[Illustration: WASHINGTON IRVING]

THE SHORT-STORY

WithIntroduction and Notes

BY

W. PATTERSON ATKINSON, A. M. 

VICE-PRINCIPAL OF THE LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOLJERSEY CITY

ALLYN AND BACON

Boston New York Chicago

COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY ALLYN AND BACON. 

Norwood PressJ. S. Cushing Co. --Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass. , U. S. A. 

FOREWORD

This book is the result of actual work with first year High Schoolpupils. Furthermore, the completed text has been tried out with them. Their difficulties, standards of reading, and the average development oftheir minds and taste have constantly been remembered. Whatever teachingquality the book may possess is due to their criticisms. 

Hearty thanks are due Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, Messrs. CharlesScribner's Sons, The Thomas Y. Crowell Company, and The Houghton MifflinCompany for gracious permission to use copyrighted material. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE

PORTRAITS OF AUTHORS vii

INTRODUCTION

I. Definition and Development ix

II. Forms xvi

III. The Short-story as Narration xvii

IV. Representative Short-stories xxi

V. Bibliography xxv

WASHINGTON IRVING: Rip Van Winkle (1820) 1

EDGAR ALLAN POE: The Gold Bug (1842) 23

The Purloined Letter (1845) 69

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE: Howe's Masquerade (1838) 93

The Birthmark (1843) 112

FRANCIS BRET HARTE: The Outcasts of Poker Flat (1869) 134

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON: The Sire de Malétroit's Door (1878) 148

Markheim (1885) 174

RUDYARD KIPLING: Wee Willie Winkie (1888) 196

NOTES 211

LIST OF PORTRAITS

WASHINGTON IRVING _Frontispiece_

 FACING PAGE

EDGAR ALLAN POE 23

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 93

FRANCIS BRET HARTE 134

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 148

RUDYARD KIPLING 196

INTRODUCTION

I

DEFINITION AND DEVELOPMENT

Mankind has always loved to tell stories and to listen to them. The mostprimitive and unlettered peoples and tribes have always shown and stillshow this universal characteristic. As far back as written records go wefind stories; even before that time, they were handed down from remotegenerations by oral tradition. The wandering minstrel followed a veryancient profession. Before him was his prototype--the man with the giftof telling stories over the fire at night, perhaps at the mouth of acave. The Greeks, who ever loved to hear some new thing, were merelytypical of the ready listeners. 

In the course of time the story passed through many forms and manyphases--the myth, e. G. _The Labors of Hercules_; the legend, e. G. _St. George and the Dragon_; the fairy tale, e. G. _Cinderella_; the fable, e. G. _The Fox and the Grapes_; the allegory, e. G. Addison's _The Visionof Mirza_; the parable, e. G. _The Prodigal Son_. Sometimes it was merelyto amuse, sometimes to instruct. With this process are intimatelyconnected famous books, such as "The Gesta Romanorum" (which, by theway, has nothing to do with the Romans) and famous writers likeBoccaccio. 

Gradually there grew a body of rules and a technique, and men began towrite about the way stories should be composed, as is seen inAristotle's statement that a story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Definitions were made and the elements named. In thefullness of time story-telling became an art. 

Similar stories are to be found in many different literatures becausehuman nature is fundamentally the same the world over; that is, peopleare swayed by the same motives, such as love, hate, fear, and the like. Another reason for this similarity is the fact that nations borrowedstories from other nations, changing the names and circumstances. Writers of power took old and crude stories and made of them matchlesstales which endure in their new form, e. G. Hawthorne's _Rappaccini'sDaughter_. Finally the present day dawned and with it what we call theshort-story. 

The short-story--Prof. Brander Matthews has suggested the hyphen todifferentiate it from the story which is merely short and to indicatethat it is a new species[1]--is a narrative which is short and hasunity, compression, originality, and ingenuity, each in a highdegree. [2] The notion of shortness as used in this definition may beinexactly though easily grasped by considering the length of the averagemagazine story. Compression means that nothing must be included that canbe left out. Clayton Hamilton expresses this idea by the convenientphrase "economy of means. "[3] By originality is meant something new inplot, point, outcome, or character. (See Introduction III for adiscussion of these terms. ) Ingenuity suggests cleverness in handlingthe theme. The short-story also is impressionistic because it leaves tothe reader the reconstruction from hints of much of the setting anddetails. 

[Footnote 1: _The Philosophy of the Short-Story in Pen and Ink_, page72. (Longmans, Green & Co. , 1888. )]

[Footnote 2: _Ibid. _]

[Footnote 3: _Materials of Fiction_, page 175. (Doubleday, Page & Co. , 1912. )]

Mr. Hamilton has also constructed another useful definition. He says:"The aim of a short-story is to produce a single narrative effect withthe greatest economy of means that is consistent with the utmostemphasis. "[4]

[Footnote 4: _Materials of Fiction_, page 173. (Doubleday, Page & Co. , 1912. )]

However, years before, in 1842, in his celebrated review of Hawthorne's_Tales_[5] Edgar Allan Poe had laid down the same theory, in which heemphasizes what he elsewhere calls, after Schlegel, the unity ortotality of interest, _i. E. _ unity of impression, effect, and economy. Stevenson, too, has written critically of the short-story, laying stresson this essential unity, pointing out how each effect leads to the next, and how the end is part of the beginning. [6]

[Footnote 5: _Graham's Magazine_, May, 1842. ]

[Footnote 6: _Vailima Letters_, I, page 147. ]

America may justly lay claim to this new species of short narrative. Beginning in the early part of the nineteenth century there had begun toappear in this country stories showing variations from the English typeof story which "still bore upon it marks of its origin; it was either ahard, formal, didactic treatise, derived from the moral apologue orfable; or it was a sentimental love-tale derived from the artificiallove-romance that followed the romance of chivalry. "[7] The first one tostand out prominently is Washington Irving's _Rip Van Winkle_, which waspublished in 1820. This story, while more leisurely and less condensedthan the completely developed form of the short-story, had the importantelement of humor, as well as freshness, grace, and restraint, nothingbeing said that should not be said. 

[Footnote 7: Krapp's _Irving's Tales of a Traveller_, etc. Introduction. (Scott, Foresman & Co. )]

The next writer in the order of development is Edgar Allan Poe, whose_Berenice_ appeared in 1835. With it the short-story took definite form. Poe's contribution is structure and technique; that is, he definitelyintroduced the characteristics noted in the definition--unity, compression, originality, and ingenuity. With almost mathematicalprecision he sets out to obtain an effect. To quote from hisbefore-mentioned review of Hawthorne his own words which are so definiteas almost to compose a formula of his way of writing a short-story andare so thoughtful as to be nearly the summary of any discussion of thesubject: "A skillful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, hehas not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his incidents; but havingconceived, with deliberate care, a certain unique or single effect to bewrought out, he then invents such incidents--he then combines suchevents--as may best aid him in establishing this preconceived effect. Ifhis very initial sentence tend not to the out-bringing of this effect, then he has failed in his first step. In the whole composition thereshould be no word written of which the tendency, direct or indirect, isnot to the one preëstablished design. And by such means, with such careand skill, a picture is at length painted which leaves in the mind ofhim who contemplates it with a kindred art a sense of the fullestsatisfaction. The idea of the tale has been presented unblemishedbecause undisturbed; and this is an end unattainable by the novel. " Itis to be noted that Poe roused interest in his effect by the method ofsuspense, that is, by holding back the solution of the plot, by puttingoff telling what the reader wants to know, though he continuallyaggravates the desire to know by constant hints, the full significanceof which is only realized when the story is done. His stories are of twomain classes: what have been called stories of "impressionistic terror, "that is, stories of great fear induced in a character by a mass ofrather vague and unusual incidents, such as _The Fall of the House ofUsher_ (1839) and _The Pit and the Pendulum_ (1843); and stories of"ratiocination, " that is, of the ingenious thinking out of a problem, as_The Mystery of Marie Rogêt_ (1843). In the latter type he is theoriginator of the detective story. 

The writings of Nathaniel Hawthorne exhibit the next stage ofdevelopment. While lacking some of the technical excellence of Poe byoften not knowing how to begin or how to end a story, by sacrificingeconomy or compression, yet he presented something new in making a storyof situation, that is, by putting a character in certain circumstancesand working out the results, as _The Birthmark_ (1843). His stories alsofall into two groups, the imaginative, like _Howe's Masquerade_ (1838), and the moralizing introspective, or, as they have been called, the"moral-philosophic, " that is, stories which look within the human mindand soul and deal with great questions of conduct, such as _TheAmbitious Guest_ (1837). Hawthorne was the descendant of Puritans, mengiven to serious thought and sternly religious. It is this strain of hisinheritance which is evidenced in the second group. In all his writingthere is some outward symbol of the circumstances or the state of mind. It is seen, for example, in _The Minister's Black Veil_ (1835). 

In 1868 was published _Luck of Roaring Camp_, by Bret Harte. In thisstory and those that immediately followed, the author advanced thedevelopment of the short-story yet another step by introducing localcolor. Local color means the peculiar customs, scenery, or surroundingsof any kind, which mark off one place from another. In a literary sensehe discovered California of the days of the early rush for gold. Furthermore, he made the story more definite. He confined it to onesituation and one effect, thus approaching more to what may beconsidered the normal form. 

With the form of the short-story fairly worked out, the next developmentis to be noted in the tone and subject matter. Local color becameparticularly evident, humor became constantly more prominent, and thenthe analysis of the working of the human mind, psychologic analysis, held the interest of some foremost writers. Stories of these variouskinds came to the front about the third quarter of the last century. "Mark Twain" (Samuel Langhorne Clemens), Thomas Bailey Aldrich, andFrank R. Stockton preëminently and admirably present the humor sopeculiarly an American trait. Local color had its exponents in George W. Cable, who presented Louisiana; "Charles Egbert Craddock" (Miss M. N. Murfree), who wrote of Tennessee; Thomas Nelson Page, who gave usVirginia; and Miss M. E. Wilkins (Mrs. Charles M. Freeman), who wrote ofNew England, to mention only the most notable. With psychologic analysisthe name of Henry James is indissolubly linked. _The Passionate Pilgrim_(1875) may be taken as an excellent example of his work. 

By this time the American short-story had crossed to England and foundin Robert Louis Stevenson an artist who could handle it with consummateskill. He passed it on a more finished and polished article than whenhe received it, because by a long course of self-training he had becomea master in the use of words. His stories remind one of Hawthornebecause there is generally in them some underlying moral question, somequestion of human action, something concerning right and wrong. But theyalso have another characteristic which is more obvious to the averagereader--their frank romance. By romance is meant happenings either outof the usual course of events, such as the climax of _Lochinvar_, orevents that cannot occur. 

The latest stage in the development of the short-story is due to RudyardKipling, who has made it generally more terse, has filled it withinterest in the highest degree, has found new local color, chiefly inIndia, and has given it virility and power. His subject matter is, inthe main, interesting to all kinds of readers. His stories likewisefulfill all the requirements of the definition. Being a living genius heis constantly showing new sides of his ability, his later stories beingpsychologic. His writings fall into numerous groups--soldier tales;tales of machinery; of animals; of the supernatural; of native Indianlife; of history; of adventure;--the list could be prolonged. Sometimesthey are frankly tracts, sometimes acute analyses of the working of thehuman mind. 

So in the course of a little less than a century there has grown tomaturity a new kind of short narrative identified with AmericanLiterature and the American people, exhibiting the foremost traits ofthe American character, and written by a large number of authors ofdifferent rank whose work, of a surprisingly high average of technicalexcellence, appears chiefly in the magazines. 

II

FORMS

Though the short-story has achieved a normal or general form ofstraightforward narrative, as in Kipling's _An Habitation Enforced_ orMary Raymond Shipman Andrews' _Amici_, yet it exhibits many variationsin presentation. Sometimes it is a series of letters as in James' _ABundle of Letters_, sometimes a group of narrative, letters, andtelegrams as in Thomas Bailey Aldrich's _Marjorie Daw_; again, a letterand a paragraph as in Henry Cuyler Bunner's _A Letter and a Paragraph_, or a gathering of letters, telegrams, newspaper clippings, andadvertisements as Bunner and Matthews' _Documents in the Case_. 

Again it may be told in the first person as in Stevenson's _Pavilion onthe Links_, or in the third person as in Kipling's _The BridgeBuilders_. Yet again it may be a conundrum as Stockton's famous _TheLady or the Tiger_!

But besides the forms due to the manner of presentation there are otherforms due to the emphasis placed on one of the three elements of anarrative---action, character, and setting. Consequently using thisprinciple of classification we have three forms which may be exemplifiedby Kipling's _William the Conqueror_, wherein action is emphasized; his_Tomb of His Ancestors_, wherein character is emphasized; and his _AnError in the Fourth Dimension_, wherein setting is emphasized. 

Using yet another principle of classification--material--we obtain:stories of dramatic interest, that is, of some striking happening thatwould hold the audience of a play in a highly excited state, asStevenson's _Sire de Malétroit's Door_; of love, as Bunner's _Love inOld Cloathes_; of romantic adventure, as Kipling's _Man Who Would BeKing_; of terror, as Poe's _Pit and the Pendulum_; of the supernatural, as Crawford's _The Upper Berth_; of humor, as humor, as Mary RaymondShipman Andrews' _A Good Samaritan_; of animals, as Kipling's_Rikki-tikki-tavi_; of psychological analysis, as James' _Madonna of theFuture_; and so on. 

III

THE SHORT-STORY AS NARRATION

All the previous discussion must not obscure the fact that theshort-story is a form of narration and subject to all that pertainsthereto. Now what is narration and what does it imply?

Narration is that form of discourse which presents a series of events inthe order of time. Events or action presuppose actors, or characters asthey are generally called, and a place where the action may take place;likewise time and circumstances within which the actors act. Thesethree, which may be conveniently spoken of as actors, action, andenvironment, are three of the elements of narration. But there is afourth. To make an interesting story there must be something for thechief character, technically called the protagonist, to overcome, suchas an adversary, a situation, or an idea, which thing is called theobstacle. Furthermore, there must be something in the story near thebeginning which brings the protagonist into conflict with the obstacle. Often this conflict, technically the collision, is brought about byanother character. But it may be some happening. Whatever it is, it iscalled the complicating force. Then again, toward the end of the story, there is something else which either helps the protagonist to overcomethe obstacle, or the obstacle to overcome the protagonist. This iscalled the resolving force. 

As these two forces work in different parts of the story, the action isconveniently divided into parts to which names have been attached. Firstcomes the introduction or proposition, wherein the time, place, circumstances, and protagonist are presented; then the entanglement, wherein the protagonist is brought into collision with the obstacle bythe complicating force, and the interest begins to deepen. Next we havethe climax, in which the struggle, and consequently the interest, are attheir height; and this in turn is followed by the resolution, where theresolving force works and the knot begins to be untied. Finally there isthe dénouement or conclusion. 

The career of each character may be conveniently spoken of as a line ofinterest. When the lines of interest become entangled we have the plot. 

The following diagram illustrates to the eye the development of a story. Of course it must be distinctly understood that no story is the resultof a mere substitution in a formula. Sometimes the various steps in theworking-out of a story overlap in such a manner that its developmentaccording to a prescribed plan is not apparent. 

[Illustration]

Small _c_ is sometimes called the crisis, being the point at which theaction is most intense and begins to turn toward the end. 

IV

LIST OF REPRESENTATIVE SHORT-STORIES

1. ALDRICH: Marjorie Daw. 

2. Quite So. 

3. ANDREWS: Amici. 

4. The Glory of the Commonplace. 

5. A Good Samaritan. 

6. BUNNER: "As One Having Authority. "

7. Love in Old Cloathes. 

8. BUNNER AND MATTHEWS: Documents in the Case. 

9. CABLE: Posson Jone. 

10. CHILD: The Man in the Shadow. 

11. CLEMENS: Jumping Frog. 

12. COBB: To the Editor of the Sun. 

13. COLCORD: The Game of Life and Death. 

14. DAVIS, R. H. : The Bar Sinister. 

15. Gallegher. 

16. The Lion and the Unicorn. 

17. DOYLE: The Red-Headed League. 

18. A Scandal in Bohemia. 

19. The Striped Chest. 

20. Through the Veil. 

21. GARLAND: The Return of a Private. 

22. GEROULD: On the Staircase. 

23. HALE: The Man without a Country. 

24. HARDY: The Three Strangers. 

25. HARRIS: The Wonderful Tar Baby. 

26. HARTE: Luck of Roaring Camp. 

27. Tennessee's Partner. 

28. HAWTHORNE: The Ambitious Guest. 

29. Ethan Brand. 

30. The Gray Champion. 

31. The Great Stone Face. 

32. "O. HENRY": Friends in San Rosario. 

33. Jimmie Hayes and Muriel. 

34. IRVING: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. 

35. The Spectre Bridegroom. 

36. JAMES: A Passionate Pilgrim. 

37. JANVIER: In the St. Peter's Set. 

38. The Passing of Thomas. 

39. JEWETT: A Native of Winby. 

40. KIPLING: The Brushwood Boy. 

41. An Habitation Enforced. 

42. The Maltese Cat. 

43. My Lord the Elephant. 

44. Rikki-tikki-tavi. 

45. They. 

46. The Tomb of His Ancestors. 

47. Wee Willie Winkie. 

48. William the Conqueror. 

49. LONDON: The White Silence. 

50. MORRIS: The Trap. 

51. MURFREE: The "Harnt" that Walks Chilhowee. 

52. PAGE: Marse Chan. 

53. Meh Lady. 

54. Polly. 

55. PARKER: The Stake and the Plumb Line. 

56. POE: The Fall of the House of Usher. 

57. The Murders in the Rue Morgue. 

58. The Pit and the Pendulum. 

59. ROBERTS: From the Teeth of the Tide. 

60. SPEARMAN: Jimmie the Wind. 

61. SMITH, F. H. : Colonel Carter of Cartersville. 

62. STEVENSON: The Bottle Imp. 

63. A Lodging for the Night. 

64. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 

65. The Merry Men. 

66. The Pavilion on the Links. 

67. STOCKTON: The Lady or the Tiger?

68. The Transferred Ghost. 

69. A Story of Seven Devils. 

70. VAN DYKE: The Blue Flower. 

71. WILKINS (FREEMAN): A New England Nun. 

72. The Revolt of Mother. 

V

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BALDWIN, CHARLES SEARS. American Short-stories. _Longmans, Green, & Co. , 1904. _

CANBY, HENRY SEIDEL, A Study of the Short-story. _Henry Holt & Co. , 1913. _

DAWSON, W. J. AND CONINGSBY, The Great English Short-story Writers. _Harper and Brothers, 1910. _

HAMILTON, CLAYTON, Materials and Methods of Fiction (Chapters X and XI). _Doubleday, Page & Co. , 1908. _

MATTHEWS, BRANDER, The Short-story. _American Book Co. , 1907. _

PERRY, BLISS, A Study of Prose Fiction (Chapter XII). _Houghton MifflinCo. , 1902. _

SMITH, C. ALPHONSO, The American Short-story. _Ginn & Co. , 1912. _

THE SHORT-STORY

[The following Tale was found among the papers of the late DiedrichKnickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious in theDutch history of the province, and the manners of the descendants fromits primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lieso much among books as among men; for the former are lamentably scantyon his favorite topics; whereas he found the old burghers, and stillmore their wives, rich in that legendary lore, so invaluable to truehistory. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farmhouse, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped volume of black-letter, andstudied it with the zeal of a book-worm. 

The result of all these researches was a history of the province duringthe reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since. There have been various opinions as to the literary character of hiswork, and, to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a littlequestioned on its first appearance, but has since been completelyestablished; and it is now admitted into all historical collections, asa book of unquestionable authority. 

The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work, andnow that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his memory tosay that his time might have been much better employed in weightierlabors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his own way; and thoughit did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of hisneighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends, for whom he felt thetruest deference and affection; yet his errors and follies areremembered "more in sorrow than in anger, " and it begins to besuspected, that he never intended to injure or offend. But however hismemory may be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear by manyfolks, whose good opinion is well worth having; particularly by certainbiscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on theirnew-year cakes; and have thus given him a chance for immortality, almostequal to the being stamped on a Waterloo Medal, or a Queen Anne'sFarthing. ]

RIP VAN WINKLE

A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER

 By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, Truth is a thing that ever I will keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into My sepulchre--

CARTWRIGHT. 

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskillmountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachianfamily, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to anoble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every changeof season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfectbarometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed inblue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky;but, sometimes, when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they willgather a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the lastrays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory. 

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried thelight smoke curling up from a village whose shingle-roofs gleam amongthe trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into thefresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of greatantiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists, in theearly times of the province, just about the beginning of the governmentof the good Peter Stuyvesant, (may he rest in peace!) and there weresome of the houses of the original settlers standing within a few years, built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticedwindows and gable fronts, surmounted with weather-cocks. 

In that same village, and in one of these very houses (which, to tellthe precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there livedmany years since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple good-natured fellow of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was adescendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrousdays of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of FortChristina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial character ofhis ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple good-natured man; hewas, moreover, a kind neighbor, and an obedient hen-pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness ofspirit which gained him such universal popularity; for those men aremost apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under thediscipline of shrews at home. Their tempers, doubtless, are renderedpliant and malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation; and acurtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching thevirtues of patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife may, therefore, in some respects, be considered a tolerable blessing; and if so, Rip VanWinkle was thrice blessed. 

Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the good wives ofthe village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in allfamily squabbles; and never failed, whenever they talked those mattersover in their evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame VanWinkle. The children of the village, too, would shout with joy wheneverhe approached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long storiesof ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about thevillage, he was surrounded by a troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him withimpunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighborhood. 

The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable aversion to allkinds of profitable labor. It could not be from the want of assiduity orperseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long andheavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur, eventhough he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. He would carry afowling-piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through woodsand swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wildpigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neighbor even in the roughesttoil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking Indiancorn, or building stone-fences; the women of the village, too, used toemploy him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as theirless obliging husbands would not do for them. In a word Rip was ready toattend to anybody's business but his own; but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible. 

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm; it was themost pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country; everythingabout it went wrong, and would go wrong, in spite of him. His fenceswere continually falling to pieces; his cow would either go astray orget among the cabbages; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fieldsthan anywhere else; the rain always made a point of setting in just ashe had some out-door work to do, so that though his patrimonial estatehad dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until there waslittle more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet itwas the worst conditioned farm in the neighborhood. 

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged tonobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised toinherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was generallyseen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair ofhis father's cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to hold upwith one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather. 

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread orbrown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble, and wouldrather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself, hewould have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife keptcontinually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sureto produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way ofreplying to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, hadgrown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast uphis eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a freshvolley from his wife; so that he was fain to draw off his forces, andtake to the outside of the house--the only side which, in truth, belongsto a hen-pecked husband. 

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as muchhen-pecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them ascompanions in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, asthe cause of his master's going so often astray. True it is, in allpoints of spirit befitting an honorable dog, he was as courageous ananimal as ever scoured the woods--but what courage can withstand theever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? The momentWolf entered the house his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, castingmany a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish ofa broom-stick or ladle, he would fly to the door with yelpingprecipitation. 

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimonyrolled on; a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue isthe only edged tool that grows keener with constant use. For a longwhile he used to console himself, when driven from home, by frequentinga kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other idlepersonages of the village; which held its sessions on a bench before asmall inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George theThird. Here they used to sit in the shade through a long lazy summer'sday, talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless sleepystories about nothing. But it would have been worth any statesman'smoney to have heard the profound discussions that sometimes took place, when by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some passingtraveller. How solemnly they would listen to the contents, as drawledout by Derrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learned littleman, who was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in thedictionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events somemonths after they had taken place. 

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by NicholasVedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the doorof which he took his seat from morning till night, just movingsufficiently to avoid the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; sothat the neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accurately asby a sun-dial. It is true he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked hispipe incessantly. His adherents, however (for every great man has hisadherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather hisopinions. When anything that was read or related displeased him, he wasobserved to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth short, frequentand angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly andtranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes, taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor curlabout his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of perfectapprobation. 

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by histermagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of theassemblage and call the members all to naught; nor was that augustpersonage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue ofthis terrible virago, who charged him outright with encouraging herhusband in habits of idleness. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his onlyalternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of hiswife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here hewould sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share thecontents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as afellow-sufferer in persecution. "Poor Wolf, " he would say, "thy mistressleads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I livethou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!" Wolf would wag histail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity Iverily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart. 

In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip hadunconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskillmountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel shooting, and thestill solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on agreen knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of aprecipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all thelower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance thelordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majesticcourse, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a laggingbark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losingitself in the blue highlands. 

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the impendingcliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene; evening was graduallyadvancing; the mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over thevalleys; he saw that it would be dark long before he could reach thevillage, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering theterrors of Dame Van Winkle. 

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance, hallooing, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" He looked round, but could see nothingbut a crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He thoughthis fancy must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when heheard the same cry ring through the still evening air: "Rip Van Winkle!Rip Van Winkle!"--at the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and givinga low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down intothe glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him; he lookedanxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowlytoiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something hecarried on his back. He was surprised to see any human being in thislonely and unfrequented place, but supposing it to be some one of theneighborhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it. 

On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singularity of thestranger's appearance. He was a short square-built old fellow, withthick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antiqueDutch fashion--a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist--several pair ofbreeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttonsdown the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulder astout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip toapproach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy and distrustfulof this new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alacrity; andmutually relieving one another, they clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended, Ripevery now and then heard long rolling peals, like distant thunder, thatseemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between loftyrocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused for aninstant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of those transientthunder-showers which often take place in mountain heights, heproceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a hollow, like asmall amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over thebrinks of which impending trees shot their branches, so that you onlycaught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud. Duringthe whole time Rip and his companion had labored on in silence; forthough the former marvelled greatly what could be the object of carryinga keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something strangeand incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspired awe and checkedfamiliarity. 

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presentedthemselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-lookingpersonages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a quaintoutlandish fashion; some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with longknives in their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches, ofsimilar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, werepeculiar: one had a large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes: theface of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was surmountedby a white sugar-loaf hat set off with a little red cock's tail. Theyall had beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one who seemedto be the commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a weather-beatencountenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, withroses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an oldFlemish painting, in the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, the villageparson, and which had been brought over from Holland at the time of thesettlement. 

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these folks wereevidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, themost mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party ofpleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness of thescene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder. 

As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted fromtheir play, and stared at him with such fixed statue-like gaze, and suchstrange, uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that his heart turned withinhim, and his knees smote together. His companion now emptied thecontents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to waitupon the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed theliquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game. 

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, whenno eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found hadmuch of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirstysoul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provokedanother; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that atlength his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his headgradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep. 

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seenthe old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes--it was a bright sunnymorning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and theeagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. "Surely, " thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night. " He recalledthe occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with a keg ofliquor--the mountain ravine--the wild retreat among the rocks--thewoe-begone party at nine-pins--the flagon--"Oh! that flagon! that wickedflagon!" thought Rip--"what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle!"

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-oiledfowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrelincrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. Henow suspected that the grave roysters of the mountain had put a trickupon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after asquirrel or partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, butall in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog wasto be seen. 

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, and ifhe met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose towalk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usualactivity. "These mountain beds do not agree with me, " thought Rip, "andif this frolic should lay me up with a fit of rheumatism, I shall have ablessed time with Dame Van Winkle. " With some difficulty he got downinto the glen: he found the gully up which he and his companion hadascended the preceding evening; but to his astonishment a mountainstream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to rock, and fillingthe glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble upits sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled bythe wild grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils from tree totree, and spread a kind of network in his path. 

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffsto the amphitheatre; but no traces of such opening remained. The rockspresented a high impenetrable wall over which the torrent came tumblingin a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad deep basin, blackfrom the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip wasbrought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he wasonly answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high inair about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and who, secure intheir elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man'sperplexities. What was to be done? the morning was passing away, and Ripfelt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dogand gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starveamong the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his stepshomeward. 

As he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whom heknew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himselfacquainted with every one in the country round. Their dress, too, was ofa different fashion from that to which he was accustomed. They allstared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast theireyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrenceof this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to hisastonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long!

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strangechildren ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his graybeard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an oldacquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was altered;it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he hadnever seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts haddisappeared. Strange names were over the doors--strange faces at thewindows--every thing was strange. His mind now misgave him; he began todoubt whether both he and the world around him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which he had left but the daybefore. There stood the Kaatskill mountains--there ran the silver Hudsonat a distance--there was every hill and dale precisely as it had alwaysbeen--Rip was sorely perplexed--"That flagon last night, " thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!"

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear theshrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay--theroof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. Ahalf-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip calledhim by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. Thiswas an unkind cut indeed--"My very dog, " sighed poor Rip, "has forgottenme!"

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van Winkle hadalways kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparentlyabandoned. This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears--he calledloudly for his wife and children--the lonely chambers rang for a momentwith his voice, and then all again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the villageinn--but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden building stood in itsplace, with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended withold hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, "the UnionHotel, by Jonathan Doolittle. " Instead of the great tree that used toshelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tallnaked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage ofstars and stripes--all this was strange and incomprehensible. Herecognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, underwhich he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even this wassingularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue andbuff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head wasdecorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in largecharacters, GENERAL WASHINGTON. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that Riprecollected. The very character of the people seemed changed. There wasa busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomedphlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage NicholasVedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, utteringclouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle speeches; or Van Bummel, theschoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. In placeof these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full ofhandbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights ofcitizens--elections--members of congress--liberty--Bunker's Hill--heroesof seventy-six--and other words, which were a perfect Babylonish jargonto the bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rustyfowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children athis heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern politicians. Theycrowded round him, eying him from head to foot with great curiosity. Theorator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired "onwhich side he voted?" Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another short butbusy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, "Whether he was Federal or Democrat?" Rip wasequally at a loss to comprehend the question; when a knowing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his waythrough the crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows ashe passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere tone, "whatbrought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at hisheels, and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village?"--"Alas!gentlemen, " cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor quiet man, anative of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!"

Here a general shout burst from the by-standers--"A tory! a tory! a spy!a refugee! hustle him! away with him!" It was with great difficulty thatthe self-important man in the cocked hat restored order; and, havingassumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknownculprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking? The poor manhumbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there insearch of some of his neighbors, who used to keep about the tavern. 

"Well--who are they?--name them. "

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?"

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in athin piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone theseeighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the church-yard thatused to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too. "

"Where's Brom Dutcher?"

"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war; some say hewas killed at the storming of Stony Point--others say he was drowned ina squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't know---he never came backagain. "

"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?"

"He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and is now incongress. "

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home andfriends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answerpuzzled him, too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and ofmatters which he could not understand: war--congress--Stony Point;--hehad no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair, "Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?"

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three. "Oh, to be sure! that'sRip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree. "

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he went upthe mountain; apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poorfellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, andwhether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name?

"God knows, " exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not myself--I'msomebody else--that's me yonder--no--that's somebody else got into myshoes--I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, andthey've changed my gun, and every thing's changed, and I'm changed, andI can't tell what's my name, or who I am!"

The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, winksignificantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There wasa whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow fromdoing mischief, at the very suggestion of which the self-important manin the cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this criticalmoment a fresh comely woman pressed through the throng to get a peep atthe gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. "Hush, Rip, " cried she, "hush, you little fool; the old man won't hurt you. " The name of the child, theair of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train ofrecollections in his mind. "What is your name, my good woman?" asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier. "

"And your father's name?"

"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years sincehe went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard ofsince--his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, orwas carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but alittle girl. "

Rip had but one question more to ask; but he put it with a falteringvoice:

"Where's your mother?"

"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vesselin a fit of passion at a New-England peddler. "

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. The honestman could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter and herchild in his arms. "I am your father!" cried he--"Young Rip Van Winkleonce--old Rip Van Winkle now!--Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle?"

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among thecrowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face for amoment, exclaimed, "Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle--it is himself!Welcome home, again, old neighbor---Why, where have you been thesetwenty long years?"

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to himbut as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it; some wereseen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their cheeks: andthe self-important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his mouth, andshook his head--upon which there was a general shaking of the headthroughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a descendant of thehistorian of that name, who wrote one of the earliest accounts of theprovince. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and wellversed in all the wonderful events and traditions of the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the mostsatisfactory manner. He assured the company that it was a fact, handeddown from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill mountains hadalways been haunted by strange beings. That it was affirmed that thegreat Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of theHalf-moon; being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of hisenterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river, and the great citycalled by his name. That his father had once seen them in their oldDutch dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow of the mountain; and thathe himself had heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals of thunder. 

To make a long story short, the company broke up, and returned to themore important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took him home tolive with her; she had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout cheeryfarmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins thatused to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was the dittoof himself, seen leaning against the tree, he was employed to work onthe farm; but evinced an hereditary disposition to attend to any thingelse but his business. 

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon found many of hisformer cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and tear oftime; and preferred making friends among the rising generation, withwhom he soon grew into great favor. 

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that happy age when aman can be idle with impunity, he took his place once more on the benchat the inn door, and was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of thevillage, and a chronicle of the old times "before the war. " It was sometime before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or could bemade to comprehend the strange events that had taken place during historpor. How that there had been a revolutionary war--that the countryhad thrown off the yoke of old England--and that, instead of being asubject of his Majesty George the Third, he was now a free citizen ofthe United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician; the changes ofstates and empires made but little impression on him; but there was onespecies of despotism under which he had long groaned, and thatwas--petticoat government. Happily that was at an end; he had got hisneck out of the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever hepleased, without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever hername was mentioned, however, he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes; which might pass either for an expression ofresignation to his fate, or joy at his deliverance. 

He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some pointsevery time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing to his having sorecently awaked. It at last settled down precisely to the tale I haverelated, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighborhood, but knew itby heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insistedthat Rip had been out of his head and that this was one point on whichhe always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almostuniversally gave it full credit. Even to this day they never hear athunderstorm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they sayHendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins; and it is acommon wish of all hen-pecked husbands in the neighborhood, when lifehangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting draught outof Rip Van Winkle's flagon. 

NOTE

The foregoing Tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr. Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the EmperorFrederick der Rothbart, and the Kypphaüser mountain: the subjoined note, however, which he had appended to the tale, shows that it is an absolutefact, narrated with his usual fidelity:

"The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, butnevertheless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of ourold Dutch settlements to have been very subject to marvellous events andappearances. Indeed, I have heard many stranger stories than this, inthe villages along the Hudson; all of which were too well authenticatedto admit of a doubt. I have even talked with Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very venerable old man, and so perfectlyrational and consistent on every other point, that I think noconscientious person could refuse to take this into the bargain; nay, Ihave seen a certificate on the subject taken before a country justiceand signed with a cross, in the justice's own handwriting. The story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of doubt. D. K. "--[AUTHOR'S NOTE. ]

POSTSCRIPT

The following are travelling notes from a memorandum-book of Mr. Knickerbocker:

The Kaatsberg, or Catskill mountains, have always been a region full offable. The Indians considered them the abode of spirits, who influencedthe weather, spreading sunshine or clouds over the landscape, andsending good or bad hunting seasons. They were ruled by an old squawspirit, said to be their mother. She dwelt on the highest peak of theCatskills, and had charge of the doors of day and night to open and shutthem at the proper hour. She hung up the new moons in the skies, and cutup the old ones into stars. In times of drought, if properlypropitiated, she would spin light summer clouds out of cobwebs andmorning dew, and send them off from the crest of the mountain, flakeafter flake, like flakes of carded cotton, to float in the air; until, dissolved by the heat of the sun, they would fall in gentle showers, causing the grass to spring, the fruits to ripen, and the corn to growan inch an hour. If displeased, however, she would brew up clouds blackas ink, sitting in the midst of them like a bottle-bellied spider in themidst of its web; and when these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys. 

In old times, say the Indian traditions, there was a kind of Manitou orSpirit, who kept about the wildest recesses of the Catskill Mountains, and took a mischievous pleasure in wreaking all kinds of evils andvexations upon the red men. Sometimes he would assume the form of abear, a panther, or a deer, lead the bewildered hunter a weary chasethrough tangled forests and among ragged rocks; and then spring off witha loud ho! ho! leaving him aghast on the brink of a beetling precipiceor raging torrent. 

The favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It is a great rock orcliff on the loneliest part of the mountains, and, from the floweringvines which clamber about it, and the wild flowers which abound in itsneighborhood, is known by the name of the Garden Rock. Near the foot ofit is a small lake, the haunt of the solitary bittern, with water-snakesbasking in the sun on the leaves of the pond-lilies which lie on thesurface. This place was held in great awe by the Indians, insomuch thatthe boldest hunter would not pursue his game within its precincts. Onceupon a time, however, a hunter who had lost his way, penetrated to thegarden rock, where he beheld a number of gourds placed in the crotchesof trees. One of these he seized and made off with it, but in the hurryof his retreat he let it fall among the rocks, when a great streamgushed forth, which washed him away and swept him down precipices, wherehe was dashed to pieces, and the stream made its way to the Hudson, andcontinues to flow to the present day; being the identical stream knownby the name of the Kaaters-kill. 

[Illustration: EDGAR ALLAN POE]

THE GOLD BUG

 "What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad! He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. " _All in the Wrong. _

Many years ago I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. Hewas of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but aseries of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid themortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, thecity of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. 

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else than thesea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point exceedsa quarter of a mile. It is separated from the main land by a scarcelyperceptible creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds andslime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might besupposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude areto be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands, andwhere are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted during summer by thefugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed, thebristly palmetto; but the whole island, with the exception of thewestern point, and a line of hard, white beach on the sea-coast, iscovered with a dense undergrowth of sweet myrtle, so much prized by thehorticulturalists of England. The shrub here often attains the heightof fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with its fragrance. 

In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern or moreremote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut, whichhe occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his acquaintance. Thissoon ripened into friendship, --for there was much in the recluse toexcite interest and esteem. I found him well educated, with unusualpowers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject to perversemoods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with him manybooks, but rarely employed them. His chief amusements were gunning andfishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the myrtles in questof shells or entomological specimens; his collection of the latter mighthave been envied by a Swammerdam. In these excursions he was usuallyaccompanied by an old negro called Jupiter, who had been manumittedbefore the reverses of the family, but who could be induced, neither bythreats nor by promises, to abandon what he considered his right ofattendance upon the footsteps of his young "Massa Will. " It is notimprobable that the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhatunsettled in intellect, had contrived to instil this obstinacy intoJupiter, with a view to the supervision and guardianship of thewanderer. 

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a fire isconsidered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--, there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I scrambledmy way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had notvisited for several weeks, my residence being at that time inCharleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while thefacilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of thepresent day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom; and, getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw off anovercoat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited patientlythe arrival of my hosts. 

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare somemarsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits--how else shall Iterm them?--of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, forming anew genus; and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, withJupiter's assistance, a scarabæus which he believed to be totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on the morrow. 

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, andwishing the whole tribe of scarabæi at the devil. 

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand; "but it's so longsince I saw you, and how could I foresee that you would pay me a visitthis very night of all others? As I was coming home I met LieutenantG---- from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so it willbe impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the loveliest thing increation!"

"What--sunrise?"

"Nonsense! no! the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color, about the sizeof a large hickory nut, with two jet black spots near one extremity ofthe back, another, somewhat longer, at the other. The _antennæ_ are"--

"Dey ain't _no_ tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a-telling on you, " hereinterrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing--neber feel half so hebby a bug in mylife. "

"Well, suppose it is, Jup, " replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly, itseemed to me, than the case demanded, "is that any reason for youletting the birds burn? The color"--here he turned to me--"is reallyalmost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliantmetallic lustre than the scales emit; but of this you cannot judge tillto-morrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of the shape. "Saying this, he seated himself at a small table on which were a pen andink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found none. 

