ice. 

Elbowing my way forward to go below, as I had threatened, I saw the crewtumble to the deck on either hand like ten-pins. They were frozen stiff. Passing the captain, I asked him sneeringly how he liked the weatherunder the new régime. He replied with a vacant stare. The chill hadpenetrated to the brain, and affected his mind. He murmured:

"In this delightful spot, happy in the world's esteem, and surrounded byall that makes existence dear, they passed the remainder of their lives. The End. "

His jaw dropped. The captain of the _Camel_ was dead. 

THE MAN OVERBOARD

I

The good ship _Nupple-duck_ was drifting rapidly upon a sunken coralreef, which seemed to extend a reasonless number of leagues to the rightand left without a break, and I was reading Macaulay's "Naseby Fight" tothe man at the wheel. Everything was, in fact, going on as nicely asheart could wish, when Captain Abersouth, standing on thecompanion-stair, poked his head above deck and asked where we were. Pausing in my reading, I informed him that we had got as far as thedisastrous repulse of Prince Rupert's cavalry, adding that if he wouldhave the goodness to hold his jaw we should be making it awkward for thewounded in about three minutes, and he might bear a hand at the pocketsof the slain. Just then the ship struck heavily, and went down!

Calling another ship, I stepped aboard, and gave directions to be takento No. 900 Tottenham Court Road, where I had an aunt; then, walking aftto the man at the wheel, asked him if he would like to hear me read"Naseby Fight. " He thought he would: he would like to hear that, andthen I might pass on to something else--Kinglake's "Crimean War, " theproceedings at the trial of Warren Hastings, or some such trifle, justto wile away the time till eight bells. 

All this time heavy clouds had been gathering along the horizon directlyin front of the ship, and a deputation of passengers now came to the manat the wheel to demand that she be put about, or she would run intothem, which the spokesman explained would be unusual. I thought at thetime that it certainly was not the regular thing to do, but, as I wasmyself only a passenger, did not deem it expedient to take a part in theheated discussion that ensued; and, after all, it did not seem likelythat the weather in those clouds would be much worse than that inTottenham Court Road, where I had an aunt. 

It was finally decided to refer the matter to arbitration, and aftermany names had been submitted and rejected by both sides, it was agreedthat the captain of the ship should act as arbitrator if his consentcould be obtained, and I was delegated to conduct the negotiations tothat end. With considerable difficulty, I persuaded him to accept theresponsibility. 

He was a feeble-minded sort of fellow named Troutbeck, who was always ina funk lest he should make enemies; never reflecting that most men woulda little rather be his enemies than not. He had once been the ship'scook, but had cooked so poisonously ill that he had been forciblytransferred from galley to quarter-deck by the dyspeptic survivors ofhis culinary career. 

The little captain went aft with me to listen to arguments of thedissatisfied passengers and the obstinate steersman, as to whether weshould take our chances in the clouds, or tail off and run for theopposite horizon; but on approaching the wheel, we found both helmsmanand passengers in a condition of profound astonishment, rolling theireyes about towards every point of the compass, and shaking their headsin hopeless perplexity. It was rather remarkable, certainly: the bank ofcloud which had worried the landsmen was now directly astern, and theship was cutting along lively in her own wake, toward the point fromwhich she had come, and straight away from Tottenham Court Road!Everybody declared it was a miracle; the chaplain was piped up forprayers, and the man at the wheel was as truly penitent as if he hadbeen detected robbing an empty poor-box. 

The explanation was simple enough, and dawned upon me the moment I sawhow matters stood. During the dispute between the helmsman and thedeputation, the former had renounced his wheel to gesticulate, and I, thinking no harm, had amused myself, during a rather tedious debate, byrevolving the thing this way and that, and had unconsciously put theship about. By a coincidence not unusual in low latitudes, the wind hadeffected a corresponding transposition at the same time, and was nowbowling us as merrily back toward the place where I had embarked, as ithad previously wafted us in the direction of Tottenham Court Road, whereI had an aunt. I must here so far anticipate, as to explain that someyears later these various incidents--particularly the reading of "NasebyFight"--led to the adoption, in our mercantile marine, of a rule which Ibelieve is still extant, to the effect that one must not speak to theman at the wheel unless the man at the wheel speaks first. 

II

It is only by inadvertence that I have omitted the information that thevessel in which I was now a pervading influence was the _Bonnyclabber_(Troutbeck, master), of Malvern Heights. 

The _Bonnyclabber's_ reactionary course had now brought her to the spotat which I had taken passage. Passengers and crew, fatigued by theirsomewhat awkward attempts to manifest their gratitude for our miraculousdeliverance from the cloud-bank, were snoring peacefully in unconsideredattitudes about the deck, when the lookout man, perched on the supremeextremity of the mainmast, consuming a cold sausage, began an apparentlypreconcerted series of extraordinary and unimaginable noises. Hecoughed, sneezed, and barked simultaneously--bleated in one breath, andcackled in the next--sputteringly shrieked, and chatteringly squealed, with a bass of suffocated roars. There were desolutory vocal explosions, tapering off in long wails, half smothered in unintelligible small-talk. He whistled, wheezed, and trumpeted; began to sharp, thought better ofit and flatted; neighed like a horse, and then thundered like a drum!Through it all he continued making incomprehensible signals with onehand while clutching his throat with the other. Presently he gave it up, and silently descended to the deck. 

By this time we were all attention; and no sooner had he set footamongst us, than he was assailed with a tempest of questions which, hadthey been visible, would have resembled a flight of pigeons. He made noreply--not even by a look, but passed through our enclosing mass with agrim, defiant step, a face deathly white, and a set of the jaw as of onerepressing an ambitious dinner, or ignoring a venomous toothache. Forthe poor man was choking!

Passing down the companion-way, the patient sought the surgeon's cabin, with the ship's company at his heels. The surgeon was fast asleep, thelark-like performance at the masthead having been inaudible in thatlower region. While some of us were holding a whisky-bottle to themedical nose, in order to apprise the medical intelligence of the demandupon it, the patient seated himself in statuesque silence. By this timehis pallor, which was but the mark of a determined mind, had given placeto a fervent crimson, which visibly deepened into a pronounced purple, and was ultimately superseded by a clouded blue, shot through withopalescent gleams, and smitten with variable streaks of black. The facewas swollen and shapeless, the neck puffy. The eyes protruded like pegsof a hat-stand. 

Pretty soon the doctor was got awake, and after making a carefulexamination of his patient, remarking that it was a lovely case of_stopupagus oesophagi_, took a tool and set to work, producing with nodifficulty a cold sausage of the size, figure, and general bearing of asomewhat self-important banana. The operation had been performed amidbreathless silence, but the moment it was concluded the patient, whoseneck and head had visibly collapsed, sprang to his feet and shouted:

"Man overboard!"

That is what he had been trying to say. 

There was a confused rush to the upper deck, and everybody flungsomething over the ship's side--a life-belt, a chicken-coop, a coil ofrope, a spar, an old sail, a pocket handkerchief, an iron crowbar--anymovable article which it was thought might be useful to a drowning manwho had followed the vessel during the hour that had elapsed since theinitial alarm at the mast-head. In a few moments the ship was prettynearly dismantled of everything that could be easily renounced, and someexcitable passenger having cut away the boats there was nothing morethat we could do, though the chaplain explained that if the ill-fatedgentleman in the wet did not turn up after a while it was his intentionto stand at the stern and read the burial service of the Church ofEngland. 

Presently it occurred to some ingenious person to inquire who had goneoverboard, and all hands being mustered and the roll called, to ourgreat chagrin every man answered to his name, passengers and all!Captain Troutbeck, however, held that in a matter of so great importancea simple roll-call was insufficient, and with an assertion of authoritythat was encouraging insisted that every person on board be separatelysworn. The result was the same; nobody was missing and the captain, begging pardon for having doubted our veracity, retired to his cabin toavoid further responsibility, but expressed a hope that for the purposeof having everything properly recorded in the log-book we would apprisehim of any further action that we might think it advisable to take. Ismiled as I remembered that in the interest of the unknown gentlemanwhose peril we had overestimated I had flung the log-book over theship's side. 

Soon afterward I felt suddenly inspired with one of those great ideasthat come to most men only once or twice in a lifetime, and to theordinary story teller never. Hastily reconvening the ship's company Imounted the capstan and thus addressed them:

"Shipmates, there has been a mistake. In the fervor of an ill-consideredcompassion we have made pretty free with certain movable property of aneminent firm of shipowners of Malvern Heights. For this we shallundoubtedly be called to account if we are ever so fortunate as to dropanchor in Tottenham Court Road, where I have an aunt. It would addstrength to our defence if we could show to the satisfaction of a juryof our peers that in heeding the sacred promptings of humanity we hadacted with some small degree of common sense. If, for example, we couldmake it appear that there really was a man overboard, who might havebeen comforted and sustained by the material consolation that we solavishly dispensed in the form of buoyant articles belonging to others, the British heart would find in that fact a mitigating circumstancepleading eloquently in our favor. Gentlemen and ship's officers, Iventure to propose that we do now throw a man overboard. "

The effect was electrical: the motion was carried by acclamation andthere was a unanimous rush for the now wretched mariner whose falsealarm at the masthead was the cause of our embarrassment, but on secondthoughts it was decided to substitute Captain Troutbeck, as lessgenerally useful and more undeviatingly in error. The sailor had madeone mistake of considerable magnitude, but the captain's entireexistence was a mistake altogether. He was fetched up from his cabin andchucked over. 

At 900 Tottenham Road Court lived an aunt of mine--a good old lady whohad brought me up by hand and taught me many wholesome lessons inmorality, which in my later life have proved of extreme value. Foremostamong these I may mention her solemn and oft-repeated injunction neverto tell a lie without a definite and specific reason for doing so. Manyyears' experience in the violation of this principle enables me to speakwith authority as to its general soundness. I have, therefore, muchpleasure in making a slight correction in the preceding chapter of thistolerably true history. It was there affirmed that I threw the_Bonnyclabber's_ log-book into the sea. The statement is entirely false, and I can discover no reason for having made it that will for a momentweigh against those I now have for the preservation of that log-book. 

The progress of the story has developed new necessities, and I now findit convenient to quote from that book passages which it could not havecontained if cast into the sea at the time stated; for if thrown uponthe resources of my imagination I might find the temptation toexaggerate too strong to be resisted. 

It is needless to worry the reader with those entries in the bookreferring to events already related. Our record will begin on the day ofthe captain's consignment to the deep, after which era I made theentries myself. 

"June 22nd. --Not much doing in the way of gales, but heavy swells leftover from some previous blow. Latitude and longitude not notablydifferent from last observation. Ship laboring a trifle, owing to lackof top-hamper, everything of that kind having been cut away inconsequence of Captain Troutbeck having accidently fallen overboardwhile fishing from the bowsprit. Also threw over cargo and everythingthat we could spare. Miss our sails rather, but if they save our dearcaptain, we shall be content. Weather flagrant. 

"23d. --Nothing from Captain Troutbeck. Dead calm--also dead whale. Thepassengers having become preposterous in various ways, Mr. Martin, thechief officer, had three of the ringleaders tied up and rope's-ended. Hethought it advisable also to flog an equal number of the crew, by way ofbeing impartial. Weather ludicrous. 

"24th. --Captain still prefers to stop away, and does not telegraph. The'captain of the foretop'--there isn't any foretop now--was put in ironsto-day by Mr. Martin for eating cold sausage while on look-out. Mr. Martin has flogged the steward, who had neglected to holy-stone thebinnacle and paint the dead-lights. The steward is a good fellow all thesame. Weather iniquitous. 

"25th. --Can't think whatever has become of Captain Troutbeck. He must begetting hungry by this time; for although he has his fishing-tackle withhim, he has no bait. Mr. Martin inspected the entries in this bookto-day. He is a most excellent and humane officer. Weather inexcusable. 

"26th. --All hope of hearing from the Captain has been abandoned. We havesacrificed everything to save him; but now, if we could procure the loanof a mast and some sails, we should proceed on our voyage. Mr. Martinhas knocked the coxswain overboard for sneezing. He is an experiencedseaman, a capable officer, and a Christian gentleman--damn his eyes!Weather tormenting. 

"27th. --Another inspection of this book by Mr. Martin. Farewell, vainworld! Break it gently to my aunt in Tottenham Court Road. "

In the concluding sentences of this record, as it now lies before me, the handwriting is not very legible: they were penned undercircumstances singularly unfavorable. Mr. Martin stood behind me withhis eyes fixed on the page; and in order to secure a better view, hadtwisted the machinery of the engine he called his hand into the hair ofmy head, depressing that globe to such an extent that my nose wasflattened against the surface of the table, and I had no smalldifficulty in discerning the lines through my eyebrows. I was notaccustomed to writing in that position: it had not been taught in theonly school that I ever attended. I therefore felt justified in bringingthe record to a somewhat abrupt close, and immediately went on deck withMr. Martin, he preceding me up the companion-stairs on foot, Ifollowing, not on horseback, but on my own, the connection between usbeing maintained without important alteration. 

Arriving on deck, I thought it advisable, in the interest of peace andquietness, to pursue him in the same manner to the side of the ship, where I parted from him forever with many expressions of regret, whichmight have been heard at a considerable distance. 

Of the subsequent fate of the _Bonnyclabber_, I can only say that thelog-book from which I have quoted was found some years later in thestomach of a whale, along with some shreds of clothing, a few buttonsand several decayed life-belts. It contained only one new entry, in astraggling handwriting, as if it had been penned in the dark:

"july2th foundered svivors rescude by wale wether stuffy no nues fromcapting trowtbeck Sammle martin cheef Ofcer. "

Let us now take a retrospective glance at the situation. The ship_Nupple-duck_, (Abersouth, master) had, it will be remembered, gone downwith all on board except me. I had escaped on the ship _Bonnyclabber_(Troutbeck) which I had quitted owing to a misunderstanding with thechief officer, and was now unattached. That is how matters stood when, rising on an unusually high wave, and casting my eye in the direction ofTottenham Court Road--that is, backward along the course pursued by the_Bonnyclabber_ and toward the spot at which the _Nupple-duck_ had beenswallowed up--I saw a quantity of what appeared to be wreckage. Itturned out to be some of the stuff that we had thrown overboard under amisapprehension. The several articles had been compiled and, so tospeak, carefully edited. They were, in fact, lashed together, forming araft. On a stool in the center of it--not, apparently navigating it, butrather with the subdued and dignified bearing of a passenger, satCaptain Abersouth, of the _Nupple-duck_, reading a novel. 