"Never mind, " said he at length, "this will answer;" and he drew fromhis waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While he did this, Iretained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the designwas complete he handed it to me without rising. As I received it, a loudgrowl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. Jupiter openedit, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, leapedupon my shoulders and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him muchattention during previous visits. When his gambols were over, I lookedat the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not a little puzzledat what my friend had depicted. 

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this _is_ astrange _scarabæus_, I must confess; new to me; never saw anything likeit before--unless it was a skull, or a death's-head--which it morenearly resembles than anything else that has come under _my_observation. "

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand. "Oh--yes--well, it has something ofthat appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots looklike eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a mouth--and thenthe shape of the whole is oval. "

"Perhaps so, " said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I mustwait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of itspersonal appearance. "

"Well, I don't know, " said he, a little nettled, "I drawtolerably--_should_ do it at least, have had good masters--and flattermyself that I am not quite a blockhead. "

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then, " said I; "this is a verypassable _skull_--indeed, I may say that it is a very _excellent_ skull, according to the vulgar notions about such specimens of physiology--andyour _scarabæus_ must be the queerest _scarabæus_ in the world if itresembles it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bit of superstitionupon this hint. I presume you will call the bug _scarabæus caputhominis_, or something of that kind--there are many similar titles inthe Natural Histories. But where are the _antennæ_ you spoke of?"

"The _antennæ_!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountablywarm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the _antennæ_. I madethem as distinct as they are in the original insect, and I presume thatis sufficient. "

"Well, well, " I said, "perhaps you have--still I don't see them;" and Ihanded him the paper without additional remark, not wishing to rufflehis temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairs had taken; hisill-humor puzzled me--and, as for the drawing of the beetle, there werepositively _no antennæ_ visible, and the whole _did_ bear a very closeresemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death's-head. 

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the designseemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant his face grewviolently red--in another as excessively pale. For some minutes hecontinued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he sat. At length hearose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himself upona sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again he made ananxious examination of the paper, turning it in all directions. He saidnothing, however, and his conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thoughtit prudent not to exacerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by anycomment. Presently he took from his coat pocket a wallet, placed thepaper carefully in it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which helocked. He now grew more composed in his demeanor; but his original airof enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky asabstracted. As the evening wore away he became more and more absorbed inrevery, from which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been myintention to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. Hedid not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand witheven more than his usual cordiality. 

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had seennothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from his manJupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so dispirited, and Ifeared that some serious disaster had befallen my friend. 

"Well, Jup, " said I, "what is the matter now?--how is your master?"

"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought be. "

"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?"

"Dar! dat's it!--him never plain of notin--but him berry sick for alldat. "

"_Very_ sick, Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined tobed?"

"No, dat he aint!--he aint find nowhar--dat's just whar de shoepinch--my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor Massa Will. "

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails him?"

"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad about de matter--Massa Willsay noffin at all aint de matter wid him--but den what make him go aboutlooking dis here way, wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as whiteas a gose? And den he keep a syphon all de time"--

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate--de queerest figgurs I ebberdid see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to keep mightytight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip fore de sun up andwas gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for togib him deuced good beating when he did come--but Ise sich a fool dat Ihadn't de heart arter all--he look so berry poorly. "

"Eh?--what?--ah, yes!--upon the whole I think you had better not be toosevere with the poor fellow--don't flog him, Jupiter--he can't very wellstand it--but can you form no idea of what has occasioned this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant happened sinceI saw you?"

"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant _since_ den--'twas _fore_ denI'm feared--'twas de berry day you was dare. "

"How? what do you mean?"

"Why, massa, I mean de bug--dare now. "

"The what?"

"De bug--I'm berry sartain that Massa Will bin bit somewhere bout dehead by dat goole-bug. "

"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"

"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see sich a deucedbug--he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will cotchhim fuss, but had for to let him go gin mighty quick, I tell you--denwas de time he must hab got de bite. I didn't like de look of de bugmouff, myself, no how, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my finger, butI cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I rap him up in de paperand stuff piece ob it in he mouff--dad was de way. "

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick?"

"I don't tink noffin bout it--I nose it. What make him dream bout degoole so much, if taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd bout demgoole-bugs fore dis. "

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?"

"How I know? why, cause he talk bout it in he sleep, dat's how I nose. "

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate circumstance amI to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-day?"

"What de matter, massa?"

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?"

"No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;" and here Jupiter handed me a notewhich ran thus:--

"MY DEAR ----

Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope you have not been sofoolish as to take offence at any little _brusquerie_ of mine; but no, that is improbable. 

Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I have something totell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should tell itat all. 

I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup annoysme, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions. Would youbelieve it?--he had prepared a huge stick, the other day, with which tochastise me for giving him the slip, and spending the day, _solus_, among the hills on the main land. I verily believe that my ill looksalone saved me a flogging. 

I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met. 

If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with Jupiter. _Do_come. I wish to see you _to-night_, upon business of importance. Iassure you that it is of the _highest_ importance. 

Ever yours, WILLIAM LEGRAND. "

There was something in the tone of this note which gave me greatuneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet possessed his excitablebrain? What "business of the highest importance" could _he_ possiblyhave to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I dreaded lestthe continued pressure of misfortune had, at length, fairly unsettledthe reason of my friend. Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, Iprepared to accompany the negro. 

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, allapparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were toembark. 

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired. 

"Him syfe, massa, and spade. "

"Very true; but what are they doing here?"

"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying for him inde town, and de debbil's own lot of money I had to gib for em. "

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa Will'going to do with scythes and spades?"

"Dat's more dan _I_ know, and debbil take me if I don't believe 'tismore dan he know, too. But it's all cum ob de bug. "

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose wholeintellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug, " I now stepped into the boatand made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon ran into the littlecove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some two milesbrought us to the hut. It was about three in the afternoon when wearrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager expectation. He graspedmy hand with a nervous _empressement_ which alarmed me, and strengthenedthe suspicions already entertained. His countenance was pale even toghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural lustre. Aftersome inquiries respecting his health, I asked him, not knowing whatbetter to say, if he had yet obtained the _scarabæus_ from LieutenantG----. 

"Oh, yes, " he replied, coloring violently; "I got it from him the nextmorning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that _scarabæus_. Do youknow that Jupiter is quite right about it?"

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart. 

"In supposing it to be a bug of _real gold_. " He said this with an airof profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked. 

"This bug is to make my fortune, " he continued with a triumphant smile, "to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any wonder, then, thatI prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to bestow it upon me, I haveonly to use it properly, and I shall arrive at the gold of which it isthe index. Jupiter, bring me that _scarabæus_!"

"What, de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat bug; you mus githim for your own self. " Hereupon Legrand arose, with a grave and statelyair, and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which it wasenclosed. It was a beautiful _scarabæus_, and, at that time, unknown tonaturalists--of course a great prize in a scientific point of view. There were two round black spots near one extremity of the back, and along one near the other. The scales were exceedingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance of burnished gold. The weight of the insect wasvery remarkable, and, taking all things into consideration, I couldhardly blame Jupiter for his opinion respecting it; but what to make ofLegrand's concordance with that opinion, I could not, for the life ofme, tell. 

"I sent for you, " said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I had completedmy examination of the beetle, "I sent for you that I might have yourcounsel and assistance in furthering the views of Fate and of the bug"--

"My dear Legrand, " I cried interrupting him, "you are certainly unwell, and had better use some little precautions. You shall go to bed, and Iwill remain with you a few days until you get over this. You arefeverish and"--

"Feel my pulse, " said he. 

I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest indication offever. 

"But you may be ill, and yet have no fever. Allow me this once toprescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In the next"--

"You are mistaken, " he interposed; "I am as well as I can expect to beunder the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me well, youwill relieve this excitement. "

"And how is this to be done?"

"Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition into thehills upon the mainland; and in this expedition we shall need the aid ofsome person in whom we can confide. You are the only one we can trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which you now perceive in mewill be equally allayed. "

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way, " I replied; "but do you mean tosay that this infernal beetle has any connection with your expeditioninto the hills. "

"It has. "

"Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd proceeding. "

"I am sorry--very sorry--for we shall have to try it by ourselves. "

"Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad! but stay, how long do youpropose to be absent?"

"Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at allevents, by sunrise. "

"And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when this freak ofyours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to yoursatisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice implicitly, as that of your physician?"

"Yes, I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time to lose. "

With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started about fouro'clock--Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with him thescythe and spades, the whole of which he insisted upon carrying, morethrough fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either of the implementswithin reach of his master, than from any excess of industry orcomplaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and "dat deucedbug" were the sole words which escaped his lips during the journey. Formy own part, I had charge of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrandcontented himself with the _scarabæus_, which he carried attached to theend of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro, with the air of aconjurer, as he went. When I observed this last, plain evidence of myfriend's aberration of mind, I could scarcely refrain from tears. Ithought it best, however, to humor his fancy, at least for the present, or until I could adopt some more energetic measures with a chance ofsuccess. In the meantime I endeavored, but all in vain, to sound him inregard to the object of the expedition. Having succeeded in inducing meto accompany him, he seemed unwilling to hold conversation upon anytopic of minor importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no otherreply than "we shall see!"

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of a skiff, and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the mainland, proceeded in anorthwesterly direction, through a tract of country excessively wildand desolate, where no trace of a human footstep was to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision; pausing only for an instant, here andthere, to consult what appeared to be certain landmarks of his owncontrivance upon a former occasion. 

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was justsetting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than any yetseen. It was a species of tableland, near the summit of an almostinaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinnacle, andinterspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the soil, and in many cases were prevented from precipitating themselves into thevalleys below, merely by the support of the trees against which theyreclined. Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air of stillsterner solemnity to the scene. 

The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly overgrownwith brambles, through which we soon discovered that it would have beenimpossible to force our way but for the scythe; and Jupiter, bydirection of his master, proceeded to clear for us a path to the foot ofan enormously tall tulip-tree, which stood, with some eight or ten oaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them all, and all other trees which Ihad then ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in the widespread of its branches, and in the general majesty of its appearance. When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, and asked him ifhe thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a little staggered bythe question, and for some moments made no reply. At length heapproached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and examined it withminute attention. When he had completed his scrutiny, he merely said, --

"Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life. "

"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too dark tosee what we are about. "

"How far mus go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter. 

"Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way togo--and here--stop! take this beetle with you. "

"De bug, Massa Will!--de goole-bug!" cried the negro, drawing back indismay--"what for mus tote de bug way up the tree?--damn if I do!"

"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold of aharmless little dead beetle, why you can carry it up by thisstring--but, if you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall beunder the necessity of breaking your head with this shovel. "

"What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed into compliance;"always want for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only funnin, any how. _Me_ feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here he took cautiouslyhold of the extreme end of the string, and, maintaining the insect asfar from his person as circumstances would permit, prepared to ascendthe tree. 

In youth, the tulip-tree, or _Liriodendron Tulipiferum_, the mostmagnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth, andoften rises to a great height without lateral branches; but, in itsriper age, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, while many short limbsmake their appearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension, inthe present case, lay more in semblance than in reality. Embracing thehuge cylinder as closely as possible with his arms and knees, seizingwith his hands some projections, and resting his naked toes uponothers, Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes from falling, atlength wriggled himself into the first great fork, and seemed toconsider the whole business as virtually accomplished. The _risk_ of theachievement was, in fact, now over, although the climber was some sixtyor seventy feet from the ground. 

"Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked. 

"Keep up the largest branch--the one on this side, " said Legrand. Thenegro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with but little trouble, ascending higher and higher, until no glimpse of his squat figure couldbe obtained through the dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently hisvoice was heard in a sort of halloo. 

"How much fudder is got for go?"

"How high up are you?" asked Legrand. 

"Ebber so fur, " replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob detree. "

"Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down the trunk, andcount the limbs below you on this side. How many limbs have you passed?"

"One, two, tree, four, fibe--I done pass fibe big limb, massa, pon disside. "

"Then go one limb higher. "

In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the seventhlimb was attained. 

"Now, Jup, " cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I want you to workyour way out upon that limb as far as you can. If you see anythingstrange, let me know. "

By this time what little doubt I might have entertained of my poorfriend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had no alternative but toconclude him stricken with lunacy, and I became seriously anxious aboutgetting him home. While I was pondering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter's voice was again heard. 

"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far--'tis dead limb puttymuch all de way. "

"Did you say it was a _dead_ limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in aquivering voice. 

"Yes, massa; him dead as de door-nail; done up for sartain; donedeparted dis here life. "

"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in thegreatest distress. 

"Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, "why, comehome and go to bed. Come, now, that's a fine fellow! It's getting late, and, besides, you remember your promise. "

"Jupiter, " cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hear me?"

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain. "

"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it is_very_ rotten. "

"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff, " replied the negro in a few moments; "butnot so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur out leetle way pon delimb by myself, dat's true. "

"By yourself? what do you mean?"

"Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis _berry_ hebby bug. Spose I drop him down fuss, and den de limb won't break wid just de weight ob one nigger. "

"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently much relieved; "whatdo you mean by telling me such nonsense as that? As sure as you dropthat beetle I'll break your neck. Look here, Jupiter, do you hear me?"

"Yes, massa; needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style. "

"Well, now listen. If you will venture out on the limb as far as youthink safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll make you a present of asilver dollar as soon as you get down. "

"I'm gwine, Mass Will--deed I is, " replied the negro, verypromptly--"mos out to the end now. "

"_Out to the end!_" here fairly screamed Legrand, "do you say you areout to the end of that limb?"

"Soon be to de eend, massa, --o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! what _is_ dishere pon de tree?"

"Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?"

"Why, taint noffin but a skull--somebody bin lef him head up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off. "

"A skull, you say!--very well!--how is it fastened to the limb?--whatholds it on?"

"Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why, dis berry curous cumstance, pon myword--dare's a great big nail in de skull what fastens ob it on to detree. "

"Well, now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you--do you hear?"

"Yes, massa. "

"Pay attention, then!--find the left eye of the skull. "

"Hum! hoo! dat's good! why, dare aint no eye lef at all. "

"Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from your left?"

"Yes, I nose dat--nose all bout dat--'tis my lef hand what I chops dewood wid. "

"To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is on the same sideas your left hand. Now, I suppose you can find the left eye of theskull, or the place where the left eye has been. Have you found it?"

Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked, --

"Is de lef eye ob de skull pon de same side as de lef hand ob de skull, too?--cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at all--nebber mind! Igot de lef eye now--here de lef eye! what mus do with it?"

"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach--but becareful and not let go your hold of the string. "

"All dat done, Mass Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug frue dehole--look out for him dare below!"

During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could be seen; butthe beetle, which he had suffered to descend, was now visible at the endof the string, and glistened, like a globe of burnished gold, in thelast rays of the setting sun, some of which still faintly illumined theeminence upon which we stood. The _scarabæus_ hung quite clear of anybranches, and, if allowed to fall, would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took the scythe and cleared with it a circularspace, three or four yards in diameter, just beneath the insect, and, having accomplished this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string and comedown from the tree. 

Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground, at the precise spotwhere the beetle fell, my friend now produced from his pocket atape-measure. Fastening one end of this at that point of the trunk ofthe tree which was nearest the peg, he unrolled it till it reached thepeg, and thence further unrolled it, in the direction alreadyestablished by the two points of the tree and the peg, for the distanceof fifty feet--Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scythe. Atthe spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and about this, as acentre, a rude circle, about four feet in diameter, described. Takingnow a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrandbegged us to set about digging as quickly as possible. 

To speak the truth, I had no special relish for such amusement at any time, and, at that particular moment, would most willingly have declined it; forthe night was coming on, and I felt much fatigued with the exercise alreadytaken; but I saw no mode of escape, and was fearful of disturbing my poorfriend's equanimity by a refusal. Could I have depended, indeed, uponJupiter's aid, I would have had no hesitation in attempting to get thelunatic home by force; but I was too well assured of the old negro'sdisposition to hope that he would assist me, under any circumstances, in apersonal contest with his master. I made no doubt that the latter had beeninfected with some of the innumerable Southern superstitions about moneyburied, and that his fantasy had received confirmation by the finding ofthe _scarabæus_, or, perhaps, by Jupiter's obstinacy in maintaining it tobe "a bug of real gold. " A mind disposed to lunacy would readily be ledaway by such suggestions--especially if chiming in with favoritepreconceived ideas--and then I called to mind the poor fellow's speechabout the beetle's being "the index of his fortune. " Upon the whole, I wassadly vexed and puzzled, but at length, I concluded to make a virtue ofnecessity--to dig with a good will, and thus the sooner to convince thevisionary, by ocular demonstration, of the fallacy of the opinions heentertained. 

The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal worthy amore rational cause; and, as the glare fell upon our persons andimplements, I could not help thinking how picturesque a group wecomposed, and how strange and suspicious our labors must have appearedto any interloper who, by chance, might have stumbled upon ourwhereabouts. 

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our chiefembarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who took exceedinginterest in our proceedings. He at length became so obstreperous that wegrew fearful of his giving alarm to some stragglers in the vicinity; or, rather, this was the apprehension of Legrand; for myself, I should haverejoiced at any interruption which might have enabled me to get thewanderer home. The noise was at length very effectually silenced byJupiter, who, getting out of the hole with a dogged air of deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up with one of his suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task. 

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of fivefeet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. A general pauseensued, and I began to hope that the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped his browthoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the entire circle of fourfeet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, and went to thefurther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. The gold-seeker, whomI sincerely pitied, at length clambered from the pit, with the bitterestdisappointment imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded, slowly andreluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had thrown off at thebeginning of his labor. In the meantime I made no remark. Jupiter, at asignal from his master, began to gather up his tools. This done, and thedog having been unmuzzled, we turned in profound silence toward home. 

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when, with aloud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by the collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to the fullest extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees. 

"You scoundrel, " said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from betweenhis clinched teeth--"you infernal black villain!--speak, I tellyou!--answer me this instant, without prevarication!--which--which isyour left eye?"

"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartin?" roaredthe terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his _right_ organ ofvision, and holding it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if inimmediate dread of his master's attempt at a gouge. 

"I thought so!--I knew it! hurrah!" vociferated Legrand, letting thenegro go and executing a series of curvets and caracoles, much to theastonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked mutelyfrom his master to myself, and then from myself to his master. 

"Come! we must go back, " said the latter, "the game's not up yet;" andhe again led the way to the tulip-tree. 

"Jupiter, " said he, when we reached its foot, "come here; was the skullnailed to the limb with the face outward, or with the face to the limb?"

"De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes good, widout any trouble. "

"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped thebeetle?"--here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes. 

"'Twas dis eye, massa--de lef eye--jis as you tell me, " and here it washis right eye that the negro indicated. 

"That will do--we must try it again. "

Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied that I saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg which marked the spotwhere the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the westward ofits former position. Taking, now, the tape-measure from the nearestpoint of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing the extensionin a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a spot was indicated, removed, by several yards, from the point at which we had been digging. 

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in the formerinstance, was now described, and we again set to work with the spades. Iwas dreadfully weary, but scarcely understanding what had occasioned thechange in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aversion from thelabor imposed. I had become most unaccountably interested--nay, evenexcited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the extravagant demeanorof Legrand, some air of forethought, or of deliberation, which impressedme. I dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually looking, withsomething that very much resembled expectation, for the fanciedtreasure, the vision of which had demented my unfortunate companion. Ata period when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed me, and whenwe had been at work perhaps an hour and a half, we were againinterrupted by the violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in thefirst instance, had been, evidently, but the result of playfulness orcaprice, but he now assumed a bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter'sagain attempting to muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and leapinginto the hole, tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a fewseconds he had uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two completeskeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, and what appearedto be the dust of decayed woollen. One or two strokes of a spadeupturned the blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug further, three or four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to light. 

At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be restrained; butthe countenance of his master wore an air of extreme disappointment. Heurged us, however, to continue our exertions; and the words were hardlyuttered when I stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe of myboot in a large ring of iron that lay half buried in the loose earth. 

We now worked in earnest; and never did I pass ten minutes of moreintense excitement. During this interval we had fairly unearthed anoblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preservation and wonderfulhardness, had plainly been subjected to some mineralizingprocess--perhaps that of the bichloride of mercury. This box was threefeet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet deep. Itwas firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and forming a kindof open trelliswork over the whole. On each side of the chest, near thetop, were three rings of iron--six in all--by means of which a firm holdcould be obtained by six persons. Our utmost united endeavors servedonly to disturb the coffer very slightly in its bed. We at once saw theimpossibility of removing so great a weight. Luckily, the solefastenings of the lid consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drewback, trembling and panting with anxiety. In an instant a treasure ofincalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays of the lanternsfell within the pit, there flashed upward a glow and a glare, from aconfused heap of gold and of jewels, that absolutely dazzled our eyes. 

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted withexcitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's countenance wore, forsome minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature ofthings, for any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupefied, thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length, with a deep sigh, heexclaimed, as if in a soliloquy:--

"And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole-bug! de poor littlegoole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Ain't you ashamedob yourself, nigger? Answer me dat!"

It became necessary at last that I should arouse both master and valetto the expediency of removing the treasure. It was growing late, and itbehooved us to make exertion, that we might get everything housed beforedaylight. It was difficult to say what should be done, and much time wasspent in deliberation, so confused were the ideas of all. We finallylightened the box by removing two-thirds of its contents, when we wereenabled, with some trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articlestaken out were deposited among the brambles, and the dog left to guardthem, with strict orders from Jupiter, neither, upon any pretence, tostir from the spot, nor to open his mouth until our return. We thenhurriedly made for home with the chest, reaching the hut in safety, butafter excessive toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as wewere, it was not in human nature to do more immediately. We rested untiltwo, and had supper, starting for the hills immediately afterward, armedwith three stout sacks, which, by good luck, were upon the premises. Alittle before four we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of thebooty as equally as might be among us; and, leaving the holes unfilled, again set out for the hut, at which, for the second time, we depositedour golden burthens, just as the first faint streaks of the dawn gleamedfrom over the tree-tops in the east. 

We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense excitement of thetime denied us repose. After an unquiet slumber of some three or fourhours' duration, we arose, as if by preconcert, to make examination ofour treasure. 

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day, and thegreater part of the next night, in scrutiny of its contents. There hadbeen nothing like order or arrangement. Everything had been heaped inpromiscuously. Having assorted all with care, we found ourselvespossessed of even vaster wealth than we had at first supposed. In cointhere was rather more than four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, estimating the value of the pieces as accurately as we could by thetables of the period. There was not a particle of silver. All was goldof antique date and of great variety, --French, Spanish, and Germanmoney, with a few English guineas, and some counters, of which we hadnever seen specimens before. There were several very large and heavycoins, so worn that we could make nothing of their inscriptions. Therewas no American money. 

The value of the jewels we found more difficulty in estimating. Therewere diamonds, some of them exceedingly large and fine--a hundred andten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen rubies of remarkablebrilliancy; three hundred and ten emeralds, all very beautiful; andtwenty one sapphires, with an opal. These stones had all been brokenfrom their settings, and thrown loose in the chest. The settingsthemselves, which we picked out from among the other gold, appeared tohave been beaten up with hammers, as if to prevent identification. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments;nearly two hundred massive finger and ear rings; rich chains--thirty ofthese, if I remember; eighty-three very large and heavy crucifixes; fivegold censers of great value; a prodigious golden punch-bowl, ornamentedwith richly chased vine-leaves and bacchanalian figures; with twosword-handles exquisitely embossed, and many other smaller articleswhich I cannot recollect. 

The weight of these valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty poundsavoirdupois; and in this estimate I have not included one hundred andninety-seven superb gold watches, three of the number being worth eachfive hundred dollars, if one. Many of them were very old, and astimekeepers valueless, the works having suffered more or less fromcorrosion; but all were richly jewelled, and in cases of great worth. Weestimated the entire contents of the chest that night at a million and ahalf of dollars; and upon the subsequent disposal of the trinkets andjewels (a few being retained for our own use), it was found that we hadgreatly undervalued the treasure. 

When at length we had concluded our examination, and the intenseexcitement of the time had, in some measure, subsided, Legrand, who sawthat I was dying with impatience for a solution of this mostextraordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all thecircumstances connected with it. 

"You remember, " said he, "the night when I handed you the rough sketch Ihad made of the _scarabæus_. You recollect, also, that I became quitevexed at you for insisting that my drawing resembled a death's-head. When you first made this assertion, I thought you were jesting; butafterward I called to mind the peculiar spots on the back of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark had some little foundation infact. Still the sneer at my graphic powers irritated me--for I amconsidered a good artist; and therefore, when you handed me the scrap ofparchment, I was about to crumple it up and throw it angrily into thefire. "

"The scrap of paper, you mean, " said I. 

"No; it had much the appearance of paper, and at first I supposed it tobe such; but when I came to draw upon it, I discovered it at once to bea piece of very thin parchment. It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling it up, my glance fell upon thesketch at which you had been looking; and you may imagine myastonishment when I perceived, in fact, the figure of a death's-headjust where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing of the beetle. For amoment I was too much amazed to think with accuracy. I knew that mydesign was very different in detail from this, although there was acertain similarity in general outline. Presently I took a candle, and, seating myself at the other end of the room, proceeded to scrutinize theparchment more closely. Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch uponthe reverse, just as I had made it. My first idea now was mere surpriseat the really remarkable similarity of outline--at the singularcoincidence involved in the fact that, unknown to me, there should havebeen a skull upon the other side of the parchment, immediately beneathmy figure of the _scarabæus_, and that this skull, not only in outline, but in size, should so closely resemble my drawing. I say thesingularity of this coincidence absolutely stupefied me for a time. 

"This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The mind struggles toestablish a connection, a sequence of cause and effect; and, beingunable to do so, suffers a species of temporary paralysis. But when Irecovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me gradually a convictionwhich startled me even far more than the coincidence. I begandistinctly, positively, to remember that there had been _no_ drawingupon the parchment when I made my sketch of the _scarabæus_. I becameperfectly certain of this; for I recollected turning up first one sideand then the other, in search of the cleanest spot. Had the skull beenthen there, of course I could not have failed to notice it. Here wasindeed a mystery which I felt it impossible to explain; but, even atthat early moment, there seemed to glimmer faintly within the mostremote and secret chambers of my intellect a glowworm-like conception ofthat truth which last night's adventure brought to so magnificent ademonstration. I arose at once, and, putting the parchment securelyaway, dismissed all further reflection until I should be alone. 

"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betook myself toa more methodical investigation of the affair. In the first place Iconsidered the manner in which the parchment had come into mypossession. The spot where we discovered the _scarabæus_ was on thecoast of the main land, about a mile eastward of the island, and but ashort distance above high-water mark. Upon my taking hold of it, it gaveme a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop. Jupiter, with hisaccustomed caution, before seizing the insect, which had flown towardshim, looked about him for a leaf, or something of that nature, by whichto take hold of it. It was at this moment that his eyes, and mine also, fell upon the scrap of parchment, which I then supposed to be paper. Itwas lying half buried in the sand, a corner sticking up. Near the spotwhere we found it, I observed the remnant of the hull of what appearedto have been a ship's long boat. The wreck seemed to have been there fora very great while; for the resemblance to boat timbers could scarcelybe traced. 

"Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle in it, andgave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned to go home, and on the way metLieutenant G----. I showed him the insect, and he begged me to let himtake it to the fort. Upon my consenting, he thrust it forthwith into hiswaistcoat pocket, without the parchment in which it had been wrapped, and which I had continued to hold in my hand during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my changing my mind, and thought it best to make sureof the prize at once--you know how enthusiastic he is on all subjectsconnected with Natural History. At the same time, without beingconscious of it, I must have deposited the parchment in my own pocket. 

"You remember that when I went to the table, for the purpose of making asketch of the beetle, I found no paper where it was usually kept. Ilooked in the drawer and found none there. I searched my pockets, hopingto find an old letter, when my hand fell upon the parchment. I thusdetail the precise mode in which it came into my possession; for thecircumstances impressed me with peculiar force. 

"No doubt you will think me fanciful--but I had already established akind of _connection_. I had put together two links of a great chain. There was a boat lying upon a sea-coast, and not far from the boat was aparchment--_not a paper_--with a skull depicted upon it. You will, ofcourse, ask, 'where is the connection?' I reply that the skull, ordeath's-head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate. The flag of thedeath's-head is hoisted in all engagements. 

"I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. Parchment isdurable--almost imperishable. Matters of little moment are rarelyconsigned to parchment; since for the mere ordinary purposes of drawingor writing it is not nearly so well adapted as paper. This reflectionsuggested some meaning--some relevancy--in the death's-head. I did notfail to observe, also, the _form_ of the parchment. Although one of itscorners had been, by some accident, destroyed, it could be seen that theoriginal form was oblong. It was just a slip, indeed, as might have beenchosen for a memorandum--for a record of something to be long rememberedand carefully preserved. "

"But, " I interposed, "you say that the skull was _not_ upon theparchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How then do you traceany connection between the boat and the skull--since this latter, according to your own admission, must have been designed (God only knowshow or by whom) at some period subsequent to your sketching the_scarabæus_?"

"Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery; although the secret, at thispoint, I had comparatively little difficulty in solving. My steps weresure, and could afford but a single result. I reasoned, for example, thus: When I drew the _scarabæus_, there was no skull apparent upon theparchment. When I had completed the drawing I gave it to you andobserved you narrowly until you returned it. _You_, therefore, did notdesign the skull, and no one else was present to do it. Then it was notdone by human agency. And nevertheless it was done. 

"At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, and _did_remember, with entire distinctness, every incident which occurred aboutthe period in question. The weather was chilly (oh, rare and happyaccident!), and a fire was blazing upon the hearth. I was heated withexercise and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn a chair closeto the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, and youwere in the act of inspecting it, Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, andleaped upon your shoulders. With your left hand you caressed him andkept him off, while your right, holding the parchment, was permitted tofall listlessly between your knees, and in close proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought the blaze had caught it, and was about tocaution you, but, before I could speak, you had withdrawn it, and wereengaged in its examination. When I considered all these particulars, Idoubted not for a moment that _heat_ had been the agent in bringing tolight, upon the parchment, the skull which I saw designed upon it. Youare well aware that chemical preparations exist, and have existed timeout of mind, by means of which it is possible to write upon either paperor vellum, so that the characters shall become visible only whensubjected to the action of fire. Zaffre, digested in _aqua regia_, anddiluted with four times its weight of water, is sometimes employed; agreen tint results. The regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals afterthe material written upon cools, but again become apparent upon thereapplication of heat. 

"I now scrutinized the death's-head with care. Its outer edges--theedges of the drawing nearest the edge of the vellum--were far more_distinct_ than the others. It was clear that the action of the calorichad been imperfect or unequal. I immediately kindled a fire, andsubjected every portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in the skull;but, upon persevering in the experiment, there became visible, at thecorner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot in which thedeath's-head was delineated, the figure of what I at first supposed tobe a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it was intendedfor a kid. "

"Ha! ha!" said I, "to be sure I have no right to laugh at you--a millionand a half of money is too serious a matter for mirth--but you are notabout to establish a third link in your chain--you will not find anyspecial connection between your pirates and a goat--pirates, you know, have nothing to do with goats; they appertain to the farming interest. "

"But I have just said that the figure was _not_ that of a goat. "

"Well, a kid then--pretty much the same thing. "

"Pretty much, but not altogether, " said Legrand. "You may have heard ofone _Captain_ Kidd. I at once looked upon the figure of the animal as akind of punning or hieroglyphical signature. I say signature, becauseits position on the vellum suggested this idea. The death's-head at thecorner diagonally opposite, had, in the same manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was sorely put out by the absence of all else--of thebody to my imagined instrument--of the text for my context. "

"I presume you expected to find a letter between the stamp and thesignature. "

"Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly impressed witha presentiment of some vast good fortune impending. I can scarcely saywhy. Perhaps, after all, it was rather a desire than an actual belief;but do you know that Jupiter's silly words, about the bug being of solidgold, had a remarkable effect upon my fancy? And then the series ofaccidents and coincidences--these were so _very_ extraordinary. Do youobserve how mere an accident it was that these events should haveoccurred upon the _sole_ day of all the year in which it has been, ormay be, sufficiently cool for fire, and that without the fire, orwithout the intervention of the dog at the precise moment in which heappeared, I should never have become aware of the death's-head, and sonever the possessor of the treasure?"

"But proceed, I am all impatience. "

"Well, you have heard, of course, the many stories current, the thousandvague rumors afloat, about money buried, somewhere upon the Atlanticcoast, by Kidd and his associates. These rumors must have somefoundation in fact. And that the rumors have existed so long and socontinuous, could have resulted, it appeared to me, only from thecircumstance of the buried treasure still _remaining_ entombed. Had Kiddconcealed his plunder for a time, and afterward reclaimed it, the rumorswould scarcely have reached us in their present unvarying form. You willobserve that the stories told are all about money-seekers, not aboutmoney-finders. Had the pirate recovered his money, there the affairwould have dropped. It seemed to me that some accident--say the loss ofa memorandum indicating its locality--had deprived him of the means ofrecovering it, and that this accident had become known to his followers, who otherwise might never have heard that treasure had been concealed atall, and who, busying themselves in vain, because unguided, attempts toregain it, had given first birth, and then universal currency, to thereports which are now so common. Have you ever heard of any importanttreasure being unearthed along the coast?"

"Never. "

"But that Kidd's accumulations were immense, is well known. I took itfor granted, therefore, that the earth still held them; and you willscarcely be surprised when I tell you that I felt a hope, nearlyamounting to certainty, that the parchment so strangely found, involveda lost record of the place of deposit. "

"But how did you proceed?"

"I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the heat, butnothing appeared. I now thought it possible that the coating of dirtmight have something to do with the failure; so I carefully rinsed theparchment by pouring warm water over it, and having done this, I placedit in a tin pan, with the skull downward, and put the pan upon a furnaceof lighted charcoal. In a few minutes, the pan having become thoroughlyheated, I removed the slip, and to my inexpressible joy, found itspotted in several places, with what appeared to be figures arranged inlines. Again I placed it in the pan, and suffered it to remain anotherminute. Upon taking it off, the whole was just as you see it now. "

Here Legrand, having re-heated the parchment, submitted it to myinspection. The following characters were rudely traced, in a red tint, between the death's-head and the goat:--

53##+305))6*;4826)4#. )4#);806*;48+8¶60))85;;]8*;:#*8+83(88)5*+;46(;88*96*?;8)*#(;485);5*+2:*#(;4956*2(5*-4)8¶8*;4069285);)6+8)4##;1(#9;48081;8:8#1;48+85;4)485+528806*81(#9;48;(88;4(#?34;48)4#;161;:188;#?;

"But, " said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the dark asever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me upon my solution ofthis enigma, I am quite sure that I should be unable to earn them. "

"And yet, " said Legrand, "the solution is by no means so difficult asyou might be led to imagine from the first hasty inspection of thecharacters. These characters, as any one might readily guess, form acipher--that is to say, they convey a meaning; but then, from what isknown of Kidd, I could not suppose him capable of constructing any ofthe more abstruse cryptographs. I made up my mind at once that this wasof a simple species--such, however, as would appear to the crudeintellect of the sailor absolutely insoluble without the key. "

"And you really solved it?"

"Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thousand timesgreater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have led me to takeinterest in such riddles, and it may well be doubted whether humaningenuity can construct an enigma of the kind which human ingenuity maynot, by proper application, resolve. In fact, having once establishedconnected and legible characters, I scarcely gave a thought to the meredifficulty of developing their import. 

"In the present case--indeed in all cases of secret writing--thequestion regards the _language_ of the cipher; for the principles ofsolution, so far especially as the more simple ciphers are concerned, depend upon, and are varied by, the genius of the particular idiom. Ingeneral, there is no alternative but experiment (directed byprobabilities) of every tongue known to him who attempts the solution, until the true one be attained. But, with the cipher now before us, alldifficulty was removed by the signature. The pun upon the word 'Kidd'is appreciable in no other language than the English. But for thisconsideration I should have begun my attempts with the Spanish andFrench, as the tongues in which a secret of this kind would mostnaturally have been written by a pirate of the Spanish main. As it was, I assumed the cryptograph to be English. 

"You observe there are no divisions between the words. Had there beendivisions, the task would have been comparatively easy. In such cases Ishould have commenced with a collation and analysis of the shorterwords, and, had a word of a single letter occurred, as it is most likely(_a_ or _I_, for example), I should have considered the solution asassured. But, there being no division, my first step was to ascertainthe predominant letters, as well as the least frequent. Counting all, Iconstructed a table thus:--

Of the character 8 there are 33 ; " 26 4 " 19 #) " 16 * " 13 5 " 12 6 " 11 ( " 10 +1 " 8 0 " 6 92 " 5 :3 " 4 ? " 3 ¶ " 2 ]--. " 1

"Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs is _e_. Afterward, the succession runs thus: _a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l m wb k p q x z_. _E_ predominates so remarkably that an individual sentenceof any length is rarely seen in which it is not the prevailingcharacter. 

"Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the groundwork forsomething more than a mere guess. The general use which may be made ofthe table is obvious, but, in this particular cipher, we shall only verypartially require its aid. As our predominant character is 8, we willcommence by assuming it as the _e_ of the natural alphabet. To verifythe supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen often in couples--for_e_ is doubled with great frequency in English--in such words, forexample, as 'meet, ' 'fleet, ' 'speed, ' 'seen, ' 'been, ' 'agree, ' etc. Inthe present instance we see it doubled no less than five times, althoughthe cryptograph is brief. 

"Let us assume 8, then, as _e_. Now, of all the _words_ in the language, 'the' is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether there are notrepetitions of any three characters, in the same order of collocation, the last of them being 8. If we discover repetitions of such letters, soarranged, they will most probably represent the word 'the. ' Uponinspection, we find no less than seven such arrangements, the charactersbeing;48. We may, therefore, assume that; represents _t_, 4 represents_h_, and 8 represents _e_--the last being now well confirmed. Thus agreat step has been taken. 

"But, having established a single word, we are enabled to establish avastly important point; that is to say, several commencements andterminations of other words. Let us refer, for example, to the lastinstance but one, in which the combination ;48 occurs--not far from theend of the cipher. We know that the; immediately ensuing is thecommencement of a word, and of the six characters succeeding this'the, ' we are cognizant of no less than five. Let us set thesecharacters down, thus, by the letters we know them to represent, leavinga space for the unknown:--

 t eeth. 

"Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the '_th_, ' as forming noportion of the word commencing with the first _t_; since, by experimentof the entire alphabet for a letter adapted to the vacancy, we perceivethat no word can be formed of which this _th_ can be a part. We are thusnarrowed into--

 t ee, and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we arrive atthe word 'tree' as the sole possible reading. We thus gain anotherletter, _r_, represented by (, with the words 'the tree, ' injuxtaposition. 

"Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we again see thecombination;48, and employ it by way of _termination_ to whatimmediately precedes. We have thus this arrangement:--

 the tree; 4(#?34 the, or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads thus:--

 the tree thr#?3h the. 

"Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave blank spaces, orsubstitute dots, we read thus:--

 the tree thr. .. H the, when the word '_through_' makes itself evident at once. But thisdiscovery gives us three new letters, _o, u, g_, represented by # ? and3. 

"Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations of knowncharacters, we find, not very far from the beginning, thisarrangement:--

 83(88, or egree, which plainly is the conclusion of the word 'degree, ' and gives usanother letter _d_, represented by +. 

"Four letters beyond the word 'degree, ' we perceive the combination:--

 ;46(;88. 

"Translating the known characters, and representing the unknown by dots, as before, we read thus:--

 th rtee, an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word 'thirteen, ' and againfurnishing us with two new characters _i_ and _n_, represented by 6 and*. 

"Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find thecombination:--

 53##+

"Translating as before, we obtain:--

 . Good, which assures us that the first letter is _A_, and that the first twowords are 'A good. '

"It is now time that we arrange our key, as far as discovered, in atabular form, to avoid confusion. It will stand thus:--

 5 represents a + " d 8 " e 3 " g 4 " h 6 " i * " n # " o ( " r ; " t

have, therefore, no less than ten of the most important lettersrepresented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with the details ofthe solution. I have said enough to convince you that ciphers of thisnature are readily soluble, and to give you some insight into the_rationale_ of their development. But be assured that the specimenbefore us appertains to the very simplest species of cryptograph. It nowonly remains to give you the full translation of the characters upon theparchment, as unriddled. Here it is:--

 "'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes north-east and by north main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the death's-head a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out. '"

"But, " said I, "the enigma seems still in as bad a condition as ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from all this jargon about'devil's seats, ' 'death's-heads, ' and 'bishop's hotels'?"

"I confess, " replied Legrand, "that the matter still wears a seriousaspect when regarded with a casual glance. My first endeavor was todivide the sentence into the natural division intended by thecryptographist. "

"You mean, to punctuate it?"

"Something of that kind. "

"I reflected that it had been a _point_ with the writer to run his wordstogether without division, so as to increase the difficulty of solution. Now, a not over-acute man, in pursuing such an object, would be nearlycertain to overdo the matter. When, in the course of his composition, hearrived at a break in his subject which would naturally require a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly apt to run his characters, at thisplace, more than usually close together. If you will observe the MS. , in the present instance, you will easily detect five such cases ofunusual crowding. Acting upon this hint, I made the division thus:--

 "'A good glass in the Bishop's hostel in the Devil's seat--forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes--north-east and by north--main branch seventh limb east side--shoot from the left eye of the death's-head--a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out. '"

"Even this division, " said I, "leaves me still in the dark. "

"It left me also in the dark, " replied Legrand, "for a few days; duringwhich I made diligent inquiry, in the neighborhood of Sullivan's Island, for any building which went by the name of the 'Bishop's Hotel'; for ofcourse I dropped the obsolete word 'hostel. ' Gaining no information onthe subject, I was on the point of extending my sphere of search, andproceeding in a more systematic manner, when one morning it entered intomy head, quite suddenly, that this 'Bishop's Hostel' might have somereference to an old family of the name of Bessop, which, time out ofmind, had held possession of an ancient manor-house, about four miles tothe northward of the Island. I accordingly went over to the plantation, and re-instituted my inquiries among the older negroes of the place. Atlength one of the most aged of the women said that she had heard of sucha place as _Bessop's Castle_, and thought that she could guide me to it, but that it was not a castle, nor a tavern, but a high rock. 

"I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some demur, sheconsented to accompany me to the spot. We found it without muchdifficulty, when, dismissing her, I proceeded to examine the place. The'castle' consisted of an irregular assemblage of cliffs and rocks--oneof the latter being quite remarkable for its height as well as for itsinsulated and artificial appearance. I clambered to its apex, and thenfelt much at a loss as to what should be next done. 

"While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell upon a narrow ledge inthe eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the summit upon whichI stood. This ledge projected about eighteen inches, and was not morethan a foot wide, while a niche in the cliff just above it, gave it arude resemblance to one of the hollow-backed chairs used by ourancestors. I made no doubt that here was the 'devil's seat' alluded toin the MS. , and now I seemed to grasp the full secret of the riddle. 

"The 'good glass' I knew could have reference to nothing but atelescope; for the word 'glass' is rarely employed in any other sense byseamen. Now here, I at once saw a telescope to be used, and a definitepoint of view, _admitting no variation_, from which to use it. Nor did Ihesitate to believe that the phrases, 'forty-one degrees and thirteenminutes, ' and 'north-east and by north, ' were intended as directions forthe levelling of the glass. Greatly excited by these discoveries, Ihurried home, procured a telescope, and returned to the rock. 

"I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was impossible toretain a seat upon it except in one particular position. This factconfirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Of course, the 'forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes' could allude to nothing butelevation above the visible horizon, since the horizontal direction wasclearly indicated by the words, 'north-east and by north. ' This latterdirection I at once established by means of a pocket-compass; then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle of forty-one degrees ofelevation as I could do it by guess, I moved it cautiously up or down, until my attention was arrested by a circular rift or opening in thefoliage of a large tree that overtopped its fellows in the distance. Inthe centre of this rift I perceived a white spot, but could not, atfirst, distinguish what it was. Adjusting the focus of the telescope, Iagain looked, "Upon this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider theenigma solved; for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, east side, 'could refer only to the position of the skull upon the tree, while'shoot from the left eye of the death's-head' admitted, also, of but oneinterpretation, in regard to a search for buried treasure. I perceivedthat the design was to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull, andthat a bee-line, or, in other words, a straight line, drawn from thenearest point of the trunk through 'the shot' (or the spot where thebullet fell) and thence extended to a distance of fifty feet, wouldindicate a definite point--and beneath this point I thought it at least_possible_ that a deposit of value lay concealed. "

"All this, " I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's Hotel, what then?"

"Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I turnedhomewards. The instant that I left the 'devil's seat, ' however, thecircular rift vanished; nor could I get a glimpse of it afterwards, turnas I would. What seems to me the chief ingenuity in this whole businessis the fact (for repeated experiment has convinced me it _is_ a fact)that the circular opening in question is visible from no otherattainable point of view than that afforded by the narrow ledge on theface of the rock. 

"In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel' I had been attended byJupiter, who had no doubt observed for some weeks past the abstractionof my demeanor, and took especial care not to leave me alone. But, onthe next day, getting up very early, I contrived to give him the slip, and went into the hills in search of the tree. After much toil I foundit. When I came home at night my valet proposed to give me a flogging. With the rest of the adventure I believe you are as well acquainted asmyself. "

"I suppose, " said I, "you missed the spot, in the first attempt atdigging, through Jupiter's stupidity in letting the bug fall through theright instead of through the left eye of the skull. "

"Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two inches and ahalf in the 'shot, ' that is to say, in the position of the peg nearestthe tree; and had the treasure been _beneath_ the 'shot, ' the errorwould have been of little moment; but 'the shot, ' together with thenearest point of the tree, were merely two points for the establishmentof a line of direction; of course the error, however trivial in thebeginning, increased as we proceeded with the line, and by the time wehad gone fifty feet, threw us quite off the scent. But for mydeep-seated impression that treasure was here somewhere actually buried, we might have had all our labor in vain. "

"I presume the fancy of _the skull_--of letting fall a bullet throughthe skull's eye--was suggested to Kidd by the piratical flag. No doubthe felt a kind of poetical consistency in recovering his money throughthis ominous insignium. "

"Perhaps so; still, I cannot help thinking that common-sense had quiteas much to do with the matter as poetical consistency. To be visiblefrom the Devil's seat, it was necessary that the object, if small, should be _white_: and there is nothing like your human skull forretaining and even increasing its whiteness under exposure to allvicissitudes of weather. "

"But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging the beetle--howexcessively odd! I was sure you were mad. And why did you insist uponletting fall the bug, instead of a bullet, from the skull?"

"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident suspicionstouching my sanity, and so resolved to punish you quietly, in my ownway, by a little bit of sober mystification. For this reason I swung thebeetle, and for this reason I let it fall from the tree. An observationof yours about its great weight suggested the latter idea. "

"Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which puzzles me. Whatare we to make of the skeletons found in the hole?"

"That is a question I am no more able to answer than yourself. Thereseems, however, only one plausible way of accounting for them, and yetit is dreadful to believe in such atrocity as my suggestion would imply. It is clear that Kidd--if Kidd indeed secreted this treasure, which Idoubt not--it is clear that he must have had assistance in the labor. But this labor concluded, he may have thought it expedient to remove allparticipants in his secret. Perhaps a couple of blows with a mattockwere sufficient, while his coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps itrequired a dozen--who shall tell?"

[Transcribers Note: In the above story the "dagger" and "double dagger"symbols were used in the cipher. Neither symbols are capable of beingreplicated in ascii, therefore they have been replaced with "+" and"#" respectively. ]

THE PURLOINED LETTER

 _Nil sapientiæ odiosius acumine nimio. _

 SENECA. 

At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18--, I wasenjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in companywith my friend, C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, orbook-closet, _au troisième, No. 33, Rue Dunôt, Faubourg Saint Germain_. For one hour at least we had maintained a profound silence; while each, to any casual observer, might have seemed intently and exclusivelyoccupied with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphereof the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally discussing certaintopics which had formed matter for conversation between us at an earlierperiod of the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue, and themystery attending the murder of Marie Rogêt. I looked upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the door of our apartmentwas thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur G----, thePrefect of the Parisian police. 

We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much of theentertaining as of the contemptible about the man, and we had not seenhim for several years. We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin nowarose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again withoutdoing so, upon G----'s saying that he had called to consult us, orrather to ask the opinion of my friend, about some official businesswhich had occasioned a great deal of trouble. 

"If it is any point requiring reflection, " observed Dupin, as heforebore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to better purpose inthe dark. "

"This is another of your odd notions, " said the Prefect, who had afashion of calling everything "odd" that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute legion of "oddities. "

"Very true, " said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor with a pipe, androlled towards him a comfortable chair. 

"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothing more in theassassination way, I hope?"

"Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business is _very_simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage it sufficientlywell ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would like to hear the detailsof it, because it is so excessively _odd_. "

"Simple and odd, " said Dupin. 

"Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The fact is, we have all been agood deal puzzled because the affair _is_ so simple, and yet baffles usaltogether. "

"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you atfault, " said my friend. 

"What nonsense you _do_ talk!" said the Prefect, laughing heartily. 

"Perhaps the mystery is a little _too_ plain, " said Dupin. 

"Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?"

"A little _too_ self-evident. "

"Ha! ha! ha!--ha! ha! ha!--ho! ho! ho!" roared our visitor, profoundlyamused, "O Dupin, you will be the death of me yet!"

"And what, after all, _is_ the matter on hand?" I asked. 

"Why, I will tell you, " replied the Prefect, as he gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself in his chair. "I will tellyou in a few words; but, before I begin, let me caution you that this isan affair demanding the greatest secrecy, and that I should mostprobably lose the position I now hold, were it known that I had confidedit to any one. "

"Proceed, " said I. 

"Or not, " said Dupin. 

"Well, then; I have received personal information, from a very highquarter, that a certain document of the last importance has beenpurloined from the royal apartments. The individual who purloined it isknown; this beyond a doubt; he was seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains in his possession. "

"How is this known?" asked Dupin. 

"It is clearly inferred, " replied the Prefect, "from the nature of thedocument, and from the non-appearance of certain results which would atonce arise from its passing _out_ of the robber's possession;--that isto say, from his employing it as he must design in the end to employit. "

"Be a little more explicit, " I said. 

"Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper gives its holder acertain power in a certain quarter where such power is immenselyvaluable. " The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy. 

"Still I do not quite understand, " said Dupin. 

"No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a third person, who shallbe nameless, would bring in question the honor of a personage of mostexalted station; and this fact gives the holder of the document anascendency over the illustrious personage whose honor and peace are sojeopardized. "

"But this ascendency, " I interposed, "would depend upon the robber'sknowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. Who would dare--"

"The thief, " said G----, "is the minister D----, who dares all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a man. The method of thetheft was not less ingenious than bold. The document in question--aletter, to be frank--had been received by the personage robbed whilealone in the royal _boudoir_. During its perusal she was suddenlyinterrupted by the entrance of the other exalted personage, from whomespecially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and vainendeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place it, open asit was, upon a table. The address, however, was uppermost, and, thecontents thus unexposed, the letter escaped notice. At this junctureenters the minister D----. His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper, recognizes the handwriting of the address, observes the confusion of thepersonage addressed, and fathoms her secret. After some businesstransactions, hurried through in his ordinary manner, he produces aletter somewhat similar to the one in question, opens it, pretends toread it, and then places it in close juxtaposition to the other. Againhe converses for some fifteen minutes upon the public affairs. Atlength, in taking leave, he takes also from the table the letter towhich he had no claim. Its rightful owner saw, but, of course, dared notcall attention to the act, in the presence of the third personage, whostood at her elbow. The minister decamped, leaving his own letter--oneof no importance--upon the table. "

"Here, then, " said Dupin to me, "you have precisely what you demand tomake the ascendency complete--the robber's knowledge of the loser'sknowledge of the robber. "

"Yes, " replied the Prefect; "and the power thus attained has for somemonths past been wielded, for political purposes, to a very dangerousextent. The personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced every day ofthe necessity of reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, cannot bedone openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed the matter tome. "

"Than whom, " said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind of smoke, "no moresagacious agent could, I suppose, be desired, or even imagined. "

"You flatter me, " replied the Prefect; "but it is possible that somesuch opinion may have been entertained. "

"It is clear, " said I, "as you observe, that the letter is still inpossession of the minister; since it is this possession, and not anyemployment of the letter, which bestows the power. With the employmentthe power departs. "

"True, " said G----; "and upon this conviction I proceeded. My first carewas to make thorough search of the minister's hôtel; and here my chiefembarrassment lay in the necessity of searching without his knowledge. Beyond all things, I have been warned of the danger which would resultfrom giving him reason to suspect our design. "

"But, " said I, "you are quite _au fait_ in these investigations. TheParisian police have done this thing often before. "

"Oh yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The habits of theminister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is frequently absent fromhome all night. His servants are by no means numerous. They sleep at adistance from their master's apartment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are readily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which I can openany chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a night has notpassed, during the greater part of which I have not been engaged, personally, in ransacking the D---- Hôtel. My honor is interested, and, to mention a great secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandonthe search until I had become fully satisfied that the thief is a moreastute man than myself. I fancy that I have investigated every nook andcorner of the premises in which it is possible that the paper can beconcealed. "

"But is it not possible, " I suggested, "that although the letter may bein possession of the minister, as it unquestionably is, he may haveconcealed it elsewhere than upon his own premises?"

"This is barely possible, " said Dupin. "The present peculiar conditionof affairs at court, and especially of those intrigues in which D---- isknown to be involved, would render the instant availability of thedocument--its susceptibility of being produced at a moment's notice--apoint of nearly equal importance with its possession. "

"Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I. 

"That is to say, of being _destroyed_, " said Dupin. 

"True, " I observed; "the paper is clearly then upon the premises. As forits being upon the person of the minister, we may consider that as outof the question. "

"Entirely, " said the Prefect. "He has been twice waylaid, as if byfootpads, and his person rigorously searched under my own inspection. "

"You might have spared yourself the trouble, " said Dupin. "D----, Ipresume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must have anticipatedthese waylayings, as a matter of course. "

"Not _altogether_ a fool, " said G----; "but then he's a poet, which Itake to be only one remove from a fool. "

"True, " said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff from hismeerschaum, "although I have been guilty of certain doggerel myself. "

"Suppose you detail, " said I, "the particulars of your search. "

"Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched _everywhere_. Ihave had long experience in these affairs. I took the entire building, room by room, devoting the nights of a whole week to each. We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment. We opened every possible drawer;and I presume you know that, to a properly trained police agent, such athing as a _secret_ drawer is impossible. Any man is a dolt who permitsa 'secret' drawer to escape him in a search of this kind. The thing is_so_ plain. There is a certain amount of bulk--of space--to be accountedfor in every cabinet. Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth part ofa line could not escape us. After the cabinets we took the chairs. Thecushions we probed with the fine long needles you have seen me employ. From the tables we removed the tops. "

"Why so?"

"Sometimes the top of a table or other similarly arranged piece offurniture is removed by the person wishing to conceal an article; thenthe leg is excavated, the article deposited within the cavity, and thetop replaced. The bottoms and tops of bed-posts are employed in the sameway. "

"But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?" I asked. 

"By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a sufficient wadding ofcotton be placed around it. Besides, in our case we were obliged toproceed without noise. "

"But you could not have removed--you could not have taken to pieces_all_ articles of furniture in which it would have been possible to makea deposit in the manner you mention. A letter may be compressed into athin spiral roll, not differing much in shape or bulk from a largeknitting-needle, and in this form it might be inserted into the rung ofa chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all the chairs?"

"Certainly not; but we did better--we examined the rungs of every chairin the hôtel, and indeed, the jointings of every description offurniture, by the aid of a most powerful microscope. Had there been anytraces of recent disturbance we should not have failed to detect itinstantly. A single grain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have beenas obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing, any unusual gapingin the joints, would have sufficed to insure detection. "

"I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bedclothes, as well as the curtains andcarpets. "

"That, of course; and when we had absolutely completed every article offurniture in this way, then we examined the house itself. We divided itsentire surface into compartments, which we numbered, so that none mightbe missed; then we scrutinized each individual square inch throughoutthe premises, including the two houses immediately adjoining, with themicroscope, as before. "

"The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you must have had a great dealof trouble. "

"We had; but the reward offered is prodigious. "

"You include the _grounds_ about the houses?"

"All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us comparativelylittle trouble. We examined the moss between the bricks, and found itundisturbed. "

"You looked among D----'s papers, of course, and into the books of thelibrary?"

"Certainly, we opened every package and parcel; we not only opened everybook, but we turned over every leaf in each volume, not contentingourselves with a mere shake, according to the fashion of some of ourpolice officers. We also measured the thickness of every book-_cover_, with the most accurate admeasurement, and applied to each the mostjealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindings beenrecently meddled with, it would have been utterly impossible that thefact should have escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, justfrom the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longitudinally, withthe needles. "

"You explored the floors beneath the carpets?"

"Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined the boards with themicroscope. "

"And the paper on the walls?"

"Yes. "

"You looked into the cellars?"

"We did. "

"Then, " I said, "you have been making a miscalculation, and the letteris _not_ upon the premises, as you suppose. "

"I fear you are right there, " said the Prefect. "And now, Dupin, whatwould you advise me to do?"

"To make a thorough of the premises. "

"That is absolutely needless, " replied G----. "I am not more sure that Ibreathe than I am that the letter is not at the hôtel. "

"I have no better advice to give you, " said Dupin. "You have, ofcourse, an accurate description of the letter?"

"Oh, yes. " And here the Prefect, producing a memorandum-book, proceededto read aloud a minute account of the internal, and especially of theexternal appearance of the missing document. Soon after finishing theperusal of this description, he took his departure, more entirelydepressed in spirits than I had ever known the good gentleman before. 

In about a month afterward he paid us another visit, and found usoccupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair, and enteredinto some ordinary conversation. At length I said:--

"Well, but G----, what of the purloined letter? I presume you have atlast made up your mind that there is no such thing as overreaching theminister?"

"Confound him, say I--yes; I made the re-examination, however, as Dupinsuggested; but it was all labor lost, as I knew it would be. "

"How much was the reward offered, did you say?" asked Dupin. 

"Why, a very great deal--a _very_ liberal reward--I don't like to sayhow much precisely; but one thing I _will_ say, that I wouldn't mindgiving my individual check for fifty thousand francs to any one whoobtains me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming of more and moreimportance every day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If it weretrebled, however, I could do no more than I have done. "

"Why, yes, " said Dupin drawlingly, between the whiffs of his meerschaum, "I really--think, G----, you have not exerted yourself--to the utmost inthis matter. You might do a little more, I think, eh?"

"How? in what way?"

"Why, [puff, puff] you might [puff, puff] employ counsel in the matter, eh? [puff, puff, puff]. Do you remember the story they tell ofAbernethy?"

"No; hang Abernethy!"

"To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a time, a certain richmiser conceived the design of sponging upon this Abernethy for a medicalopinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary conversation in aprivate company, he insinuated his case to the physician, as that of animaginary individual. 

"'We will suppose, ' said the miser, 'that his symptoms are such andsuch; now, doctor, what would _you_ have directed him to take?'

"'Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take _advice_, to be sure. '"

"But, " said the Prefect, a little discomposed, "_I_ am _perfectly_willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would _really_ give fiftythousand francs to any one who would aid me in the matter. "

"In that case, " replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and producing acheck-book, "you may as well fill me up a check for the amountmentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand you the letter. "

I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely thunderstricken. Forsome minutes he remained speechless and motionless, lookingincredulously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that seemedstarting from their sockets; then, apparently recovering himself in somemeasure, he seized a pen, and, after several pauses and vacant stares, finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs, andhanded it across the table to Dupin. The latter examined it carefully, and deposited it in his pocket-book; then, unlocking an _escritoire_, took thence a letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionarygrasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents, and then, scrambling and strugglingto the door, rushed at length unceremoniously from the room and from thehouse, without having offered a syllable since Dupin had requested himto fill up the check. 

When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations. 

"The Parisian police, " he said, "are exceedingly able in their way. Theyare persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thoroughly versed in theknowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, whenG---- detailed to us his mode of searching the premises of the HôtelD----, I felt entire confidence in his having made a satisfactoryinvestigation--so far as his labors extended. "

"So far as his labors extended?" said I. 

"Yes, " said Dupin. "The measures adopted were not only the best of theirkind, but carried out to absolute perfection. Had the letter beendeposited within the range of their search, these fellows would, beyonda question, have found it. "

I merely laughed, but he seemed quite serious in all that he said. 

"The measures, then, " he continued, "were good in their kind, and wellexecuted; their defect lay in their being inapplicable to the case andto the man. A certain set of highly ingenious resources are, with thePrefect, a sort of Procrustean bed, to which he forcibly adapts hisdesigns. But he perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow, forthe matter in hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in thegame of 'even and odd' attracted universal admiration. This game issimple, and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand anumber of these toys, and demands of another whether that number is evenor odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he losesone. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Ofcourse he had some principle of guessing; and this lay in mereobservation and admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. Forexample, an arrant simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his closedhand asks, 'Are they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'Odd, ' andloses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to himself, 'The simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his amount ofcunning is just sufficient to make him have them odd upon the second; Iwill therefore guess odd;' he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with asimpleton a degree above the first he would have reasoned thus: 'Thisfellow finds that in the first instance I guessed odd, and in the secondhe will propose to himself, upon the first impulse, a simple variationfrom even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but then a second thoughtwill suggest that this is too simple a variation, and finally he willdecide upon putting it even as before. I will therefore guess even;' heguesses even, and wins. Now, this mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows term 'lucky, ' what, in its last analysis, is it?"

"It is merely, " I said, "an identification of the reasoner's intellectwith that of his opponent. "

"It is, " said Dupin; "and, upon inquiring of the boy by what means heeffected the _thorough_ identification in which his success consisted, Ireceived answer as follows: 'When I wish to find out how wise, or howstupid, or how good, or how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughtsat the moment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately aspossible, in accordance with the expression of his, and then wait to seewhat thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart, as if to match orcorrespond with the expression. ' This response of the schoolboy lies atthe bottom of all the spurious profundity which has been attributed toRochefoucauld, to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella. "

"And the identification, " I said, "of the reasoner's intellect with thatof his opponent depends, if I understand you aright, upon the accuracywith which the opponent's intellect is admeasured. "

"For its practical value it depends upon this, " replied Dupin; "and thePrefect and his cohort fail so frequently, first, by default of thisidentification, and secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather throughnon-admeasurement, of the intellect with which they are engaged. Theyconsider only their _own_ ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching foranything hidden, advert only to the modes in which _they_ would havehidden it. They are right in this much--that their own ingenuity is afaithful representative of that of _the mass_; but when the cunning ofthe individual felon is diverse in character from their own, the felonfoils them, of course. This always happens when it is above their own, and very usually when it is below. They have no variation of principlein their investigations; at best, when urged by some unusualemergency--by some extraordinary reward--they extend or exaggerate theirold modes of _practice_, without touching their principles. What, forexample, in this case of D----, has been done to vary the principle ofaction? What is all this boring, and probing, and sounding, andscrutinizing with the microscope, and dividing the surface of thebuilding into registered square inches--what is it all but anexaggeration _of the application_ of the one principle or set ofprinciples of search, which are based upon the one set of notionsregarding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routine ofhis duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see he has taken it forgranted that _all_ men proceed to conceal a letter--not exactly in agimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg--but, at least, in _some_out-of-the-way hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of thoughtwhich would urge a man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in achair leg? And do you not see also, that such _recherché_ nooks forconcealment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and would beadopted only by ordinary intellects?--for, in all cases of concealment, a disposal of the article concealed--a disposal of it in this_recherché_ manner, is, in the very first instance, presumable andpresumed; and thus its discovery depends, not at all upon the acumen, but altogether upon the mere care, patience, and determination of theseekers; and where the case is of importance--or, what amounts to thesame thing in the policial eyes, when the reward is of magnitude--thequalities in question have _never_ been known to fail. You will nowunderstand what I meant in suggesting that, had the purloined letterbeen hidden anywhere within the limits of the Prefect's examination--inother words, had the principle of its concealment been comprehendedwithin the principles of the Prefect--its discovery would have been amatter altogether beyond question. This functionary, however, has beenthoroughly mystified; and the remote source of his defeat lies in thesupposition that the minister is a fool, because he has acquired renownas a poet. All fools are poets; this the Prefect _feels_; and he ismerely guilty of a _non distributio medii_ in thence inferring that allpoets are fools. "

"But is this really the poet?" I asked. "There are two brothers, I know;and both have attained reputation in letters. The minister, I believe, has written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He is amathematician, and no poet. "

"You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poet _and_mathematician he would reason well; as mere mathematician he could nothave reasoned at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of thePrefect. "

"You surprise me, " I said, "by these opinions, which have beencontradicted by the voice of the world. You do not mean to set at naughtthe well-digested idea of centuries. The mathematical reason has longbeen regarded as _the_ reason _par excellence_. "

"'_Il y a à parier_, '" replied Dupin, quoting from Chamfort, "'_quetoute idée publique, toute convention reçue, est une sottise, car elle aconvenue au plus grande nombre_. ' The mathematicians, I grant you, havedone their best to promulgate the popular error to which you allude, andwhich is none the less an error for its promulgation as truth. With anart worthy a better cause, for example, they have insinuated the term'analysis' into application to algebra. The French are the originatorsof this practical deception; but if the term is of any importance--ifwords derive any value from applicability--then 'analysis' conveys, inalgebra, about as much as, in Latin, '_ambitus_' implies 'ambition, ''_religio_, ' 'religion, ' or '_homines honesti_, ' 'a set of _honorable_men. '"

"You have a quarrel on hand, I see, " said I, "with some of thealgebraists of Paris; but proceed. "

"I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of that reason which iscultivated in any especial form other than the abstractly logical. Idispute, in particular, the reason educed by mathematical study. Themathematics are the science of form and quantity; mathematical reasoningis merely logic applied to observation upon form and quantity. The greaterror lies in supposing that even the truths of what is called _pure_algebra are abstract or general truths. And this error is so egregiousthat I am confounded at the universality with which it has beenreceived. Mathematical axioms are _not_ axioms of general truth. What istrue of _relation_, of form and quantity, is often grossly false inregard to morals, for example. In this latter science it is veryunusually _untrue_ that the aggregated parts are equal to the whole. Inchemistry, also, the axiom fails. In the consideration of motive itfails; for two motives, each of a given value, have not, necessarily, avalue, when united, equal to the sum of their values apart. There arenumerous other mathematical truths which are only truths within thelimits of _relation_. But the mathematician argues, from his _finitetruths_, through habit, as if they were of an absolutely generalapplicability--as the world indeed imagines them to be. Bryant, in hisvery learned 'Mythology, ' mentions an analogous source of error, when hesays that 'although the Pagan fables are not believed, yet we forgetourselves continually, and make inferences from them as existingrealities. ' With the algebraists, however, who are Pagans themselves, the 'Pagan fables' _are_ believed; and the inferences are made, not somuch through lapse of memory, as through an unaccountable addling of thebrains. In short, I never yet encountered the mere mathematician whocould be trusted out of equal roots, or one who did not clandestinelyhold it as a point of his faith that _x_^2 + _px_ was absolutely andunconditionally equal to _q_. Say to one of these gentlemen, by way ofexperiment if you please, that you believe occasions may occur where_x_^2 + _px_ is not altogether equal to _q_, and, having made himunderstand what you mean, get out of his reach as speedily asconvenient, for, beyond doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down. 

"I mean to say, " continued Dupin, while I merely laughed at his lastobservations, "that if the minister had been no more than amathematician, the Prefect would have been under no necessity of givingme this check. I knew him, however, as both mathematician and poet; andmy measures were adapted to his capacity, with reference to thecircumstances by which he was surrounded. I know him as courtier, too, and as a bold _intrigant_. Such a man, I consider, could not fail to beaware of the ordinary political modes of action. He could not havefailed to anticipate--and events have proved that he did not fail toanticipate--the waylayings to which he was subjected. He must haveforeseen, I reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. Hisfrequent absences from home at night, which were hailed by the Prefectas certain aids to his success, I regarded only as _ruses_, to affordopportunity for thorough search to the police, and thus the sooner toimpress them with the conviction to which G----, in fact, did finallyarrive--the conviction that the letter was not upon the premises. Ifelt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at some painsin detailing to you just now, concerning the invariable principle ofpolicial action in searches for articles concealed, I felt that thiswhole train of thought would necessarily pass through the mind of theminister. It would imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary_nooks_ of concealment. _He_ could not, I reflected, be so weak as notto see that the most intricate and remote recess of his hôtel would beas open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the probes, to thegimlets, and to the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that hewould be driven, as a matter of course, to _simplicity_, if notdeliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon ourfirst interview, that it was just possible this mystery troubled him somuch on account of its being so _very_ self-evident. "

"Yes, " said I, "I remember his merriment well. I really thought he wouldhave fallen into convulsions. "

"The material world, " continued Dupin, "abounds with very strictanalogies to the immaterial; and thus some color of truth has been givento the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, or simile, may be made tostrengthen an argument, as well as to embellish a description. Theprinciple of the _vis inertiæ_, for example, seems to be identical inphysics and metaphysics. It is not more true in the former, that a largebody is with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, and thatits subsequent _momentum_ is commensurate with this difficulty, that itis in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, while moreforcible, more constant, and more eventful in their movements than thoseof inferior grade, are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassedand full of hesitation in the first few steps of their progress. Again;have you ever noticed which of the street signs over the shop doors arethe most attractive of attention?"

"I have never given the matter a thought, " I said. 

"There is a game of puzzles, " he resumed, "which is played upon a map. One party playing requires another to find a given word--the name oftown, river, state, or empire--any word, in short, upon the motley andperplexed surface of the chart. A novice in the game generally seeks toembarrass his opponents by giving them the most minutely lettered names;but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large characters, fromone end of the chart to the other. These, like the over-largely letteredsigns and placards of the street, escape observation by dint of beingexcessively obvious; and here the physical oversight is preciselyanalogous with the moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffersto pass unnoticed those considerations which are too obtrusively and toopalpably self-evident. But this is a point, it appears, somewhat aboveor beneath the understanding of the Prefect. He never once thought itprobable, or possible, that the minister had deposited the letterimmediately beneath the nose of the whole world, by way of bestpreventing any portion of that world from perceiving it. 

"But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and discriminatingingenuity of D----; upon the fact that the document must always havebeen _at hand_, if he intended to use it to good purpose; and upon thedecisive evidence, obtained by the Prefect, that it was not hiddenwithin the limits of that dignitary's ordinary search--the moresatisfied I became that, to conceal this letter, the minister hadresorted to the comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attemptingto conceal it at all. 

"Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, at the ministerialhôtel. I found D---- at home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity of _ennui_. He is, perhaps, the most really energetic human being now alive--but that is only whennobody sees him. 

"To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and lamented thenecessity of the spectacles, under cover of which I cautiously andthoroughly surveyed the whole apartment, while seemingly intent onlyupon the conversation of my host. 

"I paid especial attention to a large writing-table near which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly some miscellaneous letters and otherpapers, with one or two musical instruments and a few books. Here, however, after a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing toexcite particular suspicion. 

"At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell upon atrumpery filigree card-rack of paste-board, that hung dangling by adirty blue ribbon, from a little brass knob just beneath the middle ofthe mantel-piece. In this rack, which had three or four compartments, were five or six visiting cards and a solitary letter. This last wasmuch soiled and crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across themiddle--as if a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up asworthless, had been altered, or stayed, in the second. It had a largeblack seal, bearing the D---- cipher _very_ conspicuously, and wasaddressed, in a diminutive female hand, to D----, the minister himself. It was thrust carelessly, and even, as it seemed, contemptuously, intoone of the uppermost divisions of the rack. 

"No sooner had I glanced at this letter, than I concluded it to be thatof which I was in search. To be sure, it was, to all appearance, radically different from the one of which the Prefect had read us sominute a description. Here the seal was large and black, with theD----cipher; there it was small and red, with the ducal arms of theS----family. Here the address, to the minister, was diminutive andfeminine; there the superscription, to a certain royal personage, wasmarkedly bold and decided; the size alone formed a point ofcorrespondence. But, then, the _radicalness_ of these differences, whichwas excessive; the dirt, the soiled and torn condition of the paper, soinconsistent with the _true_ methodical habits of D----, and sosuggestive of a design to delude the beholder into an idea of theworthlessness of the document; these things, together with thehyper-obtrusive situation of this document, full in the view of everyvisitor, and thus exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which Ihad previously arrived--these things, I say, were strongly corroborativeof suspicion, in one who came with the intention to suspect. 

"I protracted my visit as long as possible; and while I maintained amost animated discussion with the minister, upon a topic which I knewwell had never failed to interest and excite him, I kept my attentionreally riveted upon the letter. In this examination, I committed tomemory its external appearance and arrangement in the rack; and alsofell, at length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever trivialdoubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges of the paper, I observed them to be more _chafed_ than seemed necessary. Theypresented the _broken_ appearance which is manifested when a stiffpaper, having been once folded and pressed with a folder, is refolded ina reversed direction, in the same creases or edges which had formed theoriginal fold. This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to me thatthe letter had been turned, as a glove, inside out, redirected, andre-sealed. I bade the minister good-morning, and took my departure atonce, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table. 

"The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when we resumed, quiteeagerly, the conversation of the preceding day. While thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of a pistol, was heard immediately beneaththe windows of the hotel, and was succeeded by a series of fearfulscreams, and the shoutings of a terrified mob. D----rushed to acasement, threw it open, and looked out. In the meantime, I stepped tothe card-rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket, and replaced it bya _fac-simile_ (so far as regards externals) which I had carefullyprepared at my lodgings--imitating the D---- cipher very readily bymeans of a seal formed of bread. 

"The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by the franticbehavior of a man with a musket. He had fired it among a crowd of womenand children. It proved, however, to have been without ball, and thefellow was suffered to go his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When hehad gone, D---- came from the window, whither I had followed himimmediately upon securing the object in view. Soon afterward I bade himfarewell. The pretended lunatic was a man in my own pay. "

"But what purpose had you, " I asked, "in replacing the letter by a_fac-simile_? Would it not have been better, at the first visit, to haveseized it openly, and departed?"

"D----, " replied Dupin, "is a desperate man, and a man of nerve. Hishôtel, too, is not without attendants devoted to his interest. Had Imade the wild attempt you suggest, I might never have left theministerial presence alive. The good people of Paris might have heard ofme no more. But I had an object apart from these considerations. Youknow my political prepossessions. In this matter I act as a partisan ofthe lady concerned. For eighteen months the minister has had her in hispower. She has now him in hers--since, being unaware that the letter isnot in his possession, he will proceed with his exactions as if it was. Thus will he inevitably commit himself, at once, to his politicaldestruction. His downfall, too, will not be more precipitate thanawkward. It is all very well to talk about the _facilis descensusAverni_; but in all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, itis far more easy to get up than to come down. In the present instance Ihave no sympathy--at least no pity--for him who descends. He is that_monstrum horrendum_, an unprincipled man of genius. I confess, however, that I should like very well to know the precise character of histhoughts, when, being defied by her whom the Prefect terms 'a certainpersonage, ' he is reduced to opening the letter which I left for him inthe card-rack. "

"How? did you put anything particular in it?"

"Why, it did not seem altogether right to leave the interior blank--thatwould have been insulting. D----, at Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quite good-humoredly, that I should remember. So, as Iknew he would feel some curiosity in regard to the identity of theperson who had outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him aclew. He is well acquainted with my MS. ; and I just copied into themiddle of the blank sheet the words--

 "'_----Un dessein si funeste, S'il n'est digne d'Atrée, est digne de Thyeste. _'

They are to be found in Crébillon's _Atrée_. "

[Illustration: NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE]

HOWE'S MASQUERADE

One afternoon, last summer, while walking along Washington Street, myeye was attracted by a signboard protruding over a narrow archway, nearly opposite the Old South Church. The sign represented the front ofa stately edifice, which was designated as the "OLD PROVINCE HOUSE, keptby Thomas Waite. " I was glad to be thus reminded of a purpose, longentertained, of visiting and rambling over the mansion of the old royalgovernors of Massachusetts; and entering the arched passage, whichpenetrated through the middle of a brick row of shops, a few stepstransported me from the busy heart of modern Boston into a small andsecluded court-yard. One side of this space was occupied by the squarefront of the Province House, three stories high, and surmounted by acupola, on the top of which a gilded Indian was discernible, with hisbow bent and his arrow on the string, as if aiming at the weathercock onthe spire of the Old South. The figure has kept this attitude forseventy years or more, ever since good Deacon Drowne, a cunning carverof wood, first stationed him on his long sentinel's watch over the city. 

The Province House is constructed of brick, which seems recently to havebeen overlaid with a coat of light-colored paint. A flight of redfreestone steps, fenced in by a balustrade of curiously wrought iron, ascends from the court-yard to the spacious porch, over which is abalcony, with an iron balustrade of similar pattern and workmanship tothat beneath. These letters and figures--16 P. S. 79--are wrought intothe iron work of the balcony, and probably express the date of theedifice, with the initials of its founder's name. A wide door withdouble leaves admitted me into the hall or entry, on the right of whichis the entrance to the bar-room. 

It was in this apartment, I presume, that the ancient governors heldtheir levees, with vice-regal pomp, surrounded by the military men, thecouncillors, the judges, and other officers of the crown, while all theloyalty of the province thronged to do them honor. But the room, in itspresent condition, cannot boast even of faded magnificence. The panelledwainscot is covered with dingy paint, and acquires a duskier hue fromthe deep shadow into which the Province House is thrown by the brickblock that shuts it in from Washington Street. A ray of sunshine nevervisits this apartment any more than the glare of the festal torches, which have been extinguished from the era of the Revolution. The mostvenerable and ornamental object is a chimneypiece set round with Dutchtiles of blue-figured China, representing scenes from Scripture; and, for aught I know, the lady of Pownall or Bernard may have sat besidethis fire-place, and told her children the story of each blue tile. Abar in modern style, well replenished with decanters, bottles, cigarboxes, and network bags of lemons, and provided with a beer pump and asoda fount, extends along one side of the room. At my entrance, anelderly person was smacking his lips with a zest which satisfied me thatthe cellars of the Province House still hold good liquor, thoughdoubtless of other vintages than were quaffed by the old governors. After sipping a glass of port sangaree, prepared by the skilful hands ofMr. Thomas Waite, I besought that worthy successor and representativeof so many historic personages to conduct me over their time honoredmansion. 