Our meeting was not cordial. He remembered me as a man of literary tastesuperior to his own and harbored resentment, and although he made noopposition to my taking passage with him I could see that hisacquiescence was due rather to his muscular inferiority than to thecircumstance that I was damp and taking cold. Merely acknowledging hispresence with a nod as I climbed abroad, I seated myself and inquired ifhe would care to hear the concluding stanzas of "Naseby Fight. "

"No, " he replied, looking up from his novel, "no, Claude Reginald Gump, writer of sea stories, I've done with you. When you sank the_Nupple-duck_ some days ago you probably thought that you had made anend of me. That was clever of you, but I came to the surface andfollowed the other ship--the one on which you escaped. It was I that thesailor saw from the masthead. I saw him see me. It was for me that allthat stuff was hove overboard. Good--I made it into this raft. It was, Ithink, the next day that I passed the floating body of a man whom Irecognized as, my old friend Billy Troutbeck--he used to be a cook on aman-o'-war. It gives me pleasure to be the means of saving your life, but I eschew you. The moment that we reach port our paths part. Youremember that in the very first sentence of this story you began todrive my ship, the _Nupple-duck_, on to a reef of coral. "

I was compelled to confess that this was true, and he continued hisinhospitable reproaches:

"Before you had written half a column you sent her to the bottom, withme and the crew. But _you_--you escaped. "

"That is true, " I replied; "I cannot deny that the facts are correctlystated. "

"And in a story before that, you took me and my mates of the ship_Camel_ into the heart of the South Polar Sea and left us frozen dead inthe ice, like flies in amber. But you did not leave yourself there--youescaped. "

"Really, Captain, " I said, "your memory is singularly accurate, considering the many hardships that you have had to undergo; many a manwould have gone mad. "

"And a long time before that, " Captain Abersouth resumed, after a pause, more, apparently, to con his memory than to enjoy my good opinion of it, "you lost me at sea--look here; I didn't read anything but George Eliotat that time, but I'm _told_ that you lost me at sea in the _Mudlark_. Have I been misinformed?"

I could not say he had been misinformed. 

"You yourself escaped on that occasion, I think. "

It was true. Being usually the hero of my own stories, I commonly domanage to live through one, in order to figure to advantage in the next. It is from artistic necessity: no reader would take much interest in ahero who was dead before the beginning of the tale. I endeavored toexplain this to Captain Abersouth. He shook his head. 

"No, " said he, "it's cowardly, that's the way I look at it. "

Suddenly an effulgent idea began to dawn upon me, and I let it have itsway until my mind was perfectly luminous. Then I rose from my seat, andfrowning down into the upturned face of my accuser, spoke in severe andrasping accents thus:

"Captain Abersouth, in the various perils you and I have encounteredtogether in the classical literature of the period, if I have alwaysescaped and you have always perished; if I lost you at sea in the_Mudlark_, froze you into the ice at the South Pole in the _Camel_ anddrowned you in the _Nupple-duck_, pray be good enough to tell me whom Ihave the honor to address. "

It was a blow to the poor man: no one was ever so disconcerted. Flingingaside his novel, he put up his hands and began to scratch his head andthink. It was beautiful to see him think, but it seemed to distress himand pointing significantly over the side of the raft I suggested asdelicately as possible that it was time to act. He rose to his feet andfixing upon me a look of reproach which I shall remember as long as Ican, cast himself into the deep. As to me--I escaped. 

A CARGO OF CAT

On the 16th day of June, 1874, the ship _Mary Jane_ sailed from Malta, heavily laden with cat. This cargo gave us a good deal of trouble. Itwas not in bales, but had been dumped into the hold loose. CaptainDoble, who had once commanded a ship that carried coals, said he hadfound that plan the best. When the hold was full of cat the hatch wasbattened down and we felt good. Unfortunately the mate, thinking thecats would be thirsty, introduced a hose into one of the hatches andpumped in a considerable quantity of water, and the cats of the lowerlevels were all drowned. 

You have seen a dead cat in a pond: you remember its circumference atthe waist. Water multiplies the magnitude of a dead cat by ten. On thefirst day out, it was observed that the ship was much strained. She wasthree feet wider than usual and as much as ten feet shorter. Theconvexity of her deck was visibly augmented fore and aft, but she turnedup at both ends. Her rudder was clean out of water and she would answerthe helm only when running directly against a strong breeze: the rudder, when perverted to one side, would rub against the wind and slew heraround; and then she wouldn't steer any more. Owing to the curvature ofthe keel, the masts came together at the top, and a sailor who had goneup the foremast got bewildered, came down the mizzenmast, looked outover the stern at the receding shores of Malta and shouted: "Land, ho!"The ship's fastenings were all giving way; the water on each side waslashed into foam by the tempest of flying bolts that she shed at everypulsation of the cargo. She was quietly wrecking herself withoutassistance from wind or wave, by the sheer internal energy of felineexpansion. 

I went to the skipper about it. He was in his favorite position, sittingon the deck, supporting his back against the binnacle, making a V of hislegs, and smoking. 

"Captain Doble, " I said, respectfully touching my hat, which was reallynot worthy of respect, "this floating palace is afflicted with curvatureof the spine and is likewise greatly swollen. "

Without raising his eyes he courteously acknowledged my presence byknocking the ashes from his pipe. 

"Permit me, Captain, " I said, with simple dignity, "to repeat that thisship is much swollen. "

"If that is true, " said the gallant mariner, reaching for his tobaccopouch, "I think it would be as well to swab her down with liniment. There's a bottle of it in my cabin. Better suggest it to the mate. "

"But, Captain, there is no time for empirical treatment; some of theplanks at the water line have started. "

The skipper rose and looked out over the stern, toward the land; hefixed his eyes on the foaming wake; he gazed into the water to starboardand to port. Then he said:

"My friend, the whole darned thing has started. "

Sadly and silently I turned from that obdurate man and walked forward. Suddenly "there was a burst of thunder sound!" The hatch that had helddown the cargo was flung whirling into space and sailed in the air likea blown leaf. Pushing upward through the hatchway was a smooth, squarecolumn of cat. Grandly and impressively it grew--slowly, serenely, majestically it rose toward the welkin, the relaxing keel parting themastheads to give it a fair chance. I have stood at Naples and seenVesuvius painting the town red--from Catania have marked afar, upon theflanks of Ætna, the lava's awful pursuit of the astonished rooster andthe despairing pig. The fiery flow from Kilauea's crater, thrustingitself into the forests and licking the entire country clean, is asfamiliar to me as my mother-tongue. I have seen glaciers, a thousandyears old and quite bald, heading for a valley full of tourists at therate of an inch a month. I have seen a saturated solution of mining campgoing down a mountain river, to make a sociable call on the valleyfarmers. I have stood behind a tree on the battle-field and seen acompact square mile of armed men moving with irresistible momentum tothe rear. Whenever anything grand in magnitude or motion is billed toappear I commonly manage to beat my way into the show, and in reportingit I am a man of unscrupulous veracity; but I have seldom observedanything like that solid gray column of Maltese cat!

It is unnecessary to explain, I suppose, that each individual grimalkinin the outfit, with that readiness of resource which distinguishes thespecies, had grappled with tooth and nail as many others as it couldhook on to. This preserved the formation. It made the column so stiffthat when the ship rolled (and the _Mary Jane_ was a devil to roll) itswayed from side to side like a mast, and the Mate said if it grew muchtaller he would have to order it cut away or it would capsize us. 

Some of the sailors went to work at the pumps, but these dischargednothing but fur. Captain Doble raised his eyes from his toes andshouted: "Let go the anchor!" but being assured that nobody was touchingit, apologized and resumed his revery. The chaplain said if there wereno objections he would like to offer up a prayer, and a gambler fromChicago, producing a pack of cards, proposed to throw round for thefirst jack. The parson's plan was adopted, and as he uttered the final"amen, " the cats struck up a hymn. 

All the living ones were now above deck, and every mother's son of themsang. Each had a pretty fair voice, but no ear. Nearly all their notesin the upper register were more or less cracked and disobedient. Theremarkable thing about the voices was their range. In that crowd werecats of seventeen octaves, and the average could not have been less thantwelve. 

 Number of cats, as per invoice. .. .. 127, 000 Estimated number dead swellers. .. .. 6, 000 ------- Total songsters. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 121, 000 Average number octaves per cat. .. .. 12 ------- Total octaves. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 1, 452, 000

It was a great concert. It lasted three days and nights, or, countingeach night as seven days, twenty-four days altogether, and we could notgo below for provisions. At the end of that time the cook came for'dshaking up some beans in a hat, and holding a large knife. 

"Shipmates, " said he, "we have done all that mortals can do. Let us nowdraw lots. "

We were blindfolded in turn, and drew, but just as the cook was forcingthe fatal black bean upon the fattest man, the concert closed with asuddenness that waked the man on the lookout. A moment later everygrimalkin relaxed his hold on his neighbors, the column lost itscohesion and, with 121, 000 dull, sickening thuds that beat as one, thewhole business fell to the deck. Then with a wild farewell wail thatfeline host sprang spitting into the sea and struck out southward forthe African shore!

The southern extension of Italy, as every schoolboy knows, resembles inshape an enormous boot. We had drifted within sight of it. The cats inthe fabric had spied it, and their alert imaginations were instantlyaffected with a lively sense of the size, weight and probable momentumof its flung bootjack. 

"ON WITH THE DANCE!" A REVIEW

I

THE PRUDE IN LETTERS AND LIFE

It is deserving of remark and censure that American literature is becomeshockingly moral. There is not a doubt of it; our writers, if accused, would make explicit confession that morality is their onlyfault--morality in the strict and specific sense. Far be it from me todisparage and belittle this decent tendency to ignore the largest sideof human nature, and liveliest element of literary interest. It has aneminence of its own; if it is not great art, it is at least greatfolly--a superior sort of folly to which none of the masters of lettershas ever attained. Not Shakspeare, nor Cervantes, nor Goethe, norMolière, nor--no, not even Rabelais--ever achieved that shining pinnacleof propriety to which the latter-day American has aspired, by turninghis back upon nature's broad and fruitful levels and his eyes upon thepassionate altitudes where, throned upon congenial ice, Miss Nancy sitsto censure letters, putting the Muses into petticoats and affixing afig-leaf upon Truth. Ours are an age and country of expurgated editions, emasculated art, and social customs that look over the top of a fan. 

 Lo! prude-eyed Primdimity, mother of Gush, Sex-conscious, invoking the difficult blush; At vices that plague us and sins that beset Sternly directing her private lorgnette, Whose lenses, self-searching instinctive for sin, Make image without of the fancies within. Itself, if examined, would show us, alas! A tiny transparency (French) on each glass. 

Now, prudery in letters, if it would but have the goodness not tocoexist with prudery in life, might be suffered with easy fortitude, inasmuch as one needs not read what one does not like; and between thelicense of the dear old bucks above mentioned, and the severities ofMiss Nancy Howells, and Miss Nancy James, Jr. , of t'other school, thereis latitude for gratification of individual taste. But it occurs that aliterature rather accurately reflects all the virtues and other vices ofits period and country, and its tendencies are but the matchings ofthought with action. Hence, we may reasonably expect to find--andindubitably shall find--certain well-marked correspondences between theliterary faults which it pleases our writers to commit and the socialcrimes which it pleases the Adversary to see their readers commit. Within the current lustrum the prudery which had already, for someseasons, been achieving a vinegar-visaged and corkscrew-curled certainage in letters, has invaded the ball-room, and is infesting it inquantity. Supportable, because evitable, in letters, it is here, for thecontrary reason, insufferable; for one must dance and enjoy one's selfwhether one like it or not. Pleasure, I take it, is a duty not to beshirked at the command of disinclination. Youth, following the bent ofinherited instinct, and loyally conforming himself to the centuries, must shake a leg in the dance, and Age, from emulation and habit, andfor denial of rheumatic incapacity, must occasionally twist his heelthough he twist it off in the performance. Dance we must, and dance weshall; that is settled; the question of magnitude is, Shall we caperjocundly with the good grace of an easy conscience, or submit to shufflehalf-heartedly with a sense of shame, wincing under the slow stroke ofour own rebuking eye? To this momentous question let us nowintelligently address our minds, sacredly pledged, as becomes lovers oftruth, to its determination in the manner most agreeable to our desires;and if, in pursuance of this laudable design, we have the unhappiness tobother the bunions decorating the all-pervading feet of the good peoplewhose deprecations are voiced in _The Dance of Death_ and the clamatoryliterature of which that blessed volume was the honored parent, upontheir own corns be it; they should not have obtruded these eminences

 when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. 

What, therefore, whence, and likewise why, is dancing? From what flowerof nature, fertilized by what pollen of circumstance or necessity, is itthe fruit? Let us go to the root of the matter. 

II

THE BEATING OF THE BLOOD

Nature takes a childish delight in tireless repetition. The days repeatthemselves, the tides ebb and flow, the tree sways forth and back. Thisworld is intent upon recurrences. Not the pendulum of a clock is morepersistent of iteration than are all existing things; periodicity is theultimate law and largest explanation of the universe--to do it overagain the one insatiable ambition of all that is. Everything vibrates;through vibration alone do the senses discern it. We are not providedwith means of cognizance of what is absolutely at rest; impressions comein waves. Recurrence, recurrence, and again recurrence--that is the solephenomenon. With what fealty we submit us to the law which compels therhythm and regularity to our movement--that makes us divide up passingtime into brief equal intervals, marking them off by some method ofphysical notation, so that our senses may apprehend them! In all we dowe unconsciously mark time like a clock, the leader of an orchestra withhis _bâton_ only more perfectly than the smith with his hammer, or thewoman with her needle, because his hand is better assisted by his ear, less embarrassed with _impedimenta_. The pedestrian impelling his legsand the idler twiddling his thumbs are endeavoring, each in hisunconscious way, to beat time to some inaudible music; and the gracelesslout, sitting cross-legged in a horse-car, manages the affair with histoe. 

The more intently we labor, the more intensely do we become absorbed inlabor's dumb song, until with body and mind engaged in the ecstacy ofrepetition, we resent an interruption of our work as we do a false notein music, and are mightily enamored of ourselves afterward for the powerof application which was simply inability to desist. In this rhythm oftoil is to be found the charm of industry. Toil has in itself no spellto conjure with, but its recurrences of molecular action, cerebral andmuscular, are as delightful as rhyme. 

Such of our pleasures as require movements equally rhythmic with thoseentailed by labor are almost equally agreeable, with the added advantageof being useless. Dancing, which is not only rhythmic movement, pure andsimple, undebased with any element of utility, but is capable ofperformance under conditions positively baneful, is for these reasonsthe most engaging of them all; and if it were but one-half as wicked asthe prudes have endeavored by method of naughty suggestion to make itwould lack of absolute bliss nothing but the other half. 

This ever active and unabatable something within us which compels usalways to be marking time we may call, for want of a better name, theinstinct of rhythm. It is the æsthetic principle of our nature. Translated into words it has given us poetry; into sound, music; intomotion, dancing. Perhaps even painting may be referred to it, spacebeing the correlative of time, and color the correlative of tone. We arefond of arranging our minute intervals of time into groups. We findcertain of these groups highly agreeable, while others are no endunpleasant. In the former there is a singular regularity to be observed, which led hard-headed old Leibnitz to the theory that our delight inmusic arises from an inherent affection for mathematics. Yet musicianshave hitherto obtained but indifferent recognition for feats ofcalculation, nor have the singing and playing of renowned mathematiciansbeen unanimously commended by good judges. 

Music so intensifies and excites the instinct of rhythm that a strongvolition is required to repress its physical expression. Theuniversality of this is well illustrated by the legend, found in someshape in many countries and languages, of the boy with the fiddle whocompels king, cook, peasant, clown, and all that kind of people, tofollow him through the land; and in the myth of the Pied Piper ofHamelin we discern abundant reason to think the instinct of rhythm anattribute of rats. Soldiers march so much livelier with music thanwithout that it has been found a tolerably good substitute for the hopeof plunder. When the foot-falls are audible, as on the deck of asteamer, walking has an added pleasure, and even the pirate, with gentleconsideration for the universal instinct, suffers his vanquished foemanto walk the plank. 