He readily complied; but, to confess the truth, I was forced to drawstrenuously upon my imagination, in order to find aught that wasinteresting in a house which, without its historic associations, wouldhave seemed merely such a tavern as is usually favored by the custom ofdecent city boarders, and old-fashioned country gentlemen. The chambers, which were probably spacious in former times, are now cut up bypartitions, and subdivided into little nooks, each affording scanty roomfor the narrow bed and chair and dressing-table of a single lodger. Thegreat staircase, however, may be termed, without much hyperbole, afeature of grandeur and magnificence. It winds through the midst of thehouse by flights of broad steps, each flight terminating in a squarelanding-place, whence the ascent is continued towards the cupola. Acarved balustrade, freshly painted in the lower stories, but growingdingier as we ascend, borders the staircase with its quaintly twistedand intertwined pillars, from top to bottom. Up these stairs themilitary boots, or perchance the gouty shoes, of many a governor havetrodden, as the wearers mounted to the cupola, which afforded them sowide a view over their metropolis and the surrounding country. Thecupola is an octagon, with several windows, and a door opening upon theroof. From this station, as I pleased myself with imagining, Gage mayhave beheld his disastrous victory on Bunker Hill (unless one of thetri-mountains intervened), and Howe have marked the approaches ofWashington's besieging army; although the buildings since erected in thevicinity have shut out almost every object, save the steeple of the OldSouth, which seems almost within arm's length. Descending from thecupola, I paused in the garret to observe the ponderous white-oakframework, so much more massive than the frames of modern houses, andthereby resembling an antique skeleton. The brick walls, the materialsof which were imported from Holland, and the timbers of the mansion, arestill as sound as ever; but the floors and other interior parts beinggreatly decayed, it is contemplated to gut the whole, and build a newhouse within the ancient frame and brick work. Among otherinconveniences of the present edifice, mine host mentioned that any jaror motion was apt to shake down the dust of ages out of the ceiling ofone chamber upon the floor of that beneath it. 

We stepped forth from the great front window into the balcony, where, inold times, it was doubtless the custom of the king's representative toshow himself to a loyal populace, requiting their huzzas and tossed-uphats with stately bendings of his dignified person. In those days thefront of the Province House looked upon the street; and the whole sitenow occupied by the brick range of stores, as well as the presentcourt-yard, was laid out in grass plats, overshadowed by trees andbordered by a wrought-iron fence. Now, the old aristocratic edificehides its time-worn visage behind an upstart modern building; at one ofthe back windows I observed some pretty tailoresses, sewing and chattingand laughing, with now and then a careless glance towards the balcony. Descending thence, we again entered the bar-room, where the elderlygentleman above mentioned, the smack of whose lips had spoken sofavorably for Mr. Waite's good liquor, was still lounging in his chair. He seemed to be, if not a lodger, at least a familiar visitor of thehouse, who might be supposed to have his regular score at the bar, hissummer seat at the open window, and his prescriptive corner at thewinter's fireside. Being of a sociable aspect, I ventured to address himwith a remark calculated to draw forth his historical reminiscences, ifany such were in his mind; and it gratified me to discover, that, between memory and tradition, the old gentleman was really possessed ofsome very pleasant gossip about the Province House. The portion of histalk which chiefly interested me was the outline of the followinglegend. He professed to have received it at one or two removes from aneye-witness; but this derivation, together with the lapse of time, musthave afforded opportunities for many variations of the narrative; sothat despairing of literal and absolute truth, I have not scrupled tomake such further changes as seemed conducive to the reader's profit anddelight. 

 * * * * *

At one of the entertainments given at the Province House, during thelatter part of the siege of Boston, there passed a scene which has neveryet been satisfactorily explained. The officers of the British army, andthe loyal gentry of the province, most of whom were collected within thebeleaguered town, had been invited to a masked ball; for it was thepolicy of Sir William Howe to hide the distress and danger of theperiod, and the desperate aspect of the siege, under an ostentation offestivity. The spectacle of this evening, if the oldest members of theprovincial court circle might be believed, was the most gay and gorgeousaffair that had occurred in the annals of the government. Thebrilliantly-lighted apartments were thronged with figures that seemed tohave stepped from the dark canvas of historic portraits, or to haveflitted forth from the magic pages of romance, or at least to haveflown hither from one of the London theatres, without a change ofgarments. Steeled knights of the Conquest, bearded statesmen of QueenElizabeth, and high-ruffled ladies of her court, were mingled withcharacters of comedy, such as a party-colored Merry Andrew, jingling hiscap and bells; a Falstaff, almost as provocative of laughter as hisprototype; and a Don Quixote, with a bean pole for a lance, and a potlid for a shield. 

But the broadest merriment was excited by a group of figuresridiculously dressed in old regimentals, which seemed to have beenpurchased at a military rag fair, or pilfered from some receptacle ofthe cast-off clothes of both the French and British armies. Portions oftheir attire had probably been worn at the siege of Louisburg, and thecoats of most recent cut might have been rent and tattered by sword, ball, or bayonet, as long ago as Wolfe's victory. One of theseworthies--a tall, lank figure, brandishing a rusty sword of immenselongitude--purported to be no less a personage than General GeorgeWashington; and the other principal officers of the American army, suchas Gates, Lee, Putnam, Schuyler, Ward and Heath, were represented bysimilar scarecrows. An interview in the mock heroic style, between therebel warriors and the British commander-in-chief, was received withimmense applause, which came loudest of all from the loyalists of thecolony. There was one of the guests, however, who stood apart, eyeingthese antics sternly and scornfully, at once with a frown and a bittersmile. 

It was an old man, formerly of high station and great repute in theprovince, and who had been a very famous soldier in his day. Somesurprise had been expressed that a person of Colonel Joliffe's knownwhig principles, though now too old to take an active part in thecontest, should have remained in Boston during the siege, and especiallythat he should consent to show himself in the mansion of Sir WilliamHowe. But thither he had come, with a fair granddaughter under his arm;and there, amid all the mirth and buffoonery, stood this stern oldfigure, the best sustained character in the masquerade, because so wellrepresenting the antique spirit of his native land. The other guestsaffirmed that Colonel Joliffe's black puritanical scowl threw a shadowround about him; although in spite of his sombre influence their gayetycontinued to blaze higher, like--(an ominous comparison)--the flickeringbrilliancy of a lamp which has but a little while to burn. Elevenstrokes, full half an hour ago, had pealed from the clock of the OldSouth, when a rumor was circulated among the company that some newspectacle or pageant was about to be exhibited, which should put afitting close to the splendid festivities of the night. 

"What new jest has your Excellency in hand?" asked the Rev. MatherByles, whose Presbyterian scruples had not kept him from theentertainment. "Trust me, sir, I have already laughed more than beseemsmy cloth at your Homeric confabulation with yonder ragamuffin General ofthe rebels. One other such fit of merriment, and I must throw off myclerical wig and band. "

"Not so, good Doctor Byles, " answered Sir William Howe; "if mirth were acrime, you had never gained your doctorate in divinity. As to this newfoolery, I know no more about it than yourself; perhaps not so much. Honestly now, Doctor, have you not stirred up the sober brains of someof your countrymen to enact a scene in our masquerade?"

"Perhaps, " slyly remarked the granddaughter of Colonel Joliffe, whosehigh spirit had been stung by many taunts against New England, --"perhapswe are to have a mask of allegorical figures. Victory, with trophiesfrom Lexington and Bunker Hill--Plenty, with her overflowing horn, totypify the present abundance in this good town--and Glory, with a wreathfor his Excellency's brow. "

Sir William Howe smiled at words which he would have answered with oneof his darkest frowns had they been uttered by lips that wore a beard. He was spared the necessity of a retort, by a singular interruption. Asound of music was heard without the house, as if proceeding from a fullband of military instruments stationed in the street, playing not such afestal strain as was suited to the occasion, but a slow funeral march. The drums appeared to be muffled, and the trumpets poured forth awailing breath, which at once hushed the merriment of the auditors, filling all with wonder, and some with apprehension. The idea occurredto many that either the funeral procession of some great personage hadhalted in front of the Province House, or that a corpse, in avelvet-covered and gorgeously-decorated coffin, was about to be bornefrom the portal. After listening a moment, Sir William Howe called, in astern voice, to the leader of the musicians, who had hitherto enlivenedthe entertainment with gay and lightsome melodies. The man wasdrum-major to one of the British regiments. 

"Dighton, " demanded the General, "what means this foolery? Bid your bandsilence that dead march--or, by my word, they shall have sufficientcause for their lugubrious strains! Silence it, sirrah!"

"Please your honor, " answered the drum-major, whose rubicund visage hadlost all its color, "the fault is none of mine. I and my band are allhere together, and I question whether there be a man of us that couldplay that march without book. I never heard it but once before, and thatwas at the funeral of his late Majesty, King George the Second. "

"Well, well!" said Sir William Howe, recovering his composure--"it isthe prelude to some masquerading antic. Let it pass. "

A figure now presented itself, but among the many fantastic masks thatwere dispersed through the apartments none could tell precisely fromwhence it came. It was a man in an old-fashioned dress of black serge, and having the aspect of a steward or principal domestic in thehousehold of a nobleman or great English landholder. This figureadvanced to the outer door of the mansion, and throwing both its leaveswide open, withdrew a little to one side and looked back towards thegrand staircase as if expecting some person to descend. At the same timethe music in the street sounded a loud and doleful summons. The eyes ofSir William Howe and his guests being directed to the staircase, thereappeared, on the uppermost landing-place that was discernible from thebottom, several personages descending towards the door. The foremost wasa man of stern visage, wearing a steeple-crowned hat and a skull-capbeneath it; a dark cloak, and huge wrinkled boots that came half-way uphis legs. Under his arm was a rolled-up banner, which seemed to be thebanner of England, but strangely rent and torn; he had a sword in hisright hand, and grasped a Bible in his left. The next figure was ofmilder aspect, yet full of dignity, wearing a broad ruff, over whichdescended a beard, a gown of wrought velvet, and a doublet and hose ofblack satin. He carried a roll of manuscript in his hand. Close behindthese two came a young man of very striking countenance and demeanor, with deep thought and contemplation on his brow, and perhaps a flash ofenthusiasm in his eye. His garb, like that of his predecessors, was ofan antique fashion, and there was a stain of blood upon his ruff. In thesame group with these were three or four others, all men of dignity andevident command, and bearing themselves like personages who wereaccustomed to the gaze of the multitude. It was the idea of thebeholders that these figures went to join the mysterious funeral thathad halted in front of the Province House; yet that supposition seemedto be contradicted by the air of triumph with which they waved theirhands, as they crossed the threshold and vanished through the portal. 

"In the devil's name what is this?" muttered Sir William Howe to agentleman beside him; "a procession of the regicide judges of KingCharles the martyr?"

"These, " said Colonel Joliffe, breaking silence almost for the firsttime that evening, --"these, if I interpret them aright, are the Puritangovernors--the rulers of the old original Democracy of Massachusetts. Endicott, with the banner from which he had torn the symbol ofsubjection, and Winthrop, and Sir Henry Vane, and Dudley, Haynes, Bellingham, and Leverett. "

"Why had that young man a stain of blood upon his ruff?" asked MissJoliffe. 

"Because, in after years, " answered her grandfather, "he laid down thewisest head in England upon the block for the principles of liberty. "

"Will not your Excellency order out the guard?" whispered Lord Percy, who, with other British officers, had now assembled round the General. "There may be a plot under this mummery. "

"Tush! we have nothing to fear, " carelessly replied Sir William Howe. "There can be no worse treason in the matter than a jest, and thatsomewhat of the dullest. Even were it a sharp and bitter one, our bestpolicy would be to laugh it off. See--here comes more of these gentry. "

Another group of characters had now partly descended the staircase. Thefirst was a venerable and white-bearded patriarch, who cautiously felthis way downward with a staff. Treading hastily behind him, andstretching forth his gauntleted hand as if to grasp the old man'sshoulder, came a tall, soldier-like figure, equipped with a plumed capof steel, a bright breast-plate, and a long sword, which rattled againstthe stairs. Next was seen a stout man, dressed in rich and courtlyattire, but not of courtly demeanor; his gait had the swinging motion ofa seaman's walk; and chancing to stumble on the staircase, he suddenlygrew wrathful, and was heard to mutter an oath. He was followed by anoble-looking personage in a curled wig, such as are represented in theportraits of Queen Anne's time and earlier; and the breast of his coatwas decorated with an embroidered star. While advancing to the door, hebowed to the right hand and to the left, in a very gracious andinsinuating style; but as he crossed the threshold, unlike the earlyPuritan governors, he seemed to wring his hands with sorrow. 

"Prithee, play the part of a chorus, good Doctor Byles, " said SirWilliam Howe. "What worthies are these?"

"If it please your Excellency they lived somewhat before my day, "answered the doctor; "but doubtless our friend, the Colonel, has beenhand and glove with them. "

"Their living faces I never looked upon, " said Colonel Joliffe, gravely;"although I have spoken face to face with many rulers of this land, andshall greet yet another with an old man's blessing ere I die. But wetalk of these figures. I take the venerable patriarch to be Bradstreet, the last of the Puritans, who was governor at ninety, or thereabouts. The next is Sir Edmund Andros, a tyrant, as any New England schoolboywill tell you; and therefore the people cast him down from his high seatinto a dungeon. Then comes Sir William Phipps, shepherd, cooper, sea-captain, and governor--may many of his countrymen rise as high fromas low an origin! Lastly, you saw the gracious Earl of Bellamont, whoruled us under King William. "

"But what is the meaning of it all?" asked Lord Percy. 

"Now, were I a rebel, " said Miss Joliffe, half aloud, "I might fancythat the ghosts of these ancient governors had been summoned to form thefuneral procession of royal authority in New England. "

Several other figures were now seen at the turn of the staircase. Theone in advance had a thoughtful, anxious, and somewhat crafty expressionof face, and in spite of his loftiness of manner, which was evidentlythe result both of an ambitious spirit and of long continuance in highstations, he seemed not incapable of cringing to a greater than himself. A few steps behind came an officer in a scarlet and embroidered uniform, cut in a fashion old enough to have been worn by the Duke ofMarlborough. His nose had a rubicund tinge, which, together with thetwinkle of his eye, might have marked him as a lover of the wine cup andgood fellowship; notwithstanding which tokens he appeared ill at ease, and often glanced around him as if apprehensive of some secretmischief. Next came a portly gentleman, wearing a coat of shaggy cloth, lined with silken velvet; he had sense, shrewdness, and humor in hisface, and a folio volume under his arm; but his aspect was that of a manvexed and tormented beyond all patience, and harassed almost to death. He went hastily down, and was followed by a dignified person, dressed ina purple velvet suit, with very rich embroidery; his demeanor would havepossessed much stateliness, only that a grievous fit of the goutcompelled him to hobble from stair to stair, with contortions of faceand body. When Doctor Byles beheld this figure on the staircase, heshivered as with an ague, but continued to watch him steadfastly, untilthe gouty gentleman had reached the threshold, made a gesture of anguishand despair, and vanished into the outer gloom, whither the funeralmusic summoned him. 

"Governor Belcher!--my old patron!--in his very shape and dress!" gaspedDoctor Byles. "This is an awful mockery!"

"A tedious foolery, rather, " said Sir William Howe, with an air ofindifference. "But who were the three that preceded him?"

"Governor Dudley, a cunning politician--yet his craft once brought himto a prison, " replied Colonel Joliffe. "Governor Shute, formerly aColonel under Marlborough, and whom the people frightened out of theprovince; and learned Governor Burnet, whom the legislature tormentedinto a mortal fever. "

"Methinks they were miserable men, these royal governors ofMassachusetts, " observed Miss Joliffe. "Heavens, how dim the lightgrows!"

It was certainly a fact that the large lamp which illuminated thestaircase now burned dim and duskily: so that several figures, whichpassed hastily down the stairs and went forth from the porch, appearedrather like shadows than persons of fleshly substance. Sir William Howeand his guests stood at the doors of the contiguous apartments, watchingthe progress of this singular pageant, with various emotions of anger, contempt, or half-acknowledged fear, but still with an anxiouscuriosity. The shapes which now seemed hastening to join the mysteriousprocession were recognized rather by striking peculiarities of dress, ofbroad characteristics of manner, than by any perceptible resemblance offeatures to their prototypes. Their faces, indeed, were invariably keptin deep shadow. But Doctor Byles, and other gentlemen who had long beenfamiliar with the successive rulers of the province, were heard towhisper the names of Shirley, of Pownall, of Sir Francis Bernard, and ofthe well-remembered Hutchinson; thereby confessing that the actors, whoever they might be, in this spectral march of governors, hadsucceeded in putting on some distant portraiture of the real personages. As they vanished from the door, still did these shadows toss their armsinto the gloom of night, with a dread expression of woe. Following themimic representative of Hutchinson came a military figure, holdingbefore his face the cocked hat which he had taken from his powderedhead; but his epaulettes and other insignia of rank were those of ageneral officer, and something in his mien reminded the beholders of onewho had recently been master of the Province House, and chief of all theland. 

"The shape of Gage, as true as in a looking-glass, " exclaimed LordPercy, turning pale. 

"No, surely, " cried Miss Joliffe, laughing hysterically; "it could notbe Gage, or Sir William would have greeted his old comrade in arms!Perhaps he will not suffer the next to pass unchallenged. "

"Of that be assured, young lady, " answered Sir William Howe, fixing hiseyes, with a very marked expression, upon the immovable visage of hergrandfather. "I have long enough delayed to pay the ceremonies of a hostto these departing guests. The next that takes his leave shall receivedue courtesy. "

A wild and dreary burst of music came through the open door. It seemedas if the procession, which had been gradually filling up its ranks, were now about to move, and that this loud peal of the wailing trumpets, and roll of the muffled drums, were a call to some loiterer to makehaste. Many eyes, by an irresistible impulse, were turned upon SirWilliam Howe, as if it were he whom the dreary music summoned to thefuneral of the departed power. 

"See!--here comes the last!" whispered Miss Joliffe, pointing hertremulous finger to the staircase. 

A figure had come into view as if descending the stairs; although sodusky was the region whence it emerged, some of the spectators fanciedthat they had seen this human shape suddenly moulding itself amid thegloom. Downward the figure came, with a stately and martial tread, andreaching the lowest stair was observed to be a tall man, booted andwrapped in a military cloak, which was drawn up around the face so as tomeet the flapped brim of a laced hat. The features, therefore, werecompletely hidden. But the British officers deemed that they had seenthat military cloak before, and even recognized the frayed embroidery onthe collar, as well as the gilded scabbard of a sword which protrudedfrom the folds of the cloak, and glittered in a vivid gleam of light. Apart from these trifling particulars, there were characteristics ofgait and bearing which impelled the wondering guests to glance from theshrouded figure to Sir William Howe, as if to satisfy themselves thattheir host had not suddenly vanished from the midst of them. 

With a dark flush of wrath upon his brow they saw the General draw hissword and advance to meet the figure in the cloak before the latter hadstepped one pace upon the floor. 

"Villain, unmuffle yourself!" cried he. "You pass no farther!"

The figure, without blenching a hair's breadth from the sword which waspointed at his breast, made a solemn pause and lowered the cape of thecloak from about his face, yet not sufficiently for the spectators tocatch a glimpse of it. But Sir William Howe had evidently seen enough. The sternness of his countenance gave place to a look of wild amazement, if not horror, while he recoiled several steps from the figure, and letfall his sword upon the floor. The martial shape again drew the cloakabout his features and passed on; but reaching the threshold, with hisback towards the spectators, he was seen to stamp his foot and shake hisclinched hands in the air. It was afterwards affirmed that Sir WilliamHowe had repeated that selfsame gesture of rage and sorrow, when, forthe last time, and as the last royal governor, he passed through theportal of the Province House. 

"Hark!--the procession moves, " said Miss Joliffe. 

The music was dying away along the street, and its dismal strains weremingled with the knell of midnight from the steeple of the Old South, and with the roar of artillery, which announced that the beleagueringarmy of Washington had intrenched itself upon a nearer height thanbefore. As the deep boom of the cannon smote upon his ear, ColonelJoliffe raised himself to the full height of his aged form, and smiledsternly on the British General. 

"Would your Excellency inquire further into the mystery of the pageant?"said he. 

"Take care of your gray head!" cried Sir William Howe, fiercely, thoughwith a quivering lip. "It has stood too long on a traitor's shoulders!"

"You must make haste to chop it off, then, " calmly replied the Colonel;"for a few hours longer, and not all the power of Sir William Howe, norof his master, shall cause one of these gray hairs to fall. The empireof Britain in this ancient province is at its last gaspto-night;--almost while I speak it is a dead corpse;--and methinks theshadows of the old governors are fit mourners at its funeral!"

With these words Colonel Joliffe threw on his cloak, and drawing hisgranddaughter's arm within his own, retired from the last festival thata British ruler ever held in the old province of Massachusetts Bay. Itwas supposed that the Colonel and the young lady possessed some secretintelligence in regard to the mysterious pageant of that night. Howeverthis might be, such knowledge has never become general. The actors inthe scene have vanished into deeper obscurity than even that wild Indianband who scattered the cargoes of the tea ships on the waves, and gaineda place in history, yet left no names. But superstition, among otherlegends of this mansion, repeats the wondrous tale, that on theanniversary night of Britain's discomfiture the ghosts of the ancientgovernors of Massachusetts still glide through the portal of theProvince House. And, last of all, comes a figure shrouded in a militarycloak, tossing his clinched hands into the air, and stamping hisiron-shod boots upon the broad freestone steps, with a semblance offeverish despair, but without the sound of a foot-tramp. 

 * * * * *

When the truth-telling accents of the elderly gentleman were hushed, Idrew a long breath and looked round the room, striving, with the bestenergy of my imagination, to throw a tinge of romance and historicgrandeur over the realities of the scene. But my nostrils snuffed up ascent of cigar smoke, clouds of which the narrator had emitted by way ofvisible emblem, I suppose, of the nebulous obscurity of his tale. Moreover, my gorgeous fantasies were wofully disturbed by the rattlingof the spoon in a tumbler of whiskey punch, which Mr. Thomas Waite wasmingling for a customer. Nor did it add to the picturesque appearance ofthe panelled walls that the slate of the Brookline stage was suspendedagainst them, instead of the armorial escutcheon of some far-descendedgovernor. A stage-driver sat at one of the windows, reading a pennypaper of the day--the Boston Times--and presenting a figure which couldnowise be brought into any picture of "Times in Boston" seventy or ahundred years ago. On the window seat lay a bundle, neatly done up inbrown paper, the direction of which I had the idle curiosity to read. "MISS SUSAN HUGGINS, at the PROVINCE HOUSE. " A pretty chambermaid, nodoubt. In truth, it is desperately hard work, when we attempt to throwthe spell of hoar antiquity over localities with which the living world, and the day that is passing over us, have aught to do. Yet, as I glancedat the stately staircase down which the procession of the old governorshad descended, and as I emerged through the venerable portal whencetheir figures had preceded me, it gladdened me to be conscious of athrill of awe. Then, diving through the narrow archway, a few stridestransported me into the densest throng of Washington Street. 

THE BIRTHMARK

In the latter part of the last century there lived a man of science, aneminent proficient in every branch of natural philosophy, who not longbefore our story opens had made experience of a spiritual affinity moreattractive than any chemical one. He had left his laboratory to the careof an assistant, cleared his fine countenance from the furnace smoke, washed the stain of acids from his fingers, and persuaded a beautifulwoman to become his wife. In those days when the comparatively recentdiscovery of electricity and other kindred mysteries of Nature seemed toopen paths into the region of miracle, it was not unusual for the loveof science to rival the love of woman in its depth and absorbing energy. The higher intellect, the imagination, the spirit, and even the heartmight all find their congenial aliment in pursuits which, as some oftheir ardent votaries believed, would ascend from one step of powerfulintelligence to another, until the philosopher should lay his hand onthe secret of creative force and perhaps make new worlds for himself. Weknow not whether Aylmer possessed this degree of faith in man's ultimatecontrol over Nature. He had devoted himself, however, too unreservedlyto scientific studies ever to be weaned from them by any second passion. His love for his young wife might prove the stronger of the two; but itcould only be by intertwining itself with his love of science, anduniting the strength of the latter to his own. 

Such a union accordingly took place, and was attended with trulyremarkable consequences and a deeply impressive moral. One day, verysoon after their marriage, Aylmer sat gazing at his wife with a troublein his countenance that grew stronger until he spoke. 

"Georgiana, " said he, "has it never occurred to you that the mark onyour cheek might be removed?"

"No, indeed, " said she, smiling; but perceiving the seriousness of hismanner, she blushed deeply. "To tell you the truth it has been so oftencalled a charm that I was simple enough to imagine it might be so. "

"Ah, upon another face perhaps it might, " replied her husband; "butnever on yours. No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfect fromthe hand of Nature that this slightest possible defect, which wehesitate whether to term a defect or a beauty, shocks me, as being thevisible mark of earthly imperfection. "

"Shocks you, my husband!" cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at firstreddening with momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. "Then whydid you take me from my mother's side? You cannot love what shocks you!"

To explain this conversation it must be mentioned that in the centre ofGeorgiana's left cheek there was a singular mark, deeply interwoven, asit were, with the texture and substance of her face. In the usual stateof her complexion--a healthy though delicate bloom--the mark wore a tintof deeper crimson, which imperfectly defined its shape amid thesurrounding rosiness. When she blushed it gradually became moreindistinct, and finally vanished amid the triumphant rush of blood thatbathed the whole cheek with its brilliant glow. But if any shiftingmotion caused her to turn pale there was the mark again, a crimson stainupon the snow, in what Aylmer sometimes deemed an almost fearfuldistinctness. Its shape bore not a little similarity to the human hand, though of the smallest pygmy size. Georgiana's lovers were wont to saythat some fairy at her birth hour had laid her tiny hand upon theinfant's cheek, and left this impress there in token of the magicendowments that were to give her such sway over all hearts. Many adesperate swain would have risked life for the privilege of pressing hislips to the mysterious hand. It must not be concealed, however, that theimpression wrought by this fairy sign manual varied exceedingly, according to the difference of temperament in the beholders. Somefastidious persons--but they were exclusively of her own sex--affirmedthat the bloody hand, as they chose to call it, quite destroyed theeffect of Georgiana's beauty, and rendered her countenance even hideous. But it would be as reasonable to say that one of those small blue stainswhich sometimes occur in the purest statuary marble would convert theEve of Powers to a monster. Masculine observers, if the birthmark didnot heighten their admiration, contented themselves with wishing itaway, that the world might possess one living specimen of idealloveliness without the semblance of a flaw. After his marriage, --for hethought little or nothing of the matter before, --Aylmer discovered thatthis was the case with himself. 

Had she been less beautiful, --if Envy's self could have found aught elseto sneer at, --he might have felt his affection heightened by theprettiness of this mimic hand, now vaguely portrayed, now lost, nowstealing forth again and glimmering to and fro with every pulse ofemotion that throbbed within her heart; but seeing her otherwise soperfect, he found this one defect grow more and more intolerable withevery moment of their united lives. It was the fatal flaw of humanitywhich Nature, in one shape or another, stamps ineffaceably on all herproductions, either to imply that they are temporary and finite, or thattheir perfection must be wrought by toil and pain. The crimson handexpressed the ineludible gripe in which mortality clutches the highestand purest of earthly mould, degrading them into kindred with thelowest, and even with the very brutes, like whom their visible framesreturn to dust. In this manner, selecting it as the symbol of his wife'sliability to sin, sorrow, decay, and death, Aylmer's sombre imaginationwas not long in rendering the birthmark a frightful object, causing himmore trouble and horror than ever Georgiana's beauty, whether of soul orsense, had given him delight. 

At all the seasons which should have been their happiest, he invariablyand without intending it, nay, in spite of a purpose to the contrary, reverted to this one disastrous topic. Trifling as it at first appeared, it so connected itself with innumerable trains of thought and modes offeeling that it became the central point of all. With the morningtwilight Aylmer opened his eyes upon his wife's face and recognized thesymbol of imperfection; and when they sat together at the evening hearthhis eyes wandered stealthily to her cheek, and beheld, flickering withthe blaze of the wood fire, the spectral hand that wrote mortality wherehe would fain have worshipped. Georgiana soon learned to shudder at hisgaze. It needed but a glance with the peculiar expression that his faceoften wore to change the roses of her cheek into a deathlike paleness, amid which the crimson hand was brought strongly out, like a bas-reliefof ruby on the whitest marble. 

Late one night when the lights were growing dim, so as hardly to betraythe stain on the poor wife's cheek, she, herself, for the first time, voluntarily took up the subject. 

"Do you remember, my dear Aylmer, " said she, with a feeble attempt at asmile, "have you any recollection of a dream last night about thisodious hand?"

"None! none whatever!" replied Aylmer, starting; but then he added, in adry, cold tone, affected for the sake of concealing the real depth ofhis emotion, "I might well dream of it; for before I fell asleep it hadtaken a pretty firm hold of my fancy. "

"And you did dream of it?" continued Georgiana, hastily; for she dreadedlest a gush of tears should interrupt what she had to say. "A terribledream! I wonder that you can forget it. Is it possible to forget thisone expression?--'It is in her heart now; we must have it out!' Reflect, my husband; for by all means I would have you recall that dream. "

The mind is in a sad state when Sleep, the all-involving, cannot confineher spectres within the dim region of her sway, but suffers them tobreak forth, affrighting this actual life with secrets that perchancebelong to a deeper one. Aylmer now remembered his dream. He had fanciedhimself with his servant Aminadab, attempting an operation for theremoval of the birthmark; but the deeper went the knife, the deeper sankthe hand, until at length its tiny grasp appeared to have caught hold ofGeorgiana's heart; whence, however, her husband was inexorably resolvedto cut or wrench it away. 

When the dream had shaped itself perfectly in his memory, Aylmer sat inhis wife's presence with a guilty feeling. Truth often finds its way tothe mind close muffled in robes of sleep, and then speaks withuncompromising directness of matters in regard to which we practise anunconscious self-deception during our waking moments. Until now he hadnot been aware of the tyrannizing influence acquired by one idea overhis mind, and of the lengths which he might find in his heart to go forthe sake of giving himself peace. 

"Aylmer, " resumed Georgiana, solemnly, "I know not what may be the costto both of us to rid me of this fatal birthmark. Perhaps its removal maycause cureless deformity; or it may be the stain goes as deep as lifeitself. Again: do we know that there is a possibility, on any terms, ofunclasping the firm gripe of this little hand which was laid upon mebefore I came into the world?"

"Dearest Georgiana, I have spent much thought upon the subject, " hastilyinterrupted Aylmer. "I am convinced of the perfect practicability of itsremoval. "

"If there be the remotest possibility of it, " continued Georgiana, "letthe attempt be made at whatever risk. Danger is nothing to me; for life, while this hateful mark makes me the object of your horror anddisgust, --life is a burden which I would fling down with joy. Eitherremove this dreadful hand, or take my wretched life! You have deepscience. All the world bears witness of it. You have achieved greatwonders. Cannot you remove this little, little mark, which I cover withthe tips of two small fingers? Is this beyond your power, for the sakeof your own peace, and to save your poor wife from madness?"

"Noblest, dearest, tenderest wife, " cried Aylmer, rapturously, "doubtnot my power. I have already given this matter the deepestthought--thought which might almost have enlightened me to create abeing less perfect than yourself. Georgiana, you have led me deeper thanever into the heart of science. I feel myself fully competent to renderthis dear cheek as faultless as its fellow; and then, most beloved, whatwill be my triumph when I shall have corrected what Nature leftimperfect in her fairest work! Even Pygmalion, when his sculptured womanassumed life, felt not greater ecstasy than mine will be. "

"It is resolved, then, " said Georgiana, faintly smiling. "And, Aylmer, spare me not, though you should find the birthmark take refuge in myheart at last. "

Her husband tenderly kissed her cheek--her right cheek--not that whichbore the impress of the crimson hand. 

The next day Aylmer apprised his wife of a plan that he had formedwhereby he might have opportunity for the intense thought and constantwatchfulness which the proposed operation would require; whileGeorgiana, likewise, would enjoy the perfect repose essential to itssuccess. They were to seclude themselves in the extensive apartmentsoccupied by Aylmer as a laboratory, and where, during his toilsomeyouth, he had made discoveries in the elemental powers of Nature thathad roused the admiration of all the learned societies in Europe. Seatedcalmly in this laboratory, the pale philosopher had investigated thesecrets of the highest cloud region and of the profoundest mines; he hadsatisfied himself of the causes that kindled and kept alive the fires ofthe volcano; and had explained the mystery of fountains, and how it isthat they gush forth, some so bright and pure, and others with such richmedicinal virtues, from the dark bosom of the earth. Here, too, at anearlier period, he had studied the wonders of the human frame, andattempted to fathom the very process by which Nature assimilates all herprecious influences from earth and air, and from the spiritual world, tocreate and foster man, her masterpiece. The latter pursuit, however, Aylmer had long laid aside in unwilling recognition of thetruth--against which all seekers sooner or later stumble--that our greatcreative Mother, while she amuses us with apparently working in thebroadest sunshine, is yet severely careful to keep her own secrets, and, in spite of her pretended openness, shows us nothing but results. Shepermits us, indeed, to mar, but seldom to mend, and, like a jealouspatentee, on no account to make. Now, however, Aylmer resumed thesehalf-forgotten investigations; not, of course, with such hopes or wishesas first suggested them; but because they involved much physiologicaltruth and lay in the path of his proposed scheme for the treatment ofGeorgiana. 

As he led her over the threshold of the laboratory, Georgiana was coldand tremulous. Aylmer looked cheerfully into her face, with intent toreassure her, but was so startled with the intense glow of the birthmarkupon the whiteness of her cheek that he could not restrain a strongconvulsive shudder. His wife fainted. 

"Aminadab! Aminadab!" shouted Aylmer, stamping violently on the floor. 

Forthwith there issued from an inner apartment a man of low stature, butbulky frame, with shaggy hair hanging about his visage, which was grimedwith the vapors of the furnace. This personage had been Aylmer'sunder-worker during his whole scientific career, and was admirablyfitted for that office by his great mechanical readiness, and the skillwith which, while incapable of comprehending a single principle, heexecuted all the details of his master's experiments. With his vaststrength, his shaggy hair, his smoky aspect, and the indescribableearthiness that incrusted him, he seemed to represent man's physicalnature; while Aylmer's slender figure, and pale, intellectual face, wereno less apt a type of the spiritual element. 

"Throw open the door of the boudoir, Aminadab, " said Aylmer, "and burn apastil. "

"Yes, master, " answered Aminadab, looking intently at the lifeless formof Georgiana; and then he muttered to himself, "If she were my wife, I'dnever part with that birthmark. "

When Georgiana recovered consciousness she found herself breathing anatmosphere of penetrating fragrance, the gentle potency of which hadrecalled her from her deathlike faintness. The scene around her lookedlike enchantment. Aylmer had converted those smoky, dingy, sombre rooms, where he had spent his brightest years in recondite pursuits, into aseries of beautiful apartments not unfit to be the secluded abode of alovely woman. The walls were hung with gorgeous curtains, which impartedthe combination of grandeur and grace that no other species of adornmentcan achieve; and as they fell from the ceiling to the floor, their richand ponderous folds, concealing all angles and straight lines, appearedto shut in the scene from infinite space. For aught Georgiana knew, itmight be a pavilion among the clouds. And Aylmer, excluding thesunshine, which would have interfered with his chemical processes, hadsupplied its place with perfumed lamps, emitting flames of various hue, but all uniting in a soft, impurpled radiance. He now knelt by hiswife's side, watching her earnestly, but without alarm; for he wasconfident in his science, and felt that he could draw a magic circleround her within which no evil might intrude. 

"Where am I? Ah, I remember, " said Georgiana, faintly; and she placedher hand over her cheek to hide the terrible mark from her husband'seyes. 

"Fear not, dearest!" exclaimed he. "Do not shrink from me! Believe me, Georgiana, I even rejoice in this single imperfection, since it will besuch a rapture to remove it. "

"Oh, spare me!" sadly replied his wife. "Pray do not look at it again. Inever can forget that convulsive shudder. "

In order to soothe Georgiana, and, as it were, to release her mind fromthe burden of actual things, Aylmer now put in practice some of thelight and playful secrets which science had taught him among itsprofounder lore. Airy figures, absolutely bodiless ideas, and forms ofunsubstantial beauty came and danced before her, imprinting theirmomentary footsteps on beams of light. Though she had some indistinctidea of the method of these optical phenomena, still the illusion wasalmost perfect enough to warrant the belief that her husband possessedsway over the spiritual world. Then again, when she felt a wish to lookforth from her seclusion, immediately, as if her thoughts were answered, the possession of external existence flitted across a screen. Thescenery and the figures of actual life were perfectly represented, butwith that bewitching, yet indescribable difference which always makes apicture, an image, or a shadow so much more attractive than theoriginal. When wearied of this, Aylmer bade her cast her eyes upon avessel containing a quantity of earth. She did so, with little interestat first; but was soon startled to perceive the germ of a plant shootingupward from the soil. Then came the slender stalk; the leaves graduallyunfolded themselves; and amid them was a perfect and lovely flower. 

"It is magical!" cried Georgiana. "I dare not touch it. "

"Nay, pluck it, " answered Aylmer, --"pluck it, and inhale its briefperfume while you may. The flower will wither in a few moments and leavenothing save its brown seed vessels; but thence may be perpetuated arace as ephemeral as itself. "

But Georgiana had no sooner touched the flower than the whole plantsuffered a blight, its leaves turning coal-black as if by the agency offire. 

"There was too powerful a stimulus, " said Aylmer, thoughtfully. 

To make up for this abortive experiment, he proposed to take herportrait by a scientific process of his own invention. It was to beeffected by rays of light striking upon a polished plate of metal. Georgiana assented; but, on looking at the result, was affrighted tofind the features of the portrait blurred and indefinable; while theminute figure of a hand appeared where the cheek should have been. Aylmer snatched the metallic plate and threw it into a jar of corrosiveacid. 

Soon, however, he forgot these mortifying failures. In the intervals ofstudy and chemical experiment he came to her flushed and exhausted, butseemed invigorated by her presence, and spoke in glowing language of theresources of his art. He gave a history of the long dynasty of thealchemists, who spent so many ages in quest of the universal solvent bywhich the golden principle might be elicited from all things vile andbase. Aylmer appeared to believe that, by the plainest scientific logic, it was altogether within the limits of possibility to discover thislong-sought medium; "but, " he added, "a philosopher who should go deepenough to acquire the power would attain too lofty a wisdom to stoop tothe exercise of it. " Not less singular were his opinions in regard tothe elixir vitæ. He more than intimated that it was at his option toconcoct a liquid that should prolong life for years, perhapsinterminably; but that it would produce a discord in Nature which allthe world, and chiefly the quaffer of the immortal nostrum, would findcause to curse. 

"Aylmer, are you in earnest?" asked Georgiana, looking at him withamazement and fear. "It is terrible to possess such power, or even todream of possessing it. "

"Oh, do not tremble, my love, " said her husband. "I would not wrongeither you or myself by working such inharmonious effects upon ourlives; but I would have you consider how trifling, in comparison, is theskill requisite to remove this little hand. "

At the mention of the birthmark, Georgiana, as usual, shrank as if ared-hot iron had touched her cheek. 

Again Aylmer applied himself to his labors. She could hear his voice inthe distant furnace room giving directions to Aminadab, whose harsh, uncouth, misshapen tones were audible in response, more like the gruntor growl of a brute than human speech. After hours of absence, Aylmerreappeared and proposed that she should now examine his cabinet ofchemical products and natural treasures of the earth. Among the formerhe showed her a small vial, in which, he remarked, was contained agentle yet most powerful fragrance, capable of impregnating all thebreezes that blow across the kingdom. They were of inestimable value, the contents of that little vial; and, as he said so, he threw some ofthe perfume into the air and filled the room with piercing andinvigorating delight. 

"And what is this?" asked Georgiana, pointing to a small crystal globecontaining a gold-colored liquid. "It is so beautiful to the eye that Icould imagine it the elixir of life. "

"In one sense it is, " replied Aylmer; "or, rather, the elixir ofimmortality. It is the most precious poison that ever was concocted inthis world. By its aid I could apportion the lifetime of any mortal atwhom you might point your finger. The strength of the dose woulddetermine whether he were to linger out years, or drop dead in the midstof a breath. No king on his guarded throne could keep his life if I, inmy private station, should deem that the welfare of millions justifiedme in depriving him of it. "

"Why do you keep such a terrific drug?" inquired Georgiana in horror. 

"Do not mistrust me, dearest, " said her husband, smiling; "its virtuouspotency is yet greater than its harmful one. But see! here is a powerfulcosmetic. With a few drops of this in a vase of water, freckles may bewashed away as easily as the hands are cleansed. A stronger infusionwould take the blood out of the cheek, and leave the rosiest beauty apale ghost. "

"Is it with this lotion that you intend to bathe my cheek?" askedGeorgiana, anxiously. 

"Oh, no, " hastily replied her husband; "this is merely superficial. Yourcase demands a remedy that shall go deeper. "

In his interviews with Georgiana, Aylmer generally made minute inquiriesas to her sensations and whether the confinement of the rooms and thetemperature of the atmosphere agreed with her. These questions had sucha particular drift that Georgiana began to conjecture that she wasalready subjected to certain physical influences, either breathed inwith the fragrant air or taken with her food. She fancied likewise, butit might be altogether fancy, that there was a stirring up of hersystem--a strange, indefinite sensation creeping through her veins, andtingling, half painfully, half pleasurably, at her heart. Still, whenever she dared to look into the mirror, there she beheld herselfpale as a white rose and with the crimson birthmark stamped upon hercheek. Not even Aylmer now hated it so much as she. 

To dispel the tedium of the hours which her husband found it necessaryto devote to the processes of combination and analysis, Georgiana turnedover the volumes of his scientific library. In many dark old tomes shemet with chapters full of romance and poetry. They were the works of thephilosophers of the middle ages, such as Albertus Magnus, CorneliusAgrippa, Paracelsus, and the famous friar who created the propheticBrazen Head. All these antique naturalists stood in advance of theircenturies, yet were imbued with some of their credulity, and thereforewere believed, and perhaps imagined themselves to have acquired from theinvestigation of Nature a power above Nature, and from physics a swayover the spiritual world. Hardly less curious and imaginative were theearly volumes of the Transactions of the Royal Society, in which themembers, knowing little of the limits of natural possibility, werecontinually recording wonders or proposing methods whereby wonders mightbe wrought. 

But to Georgiana the most engrossing volume was a large folio from herhusband's own hand, in which he had recorded every experiment of hisscientific career, its original aim, the methods adopted for itsdevelopment, and its final success or failure, with the circumstances towhich either event was attributable. The book, in truth, was both thehistory and emblem of his ardent, ambitious, imaginative, yet practicaland laborious life. He handled physical details as if there were nothingbeyond them; yet spiritualized them all, and redeemed himself frommaterialism by his strong and eager aspiration towards the infinite. Inhis grasp the veriest clod of earth assumed a soul. Georgiana, as sheread, reverenced Aylmer and loved him more profoundly than ever, butwith a less entire dependence on his judgment than heretofore. Much ashe had accomplished, she could not but observe that his most splendidsuccesses were almost invariably failures, if compared with the ideal atwhich he aimed. His brightest diamonds were the merest pebbles, and feltto be so by himself, in comparison with the inestimable gems which layhidden beyond his reach. The volume, rich with achievements that had wonrenown for its author, was yet as melancholy a record as ever mortalhand had penned. It was the sad confession and continual exemplificationof the shortcomings of the composite man, the spirit burdened with clayand working in matter, and of the despair that assails the higher natureat finding itself so miserably thwarted by the earthly part. Perhapsevery man of genius in whatever sphere might recognize the image of hisown experience in Aylmer's journal. 

So deeply did these reflections affect Georgiana that she laid her faceupon the open volume and burst into tears. In this situation she wasfound by her husband. 

"It is dangerous to read in a sorcerer's books, " said he with a smile, though his countenance was uneasy and displeased. "Georgiana, there arepages in that volume which I can scarcely glance over and keep mysenses. Take heed less it prove as detrimental to you. "

"It has made me worship you more than ever, " said she. 

"Ah, wait for this one success, " rejoined he, "then worship me if youwill. I shall deem myself hardly unworthy of it. But come, I have soughtyou for the luxury of your voice. Sing to me, dearest. "

So she poured out the liquid music of her voice to quench the thirst ofhis spirit. He then took his leave with a boyish exuberance of gayety, assuring her that her seclusion would endure but a little longer, andthat the result was already certain. Scarcely had he departed whenGeorgiana felt irresistibly impelled to follow him. She had forgotten toinform Aylmer of a symptom which for two or three hours past had begunto excite her attention. It was a sensation in the fatal birthmark, notpainful, but which induced a restlessness throughout her system. Hastening after her husband, she intruded for the first time into thelaboratory. 

The first thing that struck her eye was the furnace, that hot andfeverish worker, with the intense glow of its fire, which by thequantities of soot clustered above it seemed to have been burning forages. There was a distilling apparatus in full operation. Around theroom were retorts, tubes, cylinders, crucibles, and other apparatus ofchemical research. An electrical machine stood ready for immediate use. The atmosphere felt oppressively close, and was tainted with gaseousodors which had been tormented forth by the processes of science. Thesevere and homely simplicity of the apartment, with its naked walls andbrick pavement, looked strange, accustomed as Georgiana had become tothe fantastic elegance of her boudoir. But what chiefly, indeed almostsolely, drew her attention, was the aspect of Aylmer himself. 

He was pale as death, anxious and absorbed, and hung over the furnace asif it depended upon his utmost watchfulness whether the liquid which itwas distilling should be the draught of immortal happiness or misery. How different from the sanguine and joyous mien that he had assumed forGeorgiana's encouragement!

"Carefully now, Aminadab; carefully, thou human machine; carefully, thouman of clay!" muttered Aylmer, more to himself than to his assistant. "Now, if there be a thought too much or too little, it is all over. "

"Ho! ho!" mumbled Aminadab. "Look, master! look!"

Aylmer raised his eyes hastily, and at first reddened, then grew palerthan ever, on beholding Georgiana. He rushed towards her and seized herarm with a gripe that left the print of his fingers upon it. 

"Why do you come hither? Have you no trust in your husband?" cried he, impetuously. "Would you throw the blight of that fatal birthmark over mylabors? It is not well done. Go, prying woman, go!"

"Nay, Aylmer, " said Georgiana with the firmness of which she possessedno stinted endowment, "it is not you that have a right to complain. Youmistrust your wife; you have concealed the anxiety with which you watchthe development of this experiment. Think not so unworthily of me, myhusband. Tell me all the risk we run, and fear not that I shall shrink;for my share in it is far less than your own. "

"No, no, Georgiana!" said Aylmer, impatiently; "it must not be. "

"I submit, " replied she calmly. "And, Aylmer, I shall quaff whateverdraught you bring me; but it will be on the same principle that wouldinduce me to take a dose of poison if offered by your hand. "

"My noble wife, " said Aylmer, deeply moved, "I knew not the height anddepth of your nature until now. Nothing shall be concealed. Know, then, that this crimson hand, superficial as it seems, has clutched its graspinto your being with a strength of which I had no previous conception. Ihave already administered agents powerful enough to do aught except tochange your entire physical system. Only one thing remains to be tried. If that fail us we are ruined. "

"Why did you hesitate to tell me this?" asked she. 

"Because, Georgiana, " said Aylmer, in a low voice, "there is danger. "

"Danger? There is but one danger--that this horrible stigma shall beleft upon my cheek!" cried Georgiana. "Remove it, remove it, whatever bethe cost, or we shall both go mad!"

"Heaven knows your words are too true, " said Aylmer, sadly. "And now, dearest, return to your boudoir. In a little while all will be tested. "

He conducted her back and took leave of her with a solemn tendernesswhich spoke far more than his words how much was now at stake. After hisdeparture Georgiana became rapt in musings. She considered the characterof Aylmer, and did it completer justice than at any previous moment. Herheart exalted, while it trembled, at his honorable love--so pure andlofty that it would accept nothing less than perfection nor miserablymake itself contented with an earthlier nature than he had dreamed of. She felt how much more precious was such a sentiment than that meanerkind which would have borne with the imperfection for her sake, and havebeen guilty of treason to holy love by degrading its perfect idea to thelevel of the actual; and with her whole spirit she prayed that, for asingle moment, she might satisfy his highest and deepest conception. Longer than one moment she well knew it could not be; for his spiritwas ever on the march, ever ascending, and each instant requiredsomething that was beyond the scope of the instant before. 

The sound of her husband's footsteps aroused her. He bore a crystalgoblet containing a liquor colorless as water, but bright enough to bethe draught of immortality. Aylmer was pale; but it seemed rather theconsequence of a highly-wrought state of mind and tension of spirit thanof fear or doubt. 

"The concoction of the draught has been perfect, " said he, in answer toGeorgiana's look. "Unless all my science have deceived me, it cannotfail. "

"Save on your account, my dearest Aylmer, " observed his wife, "I mightwish to put off this birthmark of mortality by relinquishing mortalityitself in preference to any other mode. Life is but a sad possession tothose who have attained precisely the degree of moral advancement atwhich I stand. Were I weaker and blinder it might be happiness. Were Istronger, it might be endured hopefully. But, being what I find myself, methinks I am of all mortals the most fit to die. "

"You are fit for heaven without tasting death!" replied her husband. "But why do we speak of dying? The draught cannot fail. Behold itseffect upon this plant. "

On the window seat there stood a geranium diseased with yellow blotches, which had overspread all its leaves. Aylmer poured a small quantity ofthe liquid upon the soil in which it grew. In a little time, when theroots of the plant had taken up the moisture, the unsightly blotchesbegan to be extinguished in a living verdure. 

"There needed no proof, " said Georgiana, quietly. "Give me the goblet. Ijoyfully stake all upon your word. "

"Drink, then, thou lofty creature!" exclaimed Aylmer, with fervidadmiration. "There is no taint of imperfection on thy spirit. Thysensible frame, too, shall soon be all perfect. "

She quaffed the liquid and returned the goblet to his hand. 

"It is grateful, " said she with a placid smile. "Methinks it is likewater from a heavenly fountain; for it contains I know not what ofunobtrusive fragrance and deliciousness. It allays a feverish thirstthat had parched me for many days. Now, dearest, let me sleep. Myearthly senses are closing over my spirit like the leaves around theheart of a rose at sunset. "

She spoke the last words with a gentle reluctance, as if it requiredalmost more energy than she could command to pronounce the faint andlingering syllables. Scarcely had they loitered through her lips ere shewas lost in slumber. Aylmer sat by her side, watching her aspect withthe emotions proper to a man the whole value of whose existence wasinvolved in the process now to be tested. Mingled with this mood, however, was the philosophic investigation characteristic of the man ofscience. Not the minutest symptom escaped him. A heightened flush of thecheek, a slight irregularity of breath, a quiver of the eyelid, a hardlyperceptible tremor through the frame, --such were the details which, asthe moments passed, he wrote down in his folio volume. Intense thoughthad set its stamp upon every previous page of that volume, but thethoughts of years were all concentrated upon the last. 

While thus employed, he failed not to gaze often at the fatal hand, andnot without a shudder. Yet once, by a strange and unaccountable impulse, he pressed it with his lips. His spirit recoiled, however, in the veryact; and Georgiana, out of the midst of her deep sleep, moved uneasilyand murmured as if in remonstrance. Again Aylmer resumed his watch. Norwas it without avail. The crimson hand, which at first had been stronglyvisible upon the marble paleness of Georgiana's cheek, now grew morefaintly outlined. She remained not less pale than ever; but thebirthmark, with every breath that came and went, lost somewhat of itsformer distinctness. Its presence had been awful; its departure was moreawful still. Watch the stain of the rainbow fading out of the sky, andyou will know how that mysterious symbol passed away. 

"By Heaven! it is well nigh gone!" said Aylmer to himself, in almostirrepressible ecstasy. "I can scarcely trace it now. Success! success!And now it is like the faintest rose color. The lightest flush of bloodacross her cheek would overcome it. But she is so pale!"

He drew aside the window curtain and suffered the light of natural dayto fall into the room and rest upon her cheek. At the same time he hearda gross, hoarse chuckle, which he had long known as his servantAminadab's expression of delight. 

"Ah, clod! ah, earthly mass!" cried Aylmer, laughing in a sort offrenzy, "you have served me well! Matter and spirit--earth andheaven--have both done their part in this! Laugh, thing of the senses!You have earned the right to laugh. "

These exclamations broke Georgiana's sleep. She slowly unclosed her eyesand gazed into the mirror which her husband had arranged for thatpurpose. A faint smile flitted over her lips when she recognized howbarely perceptible was now that crimson hand which had once blazed forthwith such disastrous brilliancy as to scare away all their happiness. But then her eyes sought Aylmer's face with a trouble and anxiety thathe could by no means account for. 

"My poor Aylmer!" murmured she. 

"Poor? Nay, richest, happiest, most favored!" exclaimed he. "My peerlessbride, it is successful! You are perfect!"

"My poor Aylmer, " she repeated, with a more than human tenderness. "Youhave aimed loftily; you have done nobly. Do not repent that with so highand pure a feeling, you have rejected the best the earth could offer. Aylmer, dearest Aylmer, I am dying!"

Alas! it was too true! The fatal hand had grappled with the mystery oflife, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in unionwith a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark--thatsole token of human imperfection--faded from her cheek, the partingbreath of the now perfect woman passed into the atmosphere, and hersoul, lingering a moment near her husband, took its heavenward flight. Then a hoarse, chuckling laugh was heard again! Thus ever does the grossfatality of earth exult in its invariable triumph over the immortalessence which, in this dim sphere of half development, demands thecompleteness of a higher state. Yet, had Aylmer reached a profounderwisdom, he need not thus have flung away the happiness which would havewoven his mortal life of the selfsame texture with the celestial. Themomentary circumstance was too strong for him; he failed to look beyondthe shadowy scope of time, and living once for all in eternity, to findthe perfect future in the present. 

THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT

As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of PokerFlat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of achange in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night. Two or threemen, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he approached, andexchanged significant glances. There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous. 

Mr. Oakhurst's calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in theseindications. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause wasanother question. "I reckon they're after somebody, " he reflected;"likely it's me. " He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with whichhe had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neatboots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture. 

In point of fact, Poker Flat was "after somebody. " It had latelysuffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, anda prominent citizen. It was experiencing a spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as lawless and ungovernable as any of the acts that had provokedit. A secret committee had determined to rid the town of all improperpersons. This was done permanently in regard of two men who were thenhanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily inthe banishment of certain other objectionable characters. I regret tosay that some of these were ladies. It is but due to the sex, however, to state that their impropriety was professional, and it wasonly in such easily established standards of evil that Poker Flatventured to sit in judgment. 

[Illustration: BRET HARTE]

Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he was included in thiscategory. A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possibleexample and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his pockets ofthe sums he had won from them. "It's agin justice, " said Jim Wheeler, "to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire stranger--carryaway our money. " But a crude sentiment of equity residing in the breastsof those who had been fortunate enough to win from Mr. Oakhurstoverruled this narrower local prejudice. 

Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none theless coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges. He wastoo much of a gambler not to accept fate. With him life was at best anuncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of thedealer. 

A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker Flat tothe outskirts of the settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known tobe a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escortwas intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young womanfamiliarly known as "The Duchess;" another who had won the title of"Mother Shipton;" and "Uncle Billy, " a suspected sluice-robber andconfirmed drunkard. The cavalcade provoked no comments from thespectators, nor was any word uttered by the escort. Only when the gulchwhich marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leaderspoke briefly and to the point. The exiles were forbidden to return atthe peril of their lives. 

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a fewhysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from MotherShipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy. Thephilosophic Oakhurst alone remained silent. He listened calmly to MotherShipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statementsof the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oathsthat seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward. With theeasy good humor characteristic of his class, he insisted upon exchanginghis own riding-horse, "Five-Spot, " for the sorry mule which the Duchessrode. But even this act did not draw the party into any closer sympathy. The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five-Spot" withmalevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweepinganathema. 

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced theregenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer someinvitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range. It wasdistant a day's severe travel. In that advanced season the party soonpassed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foothills into thedry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras. The trail was narrow anddifficult. At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon theground, declared her intention of going no farther, and the partyhalted. 

The spot was singularly wild and impressive. A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, slopedgently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley. It was, undoubtedly, the most suitable spot for a camp, had campingbeen advisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely half the journey toSandy Bar was accomplished, and the party were not equipped orprovisioned for delay. This fact he pointed out to his companionscurtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of "throwing up theirhand before the game was played out. " But they were furnished withliquor, which in this emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience. In spite of his remonstrances, it was not long beforethey were more or less under its influence. Uncle Billy passed rapidlyfrom a bellicose state into one of stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother Shipton snored. Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaningagainst a rock, calmly surveying them. 

Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with a profession whichrequired coolness, impassiveness, and presence of mind, and, in his ownlanguage, he "couldn't afford it. " As he gazed at his recumbent fellowexiles, the loneliness begotten of his pariah trade, his habits of life, his very vices, for the first time seriously oppressed him. He bestirredhimself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and face, andother acts characteristic of his studiously neat habits, and for amoment forgot his annoyance. The thought of deserting his weaker andmore pitiable companions never perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could nothelp feeling the want of that excitement which, singularly enough, wasmost conducive to that calm equanimity for which he was notorious. Helooked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above thecircling pines around him, at the sky ominously clouded, at the valleybelow, already deepening into shadow; and, doing so, suddenly he heardhis own name called. 

A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the fresh, open face of thenewcomer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as "TheInnocent, " of Sandy Bar. He had met him some months before over a"little game, " and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entirefortune--amounting to some forty dollars--of that guileless youth. Afterthe game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behindthe door and thus addressed him: "Tommy, you're a good little man, butyou can't gamble worth a cent. Don't try it over again. " He then handedhim his money back, pushed him gently from the room, and so made adevoted slave of Tom Simson. 

 * * * * *

There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic greetingof Mr. Oakhurst. He had started, he said, to go to Poker Flat to seekhis fortune. "Alone?" No, not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), he hadrun away with Piney Woods. Didn't Mr. Oakhurst remember Piney? She thatused to wait on the table at the Temperance House? They had been engageda long time, but old Jake Woods had objected, and so they had run away, and were going to Poker Flat to be married, and here they were. And theywere tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to camp, andcompany. All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine-tree, where shehad been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover. 

Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less withpropriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not fortunate. He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently to kick UncleBilly, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy was sober enoughto recognize in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power that would not beartrifling. He then endeavored to dissuade Tom Simson from delayingfurther, but in vain. He even pointed out the fact that there was noprovision, nor means of making a camp. But, unluckily, the Innocent metthis objection by assuring the party that he was provided with an extramule loaded with provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at alog house near the trail. "Piney can stay with Mrs. Oakhurst, " said theInnocent, pointing to the Duchess, "and I can shift for myself. "

Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy frombursting into a roar of laughter. As it was, he felt compelled to retireup the cañon until he could recover his gravity. There he confided thejoke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions ofhis face, and the usual profanity. But when he returned to the party, hefound them seated by a fire--for the air had grown strangely chill andthe sky overcast--in apparently amicable conversation. Piney wasactually talking in an impulsive girlish fashion to the Duchess, who waslistening with an interest and animation she had not shown for manydays. The Innocent was holding forth, apparently with equal effect, toMr. Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing intoamiability. "Is this yer a d----d picnic?" said Uncle Billy, with inwardscorn, as he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and thetethered animals in the foreground. Suddenly an idea mingled with thealcoholic fumes that disturbed his brain. It was apparently of a jocularnature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram his fistinto his mouth. 

As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight breeze rocked thetops of the pine-trees and moaned through their long and gloomy aisles. The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine boughs, was set apartfor the ladies. As the lovers parted, they unaffectedly exchanged akiss, so honest and sincere that it might have been heard above theswaying pines. The frail Duchess and the malevolent Mother Shipton wereprobably too stunned to remark upon this last evidence of simplicity, and so turned without a word to the hut. The fire was replenished, themen lay down before the door, and in a few minutes were asleep. 

Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward morning he awoke benumbed andcold. As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowingstrongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leaveit, --snow!

He started to his feet with the intention of awakening the sleepers, forthere was no time to lose. But turning to where Uncle Billy had beenlying, he found him gone. A suspicion leaped to his brain, and a curseto his lips. He ran to the spot where the mules had been tethered--theywere no longer there. The tracks were already rapidly disappearing inthe snow. 

The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oakhurst back to the fire with hisusual calm. He did not waken the sleepers. The Innocent slumberedpeacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virginPiney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended bycelestial guardians; and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over hisshoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn. It came slowlyin a whirling mist of snowflakes that dazzled and confused the eye. What could be seen of the landscape appeared magically changed. Helooked over the valley, and summed up the present and future in twowords, "Snowed in!"

A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers ofUncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence they mightlast ten days longer. "That is, " said Mr. Oakhurst _sotto voce_ to theInnocent, "if you're willing to board us. If you ain't--and perhapsyou'd better not--you can wait till Uncle Billy gets back withprovisions. " For some occult reason, Mr. Oakhurst could not bringhimself to disclose Uncle Billy's rascality, and so offered thehypothesis that he had wandered from the camp and had accidentallystampeded the animals. He dropped a warning to the Duchess and MotherShipton, who of course knew the facts of their associate's defection. "They'll find out the truth about us _all_ when they find out anything, "he added significantly, "and there's no good frightening them now. "

Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at the disposal of Mr. Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy the prospect of their enforced seclusion. "We'll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow'll melt, and we'llall go back together. " The cheerful gayety of the young man and Mr. Oakhurst's calm infected the others. The Innocent, with the aid of pineboughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchessdirected Piney in the rearrangement of the interior with a taste andtact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial maiden to theirfullest extent. "I reckon now you're used to fine things at Poker Flat, "said Piney. The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something thatreddened her cheeks through their professional tint, and Mother Shiptonrequested Piney not to "chatter. " But when Mr. Oakhurst returned from aweary search for the trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoedfrom the rocks. He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts firstnaturally reverted to the whiskey, which he had prudently cachéd. "Andyet it don't somehow sound like whiskey, " said the gambler. It was notuntil he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still blindingstorm, and the group around it, that he settled to the conviction thatit was "square fun. "

Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cachéd his cards with the whiskey as somethingdebarred the free access of the community, I cannot say. It was certainthat, in Mother Shipton's words, he "didn't say 'cards' once" duringthat evening. Haply the time was beguiled by an accordion, producedsomewhat ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his pack. Notwithstandingsome difficulties attending the manipulation of this instrument, PineyWoods managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from its keys, to anaccompaniment by the Innocent on a pair of bone castanets. But thecrowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meetinghymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness andvociferation. I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swingto its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily toinfect the others, who at last joined in the refrain:--

 "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army. "

The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserablegroup, and the flames of their altar leaped heavenward, as if in tokenof the vow. 

At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and the starsglittered keenly above the sleeping camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whoseprofessional habits had enabled him to live on the smallest possibleamount of sleep, in dividing the watch with Tom Simson somehow managedto take upon himself the greater part of that duty. He excused himselfto the Innocent by saying that he had "often been a week without sleep. ""Doing what?" asked Tom. "Poker!" replied Oakhurst sententiously. "Whena man gets a streak of luck, --nigger-luck, --he don't get tired. The luckgives in first. Luck, " continued the gambler reflectively, "is a mightyqueer thing. All you know about it for certain is that it's bound tochange. And it's finding out when it's going to change that makes you. We've had a streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat, --you comealong, and slap you get into it, too. If you can hold your cards rightalong you're all right. For, " added the gambler, with cheerfulirrelevance--

 "'I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army. '"

The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtainedvalley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store ofprovisions for the morning meal. It was one of the peculiarities of thatmountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over the wintrylandscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past. But it revealeddrift on drift of snow piled high around the hut, --a hopeless, uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky shores to whichthe castaways still clung. Through the marvelously clear air the smokeof the pastoral village of Poker Flat rose miles away. Mother Shiptonsaw it, and from a remote pinnacle of her rocky fastness hurled in thatdirection a final malediction. It was her last vituperative attempt, andperhaps for that reason was invested with a certain degree ofsublimity. It did her good, she privately informed the Duchess. "Justyou go out there and cuss, and see. " She then set herself to the task ofamusing "the child, " as she and the Duchess were pleased to call Piney. Piney was no chicken, but it was a soothing and original theory of thepair thus to account for the fact that she didn't swear and wasn'timproper. 

When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of theaccordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by theflickering campfire. But music failed to fill entirely the aching voidleft by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed byPiney, --story-telling. Neither Mr. Oakhurst nor his female companionscaring to relate their personal experiences, this plan would have failedtoo, but for the Innocent. Some months before he had chanced upon astray copy of Mr. Pope's ingenious translation of the Iliad. He nowproposed to narrate the principal incidents of that poem--havingthoroughly mastered the argument and fairly forgotten the words--in thecurrent vernacular of Sandy Bar. And so for the rest of that night theHomeric demi-gods again walked the earth. Trojan bully and wily Greekwrestled in the winds, and the great pines in the cañon seemed to bow tothe wrath of the son of Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst listened with quietsatisfaction. Most especially was he interested in the fate of"Ash-heels, " as the Innocent persisted in denominating the "swift-footedAchilles. "

So, with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week passedover the heads of the outcasts. The sun again forsook them, and againfrom leaden skies the snowflakes were sifted over the land. Day by daycloser around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked fromtheir prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, that towered twentyfeet above their heads. It became more and more difficult to replenishtheir fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now half hidden inthe drifts. And yet no one complained. The lovers turned from the drearyprospect and looked into each other's eyes, and were happy. Mr. Oakhurstsettled himself coolly to the losing game before him. The Duchess, morecheerful than she had been, assumed the care of Piney. Only MotherShipton--once the strongest of the party--seemed to sicken and fade. Atmidnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to her side. "I'm going, "she said, in a voice of querulous weakness, "but don't say anythingabout it. Don't waken the kids. Take the bundle from under my head, andopen it. " Mr. Oakhurst did so. It contained Mother Shipton's rations forthe last week, untouched. "Give 'em to the child, " she said, pointing tothe sleeping Piney. "You've starved yourself, " said the gambler. "That'swhat they call it, " said the woman querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning her face to the wall, passed quietly away. 

The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer wasforgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to thesnow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and showed him a pair ofsnow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle. "There'sone chance in a hundred to save her yet, " he said, pointing to Piney;"but it's there, " he added, pointing toward Poker Flat. "If you canreach there in two days she's safe. " "And you?" asked Tom Simson. "I'llstay here, " was the curt reply. 

The lovers parted with a long embrace. "You are not going, too?" saidthe Duchess, as she saw Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to accompanyhim. "As far as the cañon, " he replied. He turned suddenly and kissedthe Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame, and her trembling limbsrigid with amazement. 

Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the storm again and thewhirling snow. Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some onehad quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days longer. The tears rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney. 

The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each other'sfaces, they read their fate. Neither spoke, but Piney, accepting theposition of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around theDuchess's waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of the day. Thatnight the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder theprotecting vines, invaded the very hut. 

Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, whichgradually died away. As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess creptcloser to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: "Piney, can youpray?" "No, dear, " said Piney simply. The Duchess, without knowingexactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon Piney's shoulder, spoke no more. And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing thehead of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep. 

The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine boughs, flew like white winged birds, andsettled about them as they slept. The moon through the rifted cloudslooked down upon what had been the camp. But all human stain, all traceof earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle mercifullyflung from above. 

They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken when voices andfootsteps broke the silence of the camp. And when pitying fingersbrushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely have told fromthe equal peace that dwelt upon them which was she that had sinned. Eventhe law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned away, leaving themstill locked in each other's arms. 

But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine-trees, theyfound the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife. It borethe following, written in pencil in a firm hand:--

 [Symbol: dagger]

 BENEATH THIS TREE

 LIES THE BODY

 OF

 JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK

 ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER 1850, AND

 HANDED IN HIS CHECKS

 ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850. 

 [Symbol: reversed dagger]

And pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his side and a bullet in hisheart, though still calm as in life, beneath the snow lay he who was atonce the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of Poker Flat. 

THE SIRE DE MALÉTROIT'S DOOR

Denis de Beaulieu was not yet two-and-twenty, but he counted himself agrown man, and a very accomplished cavalier into the bargain. Lads wereearly formed in that rough, warfaring epoch; and when one has been in apitched battle and a dozen raids, has killed one's man in an honorablefashion, and knows a thing or two of strategy and mankind, a certainswagger in the gait is surely to be pardoned. He had put up his horsewith due care, and supped with due deliberation; and then, in a veryagreeable frame of mind, went out to pay a visit in the gray of theevening. It was not a very wise proceeding on the young man's part. Hewould have done better to remain beside the fire or go decently to bed. For the town was full of the troops of Burgundy and England under amixed command; and though Denis was there on safe-conduct, hissafe-conduct was like to serve him little on a chance encounter. 

It was September, 1429; the weather had fallen sharp; a flighty pipingwind, laden with showers, beat about the township; and the dead leavesran riot along the streets. Here and there a window was already lightedup; and the noise of men-at-arms making merry over supper within cameforth in fits and was swallowed up and carried away by the wind. Thenight fell swiftly; the flag of England, fluttering on the spire top, grew ever fainter and fainter against the flying clouds--a black specklike a swallow in the tumultuous, leaden chaos of the sky. As thenight fell the wind rose, and began to hoot under archways and roar amidthe tree-tops in the valley below the town. 

[Illustration: ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON]

Denis de Beaulieu walked fast and was soon knocking at his friend'sdoor; but though he promised himself to stay only a little while andmake an early return, his welcome was so pleasant, and he found so muchto delay him, that it was already long past midnight before he saidgood-by upon the threshold. The wind had fallen again in the meanwhile;the night was as black as the grave; not a star, nor a glimmer ofmoonshine, slipped through the canopy of cloud. Denis was ill-acquaintedwith the intricate lanes of Chateau Landon; even by daylight he hadfound some trouble in picking his way; and in this absolute darkness hesoon lost it altogether. He was certain of one thing only--to keepmounting the hill; for his friend's house lay at the lower end, or tail, of Chateau Landon, while the inn was up at the head, under the greatchurch spire. With this clew to go upon he stumbled and groped forward, now breathing more freely in the open places where there was a goodslice of sky overhead, now feeling along the wall in stifling closes. Itis an eerie and mysterious position to be thus submerged in opaqueblackness in an almost unknown town. The silence is terrifying in itspossibilities. The touch of cold window bars to the exploring handstartles the man like the touch of a toad; the inequalities of thepavement shake his heart into his mouth; a piece of denser darknessthreatens an ambuscade or a chasm in the pathway; and where the air isbrighter, the houses put on strange and bewildering appearances, as ifto lead him further from his way. For Denis, who had to regain his innwithout attracting notice, there was real danger as well as merediscomfort in the walk; and he went warily and boldly at once, and atevery corner paused to make an observation. 

He had been for some time threading a lane so narrow that he could toucha wall with either hand, when it began to open out and go sharplydownward. Plainly this lay no longer in the direction of his inn; butthe hope of a little more light tempted him forward to reconnoitre. Thelane ended in a terrace with a bartizan wall, which gave an outlookbetween high houses, as out of an embrasure, into the valley lying darkand formless several hundred feet below. Denis looked down, and coulddiscern a few tree-tops waving and a single speck of brightness wherethe river ran across a weir. The weather was clearing up, and the skyhad lightened, so as to show the outline of the heavier clouds and thedark margin of the hills. By the uncertain glimmer, the house on hisleft hand should be a place of some pretensions; it was surmounted byseveral pinnacles and turret-tops; the round stern of a chapel, with afringe of flying buttresses, projected boldly from the main block; andthe door was sheltered under a deep porch carved with figures andoverhung by two long gargoyles. The windows of the chapel gleamedthrough their intricate tracery with a light as of many tapers, andthrew out the buttresses and the peaked roof in a more intense blacknessagainst the sky. It was plainly the hotel of some great family of theneighborhood; and as it reminded Denis of a town house of his own atBourges, he stood for some time gazing up at it and mentally gauging theskill of the architects and the consideration of the two families. 

There seemed to be no issue to the terrace but the lane by which he hadreached it; he could only retrace his steps, but he had gained somenotion of his whereabouts, and hoped by this means to hit the mainthoroughfare and speedily regain the inn. He was reckoning without thatchapter of accidents which was to make this night memorable above allothers in his career; for he had not gone back above a hundred yardsbefore he saw a light coming to meet him, and heard loud voices speakingtogether in the echoing narrows of the lane. It was a party ofmen-at-arms going the night round with torches. Denis assured himselfthat they had all been making free with the wine bowl, and were in nomood to be particular about safe-conducts or the niceties of chivalrouswar. It was as like as not that they would kill him like a dog and leavehim where he fell. The situation was inspiriting but nervous. Their owntorches would conceal him from sight, he reflected; and he hoped thatthey would drown the noise of his footsteps with their own empty voices. It he were but fleet and silent, he might evade their notice altogether. 

Unfortunately, as he turned to beat a retreat, his foot rolled upon apebble; he fell against the wall with an ejaculation, and his sword rangloudly on the stones. Two or three voices demanded who went there--somein French, some in English; but Denis made no reply, and ran the fasterdown the lane. Once upon the terrace, he paused to look back. They stillkept calling after him, and just then began to double the pace inpursuit, with a considerable clank of armor, and great tossing of thetorchlight to and fro in the narrow jaws of the passage. 

Denis cast a look around and darted into the porch. There he mightescape observation, or--if that were too much to expect--was in acapital posture whether for parley or defence. So thinking, he drew hissword and tried to set his back against the door. To his surprise ityielded behind his weight; and though he turned in a moment, continuedto swing back on oiled and noiseless hinges until it stood wide open ona black interior. When things fall out opportunely for the personconcerned, he is not apt to be critical about the how or why, his ownimmediate personal convenience seeming a sufficient reason for thestrangest oddities and revolutions in our sublunary things; and soDenis, without a moment's hesitation, stepped within and partly closedthe door behind him to conceal his place of refuge. Nothing was furtherfrom his thoughts than to close it altogether; but for some inexplicablereason--perhaps by a spring or a weight--the ponderous mass of oakwhipped itself out of his fingers and clanked to, with a formidablerumble and a noise like the falling of an automatic bar. 

The round, at that very moment, debouched upon the terrace and proceededto summon him with shouts and curses. He heard them ferreting in thedark corners; the stock of a lance even rattled along the outer surfaceof the door behind which he stood; but these gentlemen were in too higha humor to be long delayed, and soon made off down a corkscrew pathwaywhich had escaped Denis' observation, and passed out of sight andhearing along the battlements of the town. 

Denis breathed again. He gave them a few minutes grace for fear ofaccidents, and then groped about for some means of opening the door andslipping forth again. The inner surface was quite smooth, not a handle, not a moulding, not a projection of any sort. He got his finger nailsround the edges and pulled, but the mass was immovable. He shook it, itwas as firm as a rock. Denis de Beaulieu frowned and gave vent to alittle noiseless whistle. What ailed the door? he wondered. Why was itopen? How came it to shut so easily and so effectually after him? Therewas something obscure and underhand about all this, that was little tothe young man's fancy. It looked like a snare, and yet who could supposea snare in such a quiet by-street and in a house of so prosperous andeven noble an exterior? And yet--snare or no snare, intentionally orunintentionally--here he was, prettily trapped; and for the life of himhe could see no way out of it again. The darkness began to weigh uponhim. He gave ear; all was silent without, but within and close by heseemed to catch a faint sighing, a faint sobbing rustle, a littlestealthy creak--as though many persons were at his side, holdingthemselves quite still, and governing even their respiration with theextreme of slyness. The idea went to his vitals with a shock, and hefaced about suddenly as if to defend his life. Then, for the first time, he became aware of a light about the level of his eyes and at somedistance in the interior of the house--a vertical thread of light, widening toward the bottom, such as might escape between two wings ofarras over a doorway. 

To see anything was a relief to Denis; it was like a piece of solidground to a man laboring in a morass; his mind seized upon it withavidity; and he stood staring at it and trying to piece together somelogical conception of his surroundings. Plainly there was a flight ofsteps ascending from his own level to that of this illuminated doorway, and indeed he thought he could make out another thread of light, as fineas a needle and as faint as phosphorescence, which might very well bereflected along the polished wood of a handrail. Since he had begun tosuspect that he was not alone, his heart had continued to beat withsmothering violence, and an intolerable desire for action of any sorthad possessed itself of his spirit. He was in deadly peril, he believed. What could be more natural than to mount the staircase, lift thecurtain, and confront his difficulty at once? At least he would bedealing with something tangible; at least he would be no longer in thedark. He stepped slowly forward with outstretched hands, until his footstruck the bottom step; then he rapidly scaled the stairs, stood for amoment to compose his expression, lifted the arras and went in. 

He found himself in a large apartment of polished stone. There werethree doors, one on each of three sides, all similarly curtained withtapestry. The fourth side was occupied by two large windows and a greatstone chimneypiece, carved with the arms of the Malétroits. Denisrecognized the bearings, and was gratified to find himself in such goodhands. The room was strongly illuminated; but it contained littlefurniture except a heavy table and a chair or two; the hearth wasinnocent of fire, and the pavement was but sparsely strewn with rushesclearly many days old. 

On a high chair beside the chimney, and directly facing Denis as heentered, sat a little old gentleman in a fur tippet. He sat with hislegs crossed and his hands folded, and a cup of spiced wine stood by hiselbow on a bracket on the wall. His countenance had a strong masculinecast; not properly human, but such as we see in the bull, the goat, orthe domestic boar; something equivocal and wheedling, something greedy, brutal and dangerous. The upper lip was inordinately full, as thoughswollen by a blow or a toothache; and the smile, the peaked eyebrows, and the small, strong eyes were quaintly and almost comically evil inexpression. Beautiful white hair hung straight all round his head, likea saint's and fell in a single curl upon the tippet. His beard andmustache were the pink of venerable sweetness. Age, probably inconsequence of inordinate precautions, had left no mark upon his hands;and the Malétroit hand was famous. It would be difficult to imagineanything at once so fleshy and so delicate in design; the taper, sensualfingers were like those of one of Leonardo's women; the fork of thethumb made a dimpled protuberance when closed; the nails were perfectlyshaped, and of a dead, surprising whiteness. It rendered his aspecttenfold more redoubtable, that a man with hands like these should keepthem devoutly folded like a virgin martyr--that a man with so intent andstartling an expression of face should sit patiently on his seat andcontemplate people with an unwinking stare, like a god, or a god'sstatue. His quiescence seemed ironical and treacherous, it fitted sopoorly with his looks. 

Such was Alain, Sire de Malétroit. 

Denis and he looked silently at each other for a second or two. 

"Pray step in, " said the Sire de Malétroit. "I have been expecting youall the evening. "

He had not risen, but he accompanied his words with a smile and a slightbut courteous inclination of the head. Partly from the smile, partlyfrom the strange musical murmur with which the sire prefaced hisobservation, Denis felt a strong shudder of disgust go through hismarrow. And what with disgust and honest confusion of mind, he couldscarcely get words together in reply. 

"I fear, " he said, "that this is a double accident. I am not the personyou suppose me. It seems you were looking for a visit; but for my part, nothing was further from my thoughts--nothing could be more contrary tomy wishes--than this intrusion. "

"Well, well, " replied the old gentleman indulgently, "here you are, which is the main point. Seat yourself, my friend, and put yourselfentirely at your ease. We shall arrange our little affairs presently. "

Denis perceived that the matter was still complicated with somemisconception, and he hastened to continue his explanation. 

"Your door, " he began. 