Dancing is simply marking time with the body, as an accompaniment tomusic, though the same--without the music--is done with only the headand forefinger in a New England meeting-house at psalm time. (Thepeculiar dance named in honor of St. Vitus is executed with or withoutmusic, at the option of the musician. ) But the body is a clumsy piece ofmachinery, requiring some attention and observation to keep itaccurately in time to the fiddling. The smallest diversion of thethought, the briefest relaxing of the mind, is fatal to the performance. 'Tis as easy to fix attention on a sonnet of Shakspeare while working atwhist as gloat upon your partner while waltzing. It can not beintelligently, appreciatively, and adequately accomplished--_credeexpertum_. 

On the subject of poetry, Emerson says: "Metre begins with pulse-beat, and the length of lines in songs and poems is determined by theinhalation and exhalation of the lungs, " and this really goes near tothe root of the matter; albeit we might derive therefrom the unsupportedinference that a poet "fat and scant of breath" would write in lines ofa foot each, while the more able-bodied bard, with the capacious lungsof a pearl-diver, would deliver himself all across his page, with "thespacious volubility of a drumming decasyllabon. "

While the heart, working with alternate contraction and dilatation, sends the blood intermittently through the brain, and the outer worldapprises us of its existence only by successive impulses, it must resultthat our sense of things will be rhythmic. The brain being alternatelystimulated and relaxed we must think--as we feel--in waves, apprehendingnothing continuously, and incapable of a consciousness that is notdivisible into units of perception of which we make mental record andphysical sign. That is why we dance. That is why we can, may, must, will, and shall dance, and the gates of Philistia shall not prevailagainst us. 

 La valse légère, la valse légère, The free, the bright, the debonair, That stirs the strong, and fires the fair With joy like wine of vintage rare-- That lends the swiftly circling pair A short surcease of killing care, With music in the dreaming air, With elegance and grace to spare. Vive! vive la valse, la valse légère!

 --_George Jessop_. 

III

THERE ARE CORNS IN EGYPT

Our civilization--wise child!--knows its father in the superiorcivilization whose colossal vestiges are found along the Nile. To those, then, who see in the dance a civilizing art, it can not be whollyunprofitable to glance at this polite accomplishment as it existed amongthe ancient Egyptians, and was by them transmitted--with variousmodifications, but preserving its essentials of identity--to othernations and other times. And here we have first to note that, as in allthe nations of antiquity, the dance in Egypt was principally a religiousceremony; the pious old boys that builded the pyramids executed theirjigs as an act of worship. Diodorus Siculus informs us that Osiris, inhis proselyting travels among the peoples surrounding Egypt--for Osiriswas what we would call a circuit preacher--was accompanied by dancersmale and dancers female. From the sculptures on some of the oldest tombsof Thebes it is seen that the dances there depicted did not greatlydiffer from those in present favor in the same region; although it seemsa fair inference from the higher culture and refinement of the elderperiod that they were distinguished by graces correspondingly superior. That dances having the character of religious rites were not always freefrom an element that we would term indelicacy, but which theirperformers and witnesses probably considered the commendable exuberanceof zeal and devotion, is manifest from the following passage ofHerodotus, in which reference is made to the festival of Bubastis:

 Men and women come sailing all together, vast numbers in each boat, many of the women with castanets, which they strike, while some of the men pipe during the whole period of the voyage; the remainder of the voyagers, male and female, sing the while, and make a clapping with their hands. When they arrive opposite to any town on the banks of the stream they approach the shore, and while some of the women continue to play and sing, others call aloud to the females of the place and load them with abuse, a certain number dancing and others standing up, uncovering themselves. Proceeding in this way all along the river course they reach Bubastis, where they celebrate the feast with abundant sacrifice. 

Of the mysteries of Isis and Osiris, in which dancing played animportant part, the character of the ceremonies is matter of dimconjecture; but from the hints that have come down to us likesignificant shrugs and whispers from a discreet past, which could say agood deal more if it had a mind to, I hasten to infer that they were nobetter than they should have been. 

Naturally the dances for amusement of others were regulated in movementand gesture to suit the taste of patrons: for the refined, decency andmoderation; for the wicked, _a soupçon_ of the other kind of excellence. In the latter case the buffoon, an invariable adjunct, committed athousand extravagances, and was a dear, delightful, naughty ancientEgyptian buffoon. These dances were performed by both men and women;sometimes together, more frequently in separate parties. The men seem tohave confined themselves mostly to exercises requiring strength of legand arm. The figures on the tombs represent men in lively and vigorouspostures, some in attitude preliminary to leaping, others in the air. This feature of agility would be a novelty in the oriental dances ofto-day; the indolent male spectator being satisfied with a slow, voluptuous movement congenial to his disposition. When, on the contrary, the performance of our prehistoric friends was governed and determinedby ideas of grace, there were not infrequently from six to eight musicalinstruments, the harp, guitar, double-pipe, lyre, and tambourine of theperiod being most popular, and these commonly accompanied by a clappingof hands to mark the time. 

As with the Greeks, dancers were had in at dinner to make merry; foralthough the upper-class Egyptian was forbidden to practice the art, either as an accomplishment or for the satisfaction of his emotionalnature, it was not considered indecorous to hire professionals toperform before him and his female and young. The she dancer usuallyhabited herself in a loose, flowing robe, falling to the ankles andbound at the waist, while about the hips was fastened a narrow, ornategirdle. This costume--in point of opacity imperfectly superior to agentle breeze--is not always discernible in the sculptures; but it ischaritably believed that the pellucid garment, being merely painted overthe figures, has been ravished away by the hand of Time--the wretch!

One of the dances was a succession of pleasing attitudes, the hands andarms rendering important assistance--the body bending backward andforward and swaying laterally, the _figurante_ sometimes half-kneeling, and in that position gracefully posturing, and again balanced on onefoot, the arms and hands waving slowly in time to the music. In anotherdance, the _pirouette_ and other figures dear to the bald-headed beauxof the modern play-house, were practiced in the familiar way. Fourthousand years ago, the senses of the young ancient Egyptian--wild, heady lad!--were kicked into confusion by the dark-skinned belle of theballet, while senility, with dimmed eyes, rubbed its dry hands infeverish approval at the self-same feat. Dear, dear, but it was a badworld four thousand years ago!

Sometimes they danced in pairs, men with men and women with women, indifferently, the latter arrangement seeming to us preferable by reasonof the women's conspicuously superior grace and almost equal agility;for it is in evidence on the tombs that tumblers and acrobats werecommonly of the softer sex. Some of the attitudes were similar to thosewhich drew from Socrates the ungallant remark that women were capable oflearning anything which you will that they should know. The figures inthis _pas de deux_ appear frequently to have terminated in whatchildren, with their customary coarseness of speech, are pleased to call"wringing the dish-clout"--clasping the hands, throwing the arms abovethe head and turning rapidly, each as on a pivot, without loosing thehands of the other, and resting again in position. 

Sometimes, with no other music than the percussion of hands, a man wouldexecute a _pas seul_, which it is to be presumed he enjoyed. Again, witha riper and better sense of musical methods, the performer accompaniedhimself, or, as in this case it usually was, herself, on thedouble-pipes, the guitar or the tambourine, while the familiarhand-clapping was done by attendants. A step not unlike that of theabominable clog dance of the "variety" stage and "music hall" of thepresent day consisted in striking the heel of first one foot and thenthe other, the hands and arms being employed to diminish the monotony ofthe movement. For amusement and instruction of the vulgar, buffoons inherds of ten or more in fested the streets, hopping and posing to thesound of a drum. 

As illustrating the versatility of the dance, its wide capacities ofadaptation to human emotional needs, I may mention here the processionof women to the tomb of a friend or relative Punishing the tambourine or_dara booka_ drum, and bearing branches of palm or other symbolicvegetables, these sprightly mourners passed through the streets withsongs and dances which, under the circumstances, can hardly have failedeminently to gratify the person so fortunate as to have his memoryhonored by so delicate and appropriate observance. 

IV

A REEF IN THE GABARDINE

The early Jew danced ritually and socially. Some of his dances and thecustoms connected therewith were of his own devising; others he pickedup in Egypt, the latter, no doubt, being more firmly fixed in his memoryby the necessity of practicing them--albeit behind the back ofMoses--while he had them still fresh in his mind; for he would naturallyresort to every human and inhuman device to wile away the draggingdecades consumed in tracing the labyrinthine sinuosities of his coursein the wilderness. When a man has assurance that he will not bepermitted to arrive at the point for which he set out, perceiving thatevery step forward is a step wasted, he will pretty certainly use hisfeet to a better purpose than walking. Clearly, at a time when all thechosen people were Wandering Jews they would dance all they knew how. Weknow that they danced in worship of the Golden Calf, and that previously"Miriam the prophetess, sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; andall the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. " Andever so many generations before, Laban complained to Jacob that Jacobhad stolen away instead of letting him send him off with songs and mirthand music on the tabret and harp, a method of speeding the parting guestwhich would naturally include dancing, although the same is not ofexplicit record. 

The religious ceremonies of the Jews had not at all times the restraintand delicacy which it is to be wished the Lord had exacted, for we readof King David himself dancing before the Ark in a condition so nearlynude as greatly to scandalize the daughter of Saul. By the way, thisincident has been always a stock argument for the extinction and decentinterment of the unhappy anti dancer. Conceding the necessity of hisextinction, I am yet indisposed to attach much weight to the Davidianprecedent, for it does not appear that he was acting under divinecommand, directly or indirectly imparted, and whenever he followed thehest of his own sweet will David had a notable knack at going wrong. Perhaps the best value of the incident consists in the evidence itsupplies that dancing was not forbidden--save possibly by divineinjunction--to the higher classes of Jews, for unless we are to supposethe dancing of David to have been the mere clumsy capering of a loutishmood (a theory which our respect for royalty, even when divested of itsimposing externals, forbids us to entertain) we are bound to assumeprevious instruction and practice in the art. We have, moreover, theRoman example of the daughter of Herodias, whose dancing before Herodwas so admirably performed that she was suitably rewarded with atestimonial of her step father's esteem. To these examples many moremight be added, showing by cumulative evidence that among the ancientpeople whose religion was good enough for us to adopt and improve, dancing was a polite and proper accomplishment, although not alwaysdecorously executed on seasonable occasion. 

V

ENTER A TROUPE OF ANCIENTS, DANCING

The nearly oldest authentic human records now decipherable are thecuneiform inscriptions from the archives of Assurbanipal, translated bythe late George Smith, of the British Museum, and in them we findabundant reference to the dance, but must content ourselves with asingle one. 

 The kings of Arabia who against my agreement, sinned, whom in the midst of battle alive I had captured in hand, to make that Bitrichiti Heavy burdens I caused them to carry and I caused them to take building its brick work with dancing and music with joy and shouting from the found ation to its roof I built

A Mesopotamian king, who had the genius to conceive the dazzling idea ofcommunicating with the readers of this distant generation by takingimpressions of carpet tacks on cubes of unbaked clay is surely entitledto a certain veneration, and when he associates dancing with suchcommendable actions as making porters of his royal captives it is notbecoming in us meaner mortals to set up a contrary opinion. Indeednothing can be more certain than that the art of dancing was notregarded by the ancients generally in the light of a frivolousaccomplishment, nor its practice a thing wherewith to shoo away atedious hour. In their minds it evidently had a certain dignity andelevation, so much so that they associated it with their ideas(tolerably correct ones, on the whole) of art, harmony, beauty, truthand religion With them, dancing bore a relation to walking and theordinary movements of the limbs similar to that which poetry bears toprose, and as our own Emerson--himself something of an ancient--definespoetry as the piety of the intellect, so Homer would doubtless havedefined dancing as the devotion of the body if he had had theunspeakable advantage of a training in the Emerson school of epigram. Such a view of it is natural to the unsophisticated pagan mind, and toall minds of clean, wholesome, and simple understanding. It is only theintellect that has been subjected to the strain of overwrought religiousenthusiasm of the more sombre sort that can discern a lurking devil inthe dance, or anything but an exhilarating and altogether delightfuloutward manifestation of an inner sense of harmony, joy and well being. Under the stress of morbid feeling, or the overstrain of religiousexcitement, coarsely organized natures see or create something gross andprurient in things intrinsically sweet and pure, and it happens thatwhen the dance has fallen to their shaping and direction, as inreligious rites, then it has received its most objectionable developmentand perversion. But the grossness of dances devised by the secular mindfor purposes of æsthetic pleasure is all in the censorious critic, whodeserves the same kind of rebuke administered by Dr. Johnson to Boswell, who asked the Doctor if he considered a certain nude statue immodest. "No, sir, but your question is. "

It would be an unfortunate thing, indeed, if the "prurient prudes" ofthe meeting houses were permitted to make the laws by which societyshould be governed. The same unhappy psychological condition which makesthe dance an unclean thing in their jaundiced eyes renders it impossiblefor them to enjoy art or literature when the subject is natural, thetreatment free and joyous. The ingenuity that can discover an indelicateprovocative in the waltz will have no difficulty in snouting out allmanner of uncleanliness in Shakspeare, Chaucer, Boccacio--nay, even inthe New Testament. It would detect an unpleasant suggestiveness in theMedicean Venus, and two in the Dancing Faun. To all such the ordinaryfunctions of life are impure, the natural man and woman things to blushat, all the economies of nature full of shocking improprieties. 

In the Primitive Church dancing was a religious rite, no less than itwas under the older dispensation among the Jews. On the eve of sacredfestivals, the young people were accustomed to assemble, sometimesbefore the church door, sometimes in the choir or nave of the church, and dance and sing hymns in honor of the saint whose festival it was. Easter Sunday, especially, was so celebrated; and rituals of acomparatively modern date contain the order in which it is appointedthat the dances are to be performed, and the words of the hymns to themusic of which the youthful devotees flung up their pious heels But Idigress. 

In Plato's time the Greeks held that dancing awakened and preserved inthe soul--as I do not doubt that it does--the sentiment of harmony andproportion; and in accordance with this idea Simonides, with a happyknack at epigram, defined dances as "poems in dumb show. "

In his _Republic_ Plato classifies the Grecian dances as domestic, designed for relaxation and amusement, military, to promote strength andactivity in battle; and religious, to accompany the sacred songs atpious festivals. To the last class belongs the dance which Theseus issaid to have instituted on his return from Crete, after having abatedthe Minotaur nuisance. At the head of a noble band of youth, this publicspirited reformer of abuses himself executed his dance. Theseus as adancing-master does not much fire the imagination, it is true, but theincident has its value and purpose in this dissertation. Theseus calledhis dance _Geranos_, or the "Crane, " because its figures resembled thosedescribed by that fowl aflight; and Plutarch fancied he discovered in ita meaning which one does not so readily discover in Plutarch'sexplanation. 