"About my door?" asked the other raising his peaked eyebrows. "A littlepiece of ingenuity. " And he shrugged his shoulders. "A hospitable fancy!By your own account, you were not desirous of making my acquaintance. Weold people look for such reluctance now and then; when it touches ourhonor, we cast about until we find some way of overcoming it. You arriveuninvited, but believe me, very welcome. "

"You persist in error, sir, " said Denis. "There can be no questionbetween you and me. I am a stranger in this countryside. My name isDenis, damoiseau de Beaulieu. If you see me in your house it is only--"

"My young friend, " interrupted the other, "you will permit me to have myown ideas on that subject. They probably differ from yours at thepresent moment, " he added with a leer, "but time will show which of usis in the right. "

Denis was convinced he had to do with a lunatic. He seated himself witha shrug, content to wait the upshot; and a pause ensued, during which hethought he could distinguish a hurried gabbling as of a prayer frombehind the arras immediately opposite him. Sometimes there seemed to bebut one person engaged, sometimes two; and the vehemence of the voice, low as it was, seemed to indicate either great haste or an agony ofspirit. It occurred to him that this piece of tapestry covered theentrance to the chapel he had noticed from without. 

The old gentleman meanwhile surveyed Denis from head to foot with asmile, and from time to time emitted little noises like a bird or amouse, which seemed to indicate a high degree of satisfaction. Thisstate of matters became rapidly insupportable; and Denis, to put an endto it, remarked politely that the wind had gone down. 

The old gentleman fell into a fit of silent laughter, so prolonged andviolent that he became quite red in the face. Denis got upon his feet atonce, and put on his hat with a flourish. 

"Sir, " he said, "if you are in your wits, you have affronted me grossly. If you are out of them, I flatter myself I can find better employmentfor my brains than to talk with lunatics. My conscience is clear; youhave made a fool of me from the first moment; you have refused to hearmy explanations; and now there is no power under God will make me stayhere any longer; and if I cannot make my way out in a more decentfashion, I will hack your door in pieces with my sword. "

The Sire de Malétroit raised his right hand and wagged it at Denis withthe fore and little fingers extended. 

"My dear nephew, " he said, "sit down. "

"Nephew!" retorted Denis, "you lie in your throat;" and he snapped hisfingers in his face. 

"Sit down, you rogue!" cried the old gentleman, in a sudden, harsh voicelike the barking of a dog. "Do you fancy, " he went on, "that when I hadmade my little contrivance for the door I had stopped short with that?If you prefer to be bound hand and foot till your bones ache, rise andtry to go away. If you choose to remain a free young buck, agreeablyconversing with an old gentleman--why, sit where you are in peace, andGod be with you. "

"Do you mean I am a prisoner?" demanded Denis. 

"I state the facts, " replied the other. "I would rather leave theconclusion to yourself. "

Denis sat down again. Externally he managed to keep pretty calm, butwithin, he was now boiling with anger, now chilled with apprehension. Heno longer felt convinced that he was dealing with a madman. And if theold gentleman was sane, what, in God's name, had he to look for? Whatabsurd or tragical adventure had befallen him? What countenance was heto assume?

While he was thus unpleasantly reflecting, the arras that overhung thechapel door was raised, and a tall priest in his robes came forth, and, giving a long, keen stare at Denis, said something in an undertone toSire de Malétroit. 

"She is in a better frame of spirit?" asked the latter. 

"She is more resigned, messire, " replied the priest. 

"Now the Lord help her, she is hard to please!" sneered the oldgentleman. "A likely stripling--not ill-born--and of her own choosing, too? Why, what more would the jade have?"

"The situation is not usual for a young damsel, " said the other, "andsomewhat trying to her blushes. "

"She should have thought of that before she began the dance! It was noneof my choosing, God knows that; but since she is in it, by our Lady, sheshall carry it to the end. " And then addressing Denis, "Monsieur deBeaulieu, " he asked, "may I present you to my niece? She has beenwaiting your arrival, I may say, with even greater impatience thanmyself. "

Denis had resigned himself with a good grace--all he desired was to knowthe worst of it as speedily as possible; so he rose at once, and bowedin acquiescence. The Sire de Malétroit followed his example and limped, with the assistance of the chaplain's arm, toward the chapel door. Thepriest pulled aside the arras, and all three entered. The building hadconsiderable architectural pretensions. A light groining sprung from sixstout columns, and hung down in two rich pendants from the centre of thevault. The place terminated behind the altar in a round end, embossedand honeycombed with a superfluity of ornament in relief, and pierced bymany little windows shaped like stars, trefoils, or wheels. Thesewindows were imperfectly glazed, so that the night air circulated freelyin the chapel. The tapers, of which there must have been half a hundredburning on the altar, were unmercifully blown about; and the light wentthrough many different phases of brilliancy and semi-eclipse. On thesteps in front of the altar knelt a young girl richly attired as abride. A chill settled over Denis as he observed her costume; he foughtwith desperate energy against the conclusion that was being thrust uponhis mind; it could not--it should not--be as he feared. 

"Blanche, " said the sire, in his most flute-like tones, "I have broughta friend to see you, my little girl; turn round and give him your prettyhand. It is good to be devout; but it is necessary to be polite, myniece. "

The girl rose to her feet and turned toward the newcomers. She moved allof a piece; and shame and exhaustion were expressed in every line of herfresh young body; and she held her head down and kept her eyes upon thepavement, as she came slowly forward. In the course of her advance hereyes fell upon Denis de Beaulieu's feet--feet of which he was justlyvain, be it remarked, and wore in the most elegant accoutrement evenwhile travelling. She paused--started, as if his yellow boots hadconveyed some shocking meaning--and glanced suddenly up into thewearer's countenance. Their eyes met: shame gave place to horror andterror in her looks; the blood left her lips, with a piercing scream shecovered her face with her hands and sank upon the chapel floor. 

"That is not the man!" she cried. "My uncle, that is not the man!"

The Sire de Malétroit chirped agreeably. "Of course not, " he said; "Iexpected as much. It was so unfortunate you could not remember hisname. "

"Indeed, " she cried, "indeed, I have never seen this person till thismoment--I have never so much as set eyes upon him--I never wish to seehim again. Sir, " she said, turning to Denis, "if you are a gentleman, you will bear me out. Have I ever seen you--have you ever seenme--before this accursed hour?"

"To speak for myself, I have never had that pleasure, " answered theyoung man. "This is the first time, messire, that I have met with yourengaging niece. "

The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders. 

"I am distressed to hear it, " he said. "But it is never too late tobegin. I had little more acquaintance with my own late lady ere Imarried her; which proves, " he added, with a grimace, "that theseimpromptu marriages may often produce an excellent understanding in thelong run. As the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter, I willgive him two hours to make up for lost time before we proceed with theceremony. " And he turned toward the door, followed by the clergyman. 

The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you cannot be inearnest, " she said. "I declare before God I will stab myself rather thanbe forced on that young man. The heart rises at it; God forbids suchmarriages; you dishonor your white hair. Oh, my uncle, pity me! Thereis not a woman in all the world but would prefer death to such anuptial. Is it possible, " she added, faltering--"is it possible that youdo not believe me--that you still think this" and she pointed at Deniswith a tremor of anger and contempt--"that you still think _this_ to bethe man?"

"Frankly, " said the old gentleman, pausing on the threshold, "I do. Butlet me explain to you once for all, Blanche de Malétroit, my way ofthinking about this affair. When you took it into your head to dishonormy family and the name that I have borne, in peace and war, for morethan threescore years, you forfeited, not only the right to question mydesigns, but that of looking me in the face. If your father had beenalive, he would have spat on you and turned you out of doors. His wasthe hand of iron. You may bless your God you have only to deal with thehand of velvet, mademoiselle. It was my duty to get you married withoutdelay. Out of pure goodwill, I have tried to find your own gallant foryou. And I believe I have succeeded. But before God and all the holyangels, Blanche de Malétroit, if I have not, I care not one jackstraw. So let me recommend you to be polite to our young friend; for, upon myword, your next groom may be less appetizing. "

And with that he went out, with the chaplain at his heels; and the arrasfell behind the pair. 

The girl turned upon Denis with flashing eyes. 

"And what, sir, " she demanded, "may be the meaning of all this?"

"God knows, " returned Denis, gloomily. "I am a prisoner in this house, which seems full of mad people. More I know not; and nothing do Iunderstand. "

"And pray how came you here?" she asked. 

He told her as briefly as he could. "For the rest, " he added, "perhapsyou will follow my example, and tell me the answer to all these riddles, and what, in God's name, is like to be the end of it. "

She stood silent for a little, and he could see her lips tremble and hertearless eyes burn with a feverish lustre. Then she pressed her foreheadin both hands. 

"Alas, how my head aches!" she said, wearily--"to say nothing of my poorheart! But it is due to you to know my story, unmaidenly as it mustseem. I am called Blanche de Malétroit; I have been without father ormother for--oh! for as long as I can recollect, and indeed I have beenmost unhappy all my life. Three months ago a young captain began tostand near me every day in church. I could see that I pleased him; I ammuch to blame, but I was so glad that any one should love me; and whenhe passed me a letter, I took it home with me and read it with greatpleasure. Since that time he has written many. He was so anxious tospeak with me, poor fellow! and kept asking me to leave the door opensome evening that we might have two words upon the stair. For he knewhow much my uncle trusted me. " She gave something like a sob at that, and it was a moment before she could go on. "My uncle is a hard man, buthe is very shrewd, " she said, at last. "He has performed many feats inwar, and was a great person at court, and much trusted by Queen Isabeauin old days. How he came to suspect me I cannot tell; but it is hard tokeep anything from his knowledge; and this morning, as we came frommass, he took my hand into his, forced it open, and read my littlebillet, walking by my side all the while. 

"When he finished, he gave it back to me with great politeness. Itcontained another request to have the door left open; and this has beenthe ruin of us all. My uncle kept me strictly in my room until evening, and then ordered me to dress myself as you see me--a hard mockery for ayoung girl, do you not think so? I suppose, when he could not prevailwith me to tell him the young captain's name, he must have laid a trapfor him; into which, alas! you have fallen in the anger of God. I lookedfor much confusion; for how could I tell whether he was willing to takeme for his wife on these sharp terms? He might have been trifling withme from the first; or I might have made myself too cheap in his eyes. But truly I had not looked for such a shameful punishment as this! Icould not think that God would let a girl be so disgraced before a youngman. And now I tell you all; and I can scarcely hope that you will notdespise me. "

Denis made her a respectful inclination. 

"Madam, " he said, "you have honored me by your confidence. It remainsfor me to prove that I am not unworthy of the honor. Is Messire deMalétroit at hand?"

"I believe he is writing in the _salle_ without, " she answered. 

"May I lead you thither, madam?" asked Denis, offering his hand with hismost courtly bearing. 

She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the chapel, Blanche in avery drooping and shamefast condition, but Denis strutting and rufflingin the consciousness of a mission, and the boyish certainty ofaccomplishing it with honor. 

The Sire Malétroit rose to meet them with an ironical obeisance. 

"Sir, " said Denis, with the grandest possible air, "I believe I am tohave some say in the matter of this marriage; and let me tell you atonce, I will be no party to forcing the inclination of this young lady. Had it been freely offered to me, I should have been proud to accepther hand, for I perceive she is as good as she is beautiful; but asthings are, I have now the honor, messire, of refusing. "

Blanche looked at him with gratitude in her eyes; but the old gentlemanonly smiled and smiled, until his smile grew positively sickening toDenis. 

"I am afraid, " he said, "Monsieur de Beaulieu, that you do not perfectlyunderstand the choice I have offered you. Follow me, I beseech you, tothis window. " And he led the way to one of the large windows which stoodopen on the night. "You observe, " he went on, "there is an iron ring inthe upper masonry, and reeved through that, a very efficacious rope. Now, mark my words: if you should find your disinclination to my niece'sperson insurmountable, I shall have you hanged out of this window beforesunrise. I shall only proceed to such an extremity with the greatestregret, you may believe me. For it is not at all your death that Idesire, but my niece's establishment in life. At the same time, it mustcome to that if you prove obstinate. Your family, Monsieur de Beaulieu, is very well in its way; but if you sprung from Charlemagne, you shouldnot refuse the hand of a Malétroit with impunity--not if she had been ascommon as the Paris road--not if she was as hideous as the gargoyle overmy door. Neither my niece nor you, nor my own private feelings, move meat all in this matter. The honor of my house has been compromised; Ibelieve you to be the guilty person, at least you are now in the secret;and you can hardly wonder if I request you to wipe out the stain. If youwill not, your blood be on your own head! It will be no greatsatisfaction to me to have your interesting relics kicking their heelsin the breeze below my windows, but half a loaf is better than nobread, and if I cannot cure the dishonor, I shall at least stop thescandal. "

There was a pause. 

"I believe there are other ways of settling such imbroglios amonggentlemen, " said Denis. "You wear a sword, and I hear you have used itwith distinction. "

The Sire de Malétroit made a signal to the chaplain, who crossed theroom with long silent strides and raised the arras over the third of thethree doors. It was only a moment before he let it fall again; but Denishad time to see a dusky passage full of armed men. 

"When I was a little younger, I should have been delighted to honor you, Monsieur de Beaulieu, " said Sire Alain; "but now I am too old. Faithfulretainers are the sinews of age, and I must employ the strength I have. This is one of the hardest things to swallow as a man grows up in years;but with a little patience, even this becomes habitual. You and the ladyseem to prefer the _salle_ for what remains of your two hours; and as Ihave no desire to cross your preference, I shall resign it to your usewith all the pleasure in the world. No haste!" he added, holding up hishand, as he saw a dangerous look come into Denis de Beaulieu's face. "Ifyour mind revolt against hanging, it will be time enough two hours henceto throw yourself out of the window or upon the pikes of my retainers. Two hours of life are always two hours. A great many things may turn upin even as little a while as that. And, besides, if I understand herappearance, my niece has something to say to you. You will not disfigureyour last hours by want of politeness to a lady?"

Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an imploring gesture. 

It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely pleased at this symptomof an understanding; for he smiled on both, and added sweetly: "If youwill give me your word of honor, Monsieur de Beaulieu, to await myreturn at the end of the two hours before attempting anything desperate, I shall withdraw my retainers, and let you speak in greater privacy withmademoiselle. "

Denis again glanced at the girl, who seemed to beseech him to agree. 

"I give you my word of honor, " he said. 

Messire de Malétroit bowed, and proceeded to limp about the apartment, clearing his throat the while with that odd musical chirp which hadalready grown so irritating in the ears of Denis de Beaulieu. He firstpossessed himself of some papers which lay upon the table; then he wentto the mouth of the passage and appeared to give an order to the menbehind the arras; and lastly he hobbled out through the door by whichDenis had come in, turning upon the threshold to address a last smilingbow to the young couple, and followed by the chaplain with a hand lamp. 

No sooner were they alone than Blanche advanced toward Denis with herhands extended. Her face was flushed and excited, and her eyes shonewith tears. 

"You shall not die!" she cried, "you shall marry me after all. "

"You seem to think, madam, " replied Denis, "that I stand much in fear ofdeath. "

"Oh, no, no, " she said, "I see you are no poltroon. It is for my ownsake--I could not bear to have you slain for such a scruple. "

"I am afraid, " returned Denis, "that you underrate the difficulty, madam. What you may be too generous to refuse, I may be too proud toaccept. In a moment of noble feeling toward me, you forget what youperhaps owe to others. " He had the decency to keep his eyes on thefloor as he said this, and after he had finished, so as not to spy uponher confusion. She stood silent for a moment, then walked suddenly away, and falling on her uncle's chair, fairly burst out sobbing. Denis was inthe acme of embarrassment. He looked round, as if to seek forinspiration, and, seeing a stool, plumped down upon it for something todo. There he sat, playing with the guard of his rapier, and wishinghimself dead a thousand times over, and buried in the nastiestkitchen-heap in France. His eyes wandered round the apartment, but foundnothing to arrest them. There were such wide spaces between thefurniture, the light fell so badly and cheerlessly over all, the darkoutside air looked in so coldly through the windows, that he thought hehad never seen a church so vast, nor a tomb so melancholy. The regularsobs of Blanche de Malétroit measured out the time like the ticking of aclock. He read the device upon the shield over and over again, until hiseyes became obscured; he stared into shadowy corners until he imaginedthey were swarming with horrible animals; and every now and again heawoke with a start, to remember that his last two hours were running, and death was on the march. 

Oftener and oftener, as the time went on, did his glance settle on thegirl herself. Her face was bowed forward and covered with her hands, andshe was shaken at intervals by the convulsive hiccough of grief. Eventhus she was not an unpleasant object to dwell upon, so plump and yet sofine, with a warm brown skin, and the most beautiful hair, Denisthought, in the whole world of womankind. Her hands were like heruncle's: but they were more in place at the end of her young arms, andlooked infinitely soft and caressing. He remembered how her blue eyeshad shone upon him, full of anger, pity, and innocence. And the more hedwelt on her perfections, the uglier death looked, and the more deeplywas he smitten with penitence at her continued tears. Now he felt thatno man could have the courage to leave a world which contained sobeautiful a creature; and now he would have given forty minutes of hislast hour to have unsaid his cruel speech. 

Suddenly a hoarse and ragged peal of cockcrow rose to their ears fromthe dark valley below the windows. And this shattering noise in thesilence of all around was like a light in a dark place, and shook themboth out of their reflections. 

"Alas, can I do nothing to help you?" she said, looking up. 

"Madam, " replied Denis, with a fine irrelevancy, "if I have saidanything to wound you, believe me, it was for your own sake and not formine. "

She thanked him with a tearful look. 

"I feel your position cruelly, " he went on. "The world has been bitterhard on you. Your uncle is a disgrace to mankind. Believe me, madam, there is no young gentleman in all France but would be glad of myopportunity, to die in doing you a momentary service. "

"I know already that you can be very brave and generous, " she answered. "What I _want_ to know is whether I can serve you--now or afterward, "she added, with a quaver. 

"Most certainly, " he answered, with a smile. "Let me sit beside you asif I were a friend, instead of a foolish intruder; try to forget howawkwardly we are placed to one another; make my last moments gopleasantly; and you will do me the chief service possible. "

"You are very gallant, " she added, with a yet deeper sadness--"verygallant--and it somehow pains me. But draw nearer, if you please; andif you find anything to say to me, you will at least make certain of avery friendly listener. Ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu, " she broke forth--"ah!Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I look you in the face?" And she fell toweeping again with a renewed effusion. 

"Madam, " said Denis, taking her hand in both of his, "reflect on thelittle time I have before me, and the great bitterness into which I amcast by the sight of your distress. Spare me, in my last moments, thespectacle of what I cannot cure even with the sacrifice of my life. "

"I am very selfish, " answered Blanche. "I will be braver, Monsieur deBeaulieu, for your sake. But think if I can do you no kindness in thefuture--if you have no friends to whom I could carry your adieux. Chargeme as heavily as you can; every burden will lighten, by so little, theinvaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it in my power to do something morefor you than weep. "

"My mother is married again, and has a young family to care for. Mybrother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; and if I am not in error, thatwill content him amply for my death. Life is a little vapor that passethaway, as we are told by those in holy orders. When a man is in a fairway and sees all life open in front of him, he seems to himself to makea very important figure in the world. His horse whinnies to him; thetrumpets blow and the girls look out of window as he rides into townbefore his company; he receives many assurances of trust andregard--sometimes by express in a letter--sometimes face to face, withpersons of great consequence falling on his neck. It is not wonderful ifhis head is turned for a time. But once he is dead, were he as brave asHercules or as wise as Solomon, he is soon forgotten. It is not tenyears since my father fell, with many other knights around him, in avery fierce encounter, and I do not think that any one of them, nor somuch as the name of the fight, is now remembered. No, no, madam, thenearer you come to it, you see that death is a dark and dusty corner, where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shut after him till thejudgment day. I have few friends just now, and once I am dead I shallhave none. "

"Ah, Monsieur de Beaulieu!" she exclaimed, "you forget Blanche deMalétroit. "

"You have a sweet nature, madam, and you are pleased to estimate alittle service far beyond its worth. "

"It is not that, " she answered. "You mistake me if you think I am easilytouched by my own concerns. I say so because you are the noblest man Ihave ever met; because I recognize in you a spirit that would have madeeven a common person famous in the land. "

"And yet here I die in a mousetrap--with no more noise about it than myown squeaking, " answered he. 

A look of pain crossed her face and she was silent for a little while. Then a light came into her eyes, and with a smile she spoke again. 

"I cannot have my champion think meanly of himself. Anyone who gives hislife for another will be met in Paradise by all the heralds and angelsof the Lord God. And you have no such cause to hang your head. For--Pray, do you think me beautiful?" she asked, with a deep flush. 

"Indeed, madam, I do, " he said. 

"I am glad of that, " she answered heartily. "Do you think there are manymen in France who have been asked in marriage by a beautifulmaiden--with her own lips--and who have refused her to her face? I knowyou men would half despise such a triumph; but believe me, we women knowmore of what is precious in love. There is nothing that should set aperson higher in his own esteem; and we women would prize nothing moredearly. "

"You are very good, " he said; "but you cannot make me forget that I wasasked in pity and not for love. "

"I am not so sure of that, " she replied, holding down her head. "Hear meto an end, Monsieur de Beaulieu. I know how you must despise me; I feelyou are right to do so; I am too poor a creature to occupy one thoughtof your mind, although, alas! you must die for me this morning. But whenI asked you to marry me, indeed, and indeed, it was because I respectedand admired you, and loved you with my whole soul, from the very momentthat you took my part against my uncle. If you had seen yourself, andhow noble you looked, you would pity rather than despise me. And now, "she went on, hurriedly checking him with her hand, "although I have laidaside all reserve and told you so much, remember that I know yoursentiments toward me already. I would not, believe me, being nobly born, weary you with importunities into consent. I too have a pride of my own:and I declare before the holy mother of God, if you should now go backfrom your word already given, I would no more marry you than I wouldmarry my uncle's groom. "

Denis smiled a little bitterly. 

"It is a small love, " he said, "that shies at a little pride. "

She made no answer, although she probably had her own thoughts. 

"Come hither to the window, " he said with a sigh. "Here is the dawn. "

And indeed the dawn was already beginning. The hollow of the sky wasfull of essential daylight, colorless and clean; and the valleyunderneath was flooded with a gray reflection. A few thin vapors clungin the coves of the forest or lay along the winding course of the river. The scene disengaged a surprising effect of stillness, which was hardlyinterrupted when the cocks began once more to crow among the steadings. Perhaps the same fellow who had made so horrid a clangor in the darknessnot half an hour before, now sent up the merriest cheer to greet thecoming day. A little wind went bustling and eddying among the tree-topsunderneath the windows. And still the daylight kept flooding insensiblyout of the east, which was soon to grow incandescent and cast up thatred-hot cannon-ball, the rising sun. 

Denis looked out over all this with a bit of a shiver. He had taken herhand, and retained it in his almost unconsciously. 

"Has the day begun already?" she said; and then illogically enough: "thenight has been so long! Alas! what shall we say to my uncle when hereturns?"

"What you will, " said Denis, and he pressed her fingers in his. 

She was silent. 

"Blanche, " he said, with a swift, uncertain, passionate utterance, "youhave seen whether I fear death. You must know well enough that I wouldas gladly leap out of that window into the empty air as to lay a fingeron you without your free and full consent. But if you care for me at alldo not let me lose my life in a misapprehension; for I love you betterthan the whole world; and though I will die for you blithely, it wouldbe like all the joys of Paradise to live on and spend my life in yourservice. "

As he stopped speaking, a bell began to ring loudly in the interior ofthe house; and a clatter of armor in the corridor showed that theretainers were returning to their post, and the two hours were at anend. 

"After all that you have heard?" she whispered, leaning toward him withher lips and eyes. 

"I have heard nothing, " he replied. 

"The captain's name was Florimond de Champdivers, " she said in his ear. 

"I did not hear it, " he answered, taking her supple body in his arms, and covering her wet face with kisses. 

A melodious chirping was audible behind, followed by a beautifulchuckle, and the voice of Messire de Malétroit wished his new nephew agood morning. 

MARKHEIM

"Yes, " said the dealer, "our windfalls are of various kinds. Somecustomers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superiorknowledge. Some are dishonest, " and here he held up the candle, so thatthe light fell strongly on his visitor, "and in that case, " hecontinued, "I profit by my virtue. "

Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyeshad not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in theshop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside. 

The dealer chuckled. "You come to me on Christmas Day, " he resumed, "when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my shutters, and makea point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for that; youwill have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be balancing mybooks; you will have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I remarkin you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discretion, and ask noawkward questions; but when a customer cannot look me in the eye, he hasto pay for it. " The dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing to hisusual business voice, though still with a note of irony, "You can give, as usual, a clear account of how you came into the possession of theobject?" he continued. "Still your uncle's cabinet? A remarkablecollector, sir!"

And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tiptoe, looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head withevery mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of infinitepity, and a touch of horror. 

"This time, " said he, "you are in error. I have not come to sell, but tobuy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle's cabinet is bare to thewainscot; even were it still intact, I have done well on the StockExchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and my errandto-day is simplicity itself. I seek a Christmas present for a lady, " hecontinued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech he hadprepared; "and certainly I owe you every excuse for thus disturbing youupon so small a matter. But the thing was neglected yesterday; I mustproduce my little compliment at dinner; and, as you very well know, arich marriage is not a thing to be neglected. "

There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh thisstatement incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the curiouslumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a nearthoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence. 

"Well, sir, " said the dealer, "be it so. You are an old customer afterall; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, far beit from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady, now, " hewent on, "this hand glass--fifteenth century, warranted; comes from agood collection, too; but I reserve the name, in the interests of mycustomer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and soleheir of a remarkable collector. "

The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, hadstooped to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, ashock had passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, asudden leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. It passed asswiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling of thehand that now received the glass. 

"A glass, " he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it moreclearly. "A glass? For Christmas? Surely not. "

"And why not?" cried the dealer. "Why not a glass?"

Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. "You askme why not?" he said. "Why, look here--look in it--look at yourself! Doyou like to see it? No! nor I--nor any man. "

The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenly confrontedhim with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing worse onhand, he chuckled. "Your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard favored, "said he. 

"I ask you, " said Markheim, "for a Christmas present, and you give methis--this damned reminder of years and sins and follies--thishand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your mind? Tellme. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself. Ihazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable man?"

The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, Markheimdid not appear to be laughing; there was something in his face like aneager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth. 

"What are you driving at?" the dealer asked. 

"Not charitable?" returned the other, gloomily. "Not charitable; notpious; not scrupulous; unloving; unbeloved; a hand to get money, a safeto keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that all?"

"I will tell you what it is, " began the dealer, with some sharpness, andthen broke off again into a chuckle. "But I see this is a love match ofyours, and you have been drinking the lady's health. "

"Ah!" cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity. "Ah, have you been inlove? Tell me about that. "

"I!" cried the dealer. "I in love! I never had the time, nor have I thetime to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?"

"Where is the hurry?" returned Markheim. "It is very pleasant to standhere talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would not hurryaway from any pleasure--no, not even from so mild a one as this. Weshould rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at acliff's edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it--a cliff amile high--high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature ofhumanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of eachother; why should we wear this mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows, we might become friends?"

"I have just one word to say to you, " said the dealer. "Either make yourpurchase, or walk out of my shop. "

"True, true, " said Markheim. "Enough fooling. To business. Show mesomething else. "

The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon theshelf, his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. Markheimmoved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his greatcoat; hedrew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same time many differentemotions were depicted together on his face--terror, horror, andresolve, fascination, and a physical repulsion; and through a haggardlift of his upper lip, his teeth looked out. 

"This, perhaps, may suit, " observed the dealer; and then, as he began tore-arise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. The long, skewer-like dagger flashed and fell. The dealer struggled like a hen, striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor in aheap. 

Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and slowas was becoming to their great age, others garrulous and hurried. Allthese told out the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings. Then thepassage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in uponthese smaller voices and startled Markheim into the consciousness of hissurroundings. He looked about him awfully. The candle stood on thecounter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; and by thatinconsiderable movement, the whole room was filled with noiseless bustleand kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows nodding, the gross blotsof darkness swelling and dwindling as with respiration, the faces of theportraits and the china gods changing and wavering like images in water. The inner door stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of shadows witha long slit of daylight like a pointing finger. 

From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eyes returned to the bodyof his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, incredibly smalland strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, miserly clothes, inthat ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much sawdust. Markheimhad feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. And yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood began to find eloquentvoices. There it must lie; there was none to work the cunning hinges ordirect the miracle of locomotion--there it must lie till it was found. Found! aye, and then? Then would this dead flesh lift up a cry thatwould ring over England, and fill the world with the echoes of pursuit. Ay, dead or not, this was still the enemy. "Time was that when thebrains were out, " he thought; and the first word struck into his mind. Time, now that the deed was accomplished--time, which had closed for thevictim, had become instant and momentous for the slayer. 

The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, withevery variety of pace and voice--one deep as the bell from a cathedralturret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz--theclocks began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon. 

The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber staggeredhim. He began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the candle, beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chancereflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home designs, some fromVenice or Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it werean army of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the sound ofhis own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding quiet. Andstill as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him, with asickening iteration, of the thousand faults of his design. He shouldhave chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; heshould not have used a knife; he should have been more cautious, andonly bound and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should havebeen more bold, and killed the servant also; he should have done allthings otherwise; poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the mindto change what was unchangeable, to plan what was now useless, to be thearchitect of the irrevocable past. Meanwhile, and behind all thisactivity, brute terrors, like the scurrying of rats in a desertedattic, filled the more remote chambers of his brain with riot; the handof the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his nerves wouldjerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in galloping defile, the dock, the prison, the gallows, and the black coffin. Terror of the people inthe street sat down before his mind like a besieging army. It wasimpossible, he thought, but that some rumor of the struggle must havereached their ears and set on edge their curiosity; and now, in all theneighboring houses, he divined them sitting motionless and with upliftedear--solitary people, condemned to spend Christmas dwelling alone onmemories of the past, and now startlingly recalled from that tenderexercise; happy family parties, struck into silence round the table, themother still with raised finger: every degree and age and humor, butall, by their own hearths, prying and hearkening and weaving the ropethat was to hang him. Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move toosoftly; the clink of the tall Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like abell; and alarmed by the bigness of the ticking, he was tempted to stopthe clocks. And then, again, with a swift transition of his terrors, thevery silence of the place appeared a source of peril, and a thing tostrike and freeze the passer-by; and he would step more boldly, andbustle aloud among the contents of the shop, and imitate, with elaboratebravado, the movements of a busy man at ease in his own house. 

But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while oneportion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled on thebrink of lunacy. One hallucination in particular took a strong hold onhis credulity. The neighbor hearkening with white face beside hiswindow, the passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise on thepavement--these could at worst suspect, they could not know; throughthe brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. Buthere, within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had watched theservant set forth sweethearting, in her poor best, "out for the day"written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; andyet, in the bulk of empty house about him, he could surely hear a stirof delicate footing--he was surely conscious, inexplicably conscious, ofsome presence. Ay, surely; to every room and corner of the house hisimagination followed it; and now it was a faceless thing, and yet hadeyes to see with; and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet againbehold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with cunning and hatred. 

At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door whichstill seemed to repel his eyes. The house was tall, the skylight smalland dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down tothe ground story was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on thethreshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering a shadow?

Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began to beatwith a staff on the shop door, accompanying his blows with shouts andrailleries in which the dealer was continually called upon by name. Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! he layquite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these blows andshoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name, whichwould once have caught his notice above the howling of a storm, hadbecome an empty sound. And presently the jovial gentleman desisted fromhis knocking and departed. 

Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forthfrom this accusing neighborhood, to plunge into a bath of Londonmultitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven of safetyand apparent innocence--his bed. One visitor had come: at any momentanother might follow and be more obstinate. To have done the deed, andyet not to reap the profit, would be too abhorrent a failure. The money, that was now Markheim's concern; and as a means to that, the keys. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow wasstill lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of themind, yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of hisvictim. The human character had quite departed. Like a suit half-stuffedwith bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, on the floor; andyet the thing repelled him. Although so dingy and inconsiderable to theeye, he feared it might have more significance to the touch. He took thebody by the shoulders, and turned it on its back. It was strangely lightand supple, and the limbs, as if they had been broken, fell into theoddest postures. The face was robbed of all expression; but it was aspale as wax, and shockingly smeared with blood about one temple. Thatwas, for Markheim, the one displeasing circumstance. It carried himback, upon the instant, to a certain fair day in a fishers' village: agray day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad singer; and a boygoing to and fro, buried over head in the crowd and divided betweeninterest and fear, until, coming out upon the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen with pictures, dismally designed, garishly colored: Brownrigg with her apprentice; the Mannings with theirmurdered guest; Weare in the death grip of Thurtell; and a score besidesof famous crimes. The thing was as clear as an illusion; he was onceagain that little boy; he was looking once again, and with the samesense of physical revolt, at these vile pictures; he was still stunnedby the thumping of the drums. A bar of that day's music returned uponhis memory; and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, abreath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which he mustinstantly resist and conquer. 

He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from theseconsiderations; looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending hismind to realize the nature and greatness of his crime. So little a whileago that face had moved with every change of sentiment, that pale mouthhad spoken, that body had been all on fire with governable energies; andnow, and by his act, that piece of life had been arrested, as thehorologist, with interjected finger, arrests the beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more remorsefulconsciousness; the same heart which had shuddered before the paintedeffigies of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. At best, he felt agleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all thosefaculties that can make the world a garden of enchantment, one who hadnever lived and who was now dead. But of penitence, no, not a tremor. 

With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found thekeys and advanced toward the open door of the shop. Outside, it hadbegun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof hadbanished silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the housewere haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingledwith the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached the door, heseemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps ofanother foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitatedloosely on the threshold. He threw a ton's weight of resolve upon hismuscles, and drew back the door. 

The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and stairs;on the bright suit of armor posted, halbert in hand, upon the landing;and on the dark wood carvings and framed pictures that hung against theyellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was the beating of the rainthrough all the house that, in Markheim's ears, it began to bedistinguished into many different sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the treadof regiments marching in the distance, the chink of money in thecounting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared tomingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing ofthe water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him tothe verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt bypresences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, heheard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a greateffort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and followedstealthily behind. If he were but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly hewould possess his soul! And then again, and hearkening with ever freshattention, he blessed himself for that unresting sense which held theoutposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. His head turnedcontinually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed starting from theirorbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were half rewarded aswith the tail of something nameless vanishing. The four-and-twenty stepsto the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. 

On that first story the doors stood ajar, three of them like threeambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He could neveragain, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified from men'sobserving eyes; he longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried amongbedclothes, and invisible to all but God. And at that thought hewondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fearthey were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It was not so, atleast, with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their callousand immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence ofhis crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious terror, some scission in the continuity of man's experience, some wilfulillegality of nature. He played a game of skill, depending on the rules, calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, as the defeatedtyrant overthrew the chessboard, should break the mould of theirsuccession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) when thewinter changed the time of its appearance. The like might befallMarkheim: the solid walls might become transparent and reveal his doingslike those of bees in a glass hive; the stout planks might yield underhis foot like quicksands and detain him in their clutch; ay, and therewere soberer accidents that might destroy him: if, for instance, thehouse should fall and imprison him beside the body of his victim; or thehouse next door should fly on fire, and the firemen invade him from allsides. These things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might becalled the hands of God reached forth against sin. But about God himselfhe was at ease; his act was doubtless exceptional, but so were hisexcuses, which God knew; it was there, and not among men, that he feltsure of justice. 

When he got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door behind him, hewas aware of a respite from alarms. The room was quite dismantled, uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing cases and incongruousfurniture; several great pier glasses, in which he beheld himself atvarious angles, like an actor on a stage; many pictures, framed andunframed, standing, with their faces to the wall; a fine Sheratonsideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old bed, with tapestryhangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by great good fortune thelower part of the shutters had been closed, and this concealed him fromthe neighbors. Here, then, Markheim drew in a packing case before thecabinet, and began to search among the keys. It was a long business, forthere were many; and it was irksome, besides; for, after all, theremight be nothing in the cabinet, and time was on the wing. But thecloseness of the occupation sobered him. With the tail of his eye he sawthe door--even glanced at it from time to time directly, like a besiegedcommander pleased to verify the good estate of his defences. But intruth he was at peace. The rain falling in the street sounded naturaland pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the notes of a piano werewakened to the music of a hymn, and the voices of many children took upthe air and words. How stately, how comfortable was the melody! Howfresh the youthful voices! Markheim gave ear to it smilingly, as hesorted out the keys; and his mind was thronged with answerable ideas andimages; church-going children and the pealing of the high organ;children afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on the bramblycommon, kite-flyers in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; and then, atanother cadence of the hymn, back again to church, and the somnolence ofsummer Sundays, and the high, genteel voice of the parson (which hesmiled a little to recall), and the painted Jacobean tombs, and the dimlettering of the Ten Commandments in the chancel. 

And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to hisfeet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, wentover him, and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted thestair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened. Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether the dead man walking, or theofficial ministers of human justice, or some chance witness blindlystumbling in to consign him to the gallows. But when a face was thrustinto the aperture, glanced round the room, looked at him, nodded andsmiled as if in friendly recognition, and then withdrew again, and thedoor closed behind it, his fear broke loose from his control in a hoarsecry. At the sound of this the visitant returned. 

"Did you call me?" he asked pleasantly, and with that he entered theroom and closed the door behind him. 

Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there was afilm upon his sight, but the outlines of the newcomer seemed to changeand waver like those of the idols in the wavering candlelight of theshop: and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought hebore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of living terror, there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing was not of theearth and not of God. 

And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stoodlooking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: "You are lookingfor the money, I believe?" it was in the tones of everyday politeness. 

Markheim made no answer. 

"I should warn you, " resumed the other, "that the maid has left hersweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim befound in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences. "

"You know me?" cried the murderer. 

The visitor smiled. "You have long been a favorite of mine, " he said;"and I have long observed and often sought to help you. "

"What are you?" cried Markheim: "the devil?"

"What I may be, " returned the other, "cannot affect the service Ipropose to render you. "

"It can, " cried Markheim; "it does! Be helped by you? No, never; not byyou! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know me!"

"I know you, " replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity orrather firmness. "I know you to the soul. "

"Know me!" cried Markheim. "Who can do so? My life is but a travesty andslander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. All men do; all menare better than this disguise that grows about and stifles them. You seeeach dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized and muffledin a cloak. If they had their own control--if you could see their faces, they would be altogether different, they would shine out for heroes andsaints! I am worse than most; myself is more overlaid; my excuse isknown to me and God. But, had I the time, I could disclose myself. "

"To me?" inquired the visitant. 

"To you before all, " returned the murderer. "I supposed you wereintelligent. I thought--since you exist--you would prove a reader of theheart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think of it; myacts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants havedragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother--the giantsof circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you not lookwithin? Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? Can you notsee within me the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by anywilful sophistry although too often disregarded? Can you not read me fora thing that surely must be common as humanity--the unwilling sinner?"

"All this is very feelingly expressed, " was the reply, "but it regardsme not. These points of consistency are beyond my province, and I carenot in the least by what compulsion you may have been dragged away, soas you are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; theservant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictures onthe hoardings, but still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it is asif the gallows itself were striding toward you through the Christmasstreets! Shall I help you--I, who know all? Shall I tell you where tofind the money?"

"For what price?" asked Markheim. 

"I offer you the service for a Christmas gift, " returned the other. 

Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph. "No, " said he, "I will take nothing at your hands; if I were dying ofthirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I shouldfind the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothingto commit myself to evil. "

"I have no objection to a death-bed repentance, " observed the visitant. 

"Because you disbelieve their efficacy!" Markheim cried. 