It is certain that, in the time of Anacreon[A], the Greeks loved thedance. That poet, with frequent repetition, felicitates himself that agehas not deprived him of his skill in it. In Ode LIII, he declares thatin the dance he renews his youth

 When I behold the festive train Of dancing youth, I'm young again

 And let me, while the wild and young Trip the mazy dance along Fling my heap of years away And be as wild, as young as they

 --_Moore_

[Footnote A: It may be noted here that the popular conception of thispoet as a frivolous sensualist is unsustained by evidence and repudiatedby all having knowledge of the matter. Although love and wine were hisconstant themes, there is good ground for the belief that he wrote ofthem with greater _abandon_ than he indulged in them--a not uncommonpractice of the poet-folk, by the way, and one to which those who singof deeds of arms are perhaps especially addicted. The great age whichAnacreon attained points to a temperate life; and he more than oncedenounces intoxication with as great zeal as a modern reformer who haseschewed the flagon for the trencher. According to Anacreon, drunkennessis "the vice of barbarians;" though, for the matter of that, it isdifficult to say what achievable vice is not. In Ode LXII, he sings:

 Fill me, boy, as deep a draught As e'er was filled, as e'er was quaffed; But let the water amply flow To cool the grape's intemperate glow. * * * * * For though the bowl's the grave of sadness Ne'er let it be the birth of madness No! banish from our board to night The revelries of rude delight To Scythians leave these wild excesses Ours be the joy that soothes and blesses! And while the temperate bowl we wreathe In concert let our voices breathe Beguiling every hour along With harmony of soul and song

Maximus of Tyre speaking of Polycrates the Tyrant (tyrant, be itremembered, meant only usurper, not oppressor) considered the happinessof that potentate secure because he had a powerful navy and such afriend as Anacreon--the word navy naturally suggesting cold water, andcold water, Anacreon. ]

And so in Ode LIX, which seems to be a vintage hymn. 

 When he whose verging years decline As deep into the vale as mine When he inhales the vintage cup His feet new winged from earth spring up And as he dances the fresh air Plays whispering through his silvery hair

 --_Id_

In Ode XLVII, he boasts that age has not impaired his relish for, norhis power of indulgence in, the feast and dance. 

 Tis true my fading years decline Yet I can quaff the brimming wine As deep as any stripling fair Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear, And if amidst the wanton crew I'm called to wind the dance's clew Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand Not faltering on the Bacchant's wand

 For though my fading years decay-- Though manhood's prime hath passed away, Like old Silenus sire divine With blushes borrowed from the wine I'll wanton mid the dancing tram And live my follies o'er again

 --_Id_

Cornelius Nepos, I think, mentions among the admirable qualities of thegreat Epaminondas that he had an extraordinary talent for music anddancing. Epaminondas accomplishing his jig must be accepted as apleasing and instructive figure in the history of the dance. 

Lucian says that a dancer must have some skill as an actor, and someacquaintance with mythology--the reason being that the dances at thefestivals of the gods partook of the character of pantomime, andrepresented the most picturesque events and passages in the popularreligion. Religious knowledge is happily no longer regarded as anecessary qualification for the dance, and, in point of fact no thing iscommonly more foreign to the minds of those who excel in it. 

It is related of Aristides the Just that he danced at an entertainmentgiven by Dionysius the Tyrant, and Plato, who was also a guest, probablyconfronted him in the set. 

The "dance of the wine press, " described by Longinus, was originallymodest and proper, but seems to have become in the process of time--andprobably by the stealthy participation of disguised prudes--a kind of_can can_. 

In the high noon of human civilization--in the time of Pericles atAthens--dancing seems to have been regarded as a civilizing and refiningamusement in which the gravest dignitaries and most renowned worthiesjoined with indubitable alacrity, if problematic advantage. Socrateshimself--at an advanced age, too--was persuaded by the virtuous Aspasiato cut his caper with the rest of them. 

Horace (Ode IX, Book I, ) exhorts the youth not to despise the dance:

 Nec dulcis amores Sperne puer, neque tu choreas. 

Which may be freely translated thus:

 Boy, in Love's game don't miss a trick, Nor be in the dance a walking stick. 

In Ode IV, Book I, he says:

 Jam Cytherea choros ducit, inminente Luna Junctæque Nymphis Gratiæ decentes Alterno terram quatiunt pede, etc. 

 At moonrise, Venus and her joyous band Of Nymphs and Graces leg it o'er the land

In Ode XXXVI, Book I (supposed to have been written when Numida returnedfrom the war in Spain, with Augustus, and referring to which an oldcommentator says "We may judge with how much tenderness Horace loved hisfriends, when he celebrates their return with sacrifices, songs, anddances") Horace writes

 Cressa ne careat pulchra dies nota Neu promtæ modus amphoræ Neu morem in Salium sit requies pedum etc. 

 Let not the day forego its mark Nor lack the wine jug's honest bark Like Salian priests we'll toss our toes-- Choose partners for the dance--here goes!

It has been hastily inferred that, in the time of Cicero, dancing wasnot held in good repute among the Romans, but I prefer to consider hisungracious dictum (in _De Ami citia_, I think, ) "_Nemo sobriussaltat_"--no sober man dances--as merely the spiteful and envious flingof a man who could not himself dance, and am disposed to congratulatethe golden youth of the Eternal City on the absence of the solemnconsequential and egotistic orator from their festivals and merrymakings whence his shining talents would have been so many severaljustifications for his forcible extrusion. No doubt his eminenceprocured him many invitations to balls of the period, and some of thesehe probably felt constrained to accept, but it is highly unlikely thathe was often solicited to dance, he probably wiled away the tedioushours of inaction by instructing the fibrous virgins and gouty bucks inthe principles of juris prudence. Cicero as a wall flower is aninteresting object, and, turning to another branch of our subject, inthis picturesque attitude we leave him. Left talking. 

VI

CAIRO REVISITED

Having glanced, briefly, and as through a glass darkly, at the dance asit existed in the earliest times of which we have knowledge in thecountry whence, through devious and partly obliterated channels, wederived much of our civilization, let us hastily survey some of itsmodern methods in the same region--supplying thereby some small means ofcomparison to the reader who may care to note the changes undergone andthe features preserved. 

We find the most notable, if not the only, purely Egyptian dancer of ourtime in the _Alme_ or _Ghowazee_. The former name is derived from theoriginal calling of this class--that of reciting poetry to the inmatesof the harem, the latter they acquired by dancing at the festivals ofthe Ghors, or Memlooks. Reasonably modest at first, the dancing of theAlme became, in the course of time, so conspicuously indelicate thatgreat numbers of the softer sex persuaded themselves to its acquirementand practice, and a certain viceregal Prude once contracted the powersof the whole Cairo contingent of Awalim into the pent up Utica of thetown of Esuch, some five hundred miles removed from the viceregaldissenting eye. For a brief season the order was enforced, then thesprightly sinners danced out of bounds, and their successors can now befound by the foreign student of Egyptian morals without the fatigue andexpense of a long journey up the Nile. 

The professional dress of the Alme consists of a short embroideredjacket, fitting closely to the arms and back, but frankly unreserved infront, long loose trousers of silk sufficiently opaque somewhat tosoften the severity of the lower limbs, a Cashmere shawl bound about thewaist and a light turban of muslin embroidered with gold. The long blackhair, starred with small coins, falls abundantly over the shoulders. Theeyelids are sabled with kohl, and such other paints, oils, varnishes anddyestuffs are used as the fair one--who is a trifle dark, by theway--may have proved for herself, or accepted on the superior judgmentof her European sisters. Altogether, the girl's outer and visible aspectis not unattractive to the eye of the traveler, however faulty to theeye of the traveler's wife. When about to dance, the Alme puts on alighter and more diaphanous dress, eschews her slippers, and with a slowand measured step advances to the centre of the room--her lithe figureundulating with a grace peculiarly serpentile. The music is that of areed pipe or a tambourine--a number of attendants assisting withcastanets. Perhaps the "argument" of her dance will be a love-passagewith an imaginary young Arab. The coyness of a first meeting by chanceher gradual warming into passion their separation, followed by her tearsand dejection the hope of meeting soon again and, finally, theintoxication of being held once more in his arms--all are delineatedwith a fidelity and detail surprising to whatever of judgment themasculine spectator may have the good fortune to retain. 

One of the prime favorites is the "wasp dance, " allied to theTarantella. Although less pleasing in motive than that described, thewasp dance gives opportunity for movements of even superiorsignificance--or, as one may say, suggestures. The girl stands in apensive posture, her hands demurely clasped in front, her head poised alittle on one side. Suddenly a wasp is heard to approach, and by hergestures is seen to have stung her on the breast. She then darts hitherand thither in pursuit of that audacious insect, assuming all manner ofprovoking attitudes, until, finally, the wasp having been caught andmiserably exterminated, the girl resumes her innocent smile and modestpose. 

VII

JAPAN WEAR AND BOMBAY DUCKS

Throughout Asia, dancing is marked by certain characteristics which donot greatly differ, save in degree, among the various peoples whopractice it. With few exceptions, it is confined to the superior sex, and these ladies, I am sorry to confess, have not derived as great moraladvantage from the monopoly as an advocate of dancing would prefer torecord. 

Dancing--the rhythmical movement of the limbs and body to music--is, asI have endeavored to point out, instinctive, hardly a people, savage orrefined, but has certain forms of it. When, from any cause, the menabstain from its execution it has commonly not the character of graceand agility as its dominant feature, but is distinguished by soft, voluptuous movements, suggestive posturing, and all the wiles by whichthe performer knows she can best please the other sex, the mostforthright and effective means to that commendable end being evocationof man's baser nature. The Japanese men are anti-dancers from necessityof costume, if nothing else, and the effect is much the same aselsewhere under the same conditions the women dance, the men gloat andthe gods grieve. 

There are two kinds of dances in Japan, the one not only lewd, but--tospeak with accurate adjustment of word to fact--beastly, in the othergrace is the dominating element, and decency as cold as a snow storm. Ofthe former class, the "Chon Nookee" is the most popular. It is, however, less a dance than an exhibition, and its patrons are the wicked, thedissolute and the European. It is commonly given at some entertainmentto which respectable women have not the condescension to beinvited--such as a dinner party of some wealthy gentleman's gentlemenfriends. The dinner-served on the floor--having been impatiently tuckedaway, and the candies, cakes, hot saki and other necessary addenda of aJapanese dinner brought in, the "Chon Nookee" is demanded, and with amodest demeanor, worn as becomingly as if it were their every day habit, the performers glide in, seating themselves coyly on the floor, in tworows. Each dancing girl is appareled in such captivating bravery as herpurse can buy or her charms exact. The folds of her varicolored gownscrossing her bosom makes combinations of rich, warm hues, which it werefolly not to admire and peril to admire too much. The faces of thesegirls are in many instances exceedingly pretty, but with thatnatural--and, be it humbly submitted, not very creditable--tendency ofthe sex to revision and correction of nature's handiwork, they plasterthem with pigments dear to the sign painter and temper the red glory oftheir lips with a bronze preparation which the flattered brass founderwould no doubt deem kissable utterly. The music is made by beating adrum and twanging a kind of guitar, the musician chanting the while toan exceedingly simple air words which, in deference to the possibleprejudices of those readers who may be on terms of familarity with theJapanese language, I have deemed it proper to omit--with an apology tothe Prudes for the absence of an appendix in which they might be givenwithout offense. (I had it in mind to insert the music here, but am toldby credible authority that in Japan music is moral or immoral withoutreference to the words that may be sung with it. So I omit--withreluctance--the score, as well as the words. )

The chanting having proceeded for a few minutes the girls take up thesong and enter spiritedly into the dance. One challenges another and ata certain stage of the lively song with the sharp cry _"Hoi!"_ makes amotion with her hand. Failure on the part of the other instantaneouslyand exactly to copy this gesture entails the forfeiture of a garment, which is at once frankly removed. Cold and mechanical at the outset, themusic grows spirited as the girls grow nude, and the dancers themselvesbecome strangely excited as they warm to the work, taking, the while, generous potations of saki to assist their enthusiasm. 

Let it not be supposed that in all this there is anything of passion, itis with these women nothing more that the mere mental exaltationproduced by music, exercise and drink. With the spectators (I haveheard) it fares somewhat otherwise. 

When modesty's last rag has been discarded, the girls as if suddenlyabashed at their own audacity, fly like startled fawns from the room, leaving their patrons to make a settlement with conscience and arrangethe terms upon which that monitor will consent to the performance of therest of the dance. For the dance proper--or improper--is now about tobegin. If the first part seemed somewhat tropical, comparison with whatfollows will acquit it of that demerit. The combinations of the danceare infinitely varied, and so long as willing witnesses remain--which, in simple justice to manly fortitude it should be added, is a goodwhile--so long will the "Chon Nookee" present a new and unexpectedphase, but it is thought expedient that no more of them be presentedhere, and if the reader has done me the honor to have enough of it, wewill pass to the consideration of another class of dances. 

Of this class those most in favor are the Fan and Umbrella dances, performed, usually, by young girls trained almost from infancy. TheJapanese are passionately fond of these beautiful exhibitions of grace, and no manner of festivity is satisfactorily celebrated without them. The musicians, all girls, commonly six or eight in number, play on theguitar, a small ivory wand being used, instead of the fingers, to strikethe strings. The dancer, a girl of some thirteen years, is elaboratelyhabited as a page. Confined by the closely folded robe as by fetters, the feet and legs are not much used, the feet, indeed, never leaving thefloor. Time is marked by undulations of the body, waving the arms, anddeft manipulation of the fan. The supple figure bends and sways like areed in the wind, advances and recedes, one movement succeeding anotherby transitions singularly graceful, the arms describing innumerablecurves, and the fan so skilfully handled as to seem instinct with a lifeand liberty of its own. Nothing more pure, more devoid of evilsuggestion, can be imagined. It is a sad fact that the poor childrentrained to the execution of this harmless and pleasing dance aredestined, in their riper years, to give their charms and graces to theservice of the devil in the 'Chon Nookee'. The umbrella dance is similarto the one just described, the main difference being the use of a small, gaily colored umbrella in place of the fan. 

Crossing from Japan to China, the Prude will find a condition of thingswhich, for iron severity of morals, is perhaps unparalleled--no dancingwhatever, by either profligate or virtuous women. To whatever originalcause we may attribute this peculiarity, it seems eternal, for the womenof the upper classes have an ineradicable habit of so mutilating theirfeet that even the polite and comparatively harmless accomplishment ofwalking is beyond their power, those of the lower orders have not senseenough to dance, and that men should dance alone is a proposition ofsuch free and forthright idiocy as to be but obscurely conceivable toany understanding not having the gift of maniacal inspiration, or thenormal advantage of original incapacity. Altogether, we may rightlyconsider China the heaven appointed _habitat_ of people who dislike thedance. 

In Siam, what little is known of dancing is confined to the people ofLaos. The women are meek eyed, spiritless creatures, crushed under theheavy domination of the stronger sex. Naturally, their music and dancingare of a plaintive, almost doleful character, not without a certaincloying sweetness, however. The dancing is as graceful as the pudgylittle bodies of the women are capable of achieving--a little morepleasing than the capering of a butcher's block, but not quite so muchso as that of a wash tub. Its greatest merit is the steely rigor of itsdecorum. The dancers, however, like ourselves, are a shade lessappallingly proper off the floor than on it. 