"I do not say so, " returned the other; "but I look on these things froma different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. The manhas lived to serve me, to spread black looks under color of religion, orto sow tares in the wheat field, as you do, in a course of weakcompliance with desire. Now that he draws so near to his deliverance, hecan add but one act of service--to repent, to die smiling, and thus tobuild up in confidence and hope the more timorous of my survivingfollowers. I am not so hard a master. Try me. Accept my help. Pleaseyourself in life as you have done hitherto; please yourself more amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when the night begins to fall andthe curtains to be drawn, I tell you, for your greater comfort, that youwill find it even easy to compound your quarrel with your conscience, and to make a truckling peace with God. I came but now from such adeath-bed, and the room was full of sincere mourners, listening to theman's last words; and when I looked into that face, which had been setas a flint against mercy, I found it smiling with hope. "

"And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?" asked Markheim. "Do youthink I have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, and sin, and, at last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises at the thought. Is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because you find me with redhands that you presume such baseness? and is this crime of murder indeedso impious as to dry up the very springs of good?"

"Murder is to me no special category, " replied the other. "All sins aremurder, even all life is war. I behold your race, like starving marinerson a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of famine and feeding oneach other's lives. I follow sins beyond the moment of their acting; Ifind in all that the last consequence is death; and to my eyes, thepretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking graces on aquestion of a ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such amurderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow sins? I follow virtuesalso; they differ not by the thickness of a nail, they are both scythesfor the reaping angel of Death. Evil, for which I live, consists not inaction but in character. The bad man is dear to me; not the bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them far enough down the hurtlingcataract of the ages, might yet be found more blessed than those of therarest virtues. And it is not because you have killed a dealer, butbecause you are Markheim, that I offered to forward your escape. "

"I will lay my heart open to you, " answered Markheim. "This crime onwhich you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned manylessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have beendriven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bondslave to poverty, driven and scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in thesetemptations; mine was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches--both the powerand a fresh resolve to be myself. I become in all things a free actor inthe world; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands the agents ofgood, this heart at peace. Something comes over me out of the past;something of what I have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the sound of thechurch organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears over noble books, ortalked, an innocent child, with my mother. There lies my life; I havewandered a few years, but now I see once more my city of destination. "

"You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?" remarked thevisitor; "and there, if I mistake not, you have already lost somethousands?"

"Ah, " said Markheim, "but this time I have a sure thing. "

"This time, again, you will lose, " replied the visitor, quietly. 

"Ah, but I keep back the half!" cried Markheim. 

"That also you will lose, " said the other. 

The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. "Well, then, what matter?" heexclaimed. "Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, shall onepart of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to override thebetter? Evil and good run strong in me, hailing me both ways. I do notlove the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime asmurder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knowstheir trials better than myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, Ilove honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth butI love it from my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life, and myvirtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the mind? Notso; good, also, is a spring of acts. "

But the visitant raised his finger. "For six-and-thirty years that youhave been in this world, " said he, "through many changes of fortune andvarieties of humor, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen years agoyou would have started at a theft. Three years back you would haveblenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is there any crueltyor meanness, from which you still recoil?--five years from now I shalldetect you in the fact! Downward, downward lies your way; nor cananything but death avail to stop you. "

"It is true, " Markheim said huskily, "I have in some degree compliedwith evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the mere exerciseof living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of theirsurroundings. "

"I will propound to you one simple question, " said the other; "and asyou answer, I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have grown inmany things more lax; possibly you do right to be so; and at anyaccount, it is the same with all men. But granting that, are you in anyone particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with your ownconduct, or do you go in all things with a looser rein?"

"In any one?" repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. "No, "he added, with despair, "in none! I have gone down in all. "

"Then, " said the visitor, "content yourself with what you are, for youwill never change; and the words of your part on this stage areirrevocably written down. "

Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the visitorwho first broke the silence. "That being so, " he said, "shall I show youthe money?"

"And grace?" cried Markheim. 

"Have you not tried it?" returned the other. "Two or three years ago, did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was not yourvoice the loudest in the hymn?"

"It is true, " said Markheim; "and I see clearly what remains for me byway of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul; my eyes areopened, and I behold myself at last for what I am. "

At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the house;and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal for which hehad been waiting, changed at once in his demeanor. 

"The maid!" he cried. "She has returned, as I forewarned you, and thereis now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, you must say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather seriouscountenance--no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you success! Oncethe girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that hasalready rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last danger inyour path. Thenceforward you have the whole evening--the whole night, ifneedful--to ransack the treasures of the house and to make good yoursafety. This is help that comes to you with the mask of danger. Up!" hecried: "up, friend; your life hangs trembling in the scales: up, andact!"

Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. "If I be condemned to evilacts, " he said, "there is still one door of freedom open--I can ceasefrom action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can yet, byone decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. My love ofgood is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be! But I have still myhatred of evil; and from that, to your galling disappointment, you shallsee that I can draw both energy and courage. "

The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovelychange: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph; and, even asthey brightened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not pause towatch or understand the transformation. He opened the door and wentdownstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past went soberlybefore him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, random as chance-medley--a scene of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewedit, tempted him no longer; but on the farther side he perceived a quiethaven for his bark. He paused in the passage, and looked into the shop, where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was strangely silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood gazing. Andthen the bell once more broke out into impatient clamor. 

He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile. 

"You had better go for the police, " said he: "I have killed yourmaster. "

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

 "An officer and a gentleman. "

His full name was Percival William Williams, but he picked up the othername in a nursery-book, and that was the end of the christened titles. His mother's _ayah_ called him Willie-_Baba_, but as he never paid thefaintest attention to anything that the _ayah_ said, her wisdom did nothelp matters. 

His father was the Colonel of the 195th, and as soon as Wee WillieWinkie was old enough to understand what Military Discipline meant, Colonel Williams put him under it. There was no other way of managingthe child. When he was good for a week, he drew good-conduct pay; andwhen he was bad, he was deprived of his good-conduct stripe. Generallyhe was bad, for India offers so many chances to little six-year-olds ofgoing wrong. 

Children resent familiarity from strangers, and Wee Willie Winkie was avery particular child. Once he accepted an acquaintance, he wasgraciously pleased to thaw. He accepted Brandis, a subaltern of the195th, on sight. Brandis was having tea at the Colonel's, and Wee WillieWinkie entered strong in the possession of a good-conduct badge won fornot chasing the hens round the compound. He regarded Brandis withgravity for at least ten minutes, and then delivered himself of hisopinion. 

"I like you, " said he, slowly, getting off his chair and coming overto Brandis. "I like you. I shall call you Coppy, because of your hair. Do you _mind_ being called Coppy? it is because of ve hair, you know. "

[Illustration: RUDYARD KIPLING]

Here was one of the most embarrassing of Wee Willie Winkie'speculiarities. He would look at a stranger for some time, and then, without warning or explanation, would give him a name. And the namestuck. No regimental penalties could break Wee Willie Winkie of thishabit. He lost his good-conduct badge for christening the Commissioner'swife "Pobs"; but nothing that the Colonel could do made the Stationforego the nickname, and Mrs. Collen remained Mrs. "Pobs" till the endof her stay. So Brandis was christened "Coppy, " and rose, therefore, inthe estimation of the regiment. 

If Wee Willie Winkie took an interest in any one, the fortunate man wasenvied alike by the mess and the rank and file. And in their envy lay nosuspicion of self-interest. "The Colonel's son" was idolized on his ownmerits entirely. Yet Wee Willie Winkie was not lovely. His face waspermanently freckled, as his legs were permanently scratched, and inspite of his mother's almost tearful remonstrances he had insisted uponhaving his long yellow locks cut short in the military fashion. "I wantmy hair like Sergeant Tummil's, " said Wee Willie Winkie, and, his fatherabetting, the sacrifice was accomplished. 

Three weeks after the bestowal of his youthful affections on LieutenantBrandis--henceforward to be called "Coppy" for the sake of brevity--WeeWillie Winkie was destined to behold strange things and far beyond hiscomprehension. 

Coppy returned his liking with interest. Coppy had let him wear for fiverapturous minutes his own big sword--just as tall as Wee Willie Winkie. Coppy had promised him a terrier puppy; and Coppy had permitted him towitness the miraculous operation of shaving. Nay, more--Coppy had saidthat even he, Wee Willie Winkie, would rise in time to the ownership ofa box of shiny knives, a silver soap-box and a silver-handled"sputter-brush, " as Wee Willie Winkie called it. Decidedly, there was noone except his father, who could give or take away good-conduct badgesat pleasure, half so wise, strong, and valiant as Coppy with the Afghanand Egyptian medals on his breast. Why, then, should Coppy be guilty ofthe unmanly weakness of kissing--vehemently kissing--a "big girl, " MissAllardyce to wit? In the course of a morning ride, Wee Willie Winkie hadseen Coppy so doing, and, like the gentleman he was, had promptlywheeled round and cantered back to his groom, lest the groom should alsosee. 

Under ordinary circumstances he would have spoken to his father, but hefelt instinctively that this was a matter on which Coppy ought first tobe consulted. 

"Coppy, " shouted Wee Willie Winkie, reining up outside that subaltern'sbungalow early one morning--"I want to see you, Coppy!"

"Come in, young 'un, " returned Coppy, who was at early breakfast in themidst of his dogs. "What mischief have you been getting into now?"

Wee Willie Winkie had done nothing notoriously bad for three days, andso stood on a pinnacle of virtue. 

"I've been doing nothing bad, " said he, curling himself into a longchair with a studious affectation of the Colonel's languor after a hotparade. He buried his freckled nose in a tea-cup and, with eyes staringroundly over the rim, asked: "I say, Coppy, is it pwoper to kiss biggirls?"

"By Jove! You're beginning early. Who do you want to kiss?"

"No one. My muvver's always kissing me if I don't stop her. If it isn'tpwoper, how was you kissing Major Allardyce's big girl last morning, byve canal?"

Coppy's brow wrinkled. He and Miss Allardyce had with great craftmanaged to keep their engagement secret for a fortnight. There wereurgent and imperative reasons why Major Allardyce should not know howmatters stood for at least another month, and this small marplot haddiscovered a great deal too much. 

"I saw you, " said Wee Willie Winkie, calmly. "But ve groom didn't see. Isaid, '_Hut jao_. '"

"Oh, you had that much sense, you young Rip, " groaned poor Coppy, halfamused and half angry. "And how many people may you have told about it?"

"Only me myself. You didn't tell when I twied to wide ve buffalo ven mypony was lame; and I fought you wouldn't like. "

"Winkie, " said Coppy, enthusiastically, shaking the small hand, "you'rethe best of good fellows. Look here, you can't understand all thesethings. One of these days--hang it, how can I make you see it!--I'mgoing to marry Miss Allardyce, and then she'll be Mrs. Coppy, as yousay. If your young mind is so scandalized at the idea of kissing biggirls, go and tell your father. "

"What will happen?" said Wee Willie Winkie, who firmly believed that hisfather was omnipotent. 

"I shall get into trouble, " said Coppy, playing his trump card with anappealing look at the holder of the ace. 

"Ven I won't, " said Wee Willie Winkie, briefly. "But my faver says it'sun-man-ly to be always kissing, and I didn't fink _you'd_ do vat, Coppy. "

"I'm not always kissing, old chap. It's only now and then, and whenyou're bigger you'll do it too. Your father meant it's not good forlittle boys. "

"Ah!" said Wee Willie Winkie, now fully enlightened. "It's like vesputter-brush?"

"Exactly, " said Coppy, gravely. 

"But I don't fink I'll ever want to kiss big girls, nor no one, 'cept mymuvver. And I _must_ vat, you know. "

There was a long pause, broken by Wee Willie Winkie. 

"Are you fond of vis big girl, Coppy?"

"Awfully!" said Coppy. 

"Fonder van you are of Bell or ve Butcha--or me?"

"It's in a different way, " said Coppy. "You see, one of these days MissAllardyce will belong to me, but you'll grow up and command the Regimentand--all sorts of things. It's quite different, you see. "

"Very well, " said Wee Willie Winkie, rising. "If you're fond of ve biggirl, I won't tell any one. I must go now. "

Coppy rose and escorted his small guest to the door, adding: "You're thebest of little fellows, Winkie. I tell you what. In thirty days from nowyou can tell if you like--tell any one you like. "

Thus the secret of the Brandis-Allardyce engagement was dependent on alittle child's word. Coppy, who knew Wee Willie Winkie's idea of truth, was at ease, for he felt that he would not break promises. Wee WillieWinkie betrayed a special and unusual interest in Miss Allardyce, and, slowly revolving round that embarrassed young lady, was used to regardher gravely with unwinking eye. He was trying to discover why Coppyshould have kissed her. She was not half so nice as his own mother. Onthe other hand, she was Coppy's property, and would in time belong tohim. Therefore it behooved him to treat her with as much respect asCoppy's big sword or shiny pistol. 

The idea that he shared a great secret in common with Coppy kept WeeWillie Winkie unusually virtuous for three weeks. Then the Old Adambroke out, and he made what he called a "campfire" at the bottom of thegarden. How could he have foreseen that the flying sparks would havelighted the Colonel's little hayrick and consumed a week's store for thehorses? Sudden and swift was the punishment--deprivation of thegood-conduct badge and, most sorrowful of all, two days' confinement tobarracks--the house and veranda--coupled with the withdrawal of thelight of his father's countenance. 

He took the sentence like the man he strove to be, drew himself up witha quivering under-lip, saluted, and, once clear of the room, ran to weepbitterly in his nursery--called by him "my quarters. " Coppy came in theafternoon and attempted to console the culprit. 

"I'm under awwest, " said Wee Willie Winkie, mournfully, "and I didn'tought to speak to you. "

Very early the next morning he climbed on to the roof of the house--thatwas not forbidden--and beheld Miss Allardyce going for a ride. 

"Where are you going?" cried Wee Willie Winkie. 

"Across the river, " she answered, and trotted forward. 

Now the cantonment in which the 195th lay was bounded on the north by ariver--dry in the winter. From his earliest years, Wee Willie Winkie hadbeen forbidden to go across the river, and had noted that evenCoppy--the almost almighty Coppy--had never set foot beyond it. WeeWillie Winkie had once been read to, out of a big blue book, the historyof the Princess and the Goblins--a most wonderful tale of a land wherethe Goblins were always warring with the children of men until they weredefeated by one Curdie. Ever since that date it seemed to him that thebare black and purple hills across the river were inhabited by Goblins, and, in truth, every one had said that there lived the Bad Men. Even inhis own house the lower halves of the windows were covered with greenpaper on account of the Bad Men who might, if allowed clear view, fireinto peaceful drawing-rooms and comfortable bedrooms. Certainly, beyondthe river, which was the end of all the Earth, lived the Bad Men. Andhere was Major Allardyce's big girl, Coppy's property, preparing toventure into their borders! What would Coppy say if anything happened toher? If the Goblins ran off with her as they did with Curdie's Princess?She must at all hazards be turned back. 

The house was still. Wee Willie Winkie reflected for a moment on thevery terrible wrath of his father; and then--broke his arrest! It was acrime unspeakable. The low sun threw his shadow, very large and veryblack, on the trim garden-paths, as he went down to the stables andordered his pony. It seemed to him in the hush of the dawn that all thebig world had been bidden to stand still and look at Wee Willie Winkieguilty of mutiny. The drowsy groom handed him his mount, and, since theone great sin made all others insignificant, Wee Willie Winkie said thathe was going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and went out at a foot-pace, stepping on the soft mould of the flower-borders. 

The devastating track of the pony's feet was the last misdeed that cuthim off from all sympathy of Humanity. He turned into the road, leanedforward, and rode as fast as the pony could put foot to the ground inthe direction of the river. 

But the liveliest of twelve-two ponies can do little against the longcanter of a Waler. Miss Allardyce was far ahead, had passed through thecrops, beyond the Police-post, when all the guards were asleep, and hermount was scattering the pebbles of the river bed as Wee Willie Winkieleft the cantonment and British India behind him. Bowed forward andstill flogging, Wee Willie Winkie shot into Afghan territory, and couldjust see Miss Allardyce a black speck, flickering across the stonyplain. The reason of her wandering was simple enough. Coppy, in a toneof too-hastily-assumed authority, had told her overnight that she mustnot ride out by the river. And she had gone to prove her own spirit andteach Coppy a lesson. 

Almost at the foot of the inhospitable hills, Wee Willie Winkie saw theWaler blunder and come down heavily. Miss Allardyce struggled clear, buther ankle had been severely twisted, and she could not stand. Havingthus demonstrated her spirit, she wept copiously, and was surprised bythe apparition of a white, wide-eyed child in khaki, on a nearly spentpony. 

"Are you badly, badly hurted?" shouted Wee Willie Winkie, as soon as hewas within range. "You didn't ought to be here. "

"I don't know, " said Miss Allardyce, ruefully, ignoring the reproof. "Good gracious, child, what are _you_ doing here?"

"You said you was going acwoss ve wiver, " panted Wee Willie Winkie, throwing himself off his pony. "And nobody--not even Coppy--must goacwoss ve wiver, and I came after you ever so hard, but you wouldn'tstop, and now you've hurted yourself, and Coppy will be angwy wiv me, and--I've bwoken my awwest! I've bwoken my awwest!"

The future Colonel of the 195th sat down and sobbed. In spite of thepain in her ankle the girl was moved. 

"Have you ridden all the way from cantonments, little man? What for?"

"You belonged to Coppy. Coppy told me so!" wailed Wee Willie Winkie, disconsolately. "I saw him kissing you, and he said he was fonder of youvan Bell or ve Butcha or me. And so I came. You must get up and comeback. You didn't ought to be here. Vis is a bad place, and I've bwokenmy awwest. "

"I can't move, Winkie, " said Miss Allardyce, with a groan. "I've hurt myfoot. What shall I do?"

She showed a readiness to weep afresh, which steadied Wee Willie Winkie, who had been brought up to believe that tears were the depth ofunmanliness. Still, when one is as great a sinner as Wee Willie Winkie, even a man may be permitted to break down. 

"Winkie, " said Miss Allardyce, "when you've rested a little, ride backand tell them to send out something to carry me back in. It hurtsfearfully. "

The child sat still for a little time and Miss Allardyce closed hereyes; the pain was nearly making her faint. She was roused by Wee WillieWinkie tying up the reins on his pony's neck and setting it free with avicious cut of his whip that made it whicker. The little animal headedtoward the cantonments. 

"Oh, Winkie! What are you doing?"

"Hush!" said Wee Willie Winkie. "Vere's a man coming--one of ve Bad Men. I must stay wiv you. My faver says a man must _always_ look after agirl. Jack will go home, and ven vey'll come and look for us. Vat's whyI let him go. "

Not one man but two or three had appeared from behind the rocks of thehills, and the heart of Wee Willie Winkie sank within him, for just inthis manner were the Goblins wont to steal out and vex Curdie's soul. Thus had they played in Curdie's garden, he had seen the picture, andthus had they frightened the Princess's nurse. He heard them talking toeach other, and recognized with joy the bastard Pushto that he hadpicked up from one of his father's grooms lately dismissed. People whospoke that tongue could not be the Bad Men. They were only natives afterall. 

They came up to the boulders on which Miss Allardyce's horse hadblundered. 

Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie, child of the Dominant Race, aged six and three-quarters, and said briefly and emphatically "_Jao!_"The pony had crossed the river-bed. 

The men laughed, and laughter from natives was the one thing Wee WillieWinkie could not tolerate. He asked them what they wanted and why theydid not depart. Other men with most evil faces and crooked-stocked gunscrept out of the shadows of the hills, till, soon, Wee Willie Winkie wasface to face with an audience some twenty strong. Miss Allardycescreamed. 

"Who are you?" said one of the men. 

"I am the Colonel Sahib's son, and my order is that you go at once. Youblack men are frightening the Miss Sahib. One of you must run intocantonments and take the news that Miss Sahib has hurt herself, and thatthe Colonel's son is here with her. "

"Put our feet into the trap?" was the laughing reply. "Hear this boy'sspeech!"

"Say that I sent you--I, the Colonel's son. They will give you money. "

"What is the use of this talk? Take up the child and the girl, and wecan at least ask for the ransom. Ours are the villages on the heights, "said a voice in the background. 

These _were_ the Bad Men--worse than Goblins--and it needed all WeeWillie Winkie's training to prevent him from bursting into tears. But hefelt that to cry before a native, excepting only his mother's _ayah_, would be an infamy greater than any mutiny. Moreover, he as futureColonel of the 195th, had that grim regiment at his back. 

"Are you going to carry us away?" said Wee Willie Winkie, very blanchedand uncomfortable. 

"Yes, my little _Sahib Bahadur_, " said the tallest of the men, "and eatyou afterward. "

"That is child's talk, " said Wee Willie Winkie. "Men do not eat men. "

A yell of laughter interrupted him, but he went on firmly, --"And if youdo carry us away, I tell you that all my regiment will come up in a dayand kill you all without leaving one. Who will take my message to theColonel Sahib?"

Speech in any vernacular--and Wee Willie Winkie had a colloquialacquaintance with three--was easy to the boy who could not yet managehis "r's" and "th's" aright. 

Another man joined the conference, crying: "O foolish men! What thisbabe says is true. He is the heart's heart of those white troops. Forthe sake of peace let them go both, for if he be taken, the regimentwill break loose and gut the valley. _Our_ villages are in the valley, and we shall not escape. That regiment are devils. They broke KhodaYar's breast-bone with kicks when he tried to take the rifles; and if wetouch this child they will fire and rape and plunder for a month, tillnothing remains. Better to send a man back to take the message and get areward. I say that this child is their God, and that they will sparenone of us, nor our women, if we harm him. "

It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed groom of the Colonel, who made thediversion, and an angry and heated discussion followed. Wee WillieWinkie standing over Miss Allardyce, waited the upshot. Surely his"wegiment, " his own "wegiment, " would not desert him if they knew of hisextremity. 

 * * * * *

The riderless pony brought the news to the 195th, though there had beenconsternation in the Colonel's household for an hour before. The littlebeast came in through the parade ground in front of the main barracks, where the men were settling down to play Spoil-five till the afternoon. Devlin, the Color Sergeant of E Company, glanced at the empty saddle andtumbled through the barrack-rooms, kicking up each Room Corporal as hepassed. "Up, ye beggars! There's something happened to the Colonel'sson, " he shouted. 

"He couldn't fall off! S'elp me, 'e _couldn't_ fall off, " blubbered adrummer-boy. "Go an' hunt acrost the river. He's over there if he'sanywhere, an' maybe those Pathans have got 'im. For the love o' Gawddon't look for 'im in the nullahs! Let's go over the river. "

"There's sense in Mott yet, " said Devlin. "E Company, double out to theriver--sharp!"

So E Company, in its shirt-sleeves mainly, doubled for the dear life, and in the rear toiled the perspiring Sergeant, adjuring it to doubleyet faster. The cantonment was alive with the men of the 195th huntingfor Wee Willie Winkie, and the Colonel finally overtook E Company, fartoo exhausted to swear, struggling in the pebbles of the river-bed. 

Up the hill under which Wee Willie Winkie's Bad Men were discussing thewisdom of carrying off the child and the girl, a look-out fired twoshots. 

"What have I said?" shouted Din Mahommed. "There is the warning! The_pulton_ are out already and are coming across the plain! Get away! Letus not be seen with the boy!"

The men waited for an instant, and then, as another shot was fired, withdrew into the hills, silently as they had appeared. 

"The wegiment is coming, " said Wee Willie Winkie, confidently, to MissAllardyce, "and it's all wight. Don't cwy!"

He needed the advice himself, for ten minutes later, when his fathercame up, he was weeping bitterly with his head in Miss Allardyce's lap. 

And the men of the 195th carried him home with shouts and rejoicings;and Coppy, who had ridden a horse into a lather, met him, and, to hisintense disgust, kissed him openly in the presence of the men. 

But there was balm for his dignity. His father assured him that not onlywould the breaking of arrest be condoned, but that the good-conductbadge would be restored as soon as his mother could sew it on hisblouse-sleeve. Miss Allardyce had told the Colonel a story that made himproud of his son. 

"She belonged to you, Coppy, " said Wee Willie Winkie, indicating MissAllardyce with a grimy forefinger. "I _knew_ she didn't ought to goacwoss ve wiver, and I knew ve wegiment would come to me if I sent Jackhome. "

"You're a hero, Winkie, " said Coppy--"a _pukka_ hero!"

"I don't know what vat means, " said Wee Willie Winkie, "but you mustn'tcall me Winkie any no more. I'm Percival Will'am Will'ams. "

And in this manner did Wee Willie Winkie enter into his manhood. 

NOTES

WASHINGTON IRVING

Washington Irving, the son of a Scotch merchant, was born in New York, April 3, 1783. As his health was delicate his education was desultory, and at sixteen he began to study law but without much seriousness. Hespent most of the time in reading, being in this way reallyself-educated. His health continuing a matter of concern, he took manyexcursions up the state to the woods, with much physical benefit. Inmany of the up-state towns he mingled in society to such a degree thathe was in danger of becoming a mere society man. However, all the timehe was doing some writing, a part of which appeared in _The MorningChronicle_ when he was but nineteen. 

In 1804, his health continuing poor, it was decided to send him toEurope. There he stayed nearly two years, visiting France, England, andItaly, being everywhere received by society and meeting the best people, as he was a remarkably agreeable young man. The trip completely restoredhis health. 

On his return to America in 1806, he again plunged into society, giving, however, a hint of his future occupation in _Salmagundi_, a semi-monthlyperiodical of short duration, on the model of _The Spectator_, writtenin conjunction with two of his brothers in 1807-1808. In the meantime hehad been admitted to the bar. In 1809 appeared "The KnickerbockerHistory of New York, " a piece of humor and satire which made him famous. At this time occurred the death of his fiancée, a loss from which henever recovered. At the beginning of the War of 1812 he served for fourmonths on the staff of the Governor of New York. 

In 1815 he went again to Europe, this time on the business of hisbrothers' firm, to which he had been admitted, and he stayed thereseventeen years. The firm failing in 1818, he turned to literature andbegan the publication in 1819 of "The Sketch-Book, " a collection ofsketches and narratives in the manner of _The Spectator_. This bookdefinitely established him as an author, being received both in Americaand in England with delight. Besides being successful financially itgave him an introduction to literary society. "Bracebridge Hall" and"The Tales of a Traveller" appeared soon after, in 1822 and 1824respectively. Irving himself had been for years much of a traveller, both from inclination and from the demands of his health. 

In 1826 Irving went to Spain to write his "Life and Voyages ofColumbus, " which appeared in 1828. This residence in Spain, which lastedtill September, 1829, was a fruitful one, as Spanish subjects appealedto his imagination. Besides the "Columbus, " he wrote "The Conquest ofGranada, " "The Companions of Columbus, " and "The Alhambra. " These bookswere financially profitable in addition to being literary successes. Throughout these years he enjoyed, as usual, the pleasures of charmingsociety. His stay in Spain was terminated by his unexpected appointmentas Secretary of Legation to the Court of St. James. 

Returning to England, he was received with honors, the Royal Society ofLiterature awarding him in 1830 one of the two annual medals and theUniversity of Oxford making him an honorary D. C. L. In 1831 he resignedand the next year returned to America. 

America greeted him with enthusiasm. After an extended tour of the Southand West he settled at Tarrytown, on the Hudson, a few miles north ofNew York, to enjoy the domestic life afforded by numerous relatives, andto do the writing which was more than ever necessary for the support ofthe relatives who had become dependent on him. At Sunnyside, as hisplace was named, he resolutely devoted himself to literary work, afterdeclining several offers of public office. He was a regular contributorto _The Knickerbocker Magazine_ at an annual salary, and he wroteseveral volumes, not now much read, while working on more ambitiousliterary projects. 

In 1842 he received the unexpected and unsolicited honor of appointmentas Minister to Spain. For four years he continued in office, performinghis duties with tact and discretion. In 1846 he returned finally to hishome, where he devoted his last days to a long-contemplated "Life ofWashington, " a task almost beyond his powers. On the 28th of November, 1850, he died, honored as no American man of letters had ever been. 

REFERENCES

BIOGRAPHY:WARNER: Washington Irving. BOYNTON: Washington Irving. 

CRITISCM:HOWELLS: My Literary Passions. THACKERAY: Nil Nisi Bonum (Roundabout Papers). RICHARDSON: American Literature. 

NOTES TO "RIP VAN WINKLE"

This story appeared with four other papers in the first number of "TheSketch-Book, " which was published in America in May, 1819, as the workof one Geoffrey Crayon. 

PAGE 1. DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER: the supposed author of "TheKnickerbocker History of New York. " All this prefatory matter is merelyto carry out the pretence, as do the Note and Postscript at the end. 

2. PETER STUYVESANT: last Dutch governor of New York, born in Holland in1592, died in New York in 1672. A man of short temper and with a woodenleg from the knee. FORT CHRISTINA: built by the Swedes on the DelawareRiver near the present city of Wilmington. There was no fighting. 

15. FEDERAL OR DEMOCRAT: the two political parties after the close ofthe Revolutionary War. TORY: name applied to all followers of the kingduring the war. 

16. STONY POINT: this promontory on the west bank of the Hudson wascaptured by the British, and later recaptured by the Americans underGeneral Anthony Wayne. ANTONY'S NOSE: a bold cliff, in the shape of anose, on the east bank of the river. The name is now usually spelledwith an _h_. 

18. HENDRICK HUDSON: really Henry Hudson, an Englishman in the employ ofthe Dutch East India Company. He was on a voyage to discover anorth-east passage, when he explored the river which bears his name. The_Half Moon_ was the name of his boat. 

EDGAR ALLAN POE

Edgar Allan Poe, the child of poor travelling actors, was born inBoston, January 19, 1809. Left an orphan in his third year, he was takeninto the family of Mr. John Allan of Richmond, who gave him his name. Soon he became a great pet of his foster-parents, who rather spoiledhim. In 1815 the Allans went to England, where the boy was in school atStoke Newington, a suburb of London, till June, 1820, when the familyreturned to Richmond. His education was continued in private schools andby the aid of tutors till he entered the University of Virginia, February 14, 1826. At the University he developed a passion for drinkand gambling, which led Mr. Allan to place him in his own counting-roomat the end of the session in December, though he had done extremely wellin some of his studies. Not liking the irksomeness of this occupation, Poe left to make his own way. 

He first went to Boston, where he succeeded in having some of his versespublished. His resources failing, he enlisted in the United States Army, being assigned to the artillery and serving in different stations, amongthem Fort Moultrie at Charleston, South Carolina. His conduct beingexcellent, he was appointed Sergeant-major in 1829. Shortly afterward hewas reconciled to Mr. Allan, who secured him an appointment to WestPoint. At the Academy he neglected his duty, was court-martialled, andwas dismissed March 7, 1831. 

Poe now settled in Baltimore, where he devoted himself to writing, winning a prize of one hundred dollars for his tale, "A MS. Found in aBottle. " He lived with his aunt, Mrs. Clemm, to whose daughter he becameengaged and whom he married in 1836 in Richmond, where he had gone tobecome an assistant on _The Southern Literary Messenger_. 

His habits and unfortunate disposition made it impossible for him toremain long in one position. After some drifting, he settled inPhiladelphia in 1838, where he did hack work until he became associateeditor of _Burton's Gentleman's Magazine and American Monthly Review_ inJuly, 1839. In 1840 appeared a volume of his tales which attractedfavorable notice. In 1841 he became editor of _Graham's Magazine_, butin this year, too, his wife became a hopeless invalid. Anxiety about herhad doubtless much to do with the subsequent condition of Poe's mind. Inthe next year again he lost his position. At this time he fell intowretched poverty. Then, as always, his aunt gave him the devotion of amother. The fortunate gaining of another hundred-dollar prize, this timefor "The Gold Bug, " helped along together with some work on _Graham's_in a minor capacity. 

New York was his next location, where he was on _The Evening Mirror_. In1845 his "Raven" was published and at once sprang into phenomenal favor. Lecturing, magazine work, and the editing of _The Broadway Journal_occupied the next year. In 1846 he moved to Fordham. There ill-healthand poverty so oppressed him that money had to be raised to take care ofthe family. In 1847 Mrs. Poe died. From this time till his own death, October 7, 1849, his mind, long clouded and affected by his habits, became hopelessly diseased. 

Poe was a genius of great analytical power and imagination, but unstableand morbid. His ability has always received great recognition in Europe, particularly in France, where a translation of his tales appeared in hislifetime. 

REFERENCES

BIOGRAPHY:WOODBERRY: Edgar Allan Poe. HARRISON: The Life and Letters of Edgar Allan Poe. 

CRITICISM:STEDMAN: Poets of America. GATES: Studies and Appreciations. BROWNELL: American Prose Masters. 

NOTES TO "THE GOLD BUG"

This story, which is classed in the group entitled "Stories ofRatiocination" (see Introduction), was first published in _The DollarNewspaper_ of Philadelphia in June, 1843, winning a prize of one hundreddollars. 

PAGE 23. TARANTULA: the bite of this spider was once supposed to cause aform of madness which made the victim dance. Compare the musical term"tarantelle. " HUGUENOT: French Protestant. Many fled to South Carolinafrom persecutions in France. SULLIVAN'S ISLAND: Poe has been criticisedfor his inaccuracies concerning this island. He should have known itwell, as he was stationed at Fort Moultrie in 1828 when a private in theUnited States Artillery. 

24. SWAMMERDAMM: Jan Swammerdam--one final _m_ according to the CenturyDictionary--(1637-1680). A distinguished Dutch naturalist. 

27. SCARABÆUS CAPUT HOMINIS: (Latin) _a man's head beetle_. There is nosuch species known. 

29. SYPHON: Negro dialect for ciphering, a colloquial word for"reckoning in figures. " Poe hardly seems successful in representing thesounds of the speech of Negroes. Not much attention had been paid to thesubject in literature at that time. To-day, since the work of JoelChandler Harris in "Uncle Remus" and of Thomas Nelson Page in "In OleVirginia, " we rather look down on these early crude attempts. NOOVERS:Negro dialect for manoeuvres in the sense of movements. 

32. EMPRESSEMENT: (French) _eagerness_. 

44. CURVETS AND CARACOLES: the prancing and turning of a horse. 

45. VIOLENT HOWLINGS OF THE DOG: it is popularly supposed that a dog, through its extraordinary sense of smell, can indicate the presence ofparts of a human body, though buried. 

48. COUNTER: obsolete term for pieces of money. 

49. SOLUTION OF THIS MOST EXTRAORDINARY RIDDLE: this story exemplifiesPoe's power in such work. He specialized on it in magazines. 

52. LONG BOAT: "The largest and strongest boat belonging to a sailingship. "--_Century Dictionary_. 

54. AQUA REGIA: (Latin) _royal water_. A chemical compound so calledfrom its power of dissolving gold. REGULUS OF COBALT: early chemicalterm referring to the metallic mass of an ore. 

55. CAPTAIN KIDD: William Kidd, about whose early life nothing ispositively known, was commissioned by the Governor of Massachusetts BayColony in 1695 to put down piracy. With a good ship under him, however, he himself turned pirate. On his return he was arrested, sent toEngland, tried, and executed in London in 1701. Some of his buriedtreasure was recovered by the colonial authorities in 1699. 

58. GOLCONDA: a place near Hyderabad, India, noted for its diamonds. CRYPTOGRAPHS: from two Greek words meaning _hidden_ and _write_. Thecommoner term is "cryptogram. "

59. SPANISH MAIN: the ocean near the coast of South America and theadjacent parts of the Caribbean Sea over which the Spaniards exercisedpower. 

67. INSIGNIUM: (Latin) _a sign_. 

NOTES TO "THE PURLOINED LETTER"

This detective story was published in "The Gift" for 1845. 

PAGE 69. NIL SAPIENTIÆ, etc. : (Latin) _Nothing is more hateful to wisdomthan too great acuteness_. C. AUGUSTE DUPIN: clever amateur who solvesthe mysteries which baffle the police. Most writers of detective storiesfollow this example set by Poe. AU TROISIÈME: (French) _on the thirdfloor_. FAUBOURG: (French) section of a city. SAINT GERMAIN: a sectionof Paris on the south bank of the Seine, once the abode of the Frenchnobility. AFFAIR OF THE RUE MORGUE: a reference to the detective story, "The Murders in the Rue Morgue. " THE MURDER OF MARIE ROGÊT: a referenceto another detective story, "THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGÊT. " The writer isplaying the same part as does Dr. Watson in the various Sherlock Holmesstories by Conan Doyle. PREFECT: (French) _chief_. 

71. CANT OF DIPLOMACY: set phrases used in intercourse betweenrepresentatives of governments by which they hint at their meaning. 

73. HÔTEL: (French) _residence_. AU FAIT: (French) _expert_. 

76. MICROSCOPE: since Poe's time the microscope is, in stories, almostan invariable part of a detective's outfit. 

79. ABERNETHY: John Abernethy (1764-1831). A celebrated Londonphysician. 

80. ESCRITOIRE: "A piece of furniture with conveniences for writing, asan opening top or falling front panel, places for inkstand, pens, andstationery, etc. "--_Century Dictionary_. PROCRUSTEAN BED: In Greekmythology, Procrustes (derivatively "the stretcher") was a giant whotied those whom he caught on a bed, making them fit by stretching themout if too short, and by cutting off their limbs if too long. 

82. ROCHE FOUCALD: François La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680). A Frenchmoralist known for his "Maxims" published in 1665. LA BOUGIVE: In theedition of Poe's works prepared by Edmund Clarence Stedman and ProfessorGeorge Edward Woodberry, this name is given as La Bruyère. Jean de LaBruyère (1645-1696) was a French moralist. MACHIAVELLI: NicoloMachiavelli (1469-1527). A celebrated statesman and writer of Florence, Italy, whose book "The Prince" is based on unscrupulous principles. CAMPANELLA: Tomaso Campanella (1568-1639). An Italian writer. 

83. RECHERCHÉ: (French) _far-fetched_. POLITICAL: a rare word, meaning"pertaining to the police. "

84. NON DISTRIBUTIO MEDII: (Latin) _a non-distribution of the middle, orthe undistributed middle_. This is a mistake in reasoning. When thePrefect reasons that all fools are poets, therefore all poets are fools, he has no middle term at all; that is, no class of which poets and foolsare both members. Correct reasoning is represented by this: all men aremortal; John is a man; therefore John is mortal. Between mortal andJohn, two terms, there is a middle term, men, of which both are members. DIFFERENTIAL CALCULUS a higher form of mathematics. PAR EXCELLENCE:(French) _above all_. IL Y A, etc. : (French). _The odds are that everypublic idea, every accepted convention, is a foolish trick, for it issuitable for the greatest number. _ CHAMFORT: Sebastian Roch NicolasChamfort (1741-1794). A French writer of maxims. AMBITUS: (Latin) _agoing around_. Poe means by this example and by those that follow thatmere similarity of two words does not make them of the same meaning. 

85. BRYANT: Jacob Bryant (1715-1804). An English writer on mythology. 

86. INTRIGANT: (French) _intriger_. 

87. VIS INERTIÆ: (Latin) _the force of inertia_, the same as _inertia_, a term of physics which denotes the tendency of a body to remain at restor in motion. 

88. MINISTERIAL HÔTEL: house of the minister or cabinet officer. 

92. FACILIS DESCENSUS AVERNI: a misquotation from Vergil's "Aeneid, "Book VI, line 126. It should be "facilis descensus Averno, " _easy isthe descent to Avernus_. CATALANI: Angelica Catalani (1779-1849). AnItalian singer. MONSTRUM HORRENDUM: (Latin) _a horrible monster_, theepithet applied to the one-eyed giant, Polyphemus, in Vergil's "Aeneid, "Book III, line 658. UN DESSEIN, etc. : (French). _A design so fatal, ifit is not worthy of Atrée, it is worthy of Thyeste_. CRÉBILLON'S"ATRÉE": Prosper Jolyot de Crébillon (1674-1762). A French tragic poet. His play, "Atrée et Thyeste, " bears the date 1707. 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

Nathaniel Hawthorne, or Hathorne, as it was spelled before he changedit, was born in Salem, Massachusetts, July 4, 1804. His family, settledin New England since 1630, had played its part in the activities of theland in various capacities, including the persecution of so-calledwitches. His father, a sea-captain, died on a voyage when the lad wasfour years old. The excessive mourning then in vogue made the widowpractically seclude herself in her room, throwing a consequent gloomover the household and affecting the boy's spirits. From this depressingatmosphere he found relief in an early developed taste for reading. In1818 the family moved to a lonely part of Maine, where in roaming thelonely woods he gained a liking for solitude as well as for nature. Hereturned to Salem in 1819 to prepare for Bowdoin College, which heentered in 1821. After an undistinguished course he went back to hisnative town, whither his mother had also returned. 

In Salem he remained for twelve years, a recluse in a family ofrecluses, devoting himself to reading and writing. In 1828 his firstbook, "Fanshawe, " was published at his own expense. Its failure causedhim to destroy all the copies he could find. Some of the stories whichhe wrote during this period were published in the annuals, thenfashionable, and in _The New England Magazine_, but without making muchimpression. 

This hermit-like existence was healthily broken in 1836 by his becomingthe editor of an obscure magazine, though it was hack work and lastedbut a short time. The anonymity to which he had stubbornly clung wasalso dispelled by one friend, and the publication of his "Twice-ToldTales" was arranged for by another, his classmate, Horatio Bridge. Thesetwo facts made him known and mark the beginning of the disappearance ofhis solitary depression, which was ended by his engagement to SophiaPeabody. 

In January, 1839, he became a weigher and gauger in the Boston CustomHouse, a position which he lost in April, 1841, owing to a change in thepolitical administration. Then for a few months he was a member of theBrook Farm Community, a group of reformers who tried to combineagriculture and education. In the Custom House and at Brook Farm heworked so hard as to have little energy for literature, publishing onlysome children's books. On July 9, 1842, occurred his marriage. 

For the next three years Hawthorne resided in Concord at the Old Manse. In this retired town, where such eminent people as Emerson and Thoreauwere to be met, he lived a very happy, quiet life, given to musing andobservation. But he had lost a considerable sum of money in the BrookFarm experiment, the failure of _The Democratic Review_ preventedpayment for his contributions, and he began to feel the pinch ofpoverty. At this juncture his college mates, Bridge and Pierce, came tothe rescue, and on March 23, 1846, he was appointed surveyor of the portof Salem, that spot in which the Hawthorne family was so firmly rooted, whither he had previously returned with his wife and daughter, Una, bornin Concord in 1844. 

Though happy for a short time at getting into the stir of actual life, the routine and sordidness soon palled and he began to fret in theharness. This mood kept him from composition till he forced fromhimself, in 1848, the last of his short stories, including "The GreatStone Face" and "Ethan Brand. " Despite the effort, the stories rankwell. In 1849 he was dismissed from office by a change of politicaladministration, not because of inefficiency. He took this dismissal hardbecause some of his townspeople had been opposed to him. Again he was inmoney difficulties from which he was released by a donation from hisloyal friends. The leisure thus made possible was devoted to theproduction of his greatest work, a novel, "The Scarlet Letter, " which isa study in the darker side of Puritanism. Its publication in April, 1850, brought him fame. In the same year he moved to the BerkshireHills. 

The year and a half in the hills was thoroughly happy. He had theincentive of success, the tranquillity of mind due to sufficient means, physical comfort, and a loving household now enlarged by the birth of asecond daughter, Rose. During this time he wrote and published (1851)his novel, "The House of the Seven Gables, " the study of an inheritedcurse, made pleasing as a story by means of its realistic portrayal ofordinary life. He also put many of the stories of classical mythologyinto a form understandable by children, publishing the results in "AWonder-Book for Girls and Boys" (1852) and "Tanglewood Tales for Girlsand Boys" (1853). In 1852 appeared "The Snow Image and Other Twice-ToldTales, " containing hitherto uncollected contributions to variousmagazines. 

Believing the Berkshire air rather enervating, Hawthorne moved inNovember, 1851, to a temporary residence in West Newton, where he wrote"The Blithedale Romance, " which was published in 1852. This novel, founded on his Brook Farm experience, is a study of the failure of thetypical reformer. In June, 1852, the family moved to a place of theirown, called "The Wayside" in Concord. Here the ideal family lifecontinued. In the summer he brought out "The Life of Franklin Pierce, "the biography of his old college mate, who was shortly after elected tothe presidency of the United States, and made Hawthorne United StatesConsul at Liverpool in 1853. 

The holding of office was never a congenial occupation to Hawthorne, though he was a good official. It always became irksome and dried up hiscreative power. The consulship was no exception, and when he resigned in1857 he felt much relief. By this time he had obtained a competencewhich afforded him the gratification of paying back the money onceraised for him by his friends. When in England he had seen much of thecountry; now he determined to see more of Europe. The family travelledthrough France to Italy, which they greatly enjoyed, staying there till1859. For some months they had occupied the old villa of Montauto, whereHawthorne composed most of "The Marble Faun. " The illness of Unacompelling them to seek a different climate, they returned to England, where he finished the book, which was published the next year. "TheMarble Faun" is "an analytical study of evil"; but despite the subject, the artistic effects and the interpretation of Italy lend it charm. 

In 1860 the family returned to Concord. Hawthorne's health had beenfailing for some time, and now he became incapable of sustained work. However, in 1863 was published "Our Old Home, " the theme of which iswell expressed by the sub-title "A Series of English Sketches, " whichhad been composed previously. He continued to do some work, and evenpromised a new novel to the press, but he came to realize that he wouldnever finish it. In 1864 he went on a carriage trip with his old friendPierce, during which he peacefully died in his sleep. 

REFERENCES

BIOGRAPHY:WOODBERRY: Nathaniel Hawthorne. JAMES: Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

CRITICISM:HUTTON: Literary Essays. STEPHEN: Hours in a Library. 

NOTES ON "HOWE'S MASQUERADE"

This story was first published in _The Democratic Review_ for May, 1838, and was republished in 1842 in an enlarged edition of "Twice-ToldTales. " It exemplifies the work in which Hawthorne was the pioneer--thatof building a story about a situation. The idea of this particular oneis found in the following entry in "American Note-Books": "A phantom ofthe old royal governors, or some such showy shadowy pageant, on thenight of the evacuation of Boston by the British. " Hawthorne wasaccustomed to jot down in his note-books hints for stories which oftencan be traced in his developed writings. 

In "Howe's Masquerade" can be clearly seen the fact that he had notmastered the method of writing the short-story as we have it to-day. There is too much introduction and too much conclusion. He takes toolong to get the story into motion, and he spoils the effect by tackingto the end a moral. These mistakes or crudities Poe did not make;however, each writer contributed to the development of the short-storysome element of value, as has been pointed out in the Introduction. 

This story is one of "The Legends of the Province House, " stories joinedtogether by the scheme of having an old inhabitant tell them to somevisitor. Such machinery with its prologues and end-links, more or lesselaborate, has been often used, as is seen in Chaucer's "CanterburyTales" and in Longfellow's "Tales of a Wayside Inn. " The taste for thismethod has largely passed, though it has been recently revived byAlfred Noyes in "The Tales of the Mermaid Tavern. "

PAGE 93. WASHINGTON STREET: the scene is laid in Boston. OLD PROVINCEHOUSE: the term Province House is used somewhat in the same sense asState House. The building was erected when Massachusetts was a provinceand served as the headquarters and dwelling of the royal governor. Hawthorne represents it as having descended to the condition of an innor inferior hotel, the most important part of which was the bar for thesale of liquor. 

94. LADY OF POWNALL: the wife of Thomas Pownall, a royal governor ofMassachusetts Bay Colony. BERNARD: Sir Thomas Bernard, another royalgovernor. 

98. STEELED KNIGHTS OF THE CONQUEST: persons dressed as cavalrymen insteel armor of 1066, when William the Conqueror became King of England. PARTY-COLORED MERRY ANDREW: an old term for a clown dressed in garmentshaving several colors. FALSTAFF: an important character in several ofShakespeare's plays. He is always represented as fat and ridiculous. DONQUIXOTE: the chief character of the celebrated Spanish satire "DonQuixote" (1605) by Cervantes. Don Quixote is a simple-minded man, whosehead has been turned by reading the extravagant romances of chivalrythen current, in which knights ride forth to redress wrongs. He feelshimself called to such a mission and, armed with various ridiculousmakeshifts and accompanied by a humorous squire, Sancho Panza, whosesayings have achieved an immortality nearly equal to his master'sdoings, he sallies out upon a course of adventures, which caused theworld to laugh the dying remnants of false chivalry into its grave. COLONEL JOLIFFE: an imaginary character. WHIG PRINCIPLES: the peoplebelonging to the patriotic party in the colonies were called Whigs. 

99. REV. MATHER BYLES: an actual person (1706-1788). He was imprisonedin 1777 as a Tory; that is, as an adherent of the king. WIG AND BAND:Protestant clergymen of that day wore wigs and a strip of linen, calleda band, placed about the neck with the ends hanging down in front. 

102. REGICIDE JUDGES: in the first part of the seventeenth century thepeople of England became dissatisfied with their king, Charles I, because of his illegal acts. They revolted, captured the king, put himon trial, and executed him, January 30, 1649. The judges are calledregicide, because they tried and condemned a king. The royal party spokeof him as a martyr to the cause. 

110. WHEN THE TRUTH-TELLING ACCENTS, etc. : Hawthorne has tried in thislast paragraph to emphasize the contrast between the rather sordid realand the imaginary. He is entirely too successful, because he spoils theeffect of the story--something for which Poe strove with such singlenessof purpose as to permit of no such ending. 

NOTES TO "THE BIRTHMARK"

This story was first published in the March, 1843, number of _ThePioneer_, a magazine edited by James Russell Lowell, and was republishedin "Mosses from an Old Manse" in 1846. It belongs to the "moralphilosophic" group of Hawthorne's writings (see Introduction). 

PAGE 112. NATURAL PHILOSOPHY: an old term for physics. SPIRITUALAFFINITY: in chemistry certain elements show a tendency to combine withothers, so an attraction of one human spirit for another, leadinggenerally to marriage, is often called a spiritual affinity. 

114. EVE OF POWERS: Hiram Powers (1805-1873). An American sculptor whosestatue of Eve is one of his noted works. 

118. PYGMALION: in Greek mythology a sculptor who made such a beautifulstatue of a woman that he fell in love with it, whereupon in answer tohis prayer the goddess Aphrodite gave it life. 

121. OPTICAL PHENOMENA: sights which cheat the eye into believing themreal. 

122. CORROSIVE ACID: a powerful chemical which eats away substance. DYNASTY OF THE ALCHEMISTS: the succession of the early investigators ofchemistry who spent most of their energy in seeking what was called the"universal solvent" which would turn every substance into gold. Thesemen were sometimes legitimate investigators, but often cheats who mademoney out of foolish people. At one time they became so numerous inLondon that laws were passed against them, but it took Jonson's play"The Alchemist" to laugh away their hold. 

123. ELIXIR VITÆ: (Arabic, _el iksir_, plus Latin, _vitæ_) literally, _the philosopher's stone of life_. Another fad of the alchemists. 

125. ALBERTUS MAGNUS: "Albert the Great" (1193-1280), a member of theDominican order of monks. CORNELIUS AGRIPPA: (1486-1535) a student ofmagic. PARACELSUS: Philippus Aureolus Paracelsus (1493-1541), aphysician and alchemist. FRIAR WHO CREATED THE PROPHETIC BRAZEN HEAD:the legendary "Famous History of Friar Bacon" records the constructionof such a thing. TRANSACTIONS OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY: the volumescontaining the discussions of the Royal Society and also the papers readbefore it. This association was founded about 1660 for the advancementof science. 

BRET HARTE

Francis Bret Harte, or as he later called himself Bret Harte, was bornin Albany, New York, August 25, 1836. He came of mixed English, Dutch, and Hebrew stock. The family led a wandering life, full of privations, till the death of the father, a schoolmaster, in 1845. In 1853 the widowmoved to California, where she married Colonel Andrew Williams. Thitherthe son followed her in 1854. 

As tutor, express messenger, printer, drug clerk, miner, and editor hespent the three years till 1857, when he settled in San Francisco, wherehe became a printer in the office of _The Golden Era_. Soon he began tocontribute articles to the paper, and was promoted to the editorialroom. In 1862 he married Miss Anna Griswold, and in 1864 he wasappointed secretary of the California mint. He continued writing, and inthe same year was engaged on a weekly, _The Californian_. In 1867 thefirst collection of his poems was published under the title of "The LostGalleon and Other Tales. " When _The Overland Monthly_ was founded in thenext year Bret Harte became its first editor. To its second number hecontributed "Luck of Roaring Camp. " Though received with much questionin California, it met a most enthusiastic reception in the East, thecolumns of _The Atlantic Monthly_ being thrown open to him. This successhe followed six months later by another, "The Outcasts of Poker Flat. "His next great success was the poem "Plain Language from TruthfulJames, " which was in the September, 1870, number of the magazine. Itmade him famous though he attached little importance to it. In this yearhe was made Professor of Recent Literature in the University ofCalifornia. 

Debt, friction with the new owner of _The Overland_, and a growing lackof sympathy with the late settlers, caused Bret Harte to leaveCalifornia in 1871. He came East and devoted himself entirely towriting, his work being published for one year altogether in _TheAtlantic Monthly_. But his ever recurring financial difficultiesbecoming acute, he did some lecturing in addition. In 1876 appeared hisonly novel, "Gabriel Conroy, " which was not a success. His moneydifficulties continuing, his friends came to the rescue and secured hisappointment as United States Consul at Crefeld, Germany. Leaving hiswife, whom he never saw again, he sailed in 1878. At this post hecontinued for two years, his life being varied by a lecture tour inEngland. In 1880 he was transferred to the more lucrative consulship atGlasgow. 

In Glasgow he remained for five years, writing, meeting some eminentwriters, and visiting different parts of the country. In 1885, a newPresident having taken office, he was superseded in his consulship. Hethen settled in London, devoting himself to writing with only anoccasional trip away, once as far as Switzerland. In 1901 he died. 

REFERENCES

BIOGRAPHY:MERWIN: The Life of Bret Harte. PEMBERTON: Life of Bret Harte. 

CRITICISM:WOODBERRY: America in Literature. 

NOTES TO "THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT"

This story was first published in _The Overland Monthly_ of SanFrancisco in 1869. 

PAGE 134. POKER FLAT: an actual place in Sierra County, California. Thename is typical of a large class of western geographic names bestowed byrough uneducated men when the West was new. MORAL ATMOSPHERE: thesewestern mining towns in 1850 in a region which had just become a part ofthe United States as a result of the War with Mexico, were largelyunorganized and without regularly constituted government. The badelement did as it pleased until the better people got tired. Then a"vigilance committee" would be organized, which would either drive outthe undesirables, as in this story, or would execute the entire lot. 

135. SLUICE ROBBER: one way of separating gold from the gravel and sandin which it is found is to put the mixture into a slanting trough, called a sluice, through which water is run. As these sluices weresometimes of considerable length, it was not a difficult matter for aman to rob one. 

136. PARTHIAN: the Parthians inhabited a part of ancient Persia. It wastheir custom when retreating to continue to shoot arrows at their enemy. 

142. COVENANTER: one of that body of Scotchmen who had bound themselvesby a solemn covenant or agreement in the seventeenth century to upholdthe Presbyterian faith. This act required force of character, since itwas in defiance of King Charles I, and this force was shown in the vigorof their hymns. 

144. ILIAD: the ancient Greek epic poem, ascribed to Homer, which tellsthe story of the war of the Greeks against Troy. ALEXANDER POPE(1688-1744), an English poet, who rather freely translated the poem. 

147. DERRINGER: a pistol, so called from the name of the inventor. 

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson, the son of a man of some means, was bornin Edinburgh, November 30, 1850. The _Louis_ form of his second name wasmerely a caprice in spelling adopted by the boy, and never altered thepronunciation of the original by his family. An only child, afflictedwith poor health, he was an object of solicitude, notably to his nurse, Alison Cunningham, to whose loving devotion the world owes an unpayabledebt. Stevenson's appreciation of her faithful ministrations isbeautifully voiced in the dedication of his "A Child's Garden of Verses"(1885). After some schooling, made more or less desultory by ill-health, he attended Edinburgh University. The family profession was lighthouseengineering, and though he gave it enough attention to receive a medalfor a suggested improvement on a lighthouse lamp, his heart was not inengineering, so he compromised with his father on law. He was called tothe Scottish bar and rode on circuit with the court, but, becomingmaster of his destiny, he abandoned law for literature. 

Literature was the serious purpose of his life and to it he gave anardor of industry which is amazing. He worked at the mastery of itstechnique for years, till he gained that felicity of expression whichhas made his writings classical. His earliest publications were essays, often inspired by his trips abroad in search of health. On one of thesein France in 1876 he met his future wife, Mrs. Osbourne, an American. Other such trips are recorded in "An Inland Voyage" (1878) and in"Travels with a Donkey" (1879). In 1879 he came to America, travellingin a rough way to California, an experience made use of in his book "AnAmateur Emigrant. " As a consequence of this trip, he fell desperatelyill in San Francisco, where he was nursed by Mrs. Osbourne, whom hemarried in 1880. His convalescence in an abandoned mining camp isrecorded in "The Silverado Squatters" (1883). Returning to Scotland, they found the climate impossible for his weak lungs, consequently theytried various places on the Continent. Throughout his ill-health heheroically kept at work, publishing from time to time books of essaysand short-stories, such as "Virginibus Puerisque" (1881) and "NewArabian Nights" (1882), parts of which had already appeared inmagazines, and in 1883 his first popular success, "Treasure Island. "

In 1887 his father died and in the next year he came again to America, sojourning at various places, among them Saranac Lake, and then voyagingin a sailing vessel, _The Casco_, in the Pacific. It was not hisill-health alone that kept him on the move, but an adventurous spirit aswell. Finally the family settled at Apia, Samoa, the climate of which hefound remarkably salubrious. There he could work even physically withoutthe long spells of illness to which he had been accustomed all his life. He was able to take an intense interest in the unhappy politics of theislands, endeavoring to alleviate the unfortunate condition of thenatives, who passionately returned his interest. They built for him tohis house a road to which they gave the significant name of "The Road ofthe Loving Heart, " and they celebrated his story-telling gift by thename "Tusitala, " the teller of tales. His efforts for Samoa resulted ina book entitled "A Foot Note to History" (1893), which showed thetroubled condition of the islands. In this place, ruling over a largeretinue of servants like a Scottish chieftain over his clan, he livedfor three years, turning out much work and producing half of that mostwonderful novel, "Weir of Hermiston, " which bid fair to be his greatestachievement. Death came suddenly in 1894 from the bursting of a bloodvessel in the brain, thus cheating his lifelong enemy, tuberculosis. Besides "Weir, " he left almost completed another novel, "St. Ives, "which was concluded by Quiller-Couch and published in 1898. 

On a high peak of Vaea he lies beneath a stone bearing the epitaphwritten by himself:

 "Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: _Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill_. "

REFERENCES

BIOGRAPHY:BALFOUR: Life of Robert Louis Stevenson. RALEIGH: R. L. Stevenson. 

CRITICISM:GENUNG: Stevenson's Attitude toward Life. PHELPS: Modern Novelists. 

NOTES ON "THE SIRE DE MALÉTROIT'S DOOR"

This story of dramatic interest, which contains, moreover, muchpsychologic interest, was first published in _Temple Bar_, January, 1878, and reprinted in the volume "New Arabian Nights" in 1882. 

PAGE 148. SIRE: obsolete French for sir. BURGUNDY: a section of easternFrance bordering on the river Rhone. The Count of Burgundy by a treatywith the English recognized the claim of the English king, Henry VI, tothe throne of France. Their troops at the time of the story wereendeavoring to establish this claim by force of arms. Joan of Arcfigures in this war. SAFE-CONDUCT: a passport. As Denis had one, he musthave come from the French forces and consequently was among enemies. 

149. CHATEAU LANDON: an ancient town southeast of Paris. 

150. BOURGES: a city in the Department of Cher, west of Burgundy. 

154. RUSHES: In those days the floors of rooms were covered with rushesinto which people were accustomed to throw refuse. Cleaning was done byremoving the old rushes and putting a fresh supply in their place. 

155. LEONARDO: Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519), a famous Italian painterwho did much portraiture, particularly of women. One of his best-knownworks is the "Mona Lisa. "

156. DAMOISEAU: obsolete French word denoting rank. 

163. SALLE: (French) _hall_. 

164. CHARLEMAGNE: the French form of _Charles the Great_ (742-814), agreat king of the Franks and Emperor of the Romans. 

169. HERCULES: a great personage in Greek mythology, famous for hisstrength. SOLOMON: king of Israel, 993-953 B. C. , noted for his wisdom. 

NOTES ON "MARKHEIM"

This psychological study was written in 1884 and published in _Unwin'sAnnual_ for 1885. 

PAGE 179. "TIME WAS THAT WHEN THE BRAINS WERE OUT": a misquotation fromShakespeare's "Macbeth, " Act III, scene iv, lines 78-79. In full thismost apposite reference runs:

 "The times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. "

180. BOHEMIAN GOBLETS: drinking glasses of glass made in Bohemia, themost northern portion of the Empire of Austria-Hungary. Its glassware isfamous. 

182. BROWNRIGG: Elizabeth Brownrigg, a notorious English murderess ofthe eighteenth century. Pictures of such persons were common at countryfairs. MANNINGS: other murderers, man and wife. THURTELL: anothermurderer and his victim. 

185. OTHER MURDERERS: compare the agonies of Bill Sykes in "OliverTwist. "

186. SHERATON SIDEBOARD: Thomas Sheraton (1751-1806) was a well-knownEnglish furniture maker. JACOBEANTOMBS: graves of the times of theEnglish kings named James of the seventeenth century. 

187. A FACE WAS THRUST INTO THE APERTURE: This was not a real person butone born of Markheim's troubled mind. The conversation shows the dualnature of man, containing both good and bad, and how a man excuses hiswickedness. The subject was used again by Stevenson in "Dr. Jekyll andMr. Hyde. "

RUDYARD KIPLING

Rudyard Kipling is the son of John Lockwood Kipling, successivelyProfessor in the Bombay School of Art and Curator of the GovernmentMuseum at Lahore, India, and of Alice Macdonald, the daughter of aWesleyan minister. He was born at Bombay, December 30, 1865. His givenname commemorates the meeting-place of his parents, a small lake inStaffordshire. 

In accordance with the custom dictated by the needs of health and ofeducation in the case of white children born in India, he was taken in1871 to England, where he stayed with a relative at Southsea, nearPortsmouth. The experiences of such little exiles from the home circleare feelingly shown in "Baa, Baa, Black-sheep" and in the beginning of"The Light that Failed. " When thirteen he entered The United ServicesCollege, Westward Ho, Bideford, North Devon. Here he stayed from 1878 to1882, taking part in some at least of the happenings so well narrated in"Stalky and Co. " (1899). 

On leaving college in 1882 he went to Lahore, India, where he becamesub-editor of _The Civil and Military Gazette_. In 1887 he joined theeditorial staff of _The Allahabad Pioneer_. To these papers hecontributed many of the poems and short-stories soon collected in thevolumes named "Departmental Ditties" (1886) and "Plain Tales from theHills" (1888). All of these writings come near to actual occurrences, and give a fascinating glimpse of conditions in India. In the same yearof 1888 he published in India six other volumes of tales. 

Leaving India in 1889, he returned to Europe via China, Japan, and theUnited States, sending back to the two papers travel sketches which havesince been collected under the title of "From Sea to Sea" (1899). 

On reaching England he found himself a celebrated man. There he met in1891 Wolcott Balestier, an American, to whom he dedicated "Barrack RoomBallads" (1892) in an introductory poem filled with glowing tribute. Inthe same year he made further journeys to South Africa, Australia, andNew Zealand. 

He married Caroline Balestier in 1892, the year of publication of "TheNaulahka, " which had been written in collaboration with her brother. Thetravelling continued till they settled in Brattleboro, Vermont, wheretheir unique house was named appropriately "The Naulahka. " The fruit ofhis American sojourn was, among other writings, "Captains Courageous"(1897), a story of the Atlantic fishing banks, full of Americanatmosphere and characters. In the meantime, in various periodicals hadappeared short-stories and poems, which were quickly put into books. Oneof the stories is "A Walking Delegate, " which is so wonderfully accuratein the local color of Vermont as to be worthy of special mention. Itforms one of "The Day's Work" group (1898). In it is seen Kipling'spower of observation, which he possesses to such a remarkable degree. Tothis period belong those famous collections, "The Jungle Book" (1894)and "The Second Jungle Book" (1895), containing the beast stories whichseem so plausible, and a book of poems, "The Seven Seas" (1896). 

In 1896 the Kiplings returned to England, taking a house at Rottingdean. While England has remained his permanent home, he has continued to takejourneys. During a trip in 1899 he was seriously ill in New York withpneumonia. While ill, his condition was a constant source of anxiety toall classes of people. He recovered, but his little daughter Josephinedied of the same disease. One cannot fail to note the intimate touchesreminiscent of her in "They, " published in "Traffics and Discoveries"(1904). Another trip, in 1900, was to South Africa, while the Boer Warwas in progress. The results are to be found in many poems and storiesabout the struggle. 

In late years honors have come to him. The Nobel Prize of Literature andan honorary degree from Oxford were both awarded him in 1907. He hastaken some part in politics, but he continues to write, though not soprolifically as before. His more recent books are: "Kim" (1902), a vividpanorama of India; "Puck of Pook's Hill" (1906), and "Rewards andFairies" (1910), realistic reconstructions of English history; "Actionsand Reactions" (1909), a series of stories, among them "An HabitationEnforced, " a rare story of the charm of English country life; and "TheFringes of the Fleet" (1916), relating to the European War. His sonJohn has had the misfortune to be captured in the present war. 

One book, "The Day's Work, " deserves particular mention, as it containssome of his best stories, such as "The Brushwood Boy, " and exhibitsespecially the three cardinal points of his philosophy of life--"Work, ""Don't whine, " and "Don't be afraid. "

REFERENCES

BIOGRAPHY:CLEMENS: A Ken of Kipling. KNOWLES: A Kipling Primer. 

CRITICISM:LE GALLIENNE: Rudyard Kipling, A Criticism. FALLS: Rudyard Kipling, A Critical Study. HOOKER: The Later Work of Rudyard Kipling, North American Review, May, 1911. 

NOTES TO "WEE WILLIE WINKIE"

PAGE 196. WEE WILLIE WINKIE: the name is taken from the Scotch poem ofWilliam Miller (1810-1872). Below is given Whittier's familiar versionof the poem:

 Wee Willie Winkie Runs through the town, Upstairs and downstairs, In his nightgown! Tapping at the window, Crying at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed, For it's now ten o'clock?"

 "Hey, Willie Winkie, Are you coming then? The cat's singing purrie To the sleeping hen; The dog is lying on the floor And doesn't even peep; But here's a wakeful laddie That will not fall asleep. "

 Anything but sleep, you rogue! Glowering like the moon; Rattling in an iron jug With an iron spoon; Rumbling, tumbling all about, Crowing like a cock, Screaming like I don't know what, Waking sleeping folk. 

 "Hey, Willie Winkie, Can't you keep him still? Wriggling off a body's knee Like a very eel; Pulling at the cat's ear, As she drowsy hums; Heigh, Willie Winkie! See! there he comes!"

 Wearied is the mother That has a restless wean, A wee stumpy bairnie, Heard whene'er he's seen-- That has a battle aye with sleep Before he'll close his e'e; But a kiss from off his rosy lips Gives strength anew to me. 

"AN OFFICER, etc. ": this quotation refers to the time when the holdersof military rank also held social position. AYAH: Anglo-Indian for"nurse. " BABA: Oriental title of respect. SUBALTERN: a commissionedofficer of lower rank than captain, _i. E. _ lieutenant. COMPOUND: anenclosure, in the East, for a residence. 

197. COMMISSIONER: a civilian official having charge of a department. STATION: a military post. MESS: a group of officers who eat together, hence the officers. RANK AND FILE: the non-commissioned officers andprivates. 

198. AFGHAN AND EGYPTIAN MEDALS: it is customary for medals to be struckoff in commemoration of campaigns and for them to be called after theplaces in which the campaigns occurred. 

199. HUT JAO: native expression equivalent to "go away at once. "

200. BELL, BUTCHA: dogs' names. _Butcha_ = butcher. 

201. OLD ADAM: it is a religious belief that Adam, supposedly the firstman, committed sin, the tendency to which he handed down to all men ashis descendants. Hence when one does wrong it is said that the Old Adamcomes out. QUARTERS: house or rooms of an officer. 

202. BAD MEN: childish name for hostile natives. BROKE HIS ARREST: anofficer under arrest is his own keeper. SAHIB: a term of respect, equivalent to Mister, used by East Indians toward Europeans. 

203. TWELVE-TWO: the unit of measurement of the height of a horse iscalled a hand, which is equal to four inches. Hence twelve-two meanstwelve hands and two inches. WALER: a horse from New South Wales. 

205. PUSHTO: sometimes _Pushtu_, the language of the Afghans. 

206. SAHIB BAHADUR: Sahib = Mister. _Bahadur_, title of respectequivalent to "gallant officer. "

207. SPOIL-FIVE: a game of cards. COLOR SERGEANT: in the British army, he is a non-commissioned officer who ranks higher and receives betterpay than an ordinary sergeant, and, in addition to discharging the usualduties of a sergeant, attends the colors (the flag) in the field or nearheadquarters. PATHANS: (pronounced Pay-tán) an Afghan race settled inHindustan and in eastern Afghanistan. DOUBLE: to increase the pace totwice the ordinary; double-quick. 

208. CANTONMENT: (in India pronounced can-tóne-ment) part of a townassigned to soldiers. PULTON: native expression equivalent to "troops. "

209. PUKKA: native expression meaning "real, " "thorough. "

The Academy Classics

The works selected for this series are such as have gained a conspicuousand enduring place in literature; nothing is admitted either trivial incharacter or ephemeral in interest. Each volume is edited by a teacherof reputation, whose name is a guaranty of sound and judiciousannotation. It is the aim of the notes to furnish assistance only whereit is absolutely needed, and, in general, to permit the author to be hisown interpreter. 

All the essays and speeches in the series (excepting Webster's Reply toHayne) are printed without abridgment. The plays of Shakespeare areexpurgated only where necessary for school use. 

The series is handsomely bound in blue cloth, the page is open andclear, and the paper of the best quality. 

ADDISON. De Coverley Papers. Edited by Samuel Thurber. Cloth, 35 cents. This volume contains thirty-seven papers of which twenty have SirRoger as the main theme, and seventeen mention him in such away as to throw further light on his character. 

ARNOLD. Essays in Criticism. Edited by Susan S. Sheridan. Cloth, 25 cents. The essays are those on The Study of Poetry, on Keats, and onWordsworth. 

Rugby Chapel. Edited by L. D. Syle. (In _Four English Poems_. Cloth, 25 cents. )

Sohrab and Rustum. Edited by G. A. Watrous. (In _Three Narrative Poems_. Cloth, 30 cents. )

BURKE. Conciliation with the Colonies. Edited by C. B. Bradley. Cloth, 30 cents. This book contains the complete speech, and a sketch of theEnglish Constitution and Government. 

BURNS. Selections. Edited by Lois G. Hufford. Cloth, 35 cents. The selections are forty-five in number and include The Cotter'sSaturday Night, Tam O'Shanter, The Vision, The Brigs of Ayr, and all the more familiar short poems and songs. 

The Academy Classics--Continued

BYRON. The Prisoner of Chillon. Edited by L. D. Syle. (In _Four English Poems_. Cloth, 25 cents. )

CARLYLE. Essay on Burns. Edited by H. W. Boynton. Cloth, 25 cents. 

Essay on Boswell's Johnson. Edited by H. W. Boynton. _Out of print. _

COLERIDGE. The Ancient Mariner. Edited by G. A. Watrous. (In _Three Narrative Poems_. Cloth, 30 cents. )

COWPER. John Gilpin's Ride. Edited by L. D. Syle. (In _Four English Poems_. Cloth, 25 cents. )

GEORGE ELIOT. Silas Marner. Edited by W. Patterson Atkinson. Cloth, 30 cents. The introduction contains a brief life of George Eliot, an accountof the writing of Silas Marner, and a short list of works on theauthor. 

EMERSON. Select Essays and Poems. Edited by Eva March Tappan. Cloth, 30 cents. The Essays are those on Compensation, Self-reliance, and Manners. There are also nine of the best-known poems. A feature ofthe book is the suggestive questions at the bottom of each pagewhich keep the pupil's attention on the alert and at the same timeaid in the interpretation of the text. 

GOLDSMITH. The Vicar of Wakefield. Edited by R. Adelaide Witham. Cloth, 40 cents. The introduction to the work contains a Bibliography of the Life ofGoldsmith, a Bibliography of Criticism, a Life of Goldsmith arrangedby topics, a Table of Masterpieces published during hislife, and an appreciation of Goldsmith's style. 

The Traveller and The Deserted Village. Edited by George A. Watrous. (In _Selected Poems_. Cloth, 30 cents. )

GRAY. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard and The Progress of Poesy. Edited by G. A. Watrous. (In _Selected Poems_. Cloth, 30 cents. )

The Academy Classics--Continued

IRVING. Life of Goldsmith. Edited by R. Adelaide Witham. Cloth, 40 cents. The editor has furnished a life of Irving arranged by topics, withreferences to Pierre Irving's life of his uncle. There is also anarrangement of the text by topics, for convenience in assigning thereading. The book has a useful list of the works of Irving sideby side with Contemporary American Literature. 

Selections from the Sketch-Book. Edited by Elmer E. Wentworth. Cloth, 35 cents. This book contains The Voyage, The Wife, Rip Van Winkle, Sunday in London, The Art of Bookmaking, The Mutability ofLiterature, The Spectre Bridegroom, Westminster Abbey, Christmas, The Stage Coach, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Stratford-on-Avon, To My Books, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. 

LOWELL. Selections. The Vision of Sir Launfal and Other Poems. Edited by Dr. F. R. Lane. Cloth, 25 cents. There are fourteen poems in all, including such passages from theFable for Critics as refer to prominent American men of letters. 

MACAULAY. Edited by Samuel Thurber. 

Essay on Addison. Essay on Lord Clive. Essay on Johnson. Essay on Milton. Cloth, each, 25 cents. There is a map of India in the Essay on Clive. 

Essay on Chatham. Boards, 20 cents. 

Essays on Milton and Addison. One volume, cloth, 35 cents. 

MACAULAY. Essay on Warren Hastings. Edited by Joseph V. Denney. Cloth, 40 cents. This edition will be found especially useful to pupils in compositionwho are studying Macaulay for structure. The essay affords conspicuouslyexcellent illustrations of all four forms of discourse--narration, description, exposition, and argumentation. The book has a map of India, a sketch of Macaulay's life, and a bibliography. 

The Academy Classics--Continued

MILTON. Minor Poems. Edited by Samuel Thurber. Cloth, 30 cents. L'Allegro; Il Penseroso; Comus; Lycidas; Arcades; On theNativity; On Shakespeare; At a Solemn Music; Sonnets. 

Paradise Lost, Books I and II. Edited by Henry W. Boynton. Cloth, 30 cents. This edition has the first two books of Paradise Lost complete anda résumé of the rest of the epic, with quotations of notable passages. The introduction has two plans and a description of the Miltonicuniverse. 

POPE. The Rape of the Lock. Edited by L. D. Syle. (In _Four English Poems_. Cloth, 25 cents. )

An Essay on Criticism. Edited by George A. Watrous. (In _Selected Poems_. Cloth, 30 cents. )

SCOTT. The Lady of the Lake. Edited by G. B. Alton. Cloth, 30 cents. 

Marmion. Edited by Mary E. Adams. Cloth, 30 cents. 

SHAKESPEARE. Edited by Samuel Thurber. 

As You Like It. Julius Cæsar. Macbeth. Merchant of Venice. The Tempest. 

Cloth, each, 30 cents. 

Hamlet (with Pearson's _Questions on Hamlet_). Cloth, 35 cents. 

STEVENSON. Treasure Island. Edited by W. D. Lewis. Cloth, 50 cents. This edition has a short introduction and a life of Stevenson. Very few notes are provided. A complete glossary explains all theunusual terms used in the story. The book contains illustrations and a map. 

TENNYSON. Enoch Arden. Edited by G. A. Watrous. (In _Three Narrative Poems_. ) Cloth, 30 cents. 

Idylls of the King: Selections. Edited by H. W. Boynton. Cloth, 30 cents. 

The Academy Classics--Continued

WEBSTER. Reply to Hayne. Edited by C. B. Bradley. Cloth, 25 cents. 

 * * * * *

Four English Poems. Edited by L. D. Syle. Cloth, 25 cents. The Rape of the Lock, John Gilpin's Ride, The Prisoner of Chillon, and Rugby Chapel. 

Selected Poems from Pope, Gray, and Goldsmith. Edited by George A. Watrous. Cloth, 30 cents. The poems included are Pope's Essay on Criticism, Gray's Elegy andProgress of Poesy, and Goldsmith's Traveller and Deserted Village. 

Three Narrative Poems. Edited by G. A. Watrous. Cloth, 30 cents. The Ancient Mariner, Sohrab and Rustum, and Enoch Arden. A feature of this book is a map, which makes plain the geographyof Sohrab and Rustum. 

 * * * * *

The Literature Note-Book

By Professor F. N. SCOTT, of the University of Michigan, and F. E. BRYANT, of the University of Kansas. Price, each, 6 cents; per dozen, 60cents; per hundred, $5. 00. 

This is a blank-book for book reviews and reports on home reading. Onthe front cover are seventeen numbered questions, each suggesting apossible treatment for the book review. The purpose of these is toenable the teacher with the least labor to prescribe the scope of theessay he wishes the pupil to write. The teacher indicates a question, orseries of questions, by number, and the pupil understands that hisreview is to answer these questions. There are directions for bothteacher and pupil. On the back cover is a list of books for homereading. 

Journeys in Fiction

By ALFRED M. HITCHCOCK, High School, Hartford, Conn. Paper, 42 pages. Price, 10 cents. 

Select Essays of Macaulay

Edited by SAMUEL THURBER. 12mo, cloth, 219 pages. Price, 50 cents. 

This selection comprises the essays on Milton, Bunyan, Johnson, Goldsmith, and Madame D'Arblay, thus giving illustrations both ofMacaulay's earlier and of his later style. The subjects of the essaysare such as to bring them into close relation with the study of EnglishLiterature. 

The notes are intended to help the pupil to help himself. When anallusion is not easily understood, a note briefly explains it, or atleast indicates where an explanation may be found. In other cases thepupil is expected to rely on his own efforts, and on such assistance ashis teacher may think it wise to give. 

Historical Essays of Macaulay

Edited by SAMUEL THURBER. 12mo, cloth, 399 pages. Price, 60 cents. 

This selection includes the essays on Lord Clive, Warren Hastings, andboth the essays on the Earl of Chatham. The text in each case is givenentire. A map of India, giving the location of places named in theessays, is included. 

These essays are annotated on the same principle that is followed in thenotes to the Select Essays. 

Select Essays of Addison

With Macaulay's Essay on Addison. Edited by SAMUEL THURBER. 12mo, cloth, 340 pages. Price, 60 cents. 

The editor has aimed to bring together such papers from the _Spectator_, the _Tatler_, the _Guardian_, and the _Freeholder_ as will prove mostreadable to youth of high school age, and at the same time givesomething like an adequate idea of the richness of Addison's vein. The_De Coverley Papers_ are of course included. There are seventyselections in all. They have to do with the Spectator Club, the Stage, Manners, Politics, Morals, and Religion. There are selections fromAddison's Stories and his Hymns. The book contains also Macaulay's Essayon Addison.