In no part of the world, probably, is the condition of women moreconsummately deplorable than in India, and, in consequence, nowhere thanin the dances of that country is manifested a more simpleunconsciousness or frank disregard of decency. As by nature, andaccording to the light that is in him, the Hindu is indolent andlicentious, so, in accurately matching degree, are the dancing girlsinnocent of morality, and uninfected with shame. It would be difficult, more keenly to insult a respectable Hindu woman than to accuse her ofhaving danced, while the man who should affect the society of thefemales justly so charged would incur the lasting detestation of hisrace. The dancing girls are of two orders of infamy--those who serve inthe temples, and are hence called Devo Dasi, slaves of the gods, and theNautch girls, who dance in a secular sort for hire. Frequently a motherwill make a vow to dedicate her unborn babe, if it have the obedience tobe a girl, to the service of some particular god, in this way, and bythe daughters born to themselves, are the ranks of the Devo Dasirecruited. The sons of these miserable creatures are taught to play uponmusical instruments for their mothers and sisters to dance by. As theordinary Hindu woman is careless about the exposure of her charms, sothese dancers take intelligent and mischievous advantage of the socialsituation by immodestly concealing their own. The Devo Dasi actually goto the length of wearing clothes! Each temple has a band of eight or tenof these girls, who celebrate their saltatory rites morning and evening. Advancing at the head of the religious procession, they move themselvesin an easy and graceful manner, with gradual transition to a moresensuous and voluptuous motion, suiting their action to the religiousframe of mind of the devout until their well-rounded limbs and lithefigures express a degree of piety consonant with the purpose of theparticular occasion. They attend all public ceremonies and festivals, executing their audacious dances impartially for gods and men. 

The Nautch girls are purchased in infancy, and as carefully trained intheir wordly way as the Devo Dasi for the diviner function, being aboutequally depraved. All the large cities contain full sets of these girls, with attendant musicians, ready for hire at festivals of any kind, andby leaving orders parties are served at their residences with fidelityand dispatch. Commonly they dance two at a time, but frequently somewealthy gentleman will secure the services of a hundred or more toassist him through the day without resorting to questionable expedientsof time-killing. Their dances require strict attention, from thecircumstance that their feet--like those of the immortal equestrienne ofBanbury Cross--are hung with small bells, which must be made to sound inconcert with the notes of the musicians. In attitude and gesture theyare almost as bad as their pious sisters of the temples. The endeavor isto express the passions of love, hope, jealousy, despair, etc, and theyeke out this mimicry with chanted songs in every way worthy of themovements of which they are the explanatory notes. These are the onlywomen in Hindustan whom it is thought worth while to teach to read andwrite. If they would but make as noble use of their intellectual as theydo of their physical education, they might perhaps produce books asmoral as _The Dance of Death_. 

In Persia and Asia Minor, the dances and dancers are nearly alike. Inboth countries the Georgian and Circassian slaves who have been taughtthe art of pleasing, are bought by the wealthy for their amusement andthat of their wives and concubines. Some of the performances are pure inmotive and modest in execution, but most of them are interestingotherwise. The beautiful young Circassian slave, clad in loose robes ofdiaphanous texture, takes position, castanets in hand, on a square rug, and to the music of a kind of violin goes through the figures of herdance, her whiteness giving her an added indelicacy which the Europeanspectator misses in the capering of her berry brown sisters in sin ofother climes. 

The dance of the Georgian is more spirited. Her dress is a brief skirtreaching barely to the knees and a low cut chemise. In her night blackhair is wreathed a bright red scarf or string of pearls. The music, atfirst low and slow increases by degrees in rapidity and volume, thenfalls away almost to silence, again swells and quickens and soalternates, the motions of the dancer's willowy and obedient figureaccurately according now seeming to swim languidly, and anon her littlefeet having their will of her, and fluttering in midair like a couple ofbirds. She is an engaging creature, her ways are ways of pleasantness, but whether all her paths are peace depends somewhat, it is reasonableto conjecture, upon the circumspection of her daily walk andconversation when relegated to the custody of her master's wives. 

In some parts of Persia the dancing of boys appareled as women is heldin high favor, but exactly what wholesome human sentiment it addresses Iam not prepared to say. 

VIII

IN THE BOTTOM OF THE CRUCIBLE

From the rapid and imperfect review of certain characteristic orientaldances in the chapters immediately preceding--or rather from the studiessome of whose minor results those chapters embody--I make deduction of afew significant facts, to which facts of contrary significance seemexceptional. In the first place, it is to be noted that in countrieswhere woman is conspicuously degraded the dance is correspondinglydepraved. By "the dance, " I mean, of course, those characteristic andtypical performances which have permanent place in the social life ofthe people. Amongst all nations the dance exists in certain loose andunrecognized forms, which are the outgrowth of the moment--creatures ofcaprice, posing and pranking their brief and inglorious season, to besuperseded by some newer favorite, born of some newer accident or fancy. A fair type of these ephemeral dances--the comets of the saltatorysystem--in so far as they can have a type, is the now familiar _Can-Can_of the Jardin Mabille--a dance the captivating naughtiness of which hasgiven it wide currency in our generation, the successors to whose agedrakes and broken bawds it will fail to please and would probably makeunhappy. Dances of this character, neither national, universal, norenduring, have little value to the student of anything but anatomy andlingerie. By study of a thousand, the product of as many years, it mightbe possible to trace the thread upon which such beads arestrung--indeed, it is pretty obvious without research; but consideredsingly they have nothing of profit to the investigator, who will do wellto contemplate without reflection or perform without question, as thebent of his mind may be observant or experimental. 

Dancing, then, is indelicate where the women are depraved, and to thisit must be added that the women are depraved where the men are indolent. We need not trouble ourselves to consider too curiously as to cause andeffect. Whether in countries where man is too lazy to be manly, womanpractices deferential adjustment of her virtues to the loose exactionsof his tolerance, or whether for ladies of indifferent modesty theirlords will not make exertion--these are questions for the ethnologer. Itconcerns our purpose only to note that the male who sits cross-legged ona rug and permits his female to do the dancing for both gets a qualitydistinctly inferior to that enjoyed by his more energetic brother, willing himself to take a leg at the game. Doubtless the lazy fellowprefers the loose gamboling of nude girls to the decent grace andmoderation of a better art, but this, I submit, is an error of tasteresulting from imperfect instruction. 

And here we are confronted with the ever recurrent question. Is dancingimmoral? The reader who has done me the honor attentively to considerthe brief descriptions of certain dances, hereinbefore presented will, it is believed, be now prepared to answer that some sorts of dancingindubitably are--a bright and shining example of the type being theexploit wherein women alone perform and men alone admire. But one of thearguments by which it is sought to prove dancing immoral initself--namely that it provokes evil passions--we are now able toanalyze with the necessary discrimination, assigning to it its justweight, and tracing its real bearing on the question. Dances like thosedescribed (with, I hope a certain delicacy and reticence) areundoubtedly disturbing to the spectator. They have in that circumstancetheir _raison d'être_. As to that, then, there can be no two opinions. But observe the male oriental voluptuary does not himself dance. Why?Partly no doubt, because of his immortal indolence, but mainly, Iventure to think, because he wishes to enjoy his reprehensible emotion, and this can not coexist with muscular activity If the reader--througheither immunity from improper emotion or unfamiliarity with muscularactivity--entertains a doubt of this, his family physician will be happyto remove it. Nothing is more certain than that the dancing girls oforiental countries themselves feel nothing of what they have the skillto simulate, and the ballet dancer of our own stage is icily unconcernedwhile kicking together the smouldering embers in the heart of the wiggedand corseted old beau below her, and playing the duse's delight with thedisobedient imagination of the he Prude posted in the nooks and shadowsthoughtfully provided for him. Stendahl frankly informs us, "I have hadmuch experience with the _danseuses_ of the ---- Theatre at Valence. Iam convinced that they are, for the most part, very chaste. It isbecause their occupation is too fatiguing. "

The same author, by the way, says elsewhere

 I would wish if I were legislator that they should adopt in France as in Germany the custom of _soirées dansantes_. Four times a month the young girls go with their mothers to a ball beginning at seven o'clock, ending at midnight and requiring for all expense, a violin and some glasses of water. In an adjacent room, the mothers perhaps a little jealous of the happy education of their daughters play at cards, in a third the fathers find the newspapers and talk politics. Between midnight and one o'clock all the family are reunited and have regained the paternal roof. The young girls learn to know the young men, the fatuity, and the indiscretion that follows it, become quickly odious, in a word they learn how to choose a husband. Some young girls have unfortunate love affairs, but the number of deceived husbands and unhappy households (_mauvaises ménages_) diminishes in immense proportion. 

For an iron education in cold virtue there is no school like theposition of sitting master to the wall flowers at a church sociable, butit is humbly conjectured that even the austere morality of a bald headedPrude might receive an added iciness if he would but attend one of thesesimple dancing bouts disguised as a sweet young girl. 

IX

COUNSEL FOR THE DEFENSE

Nearly all the great writers of antiquity and of the medieval period whohave mentioned dancing at all have done so in terms of unmistakablefavor; of modern famous authors, they only have condemned it from whosework, or from what is known of their personal character, we may justlyinfer an equal aversion to pretty much everything in the way of pleasurethat a Christian needs not die in order to enjoy English literature--Iuse the word in its noble sense, to exclude all manner of preaching, whether clerical or lay--is full of the dance; the sound of merry makersfooting it featly to the music runs like an undertone through all thevariations of its theme and fills all its pauses. 

In the "Miller's Tale, " Chaucer mentions dancing among theaccomplishments of the parish clerk, along with blood letting and thedrawing of legal documents:

 A merry child he was so God me save, Wel coud he leten blood and clippe and shave, And make a chartre of land, and a quitance, In twenty maners could he trip and dance, After the scole of Oxenforde tho And with his legges casten to and fro[A]

[Footnote A: On this passage Tyrwhit makes the following judiciouscomment: The school of Oxford seems to have been in much the sameestimation for its dancing as that of Stratford for its French--alludingof course to what is, said in the Prologue of the French spoken by thePrioress:

 And French she spoke full fayre and fetisly After the scole of Stratford atte bowe For French of Paris was to hire unknowe]

Milton, the greatest of the Puritans--intellectual ancestry of themodern degenerate Prudes--had a wholesome love of the dance, and nowhereis his pen so joyous as in its description in the well known passagefrom "Comus" which, should it occur to my memory while delivering afuneral oration, I am sure I could not forbear to quote, albeit this, our present argument, is but little furthered by its context

 Meanwhile welcome joy and feast Midnight shout and revelry Tipsy dance and jollity Braid your locks with rosy twine Dropping odors dropping wine Rigor now is gone to bed And advice with scrupulous head Strict age and sour severity With their grave saws in slumber lie We that are of purer fire Imitate the starry quire Who in their nightly watching spheres Lead in swift round the months and years The sounds and seas with all their finny drove And on the tawny sands and shelves Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves

If Milton was not himself a good dancer--and as to that point my memoryis unstored with instance or authority--it will at least be concededthat he was an admirable reporter, with his heart in the business. Somewhat to lessen the force of the objection that he puts the foregoinglines into a not very respectable mouth, on a not altogether reputableoccasion, I append the following passage from the same poem, supposed tobe spoken by the good spirit who had brought a lady and her two brothersthrough many perils, restoring them to their parents:

 Noble lord and lady bright I have brought ye new delight Here behold so goodly grown Three fair branches of your own Heaven hath timely tried their youth Their faith their patience and their truth And sent them here through hard assays With a crown of deathless praise To triumph in victorious dance O'er sensual folly and intemperance

The lines on dancing--lines which themselves dance--in "L'Allegro, " aretoo familiar, I dare not permit myself the enjoyment of quotation. 

Lord Herbert of Cherbury, one of the most finished gentlemen of histime, otherwise laments in his autobiography that he had never learnedto dance because that accomplishment "doth fashion the body, and givesone a good presence and address in all companies since it disposeth thelimbs to a kind of _souplesse_ (as the French call it) and agilityinsomuch as they seem to have the use of their legs, arms, and bodiesmore than many others who, standing stiff and stark in their postures, seem as if they were taken in their joints, or had not the perfect useof their members. " Altogether, a very grave objection to dancing in theopinion of those who discountenance it, and I take great credit forcandor in presenting his lordship's indictment. 

In the following pertinent passage from Lemontey I do not remember theopinion he quotes from Locke, but his own is sufficiently to the point:

 The dance is for young women what the chase is for young men: a protecting school of wisdom--a preservative of the growing passions. The celebrated Locke who made virtue the sole end of education, expressly recommends teaching children to dance as early as they are able to learn. Dancing carries within itself an eminently cooling quality and all over the world the tempests of the heart await to break forth the repose of the limbs. 

In "The Traveller, " Goldsmith says:

 Alike all ages dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze And the gay grandsire skilled in gestic lore Has frisked beneath the burden of three score. 

To the Prudes, in all soberness--Is it likely, considering the stubbornconservatism of age, that these dames, well seasoned in the habit, willleave it off directly, or the impenitent old grandsire abate one jot ortittle of his friskiness in the near future? Is it a reasonable hope? Isthe outlook from the watch towers of Philistia an encouraging one?

X

THEY ALL DANCE

 Fountains dance down to the river, Rivers to the ocean Summer leaflets dance and quiver To the breeze's motion Nothing in the world is single-- All things by a simple rule Nods and steps and graces mingle As at dancing school

 See the shadows on the mountain Pirouette with one another See the leaf upon the fountain Dances with its leaflet brother See the moonlight on the earth Flecking forest gleam and glance! What are all these dancings worth If I may not dance?

 _--After Shelley_

Dance? Why not? The dance is natural, it is innocent, wholesome, enjoyable. It has the sanction of religion, philosophy, science. It isapproved by the sacred writings of all ages and nations--of Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, of Zoroaster and Confucius. Not an altar, from Jupiter to Jesus, around which the votaries have not danced withreligious zeal and indubitable profit to mind and body. Fire worshipersof Persia and Peru danced about the visible sign and manifestation totheir deity. Dervishes dance in frenzy, and the Shakers jump up and comedown hard through excess of the Spirit. All the gods have danced withall the goddesses--round dances, too. The lively divinities created bythe Greeks in their own image danced divinely, as became them. Old Thorstormed and thundered down the icy halls of the Scandinavian mythologyto the music of runic rhymes, and the souls of slain heroes in Valhallatake to their toes in celebration of their valorous deeds done in thebody upon the bodies of their enemies. Angels dance before the GreatWhite Throne to harps attuned by angel hands, and the Master of theRevels--who arranges the music of the spheres--looks approvingly on. Dancing is of divine institution. 

The elves and fairies "dance delicate measures" in the light of the moonand stars. The troll dances his gruesome jig on lonely hills the gnomeexecutes his little pigeon wing in the obscure subterrene by the glimmerof a diamond. Nature's untaught children dance in wood and glade, stimulated of leg by the sunshine with which they are soaken topfull--the same quickening emanation that inspires the growing tree andupheaves the hill. And, if I err not, there is sound Scripture for thebelief that these self same eminences have capacity to skip for joy. Thepeasant dances--a trifle clumsily--at harvest feast when the grain isgarnered. The stars in heaven dance visibly, the firefly dances inemulation of the stars. The sunshine dances on the waters. The hummingbird and the bee dance about the flowers which dance to the breeze. Theinnocent lamb, type of the White Christ, dances on the green, and thematronly cow perpetrates an occasional stiff enormity when she fanciesherself unobserved. All the sportive rollickings of all the animals, from the agile fawn to the unwieldly behemoth are dances taught them bynature. 

I am not here making an argument for dancing, I only assert itsgoodness, confessing its abuse. We do not argue the wholesomeness ofsunshine and cold water, we assert it, admitting that sunstroke ismischievous and that copious potations of freezing water will founder asuperheated horse, and urge the hot blood to the head of an imprudentman similarly prepared, killing him, as is right. We do not buildsyllogisms to prove that grains and fruits of the earth are of God'sbest bounty to man; we allow that bad whisky may--with difficulty--bedistilled from rye to spoil the toper's nose, and that hydrocyanic acidcan be got out of the bloomy peach. It were folly to prove that Scienceand Invention are our very good friends, yet the sapper who has had themisfortune to be blown to rags by the mine he was preparing for hisenemy will not deny that gunpowder has aptitudes of mischief; and fromthe point of view of a nigger ordered upon the safety-valve of a racingsteamboat, the vapor of water is a thing accurst. Shall we condemn musicbecause the lute makes "lascivious pleasing?" Or poetry because someamorous bard tells in warm rhyme the story of the passions, andSwinburne has had the goodness to make vice offensive with his hymns inits praise? Or sculpture because from the guiltless marble may bewrought a drunken Silenus or a lechering satyr?--painting because theuntamed fancies of a painter sometimes break tether and run riot on hiscanvas? Because the orator may provoke the wild passions of the mob, shall there be no more public speaking?--no further acting because theactor may be pleased to saw the air, or the actress display her ultimateinch of leg? Shall we upset the pulpit because poor dear Mr. Tilton hada prettier wife than poor, dear Mr. Beecher? The bench had its Jeffrey, yet it is necessary that we have the deliveries of judgment betweenourselves and the litigious. The medical profession has nursed poisonersenough to have baned all the rats of christendom; but the resolutepatient must still have his prescription--if he die for it. Shall wedisband our armies because in the hand of an ambitious madman afield-marshal's baton may brain a helpless State?--our navies because inships pirates have "sailed the seas over?" Let us not commit thevulgarity of condemning the dance because of its possibilities ofperversion by the vicious and the profligate. Let us not utter us in hotbosh and baking nonsense, but cleave to reason and the sweet sense ofthings. 

Dancing never made a good girl bad, nor turned a wholesome young man toevil ways. "Opportunity!" simpers the tedious virgin past thewall-flower of her youth. "Opportunity!" cackles the _blasé_ beau whohas outlasted his legs and gone deaconing in a church. 

Opportunity, indeed! There is opportunity in church and school-room, insocial intercourse. There is opportunity in libraries, art-galleries, picnics, street-cars, Bible-classes and at fairs and matinées. Opportunity--rare, delicious opportunity, not innocently to beignored--in moonlight rambles by still streams. Opportunity, such as itis, behind the old gentleman's turned back, and beneath the goodmother's spectacled nose. You shall sooner draw out leviathan with ahook, or bind Arcturus and his sons, than baffle the upthrust ofOpportunity's many heads. Opportunity is a veritable Hydra, Argus andBriareus rolled into one. He has a hundred heads to plan his poachings, a hundred eyes to spy the land, a hundred hands to set his snares andspringes. In the country where young girls are habitually unattended inthe street; where the function of chaperon is commonly, and, it shouldbe added, intelligently performed by some capable young male; where theyoung women receive evening calls from young men concerning whosepresence in the parlor mamma in the nursery and papa at the"office"--poor, overworked papa!--give themselves precious littletrouble, --this prate of ball-room opportunity is singularly andengagingly idiotic. The worthy people who hold such language may justlyboast themselves superior to reason and impregnable to light. The onlyeffective reply to these creatures would be a cuffing, the well meantobjections of another class merit the refutation of distinctcharacterization. It is the old talk of devotees about sin, of topersconcerning water, temperance men of gin, and albeit it is neither wisenor witty, it is becoming in us at whom they rail to deal mercifullywith them. In some otherwise estimable souls one of these harmless braincracks may be a right lovable trait of character. 

Issues of a social import as great as a raid against dancing have beenraised ere now. Will the coming man smoke? Will the coming man drinkwine? These tremendous and imperative problems only recently agitatedsome of the "thoughtful minds" in our midst. By degrees they lost theirpreeminence, they were seen to be in process of solution without socialcataclysm, they have, in a manner been referred for disposal to thecoming man himself, that is to say, they have been dropped, and areto-day as dead as Julius Cæsar. The present hour has, in its turn, produced its own awful problem: Will the coming woman waltz?

As a question of mere fact the answer is patent: She will. Dancing willbe good for her; she will like it; so she is going to waltz. But thequestion may rather be put--to borrow phraseology current among hercritics: Had she oughter?--from a moral point of view, now. From a moralpoint, then, let us seek from analogy some light on the question ofwhat, from its actual, practical bearings, may be dignified by the nameConundrum. 

Ought a man not to smoke?--from a moral point of view. The economicalview-point, the view-point of convenience, and all the rest of them, arenot now in question; the simple question is: Is it immoral to smoke? Andagain--still from the moral point of view: Is it immoral to drink wine?Is it immoral to play at cards?--to visit theaters? (In Boston you go tosome

 harmless "Museum, " Where folks who like plays may religiously see 'em. )

Finally, then--and always from the same elevated view-point: Is itimmoral to waltz?

The suggestions here started will not be further pursued in this place. It is quite pertinent now to note that we do smoke because we like it;and do drink wine because we like it; and do waltz because we like it, and have the added consciousness that it is a duty. I am sorry for afellow-creature--male--who knows not the comfort of a cigar; sorry andconcerned for him who is innocent of the knowledge of good and evil thatlurk respectively in Chambertin and cheap "claret. " Nor is my compassionaltogether free from a sense of superiority to the object ofit--superiority untainted, howbeit, by truculence. I perceive that lifehas been bestowed upon him for purposes inscrutable to me, though dimlyhinting its own justification as a warning or awful example. So, too, ofthe men and women--"beings erect, and walking upon two [uneducated]legs"--whose unsophisticated toes have never, inspired by the rosy, threaded the labyrinth of the mazy ere courting the kindly offices ofthe balmy. It is only human to grieve for them, poor things!

But if their throbbing bunions, encased in clumsy high-lows, be obtrudedto trip us in our dance, shall we not stamp on them? Yea, verily, whilewe have a heel to crunch with and a leg to grind it home. 

XI

LUST, QUOTH'A!

You have danced? Ah, good. You have waltzed? Better. You have felt thehot blood hound through your veins, as your beautiful partner, compliantto the lightest pressure of your finger-tips, her breath responsive, matched her every motion with yours? Best of all--for you have served inthe temple--you are of the priesthood of manhood. You cannotmisunderstand, you will not deliver false oracle. 

Do you remember your first waltz with the lovely woman whom you hadlonged like a man but feared like a boy to touch--even so much as thehem of her garment? Can you recall the time, place and circumstance? Hasnot the very first bar of the music that whirled you away been singingitself in your memory ever since? Do you recall the face you then lookedinto, the eyes that seemed deeper than a mountain tarn, the figure thatyou clasped, the beating of the heart, the warm breath that mingled withyour own? Can you faintly, as in a dream--_blasé_ old dancer that youare--invoke a reminiscence of the delirium that stormed your soul, expelling the dull demon in possession? Was it lust, as the Prudesaver--the poor dear Prudes, with the feel of the cold wall familiar tothe leathery backs of them?

It was the gratification--the decent, honorable, legal gratification--ofthe passion for rhythm; the unconditional surrender to the supreme lawof periodicity, under conditions of exact observance by all externalthings. The notes of the music repeat and supplement each other; thelights burn with answering flame at sequent distances; the walls, thewindows, doors, mouldings, frescoes, iterate their lines, their levels, and panels, interminable of combination and similarity; the inlaid floormatches its angles, multiplies its figures, does over again at thispoint what it did at that; the groups of dancers deploy in couples, aggregate in groups, and again deploy, evoking endless resemblances. Andall this rhythm and recurrence, borne in upon the brain--itselfrhythmic--through intermittent senses, is converted into motion, and themind, yielding utterly to its environment, knows the happiness of faith, the ecstasy of compliance, the rapture of congruity. And this the dulldunces--the eyeless, earless, brainless and bloodless callosites ofcavil--are pleased to call lust!

 O ye, who teach the ingenuous youth of nations The Boston Dip, the German and the Glide, I pray you guard them upon all occasions From contact of the palpitating side; Requiring that their virtuous gyrations Shall interpose a space a furlong wide Between the partners, lest their thoughts grow lewd-- So shall we satisfy the exacting Prude. 

 --_Israfel Brown_. 

XII

OUR GRANDMOTHERS' LEGS

It is depressing to realize how little most of us know of the dancing ofour ancestors. I would give value to behold the execution of a corantoand inspect the steps of a cinque-pace, having assurance that theperformances assuming these names were veritably identical with theirmemorable originals. We possess the means of verifying somewhat as tothe nature of the minuet; but after what fashion did our reveredgrandfather do his rigadoon and his gavot? What manner of thing was thatpirouet in the deft execution of which he felt an honest exultation? Andwhat were the steps of his contra (or country) and Cossack dances? Whattune was that--"The Devil amongst the Fiddlers"--for which he clamored, to inspire his feats of leg?

In our fathers' time we read:

 I wore my blue coat and brass buttons, very high in the neck, short in the waist and sleeves, nankeen trousers and white silk stockings, and a white waistcoat. I performed all the steps accurately and with great agility. 

Which, it appears, gained the attention of the company. And it wellmight, for the year was 1830, and the mode of performing the cotillionof the period was undergoing the metamorphosis of which the perfectdevelopment has been familiar to ourselves. In its next stage the malecelebrant is represented to us as "hopping about with a face expressiveof intense solemnity, dancing as if a quadrille"--mark the newerword--"were not a thing to be laughed at, but a severe trial to thefeelings. " There is a smack of ancient history about this, too; it lurksin the word "hopping. " In the perfected development of this dance asknown to ourselves, no stress of caricature would describe the movementas a hopping. But our grandfather not only hopped, he did more. Hesprang from the floor and quivered. In midair he crossed his feet twiceand even three times, before alighting. And our budding grandmotherbeheld, and experienced flutterings of the bosom at his manlyachievements. Some memory of these feats survived in the performances ofthe male ballet-dancers--a breed now happily extinct. A fine oldlady--she lives, aged eighty-two--showed me once the exercise of"setting to your partner, " performed in her youth; and truly it wasright marvelous. She literally bounced hither and thither, effecting atwisting in and out of the feet, a patting and a flickering of the toesincredibly intricate. For the celebration of these rites her partnerwould array himself in morocco pumps with cunningly contrived buckles ofsilver, silk stockings, salmon-colored silk breeches tied with abundanceof riband, exuberant frills, or "chitterlings, " which puffed out at theneck and bosom not unlike the wattles of a he-turkey; and under hisarms--as the fowl roasted might have carried its gizzard--ourgrandfather pressed the flattened simulacrum of a cocked hat. At thisinterval of time charity requires us to drop over the lady's own costumea veil that, tried by our canons of propriety, it sadly needed. She wasyoung and thoughtless, the good grandmother; she was conscious of thepossession of charms and concealed them not. 

To the setting of these costumes, manners and practices, there wasimported from Germany a dance called Waltz, which as I conceive, was thefirst of our "round" dances. It was welcomed by most persons who coulddance, and by some superior souls who could not. Among the latter, thelate Lord Byron--whose participation in the dance was barred by anunhappy physical disability--addressed the new-comer in characteristicverse. Some of the lines in this ingenious nobleman's apostrophe are notaltogether intelligible, when applied to any dance that we know by thename of waltz. For example:

 Pleased round the chalky floor, how well they trip, One hand[A] reposing on the royal hip, The other to the shoulder no less royal Ascending with affection truly loyal. 

[Footnote A: _I. E. _ one of the lady's hands. ]

These lines imply an attitude unknown to contemporary waltzers, but thedescription involves no poetic license. Our dear grandmothers (giddy, giddy girls!) did their waltz that way. Let me quote:

 The lady takes the gentleman round the neck with one arm, resting against his shoulder. During the motion, the dancers are continually changing their relative situations: now the gentleman brings his arm about the lady's neck, and the lady takes him round the waist. 

At another point, the lady may "lean gently on his shoulder, " their arms(as it appears) "entwining. " This description is by an eyewitness, whoseobservation is taken, not at the rather debauched court of the PrinceRegent, but at the simple republican assemblies of New York. Theobserver is the gentle Irving, writing in 1807. Occasional noteworthyexperiences they must have had--those modest, blooming grandmothers--for, it is to be borne in mind, tipsiness was rather usual with dancinggentlemen in the fine old days of Port and Madeira; and the blithe, white-armed grandmothers themselves did sip their punch, to a man. However, we may forbear criticism. We, at least, owe nothing butreverent gratitude to a generation from which we derive life, waltzingand the memory of Madeira. Even when read, as it needs should be read, in the light of that prose description of the dance to which it wasaddressed, Lord Byron's welcome to the waltz will be recognized as onemore illustration of a set of hoary and moss-grown truths. 

 As parlor-soldiers, graced with fancy-scars, Rehearse their bravery in imagined wars; As paupers, gathered in congenial flocks, Babble of banks, insurances, and stocks; As each if oft'nest eloquent of what He hates or covets, but possesses not; As cowards talk of pluck; misers of waste; Scoundrels of honor; country clowns of taste; Ladies of logic; devotees of sin; Topers of water; temperance men of gin--

my lord Byron sang of waltzing. Let us forgive and--remembering his poorfoot--pity him. Yet the opinions of famous persons possess an interestthat is akin, in the minds of many plain folk, to weight. Let us, then, incline an ear to another: "Laura was fond of waltzing, as every briskand innocent young girl should be, " wrote he than who none has writtenmore nobly in our time--he who "could appreciate good women and describethem; and draw them more truly than any novelist in the language, exceptMiss Austen. " The same sentiment with reference to dancing appears inmany places in his immortal pages. In his younger days as _attaché_ oflegation in Germany, Mr. Thackeray became a practiced waltzer. As acensor he thus possesses over Lord Byron whatever advantage may accruefrom knowledge of the subject whereof he wrote. 

We are happily not called upon to institute a comparison of characterbetween the two distinguished moralists, though the same, drawnmasterly, might not be devoid of entertainment and instruction. But twoor three other points of distinction should be kept in mind as havingsensible relation to the question of competency to bear witness. Byronwrote of the women of a corrupted court; Thackeray of the women of thatsociety indicated by the phrase "Persons whom one meets"--and meets_now_. Byron wrote of an obsolete dance, described by Irving in terms ofdecided strength; Thackeray wrote of our own waltz. In turning off hisbrilliant and witty verses it is unlikely that any care as to theirtruthfulness disturbed the glassy copiousness of the Byronic utterance;this child of nature did never consider too curiously of justice, moderation and such inventions of the schools. The key-note of all theother wrote is given by his faithful pen when it avers that it never"signed the page that registered a lie. " Byron was a "gentleman of witand pleasure about town"; Thackeray the father of daughters. However, all this is perhaps little to the purpose. We owe no trifling debt toLord Byron for his sparkling and spirited lines, and by no good dancerwould they be "willingly let die. " Poetry, music, dancing--they are oneart. The muses are sisters, yet they do not quarrel. Of a truth, even aswas Laura, so every brisk and innocent young girl should be. And it issafe to predict that she will be. If she would enjoy the advantage ofbelonging to Our Set she must be. 

As a rule, the ideas of the folk who cherish a prejudice against dancingare crude rather than unclean--the outcome much more of ignorance thansalacity. Of course there are exceptions. In my great work on The Prudeall will be attended to with due discrimination in apportionment ofcensure. At present the spirit of the dance makes merry with my pen, forfrom yonder "stately pleasure-dome" (decreed by one Kubla Khan, formerlyof The Big Bonanza Mining Company) the strains of the _Blue Danube_float out upon the night. Avaunt, miscreants! lest we chase ye withflying feet and do our little dance upon your unwholesome carcasses. Already the toes of our partners begin to twiddle beneath theirpetticoats. Come, then, Stoopid--can't you move? No!--they change it toa galop--and eke the good old Sturm. Firm and steady, now, fair partnermine, whiles we run that _gobemouche_ down and trample him miserably. There: light and softly again--the servants will remove the remains. 

And hark! that witching strain once more:

[Illustration: Music tablature]

EPIGRAMS

If every hypocrite in the United States were to break his leg to-day thecountry could be successfully invaded to-morrow by the warlikehypocrites of Canada. 

To Dogmatism the Spirit of Inquiry is the same as the Spirit of Evil, and to pictures of the latter it appends a tail to represent the note ofinterrogation. 

"Immoral" is the judgment of the stalled ox on the gamboling lamb. 

In forgiving an injury be somewhat ceremonious, lest your magnanimity beconstrued as indifference. 

 * * * * *

True, man does not know woman. But neither does woman. 

Age is provident because the less future we have the more we fear it. 

Reason is fallible and virtue vincible; the winds vary and the needleforsakes the pole, but stupidity never errs and never intermits. Sinceit has been found that the axis of the earth wabbles, stupidity isindispensable as a standard of constancy. 

In order that the list of able women may be memorized for use atmeetings of the oppressed sex, Heaven has considerately made it brief. 

Firmness is my persistency; obstinacy is yours. 

 A little heap of dust, A little streak of rust, A stone without a name-- Lo! hero, sword and fame. 

Our vocabulary is defective; we give the same name to woman's lack oftemptation and man's lack of opportunity. 

"You scoundrel, you have wronged me, " hissed the philosopher. "May youlive forever!"

The man who thinks that a garnet can be made a ruby by setting it inbrass is writing "dialect" for publication. 

"Who art thou, stranger, and what dost thou seek?"

"I am Generosity, and I seek a person named Gratitude. "

"Then thou dost not deserve to find her. "

"True. I will go about my business and think of her no more. But who artthou, to be so wise?"

"I am Gratitude--farewell forever. "

There was never a genius who was not thought a fool until he disclosedhimself; whereas he is a fool then only. 

The boundaries that Napoleon drew have been effaced; the kingdoms thathe set up have disappeared. But all the armies and statecraft of Europecannot unsay what you have said. 

 Strive not for singularity in dress; Fools have the more and men of sense the less. To look original is not worth while, But be in mind a little out of style. 

A conqueror arose from the dead. "Yesterday, " he said, "I ruled half theworld. " "Please show me the half that you ruled, " said an angel, pointing out a wisp of glowing vapor floating in space. "That is theworld. "

"Who art thou, shivering in thy furs?"

"My name is Avarice. What is thine?"

"Unselfishness. "

"Where is thy clothing, placid one?"

"Thou art wearing it. "

To be comic is merely to be playful, but wit is a serious matter. Tolaugh at it is to confess that you do not understand. 

If you would be accounted great by your contemporaries, be not too muchgreater than they. 

To have something that he will not desire, nor know that he has--such isthe hope of him who seeks the admiration of posterity. The character ofhis work does not matter; he is a humorist. 

Women and foxes, being weak, are distinguished by superior tact. 

To fatten pigs, confine and feed them; to fatten rogues, cultivate agenerous disposition. 

Every heart is the lair of a ferocious animal. The greatest wrong thatyou can put upon a man is to provoke him to let out his beast. 

When two irreconcilable propositions are presented for assent the safestway is to thank Heaven that we are not as the unreasoning brutes, andbelieve both. 

Truth is more deceptive than falsehood, for it is more frequentlypresented by those from whom we do not expect it, and so has against ita numerical presumption. 

A bad marriage is like an electrical thrilling machine: it makes youdance, but you can't let go. 

Meeting Merit on a street-crossing, Success stood still. Merit steppedoff into the mud and went round him, bowing his apologies, which Successhad the grace to accept. 

 "I think, " says the philosopher divine, "Therefore I am. " Sir, here's a surer sign: We know we live, for with our every breath We feel the fear and imminence of death. 

The first man you meet is a fool. If you do not think so ask him and hewill prove it. 

He who would rather inflict injustice than suffer it will always havehis choice, for no injustice can be done to him. 

There are as many conceptions of a perfect happiness hereafter as thereare minds that have marred their happiness here. 

We yearn to be, not what we are, but what we are not. If we wereimmortal we should not crave immortality. 

A rabbit's foot may bring good luck to you, but it brought none to therabbit. 

Before praising the wisdom of the man who knows how to hold his tongue, ascertain if he knows how to hold his pen. 

The most charming view in the world is obtained by introspection. 

Love is unlike chess, in that the pieces are moved secretly and theplayer sees most of the game. But the looker-on has one incomparableadvantage: he is not the stake. 

It is not for nothing that tigers choose to hide in the jungle, forcommerce and trade are carried on, mostly, in the open. 

We say that we love, not whom we will, but whom we must. Our judgmentneed not, therefore, go to confession. 

Of two kinds of temporary insanity, one ends in suicide, the other inmarriage. 

If you give alms from compassion, why require the beneficiary to be "adeserving object"? No other adversity is so sharp as destitution ofmerit. 

Bereavement is the name that selfishness gives to a particularprivation. 

 O proud philanthropist, your hope is vain To get by giving what you lost by gain. With every gift you do but swell the cloud Of witnesses against you, swift and loud-- Accomplices who turn and swear you split Your life: half robber and half hypocrite. You're least unsafe when most intact you hold Your curst allotment of dishonest gold. 

The highest and rarest form of contentment is approval of the success ofanother. 

 If Inclination challenge, stand and fight-- From Opportunity the wise take flight. 

What a woman most admires in a man is distinction among men. What a manmost admires in a woman is devotion to himself. 

Those who most loudly invite God's attention to themselves when in perilof death are those who should most fervently wish to escape hisobservation. 

When you have made a catalogue of your friend's faults it is only fairto supply him with a duplicate, so that he may know yours. 

How fascinating is Antiquity!--in what a golden haze the ancients livedtheir lives! We, too, are ancients. Of our enchanting time Posterity'sgreat poets will sing immortal songs, and its archæologists willreverently uncover the foundations of our palaces and temples. Meantimewe swap jack-knives. 

Observe, my son, with how austere a virtue the man without a cent putsaside the temptation to manipulate the market or acquire a monopoly. 

For study of the good and the bad in woman two women are a needlessexpense. 

 "There's no free will, " says the philosopher; "To hang is most unjust. " "There is no free will, " assents the officer; "We hang because we must. "

Hope is an explorer who surveys the country ahead. That is why we knowso much about the Hereafter and so little about the Heretofore. 

Remembering that it was a woman who lost the world, we should accept theact of cackling geese in saving Rome as partial reparation. 

There are two classes of women who may do as they please; those who arerich and those who are poor. The former can count on assent, the latteron inattention. 

When into the house of the heart Curiosity is admitted as the guest ofLove she turns her host out of doors. 

Happiness has not to all the same name: to Youth she is known as theFuture; Age knows her as the Dream. 

"Who art thou, there in the mire?"

"Intuition. I leaped all the way from where thou standest in fear on thebrink of the bog. "

"A great feat, madam; accept the admiration of Reason, sometimes knownas Dry-foot. "

In eradicating an evil, it makes a difference whether it is uprooted orrooted up. The difference is in the reformer. 

The Audible Sisterhood rightly affirms the equality of the sexes: no manis so base but some woman is base enough to love him. 

Having no eyes in the back of the head, we see ourselves on the verge ofthe outlook. Only he who has accomplished the notable feat of turningabout knows himself the central figure in the universe. 

Truth is so good a thing that falsehood can not afford to be without it. 

If women did the writing of the world, instead of the talking, men wouldbe regarded as the superior sex in beauty, grace and goodness. 

Love is a delightful day's journey. At the farther end kiss yourcompanion and say farewell. 

Let him who would wish to duplicate his every experience prate of thevalue of life. 

The game of discontent has its rules, and he who disregards them cheats. It is not permitted to you to wish to add another's advantages orpossessions to your own; you are permitted only to wish to be another. 

The creator and arbiter of beauty is the heart; to the male rattlesnakethe female rattlesnake is the loveliest thing in nature. 

Thought and emotion dwell apart. When the heart goes into the head thereis no dissension; only an eviction. 

If you want to read a perfect book there is only one way: write it. 

"Where goest thou, Ignorance?"

"To fortify the mind of a maiden against a peril. "

"I am going thy way. My name is Knowledge. "

"Scoundrel! Thou art the peril. "

A prude is one who blushes modestly at the indelicacy of her thoughtsand virtuously flies from the temptation of her desires. 

The man who is always taking you by the hand is the same who if you werehungry would take you by the café. 

When a certain sovereign wanted war he threw out a diplomaticintimation; when ready, a diplomat. 

If public opinion were determined by a throw of the dice, it would inthe long run be half the time right. 

The gambling known as business looks with austere disfavor upon thebusiness known as gambling. 

A virtuous widow is the most loyal of mortals; she is faithful to thatwhich is neither pleased nor profited by her fidelity. 

Of one who was "foolish" the creators of our language said that he was"fond. " That we have not definitely reversed the meanings of the wordsshould be set down to the credit of our courtesy. 

Rioting gains its end by the power of numbers. To a believer in thewisdom and goodness of majorities it is not permitted to denounce asuccessful mob. 

 Artistically set to grace The wall of a dissecting-place, A human pericardium Was fastened with a bit of gum, While, simply underrunning it, The one word, "Charity, " was writ To show the student band that hovered About it what it once had covered. 

Virtue is not necessary to a good reputation, but a good reputation ishelpful to virtue. 

When lost in a forest go always down hill. When lost in a philosophy ordoctrine go upward. 

We submit to the majority because we have to. But we are not compelledto call our attitude of subjection a posture of respect. 

Pascal says that an inch added to the length of Cleopatra's nose wouldhave changed the fortunes of the world. But having said this, he hassaid nothing, for all the forces of nature and all the power ofdynasties could not have added an inch to the length of Cleopatra'snose. 

Our luxuries are always masquerading as necessaries. Woman is the onlynecessary having the boldness and address to compel recognition as aluxury. 

"I am the seat of the affections, " said the heart. 

"Thank you, " said the judgment, "you save my face. "

"Who art thou that weepest?"

"Man. "

"Nay, thou art Egotism. I am the Scheme of the Universe. Study me andlearn that nothing matters. "

"Then how does it matter that I weep?"

A slight is less easily forgiven than an injury, because it impliessomething of contempt, indifference, an overlooking of our importance;whereas an injury presupposes some degree of consideration. "Theblack-guards!" said a traveler whom Sicilian brigands had releasedwithout ransom; "did they think me a person of no consequence?"

The people's plaudits are unheard in hell. 

Generosity to a fallen foe is a virtue that takes no chances. 

If there was a world before this we must all have died impenitent. 

We are what we laugh at. The stupid person is a poor joke, the clever, agood one. 

If every man who resents being called a rogue resented being one thiswould be a world of wrath. 

Force and charm are important elements of character, but it counts forlittle to be stronger than honey and sweeter than a lion. 

 Grief and discomfiture are coals that cool: Why keep them glowing with thy sighs, poor fool?

A popular author is one who writes what the people think. Genius invitesthem to think something else. 

Asked to describe the Deity, a donkey would represent him with long earsand a tail. Man's conception is higher and truer: he thinks of him assomewhat resembling a man. 

Christians and camels receive their burdens kneeling. 

The sky is a concave mirror in which Man sees his own distorted imageand seeks to propitiate it. 

Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long in the land, but do not hope that the life insurance companies will offer theespecial rates. 

Persons who are horrified by what they believe to be Darwin's theory ofthe descent of Man from the Ape may find comfort in the hope of hisreturn. 

A strong mind is more easily impressed than a weak: you shall not soreadily convince a fool that you are a philosopher as a philosopher thatyou are a fool. 

A cheap and easy cynicism rails at everything. The master of the artaccomplishes the formidable task of discrimination. 

When publicly censured our first instinct is to make everybody acodefendant. 

 O lady fine, fear not to lead To Hymen's shrine a clown: Love cannot level up, indeed, But he can level down. 

Men are polygamous by nature and monogamous for opportunity. It is afaithful man who is willing to be watched by a half-dozen wives. 

The virtues chose Modesty to be their queen. 

"I did not know that I was a virtue, " she said. "Why did you not chooseInnocence?"

"Because of her ignorance, " they replied. "She knows nothing but thatshe is a virtue. "

It is a wise "man's man" who knows what it is that he despises in a"ladies' man. "

If the vices of women worshiped their creators men would boast of theadoration they inspire. 

The only distinction that democracies reward is a high degree ofconformity. 

Slang is the speech of him who robs the literary garbage carts on theirway to the dumps. 

A woman died who had passed her life in affirming the superiority of hersex. 

"At last, " she said, "I shall have rest and honors. "

"Enter, " said Saint Peter; "thou shalt wash the faces of the dear littlecherubim. "

To woman a general truth has neither value nor interest unless she canmake a particular application of it. And we say that women are notpractical!

The ignorant know not the depth of their ignorance, but the learned knowthe shallowness of their learning. 

He who relates his success in charming woman's heart may be assured ofhis failure to charm man's ear. 

 What poignant memories the shadows bring; What songs of triumph in the dawning ring! By night a coward and by day a king. 

When among the graves of thy fellows, walk with circumspection; thineown is open at thy feet. 

As the physiognomist takes his own face as the highest type andstandard, so the critic's theories are imposed by his own limitations. 

"Heaven lies about us in our infancy, " and our neighbors take up thetale as we mature. 

 "My laws, " she said, "are of myself a part: I read them by examining my heart. " "True, " he replied; "like those to Moses known, Thine also are engraven upon stone. "

Love is a distracted attention: from contemplation of one's self oneturns to consider one's dream. 

"Halt!--who goes there?"

"Death. "

"Advance, Death, and give the countersign. "

"How needless! I care not to enter thy camp to-night. Thou shalt entermine. "

"What! I a deserter?"

"Nay, a great soldier. Thou shalt overcome all the enemies of mankind. "

"Who are they?"

"Life and the Fear of Death. "

The palmist looks at the wrinkles made by closing the hand and says theysignify character. The philosopher reads character by what the hand mostloves to close upon. 

 Ah, woe is his, with length of living cursed, Who, nearing second childhood, had no first. Behind, no glimmer, and before no ray-- A night at either end of his dark day. 

A noble enthusiasm in praise of Woman is not incompatible with aspirited zeal in defamation of women. 

The money-getter who pleads his love of work has a lame defense, forlove of work at money-getting is a lower taste than love of money. 

He who thinks that praise of mediocrity atones for disparagement ofgenius is like one who should plead robbery in excuse of theft. 

The most disagreeable form of masculine hypocrisy is that which findsexpression in pretended remorse for impossible gallantries. 

Any one can say that which is new; any one that which is true. For thatwhich is both new and true we must go duly accredited to the gods andawait their pleasure. 

The test of truth is Reason, not Faith; for to the court of Reason mustbe submitted even the claims of Faith. 

"Whither goest thou?" said the angel. 

"I know not. "

"And whence hast thou come?"

"I know not. "

"But who art thou?"

"I know not. "

"Then thou art Man. See that thou turn not back, but pass on to theplace whence thou hast come. "

If Expediency and Righteousness are not father and son they are the mostharmonious brothers that ever were seen. 

Train the head, and the heart will take care of itself; a rascal is onewho knows not how to think. 

 Do you to others as you would That others do to you; But see that you no service good Would have from others that they could Not rightly do. 

Taunts are allowable in the case of an obstinate husband: balky horsesmay best be made to go by having their ears bitten. 

Adam probably regarded Eve as the woman of his choice, and exacted acertain gratitude for the distinction of his preference. 

A man is the sum of his ancestors; to reform him you must begin with adead ape and work downward through a million graves. He is like thelower end of a suspended chain; you can sway him slightly to the rightor the left, but remove your hand and he falls into line with the otherlinks. 

He who thinks with difficulty believes with alacrity. A fool is anatural proselyte, but he must be caught young, for his convictions, unlike those of the wise, harden with age. 

These are the prerogatives of genius: To know without having learned; todraw just conclusions from unknown premises; to discern the soul ofthings. 

Although one love a dozen times, yet will the latest love seem thefirst. He who says he has loved twice has not loved once. 

Men who expect universal peace through invention of destructive weaponsof war are no wiser than one who, noting the improvement of agriculturalimplements, should prophesy an end to the tilling of the soil. 

To parents only, death brings an inconsolable sorrow. When the young dieand the old live, nature's machinery is working with the friction thatwe name grief. 

Empty wine-bottles have a bad opinion of women. 

Civilization is the child of human ignorance and conceit. If Man knewhis insignificance in the scheme of things he would not think it worthwhile to rise from barbarity to enlightenment. But it is only throughenlightenment that he can know. 

Along the road of life are many pleasure resorts, but think not that bytarrying in them you will take more days to the journey. The day of yourarrival is already recorded. 

The most offensive egotist is he that fears to say "I" and "me. " "Itwill probably rain"--that is dogmatic. "I think it will rain"--that isnatural and modest. Montaigne is the most delightful of essayistsbecause so great is his humility that he does not think it importantthat we see not Montaigne. He so forgets himself that he employs noartifice to make us forget him. 

 On fair foundations Theocrats unwise Rear superstructures that offend the skies. "Behold, " they cry, "this pile so fair and tall! Come dwell within it and be happy all. " But they alone inhabit it, and find, Poor fools, 'tis but a prison for the mind. 

If thou wilt not laugh at a rich man's wit thou art an anarchist, and ifthou take not his word thou shalt take nothing that he hath. Make haste, therefore, to be civil to thy betters, and so prosper, for prosperity isthe foundation of the state. 

Death is not the end; there remains the litigation over the estate. 

When God makes a beautiful woman, the devil opens a new register. 

When Eve first saw her reflection in a pool, she sought Adam and accusedhim of infidelity. 

"Why dost thou weep?"

"For the death of my wife. Alas! I shallnever again see her!"

"Thy wife will never again see thee, yetshe does not weep. "

What theology is to religion and jurisprudence to justice, etiquette isto civility. 

"Who art thou that despite the piercing cold and thy robe's raggednessseemest to enjoy thyself?"

"Naught else is enjoyable--I am Contentment. "

"Ha! thine must be a magic shirt. Off with it! I shiver in my fineattire. "

"I have no shirt. Pass on, Success. "

Ignorance when inevitable is excusable. It may be harmless, evenbeneficial; but it is charming only to the unwise. To affect a spuriousignorance is to disclose a genuine. 

Because you will not take by theft what you can have by cheating, thinknot yours is the only conscience in the world. Even he who permits youto cheat his neighbor will shrink from permitting you to cheat himself. 

"God keep thee, stranger; what is thy name?"

"Wisdom. And thine?"

"Knowledge. How does it happen that we meet?"

"This is an intersection of our paths. "

"Will it ever be decreed that we travel always the same road?"

"We were well named if we knew. "

Nothing is more logical than persecution. Religious tolerance is a kindof infidelity. 

Convictions are variable; to be always consistent is to be sometimesdishonest. 

The philosopher's profoundest conviction is that which he is mostreluctant to express, lest he mislead. 

When exchange of identities is possible, be careful; you may choose aperson who is willing. 

The most intolerant advocate is he who is trying to convince himself. 

In the Parliament of Otumwee the Chancellor of the Exchequer proposed atax on fools. 

"The right honorable and generous gentleman, " said a member, "forgetsthat we already have it in the poll tax. "

"Whose dead body is that?"

"Credulity's. "

"By whom was he slain?"

"Credulity. "

"Ah, suicide. "

"No, surfeit. He dined at the table of Science, and swallowed all thatwas set before him. "

Don't board with the devil if you wish to be fat. 

Pray do not despise your delinquent debtor; his default is no proof ofpoverty. 

Courage is the acceptance of the gambler's chance: a brave man betsagainst the game of the gods. 

"Who art thou?"

"A philanthropist. And thou?"

"A pauper. "

"Away! you have nothing to relieve my need. "

Youth looks forward, for nothing is behind; Age backward, for nothing isbefore. 

 Think not, O man, the world has any need That thou canst truly serve by word or deed. Serve thou thy better self, nor care to know How God makes righteousness and roses grow. 

In spiritual matters material aids are not to be despised: by the use ofan organ and a painted window an artistic emotion can be made to seem areligious ecstasy. 

The poor man's price of admittance to the favor of the rich is hisself-respect. It assures him a seat in the gallery. 

One may know oneself ugly, but there is no mirror for the understanding. 

If the righteous thought death what they think they think it they wouldsearch less diligently for divine ordinances against suicide. 

 Weep not for cruelty to rogues in jail: Injustice can the just alone assail. Deny compassion to the wretch who swerved, Till all who, fainting, walked aright are served. 

The artless woman may be known by her costume: her gown is trimmed withfeathers of the white blackbird. 

All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusion is called aphilosopher. 

Slang is a foul pool at which every dunce fills his bucket, and thensets up as a fountain. 

The present is the frontier between the desert of the past and thegarden of the future. It is redrawn every moment. 

The virtue that is not automatic requires more attention than it isworth. 

At sunset our shadows reach the stars, yet we are no greater at deaththan at the noon of life. 

Experience is a revelation in the light of which we renounce the errorsof youth for those of age. 

From childhood to youth is eternity; from youth to manhood, a season. Age comes in a night and is incredible. 

Avoid the disputatious. When you greet an acquaintance with "How areyou?" and he replies: "On the contrary, how are _you_?" pass on. 

If all thought were audible none would be deemed discreditable. We know, indeed, that bad thoughts are universal, but that is not the same thingas catching them at being so. 

"All the souls in this place have been happy ever since you blunderedinto it, " said Satan, ejecting Hope. "You make trouble wherever you go. "

Our severest retorts are unanswerable because nobody is present toanswer them. 

The angels have good dreams and bad, and we are the dreams. When anangel wakes one of us dies. 

 The man of "honor" pays his bet By saving on his lawful debt. When he to Nature pays his dust (Not for he would, but for he must) Men say, "He settled that, 'tis true, But, faith, it long was overdue. "

Do not permit a woman to ask forgiveness, for that is only the firststep. The second is justification of herself by accusation of you. 

If we knew nothing was behind us we should discern our true relation tothe universe. 

Youth has the sun and the stars by which to determine his position onthe sea of life; Age must sail by dead reckoning and knows not whitherhe is bound. 

Happiness is lost by criticising it; sorrow by accepting it. 

As Nature can not make us altogether wretched she resorts to the trickof contrast by making us sometimes almost happy. 

When prosperous the fool trembles for the evil that is to come; inadversity the philosopher smiles for the good that he has had. 

When God saw how faulty was man He tried again and made woman. As to whyHe then stopped there are two opinions. One of them is woman's. 

She hated him because he discovered that her lark was a crow. He hatedher because she unlocked the cage of his beast. 

"Who art thou?"

"Friendship. "

"I am Love; let us travel together. "

"Yes--for a day's journey; then thou arrivest at thy grave. "

"And thou?"

"I go as far as the grave of Advantage. "

Look far enough ahead and always thou shalt see the domes and spires ofthe City of Contentment. 

You would say of that old man: "He is bald and bent. " No; in thepresence of Death he uncovers and bows. 

If you saw Love pictured as clad in furs you would smile. Yet every yearhas its winter. 

You can not disprove the Great Pyramid by showing the impossibility ofputting the stones in place. 

Men were singing the praises of Justice. 

"Not so loud, " said an angel; "if you wake her she will put you all todeath. "

Age, with his eyes in the back of his head, thinks it wisdom to see thebogs through which he has floundered. 

Wisdom is known only by contrasting it with folly; by shadow only weperceive that all visible objects are not flat. Yet Philanthropos wouldabolish evil!

One whose falsehoods no longer deceive has forfeited the right to speaktruth. 

Wisdom is a special knowledge in excess of all that is known. 

To live is to believe. The most credulous of mortals is he who ispersuaded of his incredulity. 

In him who has never wronged another, revenge is a virtue. 

That you can not serve God and Mammon is a poor excuse for not servingGod. 

A fool's tongue is not so noisy but the wise can hear his ear commandingthem to silence. 

If the Valley of Peace could be reached only by the path of love, itwould be sparsely inhabited. 

To the eye of failure success is an accident with a presumption ofcrime. 

Wearing his eyes in his heart, the optimist falls over his own feet, andcalls it Progress. 

You can calculate your distance from Hell by the number of waysideroses. They are thickest at the hither end of the route. 

The world was made a sphere in order that men should not push oneanother off, but the landowner smiles when he thinks of the sea. 

 Let not the night on thy resentment fall: Strike when the wrong is fresh, or not at all. The lion ceases if his first leap fail-- 'Tis only dogs that nose a cooling trail. 

Having given out all the virtues that He had made, God made another. 

"Give us that also, " said His children. 

"Nay, " He replied, "if I give you that you will slay one another tillnone is left. You shall have only its name, which is Justice. "

"That is a good name, " they said; "we will give it to a virtue of ourown creation. "

So they gave it to Revenge. 

 The sea-bird speeding from the realm of night Dashes to death against the beacon-light. Learn from its evil fate, ambitious soul, The ministry of light is guide, not goal. 

While you have a future do not live too much in contemplation of yourpast: unless you are content to walk backward the mirror is a poorguide. 

"O dreadful Death, why veilest thou thy face?"

"To spare me thine impetuous embrace. "

He who knows himself great accepts the truth in reverent silence, but hewho only believes himself great has embraced a noisy faith. 

Life is a little plot of light. We enter, clasp a hand or two, and goour several ways back into the darkness. The mystery is infinitelypathetic and picturesque. 

Cheerfulness is the religion of the little. The low hills are a-smirkwith flowers and greenery; the dominating peaks, austere and desolate, holding a prophecy of doom. 

It is not to our credit that women like best the men who are not asother men, nor to theirs that they are not particular as to the natureof the difference. 

In the journey of life when thy shadow falls to the westward stop untilit falls to the eastward. Thou art then at thy destination. 

 Seek not for happiness--'tis known To hope and memory alone; At dawn--how bright the noon will be! At eve--how fair it glowed, ah, me!

Brain was given to test the heart's credibility as a witness, yet thephilosopher's lady is almost as fine as the clown's wench. 

"Who art thou, so sorrowful?"

"Ingratitude. It saddens me to look upon the devastations ofBenevolence. "

"Then veil thine eyes, for I am Benevolence. "

"Wretch! thou art my father and my mother. "

Death is the only prosperity that we neither desire for ourselves norresent in others. 

To the small part of ignorance that we can arrange and classify we givethe name Knowledge. 

"I wish to enter, " said the soul of the voluptuary. 

"I am told that all the beautiful women are here. "

"Enter, " said Satan, and the soul of the voluptuary passed in. 

"They make the place what it is, " added Satan, as the gates clanged. 

Woman would be more charming if one could fall into her arms withoutfalling into her hands. 

Think not to atone for wealth by apology: you must make restitution tothe accuser. 

Study good women and ignore the rest, or he best knows the sex who knows the best. 

Before undergoing a surgical operation arrange your temporal affairs. You may live. 

Intolerance is natural and logical, for in every dissenting opinion liesan assumption of superior wisdom. 

"Who art thou?" said Saint Peter at the Gate. 

"I am known as Memory. "

"What presumption!--go back to Hell. And who, perspiring friend, artthou?"

"_My_ name is Satan. I am looking for----"

"Take your penal apparatus and be off. "

And Satan, laying hold of Memory, said: "Come along, you scoundrel! youmake happiness wherever you are not. "

Women of genius commonly have masculine faces, figures and manners. Intransplanting brains to an alien soil God leaves a little of theoriginal earth clinging to the roots. 

The heels of Detection are sore from the toes of Remorse. 

Twice we see Paradise. In youth we name it Life; in age, Youth. 

 There are but ten Commandments, true, But that's no hardship, friend, to you; The sins whereof no line is writ You're not commanded to commit. 

Fear of the darkness is more than an inherited superstition--it is atnight, mostly, that the king thinks. 

"Who art thou?" said Mercy. 

"Revenge, the father of Justice. "

"Thou wearest thy son's clothing. "

"One must be clad. "

"Farewell--I go to attend thy son. "

"Thou wilt find him hiding in yonder jungle. "

Self-denial is indulgence of a propensity to forego. 

Men talk of selecting a wife; horses, of selecting an owner. 

You are not permitted to kill a woman who has wronged you, but nothingforbids you to reflect that she is growing older every minute. You areavenged fourteen hundred and forty times a day. 

A sweetheart is a bottle of wine; a wife is a wine-bottle. 

He gets on best with women who best knows how to get on without them. 

"Who am I?" asked an awakened soul. 

"That is the only knowledge that is denied to you here, " answered asmiling angel; "this is Heaven. "

Woman's courage is ignorance of danger; man's is hope of escape. 

 When God had finished this terrestrial frame And all things else, with or without a name, The Nothing that remained within His hand Said: "Make me into something fine and grand, Thine angels to amuse and entertain. " God heard and made it into human brain. 

If you wish to slay your enemy make haste, O make haste, for alreadyNature's knife is at his throat and yours. 

To most persons a sense of obligation is insupportable; beware upon whomyou inflict it. 

 Bear me, good oceans, to some isle Where I may never fear The snake alurk in woman's smile, The tiger in her tear. Yet bear not with me her, O deeps, Who never smiles and never weeps. 

Life and Death threw dice for a child. 

"I win!" cried Life. 

"True, " said Death, "but you need a nimbler tongue to proclaim yourluck. The stake is already dead of age. "

 How blind is he who, powerless to discern The glories that about his pathway burn, Walks unaware the avenues of Dream, Nor sees the domes of Paradise agleam! O Golden Age, to him more nobly planned Thy light lies ever upon sea and land. From sordid scenes he lifts his eyes at will, And sees a Grecian god on every hill!

In childhood we expect, in youth demand, in manhood hope, and in agebeseech. 

 A violet softly sighed, A hollyhock shouted above. In the heart of the violet, pride; In the heart of the hollyhock, love. 

If women knew themselves the fact that men do not know them wouldflatter them less and content them more. 

The angel with a flaming sword slept at his post, and Eve slipped backinto the Garden. "Thank Heaven! I am again in Paradise, " said Adam.